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Dying Is My Business [NOOK Book]


Given his line of work in the employ of a psychotic Brooklyn crime boss, Trent finds himself on the wrong end of too many bullets. Yet each time he’s killed, he wakes a few minutes later completely healed of his wounds but with no memory of his past identity. What’s worse, each time he cheats death someone else dies in his place.


Sent to steal an antique box from some squatters in an abandoned warehouse near the West Side Highway, Trent soon finds himself stumbling into ...

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Dying Is My Business

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Given his line of work in the employ of a psychotic Brooklyn crime boss, Trent finds himself on the wrong end of too many bullets. Yet each time he’s killed, he wakes a few minutes later completely healed of his wounds but with no memory of his past identity. What’s worse, each time he cheats death someone else dies in his place.


Sent to steal an antique box from some squatters in an abandoned warehouse near the West Side Highway, Trent soon finds himself stumbling into an age-old struggle between the forces of good and evil, revealing a secret world where dangerous magic turns people into inhuman monstrosities, where impossible creatures hide in plain sight, and where the line between the living and the dead is never quite clear. And when the mysterious box is opened, he discovers he has only twenty-four hours to save New York City from certain destruction, in Dying Is My Business by Nicholas Kaufmann.

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Editorial Reviews

Library Journal
Trent works as a hit man for a Brooklyn crime lord. When ordered to retrieve a box from a warehouse and to leave no witnesses behind, Trent is unable to kill the couple he encounters, who apparently have the same mission. Trent's discovery that Thornton is a shape changer and that Bethany possesses magic that can reanimate the dead is something he takes in stride, for Trent has found that he cannot permanently die; he returns from death a few minutes later with no evidence of being wounded. As he gets more deeply involved in the search for "the box," Trent realizes that he has been fighting on the wrong side all his life but fears it may be too late for him to switch. VERDICT Featuring a deathless "hero," a werewolf-turned-zombie, and an immortal Black Knight as just some of its characters, this smartly told series opener by Kaufmann (Hunt at World's End, writing as Gabriel Hunt) brings new twists to many of the standard tropes of urban fantasy.
Publishers Weekly
Kaufmann’s kickoff to a new urban fantasy series set in New York City aims high but falls short. The man known only as Trent, who had been an ordinary burglar working for a crime boss, is now something very different, having somehow come back from the dead nine times. Sent to Hell’s Kitchen to recover a mysterious box, Trent finds a woman fending off six things with wings that he soon learns are gargoyles, the first of many supernatural beings he encounters. Some of the flatly delivered dialogue is unintentionally humorous (“I don’t know who I am, or what I am. After today, I don’t know what I’m becoming.... All I know is that it could be bad”), and the key story elements—Trent discovering that he has additional powers, the race to ward off an apocalyptic threat—are more familiar than interesting. Agent: Richard Curtis, Richard Curtis Associates. (Oct.)
From the Publisher
"Filled with characters that should appeal to urban fantasy readers—a zombified werewolf is a standout—and told with real sense of style and wit, the book should have no trouble amassing an enthusiastic readership." - Booklist

“Reinvents the urban fantasy genre.” —Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling

"As we race to a truly apocalyptic conclusion you'll root for the very human protagonists of this very inhuman world." —David Wellington, author of 13 Bullets

"Whedonesque romance, inventive mythology, and badass monsters!" —Christopher Golden, New York Times bestselling co-author of Father Gaetano's Puppet Catechism

“Cazy, dark inventiveness on every page. Reminiscent of Roger Zelazny's Amber books.” —Mike Carey, author of Devil You Know

