Vivika Widow's Blog, page 48

Nanny’s Little Naughties

Laura Goodman had important clients to attend to and they all paid handsomely. She always had enough leverage over them to lean on them and make them pay a little more but there was no sense in that. They were no good to her bled dry.

Today was business as usual. It was a fine morning although there was a chill in the air suggesting autumn wasn’t far behind. She closed the door behind her. It was painted a vibrant green. Her favourite colour. She pulled a heavy cluster of keys from the brown leather bag she carried over her shoulder and fed the appropriate one into the lock. It was safe, little family area where she lived. The quiet residential area was safe enough but you couldn’t be too careful. One of the negro boys from the adjoining area may wander in and who knows what they might get up to. More importantly though, none of her kids – Nanny’s little naughties – could get out. That would cause trouble aplenty.

“Good morning Laura,” called Mrs Wise from across the street.

She was a middle aged woman who spent her husband’s pension on silly lawn ornaments. She even won a competition because of them. Of course Stan was dead no but Kelly Wise would still go on buying those lawn ornaments with the bad money bequeathed to her. Stan would go on paying for those silly lawn ornaments when he was cold in the ground. Kelly was holding one in her hand. It was a little boy with a lollipop in his mouth, wearing dungarees and a flannel shirt.

Laura smiled amicably and waved back. Nanny was polite to her neighbours. She spoke enough so that they would be at ease with her but not so much that she would be memorable enough for them to realise they had never been inside her house.

“Did you enjoy the pie?” she asked.

Kelly Wise placed the boy down next to a Flamingo doing it’s trademark one legged stand.

“I did. Thank you,” Kelly assured. “I couldn’t finish it though. I’ll maybe have the rest later. I will wash your dish and pop over with it later.”

“Gosh,” Nanny exclaimed. “I do cook so much. I’m just used to cooking so for so many people. There’s no rush though. I will pick it up at our next book club meeting. Thursday night?”

Kelly nodded in agreement and waved her off. Nanny stored the keys in her brown leather bag. She skipped down the path way and into her green Volkswagen.

‘Today is going to be a good day,’ she thought to herself as she looked in the rear view mirror to check her make up and adjust her floral neckerchief.

New powerful clients and a new boat full of children arriving later that afternoon. Business was booming. She couldn’t help but smile.

A loving mother, a charity patron and one of the most dangerous members of the High Five criminal group. Laura ‘Nanny’ Goodman is the target for the elite force known as Rogue Battalion.

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The Harvesters

Featuring in: Muse and the Knock, Knock graphic novel series.

If the finest meat and dairy in the Shady City is what you are after then look no further than the Harvester logo. Family run for generations the Harvester Farm has blossomed into a large franchise thanks to Dr G Winslow. Dr Winslow is a highly respected member of Coldford society and thanks to his efforts you can enjoy a harvester burger at one of many convenient locations around the city.

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But as grand as they have become the family feel is still at the heart of the Harvester brand and none feel more like family than the dutiful farm hands, led by Glenn.

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But with all things in the Shady City the Harvesters have their part to play in brewing tensions. Growing such a brand requires money and someone has to pick up the bill somewhere. The Harvesters are branching out to new pursuits.

There will always be a true Harvester at the Harvester Farm and since the old Harvester is Ill that duty falls to his only daughter Julia. Julia finds herself under the gaze of a struggling artist. She can inspire him to greatness and in him she can find the opportunity her family legacy needs to break free from the tyranny that holds them.

Available for general download Monday 21st January. Muse features the Harvesters heavily.

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For more Shady City thrillers check out other titles. The Knock, Knock graphic novel series is free to read here on Vivika Widow. Com. Click HERE to check it out.

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Free Falling Empire

There was a rattle on the oak bedside table. Ernest ignored it at first but it continued. He turned on his left side and switched on the tall, thin silver lamp. Lynn groaned beside him. Ernest tried to reach for his glasses but knocked them to the floor instead. He lifted his phone and through blurry vision he could see the face of his assistant, Bernadette.

He answered the call. There was a commotion going on in the background.

“Mr Beckingridge?” she sobbed.

