Future Projects

The Traitor of Light

The Black Hours

Smith

The Fortress of
Black Glass

A World of Night

The Isles of Sheffield

Stranded Rooms

Smith

Imagine it is raining.

Imagine it is raining, and you are standing at a bus-stop on an ordinary English
road in the city.
Imagine the rain is soaking your hair, your clothes, and the world is grey.
Imagine that while you are standing at the bus-stop, you see someone you recognise. A man, well-dressed, sitting at a café across the road, smiling through stained teeth – the sort of smile you show if you have gotten away with murder.
Imagine the man you can see, who looks so relaxed, is actually the man who butchered your entire family, leaving only you alive.
Imagine the anger and revulsion you feel that this man is on the run and free
from the Law who have failed to capture him. And imagine your frustration that it would not matter if you called the police as this man would have long gone
before they arrived…

Just imagine…

Now imagine that same rain, that same bus-stop ten years later.
Imagine that you are standing in the rain watching the man who butchered your family look so relaxed while he drinks his coffee in peace. But now imagine this is a Britain where the death penalty has become law again - a Britain where criminals can be prosecuted and sentenced to death in their absence.

Imagine a Britain where there are bounty hunters…

Now imagine that while you were staring at this murderer, you weren’t the only one watching him. Imagine another walking towards that café in the rain, dressed in a long trench-coat, his shoulder-length hair matted to his scalp. Imagine the expression on the murderer’s face as the trench-coated figure addresses him. Imagine his look of horror as the stranger tells him he is wanted… alive or dead.
Imagine as the murderer pulls out a gun, his actions blurred as the rain falls harder - and then you hear a gun-shot…
In the rain you cannot see who it was who fired until it clears a few moments later, revealing the man in the trench-coat - who was quicker. The murderer sits slumped over his coffee, a big red smear on the shattered glass behind him.
Imagine as you look through the rain as the man in the trench-coat puts away his gun, and lifts the corpse of the ex-murderer over his shoulder. And imagine the bounty-hunter’s expression as his blue eyes lock on yours.
He didn’t do it for justice. He didn’t even do it for you.
For him, this was just another job. And one he would be well paid for by the Law.
For this man is Smith. No first name.

Just Smith.



Smith

He’s not a vigilante.  He’s not into justice. 
He just wants to get paid.

Coming soon from Matt Curran, author of The Secret War