Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I stand there trying to make sense of everything. Trying to understand how the hell I went from Lowyn’s house to this nightmare in the span of thirty minutes.
Then someone behind me pumps a shotgun.
I put my hands up and don’t move.
“Collin Creed. You’re trespassing on hallowed ground.”
“Who—”
“Shut up.” The barrel of the shotgun jabs me in the back. “I don’t know how you got up here, or why you brought that dog, but I don’t care either. This is your only warning and you’re only gettin’ it because the contract says I can’t kill you without a tribunal.”
“What—”
“Shut up.” He jabs me with the gun again. “I’m not finished. And just in case you start to get any ideas about bringing your men up here to start some trouble, I want you to take a good look around.”
He whistles sharply and from out of the brush, people stand up. Dozens of them. All wearing ghillie suits. Not homemade ones, either—not some sticks and leaves glued to a tarp, but real fucking military-grade ghillie suits. Their faces are all painted up in black and green with one eye squintin’ down a sight that is aimed squarely at me. Another quick check and I realize they are all sportin’ GhostMachines, which is a mighty fine semi-automatic bullpup rifle that goes for just under three grand apiece and is worth every fuckin’ penny. We’ve got two dozen of them down in our bunker, so I should know.
With less than ten seconds to make a first impression, these boys have let me know that they are not fuckin’ around.
And I believe them.
I don’t know who they are, why they know my name, or what they’re doing up here in these hills, but I believe them.
“Do you understand me, Collin Creed? You’ve got five minutes to cut your dog out of that trap and leave. Because if you don’t, fuck the contract, I’ll shoot you both.”
Then they all seem to disappear. Almost silently. One by one, when my eyes sweep the area, they are gone. And when I turn, there is no one behind me.
“So you think,” Sassy says, “that my best bet is just puttin’ out a record on my own dime? That’s how the kids do it these days?”
“Well, some of them do vinyl. Most go the digital route. You know, SongTunes and such.”
“Shouldn’t I be doin’ SongTunes?”
“Sassy, I’m not like… a record person. You said you’d give me the toys dirt cheap if I helped you plan a comeback. Of course you should do SongTunes. But I’m a vintage girl. Not only that, you’re a vintage girl.”
I think she might blush here because I called her a girl. But as a girl myself, I hope people never stop calling me a girl. Because inside, I’m still eight years old and I think that remindin’ a girl that she’s a ma’am now is just plain impolite.
“And the people who know you, Sassy,” I continue, “they’re vintage girls too.”
“Hmm.” She thinks about this thoughtfully for a moment.
Which gives me a moment to think about Grimm. And how I can’t get a hold of Collin to check and make sure that Grimm didn’t already find him and tell him something he really doesn’t need to know.
“So you’re thinking somethin’ old-fashioned.”
“Old-fashioned?” I pan my arms out wide to indicate my store. “In case you haven’t noticed, Sassy, old-fashioned is in. I’m worth seventeen million dollars.”
She puts a hand over her heart. “Shut. Up.”
People are always surprised when they learn just how rich I am. And for sure, there are many out there who are worth a lot more than I am. But for a woman under thirty who did it all on hard work, fierce determination, and a few lucky breaks, it’s quite a big deal.
“A lot of it comes from appraisals,” I tell a stunned Sassy. “I do live online consults while people are at auctions or flea markets. They can make an appointment or can call me up spur of the moment and I’ll tell them if it’s a good deal or not.”
“Well, who knew?” Sassy declares.
“Certainly not me. My friend, Jet Shadows, from the TV show? He’s the one who told me about that. Said I’d make a killing. I don’t know if I’d call it a killing, but I do have appointments Thursday through Sunday almost every weekend of the year. Not last weekend, of course. Revival opening and all. I also bought up the contents of a barn about eight years back and in that barn, buried under layers and layers of dirt and junk, were trunks, and trunks, and trunks filled with old-time concert posters. Framed in glass, even. Pristine condition. I’m talkin’ Johnny Cash. The Beatles. The Rolling Stones.”
“Wow.” Sassy’s eyes go big. “That was some find.”
“It’s the real reason I’m where I’m at. I still have a few. I keep them for a rainy day. Or a dry day, more likely. So anyway, my point is, you should target your old fans first. Then, after you get a little traction, you should release something new, and shiny, and digital.”