He and Lynn had gone to bed early that night. They were leaving on a flight to Luen in a few hours so they wanted to get some rest whilst they could. Ernest had entrusted Bernadette with over seeing the Free Fall Benefit, a charity function supporting a rare owl species being held at the Beckingridge Tower block in City Main.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be here?” Bernadette had asked earlier that afternoon as Ernest passed her the itinerary for the evening.

“You are more than capable,” he assured her. “I trust you will have a lovely evening.”

There was a scream in the background. Lynn must have heard it too because she sat up and switched on her own lamp. Both of their bodies were now filled with such adrenaline sleep was but a distant memory.

“What is going on Bernadette?”

Bernadette’s voice came through again, cracking with emotion.

“They’re killing themselves!” she cried.

“Who is killing themselves?” Ernest asked. “What’s happening?”

Lynn laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned to her. He had never seen such fear in her eyes.

“They all are,” Bernadette sobbed. “I just stepped out for a cigarette and the started throwing themselves from the roof!”

It was now Ernest’s voice that betrayed him. “What’s happening?”

“They’re committing suicide,” the assistant said. “The clients, the investors. Some of the children have been shot!”

“What is causing this? Bernadette, please calm down and tell me what happened.”

Bernadette’s voice faded. “What’s happening now?” she asked someone beside her.

“What is going on?” Ernest asked again.

Bernadette’s voice came back clearer.

“Oh God!” she screamed. “It’s happening again!”

More screams erupted around her. The phone line went dead.

“Jesus Christ,” Ernest exclaimed. He stood out of bed, stepping on his glasses. “Damn it!”

“What’s going on Ernie?” enquired Lynn.

Ernest shook his head. “I don’t actually know.”

He pulled a pair of jeans from the drawer and slipped his leg into them. “Something about clients and investors leaping from the building. Children being …” He hesitated. He didn’t want to upset Lynn any more than she already was. “Some children have been shot.” He decided to divulge what Bernadette had told him. She would no doubt read it in the Daily anyway.

Lynn gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. The mauve coloured nail polish matched the luggage she had placed downstairs in anticipation of their early departure. It was a trip they would no longer be taking.

“I have to go down there,” he informed her even though she already knew that.

“I’ll come with you,” she offered.

Ernest pulled a grey sweater over the crisp white t shirt he had worn to bed. “It’s fine. Try and get some sleep.”

Lynn climbed out of bed too. “If you think I’m going to be able to sleep now you must be out of your mind.”

The Beckingridge Financial Firm wasn’t Lynn’s and it never would be but for Ernest’s sake she had taken a keen interest in its smooth running. Ever since his wife died and his son was taken, the firm had neared collapse. George was still missing. Embezzled funds had almost toppled the great Beckingridge empire.

“Stay here by the phone then in case I need you. The police may stop by.”

Lynn reluctantly agreed. She kissed Ernest as he pulled comfortable shoes onto his feet. She watched from the window of the lounge as the headlights of his car disappeared down the long driveway of the manor home.

Enjoy this?

The Beckingridge empire is strong in the Shady City but they have their secrets. Music tutor, Vincent, is on the inside. They say behind mansion walls are where the true skeletons lurk.

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Click HERE to read Maestro.

A war is brewing in the Shady City. The Mayor has gone missing. Bold reporter, Sam, seeks answers in the seediest club in town.

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Click HERE to read the full vol 1 of the Knock, Knock graphic novel series here on Vivika Widow Online. Also free to download for KU users.

Character Profile: Dennis Platt

Name: Dennis Platt

Age: 42

Features in: The Knock, Knock series.

Occupation: Knock, Knock club manager.

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At first glance our club manager is a friendly, enthusiastic albeit full on man. Noticeably more interested in the female members of the club Dennis is a serial womaniser.

Like most people in the Shady City he has a dark past. Something caused a well known man about town to leave his wife and child and find himself managing the seediest club in town. If you are willing to dig deep you will find the fire power required to bring the Knock, Knock club.

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He has a special connection with club owner Tabitha but if our reporter Sam is going to get to the bottom of the disappearance of the City Mayor he will have to look past Dennis’ flaws. His regrets could give Sam the story he needs.

