Visiting Visitations
A sharp turn down a new road
Hey! How’s your new year’s resolution going?
As vaguely promised, I’m going to be trying out a new format of sorts.
I’ll start with a little news and move into more exploratory prose. I think I’m more comfortable expressing myself that way rather than digging deep to find new flavors of self-reflection.
The story that emerged is a kind of gritty moment where a hitman is hired for a new job on New Year’s Eve.
But before diving into that, I wanted to share some thoughts on writing and book releases—something that’s been on my mind lately.
Disappointment
The release of Lux Aeterna didn’t go as well as I had hoped. While I’m glad the book is out, the numbers are the lowest I’ve ever seen
There was no Buildspace boost this time and I can imagine there is a bit of fatigue settling in for many of the others who like to support my work.
The last excuse would surely be my own lacking promotions and sales tactics.
Although I was happily surprised to see a nice review for Revification coming in while I was somewhat away.
That little book I thought no one would enjoy because it’s too weird has turned into something most people seem to enjoy, if they dare pick it up.
I’ll probably have clearer thoughts on the mismatch between expectations and realized receptions in the future, but for now let’s move on to that bit of prose I’m sure you’re dying to read.
The First Hit
The smell of gunpowder lingered on the street, remnants of the New Year’s Eve celebrations. People partied despite profits being down last quarter—nothing ever really changes except whose hands the money ends up in.
Clouded air and a ticking time bomb.
I needed that fog to hide my own. I needed that time to learn about the new job. Some loser who lived down a back alley. He owed the wrong guy too much.
Money, favor, some sex thing maybe. The details of the deed didn’t matter. I was the gun—Point me at the target and shoot.
“Pay attention, James.” My benefactor was reluctant to call me in. His boss or maybe his boss’s boss must have really screwed up to need me to clean things up.
“Piss off, Vortex.” I shook his hand off my shoulder and just grabbed the file. “That’s him?”
“You know the name, right?” Vortex was wearing a ridiculous trenchcoat when we met. He probably thought it matched his ridiculous pseudonym, but he must have known how they both made him look.
High society though. They’re always most concerned about hiding identities while partaking in the ugliest debauchery.
None of the people in that world would risk the slightest trace to their crimes.
Idiots.
“He’s an idiot.” I threw the file on the confetti covered ground and Vortex rushed to pick it up.
“James!” He brushed off the confetti and handed me the file again.
“Piss off, Vortex.” I pushed him back and he let out a heavy sigh. “I want to renegotiate. I didn’t know this was a royal feud.”
“Fuck you, James.” Vortex shook his head and tried to hand me the file again. “Just do the job. We’ll keep you on retainer if your work is good enough.”
I snapped my fingers and pointed a hand gun at Vortex’s head. He shook his head and sighed again.
“Bang!” I curled my lips and let the sarcasm drip as I looked over the details of the lordling: Baudouin d’Orléans. Some asshat visiting my city to waste his father’s wealth. He looked smug in the candid photo. He thought he could score an easy lay while abroad or some bullshit like that.
“Your target is Baudouin d'Orléans. As you’ve cleverly deduced, our rivalry is written in the name.” Vortex was uncomfortable. He was scared. He didn’t like talking to assassins and he wasn’t used to wearing thick gloves. He couldn’t help rubbing his fingers together to try and get used to the sensation.
“Baudouin? I have a cousin with that name.” I closed the file and looked up at Vortex. The fear in his eyes as I registered his face. He knew he was a made man should my side of the deal turn sour.
“Save the small talk for the funeral, James.” Vortex pulled up his heavy trench coat to cover his face and tried to refocus the discussion.
“Alright, Vortex.” I said with a coy smile before tucking the file into the inside pocket of my coat. “But you know someone up the ladder owes me now.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Vortex was a professional. He just wasn’t used to the blood stains being so close to his hands. “By the time the police find the body, he’ll be known as nothing but another junkie. Some rich bastard who wasted his family’s money on drugs and whores.”
“A preview of my own fate, if I should be so lucky.” I laughed into the night and Vortex answered with another sigh.
“Happy New Year.” He wished me well under his breath, then turned around to walk back toward the thinning crowds. “Now piss off and remember, you never saw me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too.” I flipped him off and moved further down the dark alley. A few steps in and my mind silenced as I prepared for the task at hand. I soon arrived at the right door—number 35—and steadied my breath into silence.
I shifted my hand and found the familiar feel of cold plastic waiting next to Vortex’s file in that inside pocket.
The real drunkards knew the routine—that late-night crawl from the pub to a new home.
All that confusion meant there were alibis for everyone and an excuse at the bottom of every empty glass.
When I opened the door, Baudouin was passed out. The room was a complete mess with bottles and paraphernalia littering the countertops. He was in an oversized bed with what looked like three hookers.
I only added more gunpowder to the clouded air as Baudouin’s blood spilled out into the dirty streets.
Testing
I’m not sure if anyone will enjoy this new idea I have, but it’s fun to try out something different.
What I can say is that I very much enjoyed writing something new. It felt much more organic than the usual “engagement” efforts. I will likely explore more stories like this in future newsletters.
Who knows where it could lead?
If people enjoy it, all the better.
Perhaps it’ll help me find a new idea that can flourish into a book people actually buy!
Until next time.
Cheers,
JMB