Warm greetings from the blog-o-sphere! Today's contribution is an excerpt from the impeccable new novel GUNS by Josh Myers, author of FEAST OF OBLIVION. Myers' second novel is a crime story with a hellish bend: one reviewer described it as a "slick page-turner about well-dressed people who do very ugly things."
The book is also illustrated by the fantastic Justin Coons, who worked with the also amazing Matthew Revert for the book cover you see above. All of the elements come together to create a gritty leap into this strangely familiar world of jobs gone bad and priests gone worse. So without further adieu, here is the first chapter of GUNS. And of course, if you like what you see, be sure to check pick up the book from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or anywhere you can get great indie titles.
CHAPTER ONE
SPELL WITH A SHELL
A lone figure walked the streets of downtown Manhoo with a
sense of purpose.
One foot fell after the other as he kept his head up, scanning
the signs on every street corner, looking for the address a small scrap of paper
had directed him to.
The scrap of paper now rested in the interior breast pocket
of his greatcoat.
It said, in an elaborate scrawl:
822 Bellyeye Ave,
Manhoo, NJ
Apt. 42
Clean hands and shiny
shoes.
-W.B. Amen
Having never before been to the little riverside city of
Manhoo, the man on the street didn't know exactly where it was he should be
headed.
This didn't deter him.
He would seek the place out, wherever it was.
He would meet with whomever it was he was intended to meet
with.
He had done this type of things many times before.
Receive a mysterious note from an anonymous source, trace
down the address to some remote location, receive your orders, follow your
orders, ask no questions.
Once he had gone through the motions the first few times, it
became second nature. There would be minor variations factored in here and
there, but it was generally the same process. It got to where it felt like a
ritual.
But this time it felt a little different.
The notes usually only contained an address, occasionally an
obviously fake name to contact (John
Smallberries? Dixon Meteor? Give me a break.), but this one had more than
that. Quite a bit more.
There was the addition of grooming instructions
(requirements which would have been met regardless) and, even more troubling, a
signature.
He had never gotten a note with a signature before.
He didn't know what to make of that.
It was assumed that this “W.B. Amen” was the one he would be
meeting, but with this organization he could never tell.
Whatever the case may have been, he chose to treat it with
even more care and precision than usual.
As per the note’s request, he made sure to polish and shine
his best pair of black-and-white patent leather shoes and was careful not to
scuff them up or in any way soil them.
His hands had been meticulously cleaned before leaving for
his destination.
Inside one of several interior coat pockets was a small
bottle of hand sanitizer, kept on his person at all times just in case.
Like all of those who answered to AICE, Ltd., he had heard
the rumors about the strict sanitary restrictions enacted by the higher ups in
the mysterious organization.
He didn't want to know what happened if you disobeyed.
However, to say that one actually answered to AICE would be misleading.
What the man actually did was follow orders and not ask
questions.
Employees, if they could be called that, were expected to
adopt a “Yes, and?” attitude toward their appointed responsibility.
To the outside world, to their family, their friends, their
coworkers, they were just typical people doing their jobs. But beneath the
normalcy of their day-to-day lives, something altogether different transpired.
Something they couldn't talk about.
Not to anybody.
And if they did, their entire world would come crashing
down.
He knew.
It was part of the job.
The man stopped. He looked up.
The sign above him read ‘Bellyeye Ave’.
He adjusted his tie.
He always took great care to look his best. In this line of
work, you never knew who you’re going to meet. It was best to appear
professional at all times.
The man turned and started walking down Bellyeye Avenue,
keeping track of the numbers on each building, getting closer to number 822
with every step of his spotless shoes.
The man was called Organ.
He flew planes.
Aleathia says:
Aleathia says:
Willa Cather is one of my favorite writers of all time. When I was a little girl I started out reading the Little House on the Prairie series. I gobbled them up as fast as I could. I remember someone giving me a children's adaptation series of famous novels and Willa Cather's "O Pioneers" was part of that group.
That book set the tone for what I would spend most of my life reading. I decided that I loved a great pioneer story. I loved the idea of forging into new lands and pushing up against the odds; for finding success when everyone said you would fail.
Cather also has perfected the art of a strong female character who is quietly stubborn and elegant at the same time. I respect the characters in these pages. I want to embody what they bring to the table. Over the years my love for Willa Cather's writing as leaked over into similar writers such as Steinbeck and Stegner.
If you ever get the chance to read a Willa Cather book you should take it. You won't be sorry.
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