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Dennis is good looking, vibrant and has a way with people but with his predatory instincts would you trust him?

Dennis is a strong feature in the Knock, Knock graphic novel series which is free to read HERE on vivikawidow.com

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Room Service (A tale from the Shady City)

The Weir hotel was a beautiful modern building in City Main. The chain had hundreds of branches all around the world but its biggest and most important was that in Coldford City. Rodney Weir was a Coldford son born and bred. With the empire beginning in the Shady City it seemed fitting that their grandest establishment was homed there. Cameron and his wife Leslie arrived around noon. Cameron had been head hunted for a prestigious position with the Beckingridge Financial Firm. Cam had been a financial trader for many years and now his hard work was finally paying off. A position with Beck could mean great things for him and his young wife. “You’re finally getting the recognition you deserve,” Leslie had cheered, kissing him when he got the phone call. The firm had asked that he come into the city for a week – work with them, sign some paperwork and get a feel for his new colleagues. They compensated him for his time by paying for a room in Shady City’s most elite hotel. The Weir had been recently refurbished. Its lobby was a large open space with a shining marble floor. A glittering chandelier hung overhead. It reminded Leslie of the ancient palaces she had read about in story books. Cameron pulled a tartan coloured suitcase holding enough luggage for the both of them for the duration of their stay. Leslie carried Cameron’s best suit in a suit cover. A press corp was hanging around the entrance. Leslie recognised them by the hungry look in their eyes, like a kettle of circling vultures. Before they had the chance to approach the reception desk, with the glamorous young woman standing behind it, a door on the far left opened and a small, stocky man with greying auburn hair and bad teeth came striding out with two black suited security guards at his back. He put a cigar between his teeth and clenched in a half grin, half sneer. The vulturous press corp charged at him but a man with similar auburn hair and a long, almost sad face got there first. “Mr Weir! Sam Crusow of the Daily. Do you have any comments about your son?” Rodney waved his hands angrily. His teeth clenched down harder on his cigar. “Fuck off, you parasite!” he spat at Sam the reporter. “Who let these God damned vultures into my hotel?” he barked at a nearby staff member. “He was murdered. His lover is still missing,” Sam pressed. “Surely you have some comment to make?” Rodney growled. “My son wasn’t gay!” He turned to another couple of shell shocked staff members. “Get these blood suckers out of here.” The security men clasped Sam’s shoulders and started to lead him towards the exit. The other reporters rushed with their note pads in hand but they too were escorted roughly. Rodney turned to the guests who were lined up ready to check in. He gave them a grin. The glint of the chandelier made his hair spark in like flames. “Nothing to worry about folks,” he assured. “Enjoy your stay.” With that, he strode confidently from the hotel exit and into a waiting town car – shaking off some of the press as he did so. Cameron and Leslie looked at each other. Cameron was a little disturbed by the exchange but Leslie was intrigued. A murder?

They were given a room on the fourth floor. It wasn’t an elaborate suite. It was simple double room with the same fawn and red décor as the rest of the hotel. Leslie threw herself onto the bed.

“I think we ought to get used to this,” she teased. “With this new job we’ll have to start being good to ourselves.”

Cameron wheeled their suitcase into the corner. “I’m going to shower and change before my meeting. Getting to meet the man himself, Ernest Beckingridge.”

“Just a formality,” Ernest’s secretary had assured. “Mr Beckingridge is keen to have you on board.”

Even with that having been said Cam was still nervous. He was keen on making a good first impression.

“Will you be okay here alone?” he asked his wife.

Leslie stretched her limbs to their full length. “I’ll survive,” she gasped sarcastically. “I’m going to make use of all the amenities – facial, spa, manicure. All courtesy of Beck. They must really want to keep you sweet.”

Cameron grinned and pulled the grey shirt he wore off, exposing his toned abdomen. “Try not to get too caught up. We have dinner reservations at eight,” he warned.

Delphine was the finest French restaurant in the city and just a short walk from the hotel. Cameron and Leslie planned on having a meal there to continue their celebrations. Leslie was a restaurant connoisseur. The head chef at Delphine was a native of the beautiful coastal city of Luen. Bringing his skill to the city it just had to be sampled.