Kirkus Reviews
An amnesiac discovers he can't stay dead in Kaufmann's entry into the urban-fantasy realm. Trent, a man who has no last name and no past that he can remember, dies often but fails to remain dead. Every time someone murders Trent, he pops back to life. Most would think that's a pretty decent deal, but Trent is filled with remorse because his rebirth is contingent on someone else dying: usually, the person who is closest to him at the time. That's bad enough when it's the one who kills him, but sometimes an innocent gets the short end of the stick, and, no matter what Trent is, he does have a conscious. He also has a short memory that goes back no more than a year in the past; that's when Underwood, the shadowy individual who has made him part of his team, found him and gave him a home in a dirty room with a single bed. Underwood promises to find out who Trent really is and why he can't die but keeps putting it off. While Trent is on a mission to retrieve a box that Underwood wants, he blunders into a battle between a pair of odd individuals and a flock of murderous gargoyles. That's where Trent meets Thornton, the undead werewolf, and Bethany Savory (yes, that's her name), a tiny woman with pointy ears. They lead Trent to others who are on the same quest, including magicians, vampires and various magical creatures. Together they all face a terrible power backed by a growing army of the dead in a battle to save New York, thus setting up a future confrontation in a story yet to come. Although Kaufmann writes well, unlike the innovative works of masters of the genre like Mike Carey and Neil Gaiman, his work tends to rely heavily on clichéd, by-the-numbers plotting.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781250036094
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 10/8/2013
  • Sold by: Macmillan
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 239,475
  • File size: 892 KB

Meet the Author

NICHOLAS KAUFMANN  lives in Brooklyn, New York with his wife and two cats—one of which has special needs, the other of which only pretends to.

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Read an Excerpt


It’s not as easy as it looks to come back from the dead.
It’s a shock to the system, even more than dying is. The first new breath burns like fire. The first new heartbeat is like a sharp, urgent pain. Emerging from the darkness like that, the sudden light is blinding, confusing. Coming back from the dead feels less like a miracle than like waking up with the world’s most debilitating hangover.
When I gasped my way back to life that night, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and for the fuzzy, greenish smear in front of me to come into focus. When it did, I found myself staring into the grinning face of a dragon. It was fake, obviously. Even in my groggy, fresh from the dead state I was pretty sure there were no such things as dragons. The smiling, cartoonish head was attached to a green plastic body with a cracked wooden saddle on its back. Where its legs should have been was a big, rusted metal spring embedded in the dirt beneath it. A spring rider, I realized, the kind kids rode on in parks. Was that where I was? A park?
I lifted myself up onto my elbows and looked around, trying to remember where I was and why I’d come here. This wasn’t the first time I’d died—in fact, it was the ninth; I was keeping count—but that didn’t mean it had become any easier or less disorienting. It was night. The stars above were hidden by thick, smoggy clouds that turned the moon into a feebly glowing smudge. There were sodium streetlights nearby, close enough to light my surroundings in a sickly yellow pallor. I saw another spring rider behind the first, a unicorn this time, and in the distance a seesaw, a rusted merry-go-round, and a half-broken jungle gym.
A playground. What the hell was I doing in a playground?
Oh, crap. It all came back to me then. Bennett. I’d come here looking for a man named Bennett. I sucked in a deep breath, my lungs still aching. There was a small, ragged bullet hole in my shirt, right over my heart, rimmed with blood and gunpowder. I stuck my finger through it and touched the smooth, unbroken skin beneath. The bullet wound had already healed. There wasn’t even any blood, except for what was on my shirt and what had spattered in the dirt around me. The rest had been reabsorbed back into my body, neat and clean.
I was a freak, but at least I was a meticulous freak.
Groaning, I turned onto my side. Something small rolled off me, landing softly in the grass. I picked it up. It was a bullet. The bullet, in fact; the one that had killed me. My body had spat it out as it healed itself. I tossed it away. The bullet landed on a patch of bare dirt, rolled a few inches, and came to a rest against the worn leather shoe of a dead body that sat slumped at the base of the swing set.
I should have been surprised, but I wasn’t. I’d gotten used to seeing corpses when I came back from the dead. Way too used to it.
This one’s head drooped toward its shoulder, its jaw hanging slack. Its skin was as brown and paper-dry as a mummy’s, as if it’d been sitting there undiscovered for centuries, but the black silk shirt hanging off its withered frame and the cheap gold chain around its neck told a different story. He’d once been a beefy psychopath named Maddock, Bennett’s bodyguard. Now he was more like beef jerky, emaciated and dried out, as if he’d been dug out of an ancient pyramid in Egypt. Only he’d just died a few moments ago, and this wasn’t Egypt, this was Queens.
