So. I didn't upload the second chapter I promised. That's totally on me. But in my defense, I was so busy working through the plot of the second act that it kind of got away from me. It was a lot more difficult than I anticipated. And introducing a new element I'd been saving for down the line kind of threw me off.
Anyway, I'll be compensating for it by uploading a spare chapter sometime during the week. Don't know when. Yet.
If you want to read ahead or support me, there's Patreon.The goal for the week is the same.
300 for one extra chapter
500 for two extra chapter
Read ahead on Patreon.com/artandcreativewriting.
Now onto the show.
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The knocks came quick and sharp, and Shady Slim slid open the narrow metal window he used to deal with all his clients.
"Julius?" he whispered, squinting. Then he laughed, catching me off guard. "After last night, I figured you'd be halfway to the Canadian border by now."
"I don't back down from a fight," I said. "You should know that about me by now."
He peered at me, measuring. "You give any more thought to my proposal?"
He still wanted me to stir the pot with the Russians—blow up Black Mask's blooming relationship with them.
I peeled seven grand from the wad tucked in my hoodie and slid it through. "
For what I owe you. I'm not about to piss off a major faction over Soviet-era grenades," I said. Even if they had been excellent.
A frown tugged at his mouth.
"But our interests might align down the road," I added, and that seemed enough for Slim for now.
"You're really doing it, huh?" he asked. "Taking on a crime boss. Alone."
"I'm obviously not," I said, smiling faintly. "Not when I have you as an ally."
Slim's lips thinned. "I think you misunderstand the nature of our relationship, Julius."
"And I think you underestimate me," I replied—and hit the rewind button on my tape recorder. Then play.
His voice echoed from the little speaker, cutting through the quiet. Slim didn't flinch—but I saw it. A flicker. A shift. Impressed, not angry.
"Blackmail, huh?" he said. "Didn't think you had it in you."
I exhaled. "I needed to buy your silence, and money was only going to take me so far."
"You haven't even made an offer yet."
"Well, I'm making one now." I leaned in. "I need a new identity."
"Planning for life after?"
"Something like that."
He hummed, ducked into the back, and returned a minute later with a card. "Shelim," he said. "He's helped everyone from murderers to white-collar criminals to rapists. Doesn't discriminate."
"How does a guy like that stay protected?"
Slim grinned. "Genius-level IQ and a private army in Blüdhaven."
I gave a low whistle.
"His services aren't cheap," he added. "But I doubt that'll be a problem for you."
I added a few more thousands to the pile. Slim jotted something on the card and handed it over.
"Best to call from now on," he said. "Wouldn't want to attract the wrong kind of attention."
"Right," I said. We made the exchange, and I disappeared into the night before he could look up again. He stood there for a long moment, muttering to himself.
The number on the card burned a hole in pocket. Eventually, in an alley far from my safe house and even farther from any cameras, I dialed.
The ringtone was a blast of Japanese rap. Someone yelled in at least three languages before finally answering.
"What do you want?" The voice was sharp, American--young.
I blinked. "Shady gave me your info. Said you could get me a clean ID."
"ID, ID," Shelim muttered. "That's all anyone wants anymore. Nobody asks for anything exciting."
A pause. Then, he spoke again.
"Come to Blüdhaven. I'll send the address. And bring twenty grand."
"What kind of ID costs that much?"
"Mine," he said flatly. "You haven't heard much about me, have you? When I do a job, I do it right. Credit cards. Birth certificates. School records. The works. Be grateful I'm only charging you that much. Noon. Don't be late."
The call ended. Five hours later, I was on my way to Bludhaven under a fishing transport that allowed me slip past cops, opportunists, and bounty hunters.
I arrived before noon and checked into a motel within walking distance of the meeting spot.
I knew better than to assume Shelim wasn't already aware of my arrival. After a long-overdue shower, I dressed comfortably and headed out. I stopped at a mom-and-pop grocery store, picked out one of those care packages, and slipped an envelope with twenty grand in large bills at the bottom.
Dropped it off at the post office, tagged and addressed to my mother's current location. It should arrive within the week.
Task one, done.
The address Shelim gave me led to a four-star hotel. The moment I stepped inside, every pair of eyes followed. Two men walked toward.
One had a beer gut and deep-set eyes ringed in purple. The other was rail-thin and covered in tattoos. Neither of them looked like fighters.
Probably because everyone else in here was.
"Come on," Beer Gut said. "Boss doesn't like waiting."
No weapons check, no pat down. That struck me as odd—until we reached the top floor.
Seven guards flanked the entrance to the suite, all of whom were visibly armed. A metal detector like the ones at airports sat dead-center. I stepped through clean, but the woman in front raised her hand, stopping me cold. She patted me down hard, zero hesitation, and gave the nod to let me through.
Shelim's office looked like a teenager's dream—if that teenager had infinite money and no supervision. One wall was a kaleidoscope of screens: some displaying code that moved faster than I could track, while others ran video games.
He lounged in a leather recliner that looked custom-made, surrounded by snack piles and two barely dressed women lounging in the corner like set pieces.
When he spotted me, he hopped to his feet. Tall. Much taller than me. But there was something unmistakably young in the way he moved and spoke.
"Julius Spencer!" he grinned. "The man, the myth, the legend. I made a killing off you, you know?" He crossed the room, knocking a knuckle against my chest.
His eyebrows rose. "Solid."
I didn't bother acting surprised. Of course, he knew. Apparently, everyone who was anyone did.
"Shame you didn't stick around," he said. "Would've loved to see you in a meta match."
He snapped his fingers. The women stood and sauntered out without a word. They were supermodel-pretty, except they didn't starve themselves, and had curves in all of the right places. He caught me watching.
"I know, right?" he smirked.
"You're younger than I expected."
He shrugged. "Genius IQ. Was I supposed to wait until I was in my twenties to enjoy myself?"
He flopped back into his chair and reached behind it, producing a small leather bag. He tossed it to me, and I threw the envelope of cash. He didn't count it. It went over his shoulder, joining the pile of junk food and magazines.
"Why handle this personally?" I asked. "You could've passed this off to any one of your people."
He laughed. "I could have. But how often do you get to meet another sorcerer?"
My blood ran cold. My mouth opened—but nothing came out.
He leaned in slightly, voice low but electric. "You heard me."
Everything in the room went still.
"You're a—what did you just say?"
He grinned wider, like a kid getting away with something. "A sorcerer. Just like you."