“Oh, I’ll be too drunk by then,” stated Leslie in jest. “You’ll find me passed out here.”

Cameron shook his head. “Yeah, Yeah,” he returned good-naturedly and disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the wash of the powerful shower before she finally sat up.

She opened their luggage and hung up her husbands best suit in the finely carved oak cupboard offered. In the next room she heard a heavy thud against the wall like someone had struck it with a hammer. There was a whimper – of pain rather than pleasure.

‘The things that must go on at hotels,’ she thought to herself. ‘If these walls could talk they would have some great stories.’

***

After Cameron left the hotel seemed to quieten. Leslie sat by the window and listened to the drone of the traffic out in City Main. Most of the press corp had left. Sam was still waiting for his story though, no matter how long it took. Coldford Police Department or CPD must have been called because as Sam pulled down the woollen hat he wore and patted his gloved hands together he was approached by two officers. One was a tall and imposing man. The other was a more petite, fair haired woman. The man said something to the reporter. Sam raised his hands and said something back with a scowl. Finally with words from the police woman he collected his bag and walked away. Leslie was sure it wouldn’t be the last time the Daily would pester Rodney Weir for a comment on the murder of his son.

Leslie changed into a swim suit, pulling a pair of pale blue shorts and a flowing blouse over it. She was a keen swimmer and the Weir Hotel boasted one of the best facilities.

The Olympic sized pool was located on the roof of the twenty story building.The pool room offered a panoramic view of the city. The corridor was well lit and warm unlike most other old hotels. The Weir chain was modern but with old fashioned class.

A woman in a long black trench coat stepped into the hallway at the same time as Leslie was leaving the room. The woman didn’t offer a friendly acknowledgement. If she hadn’t been so determined in her walk towards the room next door Leslie would have sworn she was blind. She wore a black Fedora hat. Her lips were painted a vibrant red. Her soft porcelain skin was painted was pale white compared to Leslie’s black. She strode down the corridor on the long legs of a dancer. When she reached the room next door she hesitated for a few moments watching Leslie fidgeting with a bag a round her neck to find the key to her own room – number 43. Finally the woman unlocked the door, hung a do not disturb sign on the handle and closed the room tightly behind her.

***

Leslie arrived at the restaurant just after eight. Cameron was nursing a glass of French beer. As he spotted the maitre’d point his wife in the direction of their table he stood. Leslie had changed into a red and black tea length dress. Her hair hung loosely and naturally around her shoulders.

Cameron raised the glass to his full lips and sipped.

“I knew you’d be late,” he said as she took the seat opposite. He sat back down too and sighed.

“I got so relaxed I fell asleep,” she jested.

Cameron shook his head and smiled. “I’m surprised you were able to sleep with all that noise going on next door,” he said. He too had heard the banging earlier that afternoon.

Leslie flicked a napkin and laid it across her lap.

“I saw the woman who is in that room. She’s a strange looking character. She looks like something from a cheesy detective story. She must be a dancer or something. She put the do not disturb sign on the door and I haven’t heard a peep since. The sign was still there when I left.”

Cameron raised his eyebrows. “The plot thickens …”

“So how was things at Beck? What is Ernest like?”

“I don’t know,” admitted the husband. “I didn’t get to meet him after all. Apparently he was called away on some kind of emergency. I still got the grand tour though.”

Leslie frowned. Her face was just as pretty when she did. “That’s a shame.”

“Maybe he’ll be along at some point this week,” Cameron reasoned.

Leslie lifted the empty water glass and raised it.

“Here’s to new opportunities in the Shady City,” she said. Her husband raised his glass too and they clinked them together. Leslie gave a wry smile. “What do you say we go back to the hotel room after this and make some noise of our own?”

***

Sirens blared from all branches of the Shady City emergency services. The street outside the Weir Hotel was filled with ambulances, fire trucks and police vans. Officers of the CPD had set up a line outside the main entrance as well as guards on the service entrances.

“Move back folks! Move back!” the officers were instructing.