I got to my feet and stood over Maddock’s body. The son of a bitch hadn’t just shot me dead, he’d done it with my own damn gun. I pulled my chrome-plated Bersa semiautomatic handgun from his dead fingers. I glanced around the playground, looking for Bennett. I hoped I hadn’t lost him. For the past couple of months, ever since the little boy in the crack house died, I’d been off my game, like my heart just wasn’t in it anymore. I still did my job. I still broke into warehouses, vaults, and homes, and stole priceless objects for a low-level crime boss in Crown Heights named Underwood to sell on the black market, but I was losing my touch. After botching a recent job by setting off a silent alarm I should have known was there, I suspected Underwood was running out of patience with me. I’d heard enough agonized screams coming from behind his black door to know that an angry Underwood was a dangerous Underwood.
So when he asked me to bring Bennett in, I figured this was my chance to show him I could still pull my weight. My mistake was thinking the job would be an easy one. I thought I had the element of surprise on my side, but when I followed Bennett to the old, deserted playground in Queens, he was less than surprised. It was an ambush. The moment I passed through the gate, Maddock came out of the dark and wrestled the gun out of my hand. Next time, Underwood should come for me himself, not send some halfwit errand boy, Bennett had said, and then Maddock shot me with my own gun and I’d died for the ninth time.
The ninth that I knew about, anyway. It’s hard to be sure about these things when your memories don’t go back more than a year.
I hurried through the open playground gate and onto the sidewalk outside. Bennett couldn’t have gotten far yet. I never stayed dead for more than a couple of minutes. The brisk late-September night air nipped at me. This time of year in New York City, the days were still warm but the nights grew cold, as if winter were trying to sneak up while no one was looking. Bracing myself against the chill, I looked up and down the empty street, past the boarded-up windows of the vacant buildings to either side. I spotted Bennett in his blue pinstripe suit ducking around the corner, and sprinted after him. As I rounded the corner, he stopped next to a parked black Porsche and reached into his pocket for the keys.
“Bennett!” I yelled, and ran at him.
He saw me. His eyes widened in surprise, and the color drained from his face. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. He pulled out a set of keys with his trembling hand, and fumbled in an attempt to press the unlock button on the key chain. Before he could try again, I tackled him to the sidewalk. The keys bounced out of his hand and slid under a nearby Dumpster.
I put one hand on his chest to hold him down, his heart jackhammering under my palm. I tucked my gun into the back of my pants and patted Bennett down. I found a small, snub-nosed revolver in a shoulder holster and tucked that into my pants, too. Bennett stared at the bullet hole in my shirt.
“You’re dead,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I saw you die!”
I retrieved a pair of plastic wrist ties from my pocket. I rolled Bennett onto his stomach and started binding his wrists together behind his back.
He didn’t put up a fight, only craned his neck around to stare at me with a combination of horror and awe. “How are you still alive?”
If he wanted an answer, he was asking the wrong guy. I didn’t know any more than he did. I pulled Bennett onto his feet and dragged him toward where I’d parked.

Copyright © 2013 by Nicholas Kaufmann
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Sort by: Showing all of 4 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 6, 2014


    This is an astonishingly bad book. The "hero" is a Gary Stu of the worst kind - everything revolves aroound him, he's immortal, has amazing powers - and is dumb as a box of rocks. I only plowed through to the end to see just how lng it would take the (the Stu is short for "stupid" in this case) to figure Underwood out - and it literally took the entire book and Underwood unmasking himself. Any semi-functional reader could tell what Underwood was from his first description.

    The jousting scene was particularly amusing. This NYC bozo leaps onto a random horse and semi-successfully jousrs with a practicing knight. Hilarious.

    But our hero is not alone - all the "good guys" are idiots mouthing empty thrrats. Without our hero, they would have been destroyed! Gary Stu rides again. Literally.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 5, 2014



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  • Posted January 30, 2014

    Maybe not!

    This book could have been very good, but ............ I can enjoy a book with way-out concepts, but this one just kept missing the mark somehow. I would try another book by this author, but there is just something missing - whether it was the editing process, the concept, just something kept it from being something I could recomment.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 11, 2014

    No text was provided for this review.

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