Michael Ian Black Book Novels & Stories

I looked down the hallway and through the other side, and there was actually no one in sight. My heart hammered as I approached the large double office doors with D. BLACKWOOD engraved on the metal plate. I forced my trembling hand to knock. No answer. Great. I knocked again. Still nothing. Screw it. I pushed the door open— —and froze in place. Damian Blackwood sat behind his massive black desk. Sharp suit. Cuffed sleeves. Jaw tight enough to crack a diamond. He didn’t look up at me. Not even a glance. I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off by his deep voice.

I have my eyes pinned on his feet, fighting off the urge to look at his face, knowing one glance into his eyes will dissolve my heart. “Mr. Black, whatever are you doing here this early?” There’s a pause. “To see my wife, know how she’s doing.” My hand is moving slowly as I continue to add a few details to an already completed sketch. “You seem busy,” Michael’s voice comes through. “Obviously,” I reply, sarcasm in my voice. “You’ve seen me, Mr. Black, and I think it’s time for you to leave.” “They’re adding finishing touches to the cabin.” He informs me.

As I returned to the manor to pack my luggage, the door to the study was pushed open. Gina walked in, holding a black ledger bound in lambskin. That was the core secret of the Corleone family—the "Black Book" recording every money laundering channel and every bribed official. "Leaving so soon, Elena?" Gina smiled with a look of pure innocence, yet her hands moved quickly to shove that heavy ledger deep into the luggage I had just packed.

“Mia wants 200 million and the title of the President's daughter. Eva wanted Mikeal Green. You talk to them about the rest.” “Yes, sir.” Ian nodded. “Girls, I have an important video conference to attend. I need to leave,” Mickle said, walking toward the door. His eyes swept over Mia and me as if we were just a couple of things in the room. When Mickle leaves, Ian comes towards us from the door. He puts his briefcase on the table and sits across from Mia and me. He looked at us with a professional smile. “So, shall we begin?” Ian's pale blue eyes sparkled shrewdly.

“Light or dark doesn’t matter. It’s just levels of nasty when we wash the laundry and take out the trash.” That was something odd to say in Ian’s estimation. He knew they’d be euphemisms, but for what he wasn’t sure. Looking at the now open book. There're scribbled notes covering the pages' empty spaces as they fought for room with the diagrams and symbols. The splotches must be ink or blood. The paper was yellowed, and the ink faded. Ian knew nothing about books. To him, it looked old and ready to fall apart. “But do we have what we need to kill them? Or can we kill them?”

“As sure as I’ll ever be.” He squeezed her hand once, and she gave him a soft, grateful smile. Their driver took a turn onto the lakeside road, the city slowly giving way to the quieter outskirts where her parents lived. — At that exact moment, across the city— Mike sat at his desk, scrolling absently through the latest business news when a headline caught his eye. “Private But Powerful:E International’s Adrian Blackwood Breaks His Silence in Exclusive Feature.” He almost didn’t click. Almost. But something tugged at him—and when he opened the article, it wasn’t the interview that made his breath catch.

Two: his wolf is black. For most people, black is just—well, black. It’s what’s left over when there isn’t any other color. For Ian, black isn’t the absence of something. It’s the physical manifestation of a gaping void, a depthless shadow into which everything is irresistibly drawn and never escapes. It’s knowing beyond a doubt that something’s there, something big, and finding whatever it is evades every tool of measurement, every sense you have, every descriptive concept. Three: he’s stealthy. This one is the grossest of ironies. As if he startles you sometimes when you’re engrossed and not paying attention to your surroundings.

Shortly after that, Black ace appears into the room with a cunning laughter making a dry joke. Elizabeth " Sorry everyone.. I was just looking for a certain individual that came flying through here? Did anyone manage to see him? He hasn't paid for his flight tickets 🎫 (laughs) Infuriated by the rude interruption, Clement lashes out at Black ace angrily but he was quickly silenced by the young lady after coming face to face with a loaded revolver, pointed between his eyes. Clement " Are you MAD? DON'T YOU KNOW THIS IS A PRIVATE MEETING? Elizabeth" (pointing gun at Clement) Shut up you old fart! Unless that is you want me to fill your skull with lead.

“So how did you treat those ones that didn’t want to sell?” Michael exhaled and licked his lips, he couldn’t look at Sharon feeling ashamed of what he did, “I…I ordered Gary to get hold of their dirty secrets and blackmail them. I wasn’t thinking straight, I just…” he sighed. “You played dirty, Michael.” “I guess I did.”

Michael replied, confusing Ian a little since he was convinced he was his mother’s little lackey; apparently, he worked for Finn and only Finn. “Thanks, Michael, I could use a warm soup. My head is killing me,” Ian stated and Michael nodded. Turning sharply with one last statement, “I’ll get right to it.” Apparently, being a werewolf doesn’t exactly free you from being hungover. Maybe it wouldn’t be the same with humans but it still sucks. Staring at his phone, which he brought with him from upstairs, Ian made up his mind about his next course of action before dialling his private detective.