Smoke was still bellowing from the fourth floor. The explosion had ripped through the entire floor making all levels above it unsteady. The guests and staff that had survived the blast had been evacuated.

Sam Crusow approached a young officer who was stationed on the corner. He kept his notebook in the breast pocket of the brown jacket he wore.

“Sam Crusow of the Daily,” he announced. “Can you tell me what happened here?”

The officer shook his head. He was younger than Sam. The line of freckles across his nose gave the appearance of a small boy playing police officer.

“Not for me to say, sir,” he replied. “You’re going to have to stand over there and the captain will give a statement soon.” He pointed to where the other reporters were chomping and gnashing for answers.

Sam knew the boy wouldn’t know anything. That was way above his responsibility level but he knew if he held his ground long enough and kept separated from the rest something of interest would come his way.

A few moments later two bodies were removed. The fire service had finally given the all clear for the coroners to start removing the dead.

“The blast came from a bomb in room 45. Cameron and Leslie Row were in the adjacent room according to the register.”

Sam took note of what was said before he was urged on again. As a reporter in the Shady City there was always a sensational story to be found. As the city tore itself apart it was always innocents like Leslie and her husband that were caught in the blast.

Enjoy this?

Sam is onto another sensational story in the Shady City. Click HERE to read the Knock, Knock series free on Vivika Widow Online or download for KU!

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There are secrets being held at the Beckingridge Manor. Enter music teacher Vincent as he faces his most difficult pupil yet. Click HERE to read Maestro.

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Hatred is a Cancer

We all have our hang ups. We all have our days when we don’t feel much like interacting with other human beings. I get it, I really do. I have those days myself. I might argue more than most. However, this morning I opened up my emails to a note from a group calling themselves THE TRUTH BRINGERS asking if I would read their literature and spread the word. I’m an open minded person so I thought, I’ll read what it is they have to say.

What was sent to me was the biggest lot of hatred spouting, uneducated, misogynistic nonsense I have ever had the misfortune to read. And someone thought that I would pass this message on!?

Let’s just get one thing straight. I treat everyone in this world with an equal acceptance. When I meet people for the first time I will always approach them with politeness and kindness. I base my judgements of people on how they respond to me and to others around them. How they treat other’s as an individual is a far more accurate measure of a person than gender, ethnicity, religious beliefs or sexual orientation ever will be.

In an age where there is so much information available to people we have a responsibility to ourselves and our fellow human beings to embrace that information and appreciate the differences around us whilst still recognising that we are all human after all.

I will not link the pieces I was sent in this article because I will not participate in sharing such filth and nonsense. It is suffice to say I was not impressed with the world views that unless you were a white Christian you were less than human. This was a ridiculously narrow view on what a Christian should be, I might add.

Everyone is entitled to their own opinions and views. That is the beauty of the world in which we live. There are so many exciting cultures and worldly teachings out there. It is a great age to be alive. Treat others with respect. What more can one ask?

When you embrace a hateful ideology (no matter how well intentioned), the only thing it will achieve is making the world a little darker and more isolated because then another responds with hatred because they disagree. Then another and another and so on until before we know it we have a cancerous spread of bile across the world and people fighting over something that makes absolutely no difference in the first place.

I will no doubt have more hateful responses to this by people trying to convince me that I’m wrong but do you know what? I have acceptance in my life and I am happier for it.

Check out the latest thriller titles from Vivika Widow HERE 

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This Place

As we anticipate the release of Muse our stop on the Shady City tour this week takes us far north where the city scape starts to change to farm lands. There you will find a set of allotments. Number 605B doesn’t belong to a gardener though. This allotment house sets itself aside from the others because often, loud music can be heard blaring from it as a tortured mind tries to drown out their demons. You will find clay faces watching you from the windows – those that aren’t blacked out of course. Some have figurines hanging in them.

The land around the allotment house is dead and barren.

 

Allotment house 605B belongs to the artist, David Finn. He uses it as a workshop. It was once the birthing suite for some of the city’s most sought after paintings and sculptures. Now it only offers useless attempts at recapturing the glory days. Most of the recent pieces will end smashed in frustration or burned.

