No particulars — not yet at least. Suffice it to say I am not a good guy and I do not do good things, but because of that I am in demand. As such, I was contracted last week by a client to perform certain services, which were rendered in a timely manner to said client’s complete satisfaction. Despite those salient points, said client made several excuses in regards to the delay in payment until yesterday when my latest and last request was met with an outright refusal to compensate. Son of a bitch invited me to either fuck off if I wanted to live or make the long trip across the country and Atlantic and die trying to collect. I opted for the latter, which is why I dropped everything and am standing now in a thick fog in the middle of the night at the front gate of said client’s London flat like the scene from The Exorcist — which is somewhat appropriate as I’m here to extract something.
To the average person it might seem odd to spend $6,000 to collect on a meaningless $10,000 bill. It’s certainly not about the money. It’s all about the principle of the matter, and the protection of my reputation.
I imagine the surprise when the bastard wakes up and finds me standing over him in his bed. It’s a look that’ll last about half a second when it’ll be replaced by the pain of being cut — but just superficially to start. Nothing serious, just enough to scare. How things progress from there will be entirely in the client’s control. It’s pretty empowering actually.