All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing

The Viaduct by Hugh Cron – Warning – Strong Language

Fergie left early again. He was fed up with the self-acclaimed King Of The Pub. He was a cunt. He was a pumped up insignificant prick who walked about as if he’d shit himself. And the clothes, fuck the boy thought he was a gangster rapper, he was nothing more than a nipple-end with some ‘roid rage.

Fergie was too old. At one time it wouldn’t have been a problem. He knew he could knock fuck out of him but there were always too many with him. He’d be more than happy to shoot them or slice them, he’d have fun stabbing them. But he’d get caught and never get released. He had to get rid of that Jordan prick without any comeback.

Once home, he poured himself out a gin and apple juice and tanned it. He poured out another and drank half. He picked up the phone and dialled the number that would never leave him.

“Hello young man.”


“Aye it’s me.”

“Fuck…I’ve not heard from you for a long time…How the fuck are you?”

“I’m well son. How’s things?”

“Fine my end but you’ll know that.”

“Yep, I’ve kept my eye on you.”

“Showing interest or checking up?”

Fergie chuckled, “Showing an interest son. Only showing an interest.”

“So what can I do for you?”

“I need a favour.”

“Name it.”

“That’s very kind of you. Do you remember the very first play I showed you?”

“Yep. It’s one of my favourites.”

“I need you to do that for me.”

“Not a problem. Text me the details. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

“Thanks son.”

“How about we meet up next month, somewhere no-one knows me…Or you. We could spend a few days together”

“That’d be good.”

“I’ll be seeing you soon. We can decide then.”

“Sounds like a plan! Thanks son.”


Fergie had to get out before Jordan got too loud and too annoying. He was getting to the stage where he was going to stab him and his pussybawz pals and not give a fuck about the consequences.

He lit a cigar and began to walk home. He saw the van and smiled. He knew.

Jordan was well in the bag and was driven home by Jimmy. They’d known each other for years and he classed Jimmy as his lieutenant.

He waved to him and was texting the lovely Rona. She was always up for a fuck on demand.

He never heard them.

Jordan woke up lying on his back. He was in the back of a van with four men sitting beside him. They were hooded and dressed in black. He had duct tape over his mouth and his hands and legs were bound. He was tied to the van and couldn’t move. He tried to scream. His nose was smashed. The blood ran into the back of his throat and he began to gag.

“Swallow that up and don’t make another sound. I won’t be so gentle next time.”

There was no emotion in the voice. Jordan began to cry. He tried to control his breathing, his gagging and his sobbing.

His mind went everywhere. Who would have the balls to do this? Those thoughts were replaced with pure terror. It was fear like he’d never felt. All he could do was keep saying into himself that he wanted to live.

The van stopped and the ropes were cut, he was kicked out. His legs and hands were still tied.

“Are the other cars at either side?”

“Yes. He’s all ours.”

“Ok. Nod if you are listening Jordan. If you are not listening I’m going to hurt you.”

Jordan quickly nodded.

“We’ve got associates parked at either side so no-one will interrupt us. I don’t want to be disturbed and I’m not that much of a bastard that I want you to get your hopes built up, so long story short – No fucker will save you.

Right lads, over the edge.”

Three of the men lifted him. He struggled and tried to scream.

“Put him back down.”

He was thrown onto the ground. He felt a knee on his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

“I would stop struggling if I was you. If you struggle, we might drop you and we don’t want to do that.


But if it happens I don’t have a problem with that. Back over the edge lads.”

Jordan began to hyperventilate as he was lifted and dangled head first over a wall.

“Man it’s dark down there. Here let me show you where you are.”

The man leaned over and shone a torch. All Jordan could see was the drop. He froze.

“Jordan, are you sweating? Your T-Shirt is getting all wet. Wait a minute. Boys, the black bastard is trying to cover us in his piss. He’s pissing out his shirt. Bring him back up before he shits himself.”

They pulled him up, knocked his feet from him and leaned him against the wall.