No new life has come from that allotment house recently. Only abortion after abortion as the frustrated artist falls further and further into despair.

It’s a simple wooden structure, quite unimpressive to an untrained eye but inside will once again be a hub of creativity. Breath taking pieces of art came from behind those doors before. Now it is a drug addict’s den.

The little allotment house hasn’t done with it’s story just yet though. When an innocent seeming farm girl knocks on the door it will change everything.

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Muse is the latest in The Shady City thriller series. Available soon. In the meantime check out some of the other titles.

 

 

Children can be Cruel

I have heard this phrase many times. Most of the time its a condemnation of the behaviour of a few kids but sometimes it seems like an excuse. Yes children can be cruel to each other but does that mean we should accept it? Children are learning a lot of things for the first time. They are flooded with new sights, sounds and experiences. It can be scary. Some of them react to this out of fear of the unknown. I think most people experienced bullying as a child. Perhaps something about you was different. Maybe you weren’t wearing the proper attire. Whatever it was you may have heard it dismissed as ‘part of growing up’. I bet it didn’t comfort you much then though.

In my humble opinion the problem lies with focus being placed on a child’s academic pursuits. More focus is put into grading and lessons and these are important but maybe we should be looking to developing a child’s manners and social skills. There have always been bullies. There always will be bullies but taking the time on a child’s personal development could go some way to breaking this cycle. As a child I had my moments of cruelty towards others too. It’s not something I am proud of and as I grew older I realised that just how wrong it was. I make a point of treating everyone I meet with respect but I can’t help but think that this was a lesson that I should have learned sooner. My parents taught me manners, my teachers taught me respect but even with that bullies taught me to lash out. What are your thoughts?

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Groups of the Conflict: Fosgon

Chief: Tomatcu Habaru

Origins: Native American

A once proud nation, native to America,  the Fosgon are strong and resilient. Facing financial difficulty the Fosgon people have looked to their highly respected chief Tomatcu (Tomat choo) for guidance through their difficulties.

The Fosgon nation boast a lance wielder, the highest status  any warrior can reach. Of which there are only ever four in existence at any one time. The lance weilders are fire, earth, wind and water. It is believed that only four can exist in order to maintain a balance of power throughout the world. The grandson of the chief,  Sudelka, carries a fire lance. He also happens to be a red feather!

Warriors who wear a red feather are difficult to contain, hungry for power and with the fire lance in his possession many fear what Sudelka may one day become. However, with the right guidance from the strongest members of the Fosgon council, Sudelka may be key to pulling his nation through their most difficult times.

Other notable members of the Fosgon Nation include Linciu (Linch-eye-oo). Son to Chief Tomatcu and father of Sudelka, Linciu is a capable warrior whose skills were sought out by the U.S. military. He was a member of the elite force known as Rogue Battalion and was instrumental in stopping the criminal group, the High Five.

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Conflict Characters: The Blue Raven

AGE: 38

NATION: Fosgon – full warrior.

WARRIOR NAME – ‘Blue Raven’

Son to Fosgon chief Tomatcu. During a depression on the Fosgon nation Linciu was approached by the US military. When Linciu first joined the marine core he faced massive racist attacks. On one occasion he was outnumbered by a group of fellow soldiers hell bent on running a what they referred to as a ‘shopper’ out of the core. The CCTV footage showed exactly why Linciu was regarded as one of the finest warriors of his nation. After hospitalising the group and walking away unharmed the footage was sent straight to Washington with a presidential stamp. Linciu was court marshalled and thrown in jail until a highly respected General by the name of Raphael Diorra requested that the warrior become part of the notorious Rogue Battalion. Under the watch of General Diorra, Linciu shot through the ranks to eventually becoming Commander of Rogue Battalion.

His fighting skills almost mirror Thai fighting with sharp reflexes and deadly moves to anyone who may oppose him.

He is a blue feather meaning ‘whisperer’. This displays his abilities to command numerous different species but most notably the raven. Many of his enemies fear the site of the raven believing that Linciu is stalking them. The most superstitious of enemies believe the raven carries the soul of the deadly warrior making him invincible and an important figure in bringing down the criminal group known as the High Five.

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