Strongarm

By Annette Siketa

An ex-sailor thinks he has the upper hand when he blackmails a former shipmate

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annette Siketa
• Release date: Nov 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005499242

Annette Siketa

For those of you who have not yet made my acquaintance, my name is Annette Siketa, and I am totally blind. Were you aware that most blind and visually impaired people are extraordinarily perceptive? To sighted people, this ability must seem like ESP, and I suppose to a certain extent, it is. (I'm referring to the literal meaning of Extra Sensory Perception, not the spooky interpretation.) To compensate for the lack of vision, the brain and the other four senses become sharper, so that we can discern a smell or the identity of an object. I promise you there's no trickery involved. It's simply a matter of adapting the body to ‘think’ in another way.Being blind is no barrier to creativity. Like most things in this world, life is what you make of it, and after losing my sight due to an eye operation that went terribly wrong, I became a writer, and have now produced a wide variety of books and short stories, primarily of the ghost/supernatural/things that go bump in the night genre.So, how does a blind person write a book? On the practical side, I use a text-to-speech program called ‘Jaws’, which enables me to use and navigate around a computer, including the Internet, with considerable ease. Information on Jaws can be found at www.freedomscientific.comOn the creative side...well, that’s a little more difficult to explain. Try this experiment. Put on your favourite movie and watch it blindfolded. As you already ‘know’ the movie – who does what where & when etc, your mind compensates for the lack of visualisation by filling in the ‘blanks’. Now try it with something you’ve never seen before, even the six o'clock news. Not so easy to fill in the blanks now is it?By this point you’re probably going bonkers with frustration – hee hee, welcome to my world! Do not remove the blindfold. Instead, allow your imagination to compensate for the lack of visualization, and this will give you an idea of how I create my stories. Oh, if only Steven Spielberg could read my mind.

Book preview

STRONGARM

By Annette Siketa

Copyright © 2021 Annette Siketa.

No part of this book may be manipulated, transmitted, or altered by any method or manner whatsoever. All rights reserved. Please respect the authors’ rights. Only through honesty can the insidious practice of illegal copying be curbed.

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Strongarm.

As he walked across an old stone bridge, the sailor barely glanced at the river and the boats thereon. He had seen too many to be interested, and if luck was with him, he would never need to put to sea again.

He looked at the lights of the small town ahead and smiled in satisfaction. He spent a few minutes looking through the windows of The Queen Anne, The Royal Oak, and The Rusty Anchor, but upon reaching The Golden Fleece, he stopped and scrutinised the building. It was better preserved than the others, and the sound of the laughter drifting into the street, had almost a genteel quality.

The sailor looked at his clothes, and unusually for him, felt a pang of shame. The worsted hose had been repeatedly darned, and the coat and knee breeches were faded and shabby. He looked rough and uncouth, and there was nothing he could do about it, at least not yet. He straightened his shoulders, spit on the ground, and walked into the tavern.

The private parlour was empty, and a bright fire was a welcome change from the chilly air outside. The sailor drew up a chair and placed his feet on the fender, thereby exposing the well-worn soles of his boots.

Hot rum, he said to the servant who was waiting for orders. I also want to see the landlord.

George tried not to show his contempt as he responded, He's busy. Hence why I brought you upstairs myself.

The sailor stood up and slowly approached. Hot rum and the landlord, he repeated. Though only of middle height and rather thin, there was something so menacing in his attitude that George stepped back.

Yes, sir, he replied quickly, but as he turned to leave, the sailor grabbed his shoulder.

My friend, show a little respect or you'll have a close-up view of my fists. Understand? George nodded and hurriedly left the room.

The landlord entered with a tankard in his hand. You wanted to see me? he said, placing the drink on a table beside the sailor.

Well, if it isn't my old friend, John Hudson, said the sailor, picking up the tankard. I suppose you never expected to see me again.

You are mistaken, sir. My name is Thomas Fisher.

Is that so? I thought you were my old shipmate, John Hudson. But there again, he was such a villain that he was probably hanged years ago. Even so, you bear a strong likeness to him.

What do you want? asked Fisher.

Good food, a comfortable bed, and money to buy some decent clothes.

"I can provide the first two but not the third. However, if it's