The man who had been speaking pulled out a knife, knelt and put it to Jordan’s eye.

“You need to listen you little prick. You’ve been fucking off the wrong person. And you’re lucky as they are feeling charitable in warning you. If it was me, well you’d have been dropped and your head would be out your arse.

But it’s not me. When they make themselves known to you, you say nothing and fuck off. If they see you again, I’ll be seeing you again. It’ll be up to them whether you lose the eyes or are dropped or fucking both.

I’ve taken an instant dislike to you Jordan. You can be a legend in your own mind all you want but I know that you’re an insignificant cunt. So I may have a little fun with you myself and you really wouldn’t want that.”

Jordan’s eyes widened as the knife lowered. The man leaned forward and freed Jason’s legs. They got into the van, Jordan didn’t move. The driver shone a torch into his eyes. He threw a razor blade a few feet from him.

“For your ropes. And go back left. You’ll get home in a few hours. Sorry but I don’t think Rona will want to shag you then.

…Oh and Jordan, about telling anyone, or if the police should pick you up.”

He shook his head, “…I’ll not say anything!”

“You didn’t let me finish…”

They all took their hoods off, “I don’t give a fuck who you tell.”

The van pulled away.

Fergie had been enjoying his pub. It had been a week of peace.

The door burst open and in they came with Jordan in the middle. They looked around and one of them went into the toilets.

Fergie chuckled, the bravado was a joke.

Jordan had a last look around and nodded to two of his pals, they went outside and stood at the door.

“Are you buying me a drink Fergie?”

“No bother son, let me just finish this and I’ll join you. Your usual double and a pint?”

Jordan nodded.

Fergie drained his drink, scowled and looked straight at Jason, “If you don’t mind son, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve lost the notion.”

Jordan squared himself up and moved closer to Fergie, “And why’s that?”

…“Cause all I can smell is piss.”

Jordan stared at him.

The door opened. He looked round and his two pals weren’t there. Four men walked in.

Jordan swallowed.

“Do you still want your drink son?”

He shook his head.

“C’mon boys.”


Hugh Cron

6 thoughts on “The Viaduct by Hugh Cron – Warning – Strong Language”

  1. Wonderful, wonderful. There are so many would be gangsters around. Always. Ignorant bozos. They are too stupid to grasp the scope of violence, which they confuse with Evil. Absolute Evil wants no friends nor fans nor admirers. Evil is an ultimate solitude that lies beyond conception. Another writer might have ended the piece at the warning, but you were brave enough to show us just how foolish Jordan was.
    Speaking of foolishness, whenever I see the word Viaduct I think of Chico Marx: “Why a duck? Why no a chicken?”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Leila,
      I wasn’t sure about the very last line but I reckon that I wanted everyone to hear his backdown.
      Your Marx Brother line reminds me of a colloquial Scottish joke:
      – Is that a doughnut or a meringue?
      -Naw, you’re richt enough, it’s a doughnut.

      Thanks as always Leila – All your input is appreciated and your comments make my day!


    1. Hi Dave,
      I’ve always thought that no matter your reading preference, revenge stories resonate with everyone.
      Thanks as always my fine friend – Your time and kindness is much appreciated!


  2. A hardboiled slice of time and place, for sure. Fergie sounds like a man of extremes. My sister had a long term boyfriend from Glasgow, he was like that, very touchy about his pub status. Don’t think he had the connections Fergie had though. I was a bit confused about Jordan and Jason. Seems a bit like an “old school” vs. the “new school” story. Scary! I think I’ll stick to tea and biscuits at the cafe.


    1. Hi Harrison,
      Thanks for the spot on Jason / Jordan. I can’t believe I missed that! God knows how many times I’ve been through this. An old teacher once said to us, ‘How many times do we look but don’t see?’
      He had a point!
      ‘Old school’ versus ‘New school’ is always interesting to write about. It is all about who has no boundaries or the person who has the ability and means to have no boundaries.
      All the very best my friend.


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