I chose the northern English city of Lancaster for the setting because it was not only an area I knew well, but because I was intrigued by the dual-edged personality of the place. By day it’s an attractive university town, filled with history and the kind of elegant Georgian architecture that has seen it called the Bath of the North.
But by night the number of pubs and clubs give the city an altogether darker feel. At one point it had one of the highest violent-crime rates per head of population in the country. And although one or two people asked if the events described in the book could really happen in a place like Lancaster, my answer is . . . they did, more or less.
In one of those weird twists of fate, shortly after KILLER INSTINCT was published, one of the local nightclubs was shut down after a drug-dealing scandal, in which the owner and half the door staff were allegedly involved. (And if you’re cheating, and reading this afterword before you’ve read the book itself, you better just forget that bit!)
So, how does it feel to finally have the beginning of Charlie’s story out there again? Bloody marvellous, if you must know . . .
Acknowledgements
First of all, I have to thank those people who patiently let me pick their brains; especially PC Michael Wilkinson for his inside information on police procedure; James for filling me in on what really happens behind club doors; Ian ‘this won’t hurt’ Cottam and Lee Watkin for teaching me the basics of self-defence; Colin and Jane Greenhalgh for their extensive bar experience; and remedial therapist Wendy Seabrook. Any mistakes are strictly by my own introduction.
A few people trawled through the initial drafts and pointed out the major plot-holes. My grateful thanks for this dedication go to Peter Doleman, Claire Duplock, Sarah Harrison, Tim Winfield, and all the members of the Lune Valley Writers’ Group, particularly Clive Hopwood, whose criticisms were the most painful, but the most accurate. You were all brilliant.
The biggest thank yous of all belong to my husband, Andy, who has suffered with me all the way; to Derek and Jill for encouraging me to write in the first place; to the staff at Piatkus Books who first gave me a chance; to my gracious copyeditor Sarah Abel; to David Thompson at Busted Flush Press, who took Charlie under his wing, and to Jane Hudson at NuDesign who came up with the terrific new e-covers. And also to all the authors and online writing community who encouraged me to get these early books out there into the e-niverse.
Lastly my grateful thanks to the inimitable Lee Child, for being such a big supporter of my work and all-round nice guy.
if you’ve enjoyed KILLER INSTINCT, why not try Zoë Sharp’s Other Works:
the Charlie Fox crime thrillers
(KILLER INSTINCT)
RIOT ACT
Excerpt from RIOT ACT
HARD KNOCKS
FIRST DROP
ROAD KILL
SECOND SHOT
THIRD STRIKE
FOURTH DAY
FIFTH VICTIM – out in e-format Spring 2012
Short stories – eBook exclusive
FOX FIVE: a Charlie Fox short story collection
A Bridge Too Far
Postcards From Another Country
Served Cold
Off Duty
Truth And Lies
RIOT ACT
Charlie Fox book two
by Zoë Sharp
“I am a violent man, Miss Fox,” Garton-Jones said, without bravado or inflection. “I can – and will – do whatever is necessary to control this estate. Remember that.”
A self-defence expert with a motorbike and an attitude, Charlie Fox doesn't need to go looking for trouble. It generally finds her. House-sitting for a friend seems like an easy favour at first but the house in question is in the Lavender Gardens estate. Teenage gangs are running riot and Charlie's desperate neighbours have been forced to employ an expensive – and ruthless – security firm to apply rough justice where the legal kind has failed. The situation gets even uglier when a young Asian boy is fatally wounded in what appears to be a racially motivated shooting.
Caught in the middle of an urban battlefield, Charlie's more than able to take care of herself but then she comes face to face with a spectre from her army past. As the tensions rise, lives will depend on Charlie working out just who she can really trust . . .
‘Sharp's first novel, Killer Instinct was a good read, but within the first few pages of Riot Act she surpasses herself. She succeeds in bringing the characters alive and Charlie Fox makes a powerful and attractive heroine. Equally, her other characters work well and she succeeds in creating snappy dialogue and mixing it well with action.
'At times, Riot Act feels slightly reminiscent of Minette Walters' 'Acid Row'. . . (Sharp) takes her Lancashire setting, throws in a great deal of action and creates a fast-paced novel that is guaranteed to build on the reputation created by her debut novel and make her known as an up-and-coming talent in the crime world.' Luke Croll, Murder & Mayhem Book Club
RIOT ACT
Charlie Fox book two
excerpt
Chapter Five
As I turned in to Kirby Street a big man carrying what looked like a baseball bat stepped out of the shadows into the road in front of me.
My first thought as I grabbed for the front brake was that Roger had somehow already got wind of my intention to go the distance, and had sent the boys round. Timing and logic didn't come into it. This was straight gut-reaction fear.
The Suzuki's tyres slithered on the wet greasy tarmac as I locked the wheels up tight, stepping the back end out. Somehow, I managed to bring the bike to an untidy halt within about six feet of him, slanted across the road. I put my feet down, shaky, heart bouncing against my ribs.
The man had made no move to get out of my path. Arrogance made him confident that I would stop in time. That I wouldn't dare run him down. I wondered if he tried the same tactic with buses and trucks.
For a couple of beats, nothing happened. Then he swaggered forwards to meet me, and I saw that the baseball bat was actually one of those oversize torches. The type so favoured by jumped-up security guards without the authority to carry a weapon for real.
He came right up to the fairing, crowding me, tall enough for me to have to crick my neck up to make eye-contact with him through my visor. His was a face that had seen some action, the bridge of the nose lumped with scar tissue. There was the line of an old knife wound cutting through his moustache stubble from nostril to upper lip.
He was a sizeable bloke, wearing the black bomber jacket and dark cargo trousers of the professional bruiser. I've come across enough of them in my time to recognise the type without needing a diagram. I was reminded strongly of the local vigilante leader, Langford.
It was only when he spoke that my preconceptions took a knock. “OK, sonny, where do you think you're going?” he demanded, surprising me with the genuine cut-glass accent that came out of his thuggish mouth.