The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Boxed Set One (Books 1-3): Feared By Hell, Rejected By Heaven, Eye For An Eye (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Boxed Sets)

by Michael Anderle

  “Two of the Los Angeles men were sent to capture the woman’s daughter to force her cooperation, but Brownstone was there. He stopped the men, and…” Jiro sighed as silently as possible.

  “Finish,” Grandfather commanded. “My patience runs thin.”

  “The local branch... We decided to teach him a lesson, so our men went to his home, killed his dog, and left it there for him to find. He reacted more extremely than had been expected, and from what we can tell, all his later involvement was because we killed his dog.”

  Grandfather burst into a hearty laugh. The other Harriken exchanged glances, confusion on their faces. Jiro kept his head down, waiting for his superior to finish.

  “A dog?” Grandfather scoffed. “We lost all those men because of a fucking dog?” He shook his head. “You, will of course repay Mr. Brownstone, Jiro. Please make sure he joins the dog he loved so much very soon.”

  “Yes, Grandfather. There’s another matter as well.”

  The man leaned forward. “Tell me, Ikeda.”

  “A unit working for the Grayson company was involved in the second battle. They were wiped out as well.”

  “By Brownstone and this woman?”

  Jiro nodded. “We’re unsure how to best handle the situation with Grayson. The mercenaries knew the risk, but they are pressuring us for more information on what happened to their men.”

  Grandfather leaned forward. “How much were they to be paid for the job?”

  “Ten thousand dollars a man.”

  “Tell them that if they kill Brownstone, we will make up every one of their deaths at a price of twenty-five thousand a man. A million to kill one man. Very generous, I think, especially since they too proved incompetent.”

  “Yes, Grandfather.”

  For the first time since entering the room, Jiro allowed some hope to enter his heart. If he was receiving orders, that meant he wouldn’t be killed.

  Grandfather let out a long sigh. “There is one last matter, Ikeda. A failure below reflects a failure above.”

  Jiro’s jaw tightened. “It is as you say.”

  “Are you left-handed or right-handed?”

  “Right-handed.”

  Jiro locked eyes with Grandfather. This was the time to show his bravery. He could still make up for the failures in Los Angeles. He shoved his left arm out, resting his arm on the table.

  Grandfather paused, staring at the hand offered before nodding to someone behind Jiro. A huge guard stepped forward, sword in hand.

  “You will pay for your failure with your left hand. Next time, I won’t be so generous.”

  “Yes, Grandfather.”

  The guard lifted the sword and brought it down in a powerful stroke.

  Jiro didn’t scream as his hand parted from his body.

  Brownstone pushed his way into the Leanan Sídhe.

  Customers jammed the Irish pub, chatting, drinking, and laughing. It was busier in the bar than James had seen it in the last few weeks.

  A quick look around the bar located his target, an attractive if slightly pudgy older man in the back. The Professor, aka Father O’Banion, aka Dr. FJ Smite-Williams, sat alone in a booth.

  The bounty hunter navigated toward the Professor through the happy and not-so-happy drunks who filled the bar. The white-haired man waved to him, and James slipped into a seat across the table.

  “I’ve got good news, lad.” The Professor’s eyes were slightly red. “That’s why I asked you to come.”

  He spoke clearly and his face wasn’t red, which suggested the Professor hadn’t downed that many drinks yet. Had he done so, Father O’Banion would have been unleashed. Two beer-filled glasses sat in front of him, so the night might have just started.

  To James’ surprise, the Professor slid one of them across the table.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Irish Stout. It’s on me,” he answered. “Enjoy it.”

  James picked up his glass and took a sip of the beer, enjoying the roasted barley flavor. “So what’s the news?”

  “I might have access to that certain item you asked me about. It took some doing, let me tell you.”

  The bounty hunter stared at the Professor for a moment, trying to judge his tone. There were few people better when it came to information about magical artifacts—and the man hadn’t steered James wrong so far—but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

  “And?”

  “Reciprocity, lad. Reciprocity. I can get it to you, and in exchange, I need something. I need your help, along with that of the fair Ms. Carson.”

  James shook his head. “I can’t speak for Shay, only for me.”

  The Professor sighed. “Sometimes, lad, the two who need to see reality are the two who don’t have a clue.”

  James’ eyes narrowed. “What the fuck does that even mean? I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

  The Professor chuckled. “That means you need more beer in you.” He picked up his glass and took a sip. “It means, tell Shay I’ll pay her to help you get this item. If you agree, send me a text, and we’ll have another little chat here about what the service might entail.”

  James grunted. “It’s not like you to be so mysterious.”

  “The problem is, I’m not drunk enough to give a shit.” The Professor picked up his glass and swallowed some beer before wiping a bit of foam off his smiling face. “Time to remedy that!”

  4

  James stared at the single medium-sized pink suitcase in his living room.

  It didn’t seem like nearly enough for a girl about to start a new life at a magical boarding school.

  Maybe they had some secret street where students bought all their shit on the first day?

  He looked at the suitcase, then at Alison. “This is it? You sure? I paid for the flight upgrade, so you can bring whatever you need.”

  Alison shrugged. “What do I need more for? I can’t see my clothes, so I don’t care much about having a zillion different outfits. I have my phone and my adaptive braille reader.”

  James nodded.

  Alison’s ability to perceive living energy and souls made her movements different than a normal blind person’s. Sometimes he’d go a whole day and forget that she couldn’t see. For that matter, she couldn’t even use a notepad and pencil.

  She looked down. “And I don’t want to risk bringing all those special things that Shay found. I want to keep them in the safe deposit box for now. Maybe I’ll pick them up later.”

  “Your choice, kid. I can always send them by mail or special courier or something.”

  Alison nodded quickly.

  “Well, we should at least get you a backup reader and backup braille phone,” James said. “Shi... Do you know a good place? We have plenty of time for a little shopping before the flight.”

  The great thing about booking first class on a supersonic flight and paying the upgrade fee was that they’d be able to get through the lines quickly. The ridiculous price of the tickets might almost be worth it.

  “I do know a good place.” Alison grinned. “Want me to drive there?”

  He looked at her. “Very funny. Just tell me where, and let’s get going.”

  “Shay’s still coming with us to the school, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she’s coming. We’ll pick her up after we buy your stuff.”

  Alison looked at him, her eyes unfocused as usual, but the curiosity on her face telling him everything she was thinking.

  Here it comes. More matchmaker bullshit.

  “You don’t seem happy, Mr. Brownstone. The mention of Shay always gets you worked up.”

  “I’m fine, kid.”

  A coy smile appeared on Alison’s face. “Sure. Forget I asked.” She gave him a mock salute.

  First the Professor, and now a kid is busting my balls about Shay? Fuck.

  The trip to the store went quickly, which was fine by James. Shopping for anything other than barbecue-related items didn’t excite him much.

 
Money wasn’t a concern when a man lived simply and caught as many high-level bounties as he did each month. That still didn’t save him from sticker shock over the prices of the devices.

  The pair had piled back into his polished black extended-cab Ford F-350 and almost reached Shay’s house when he let his surprise finally get to him.

  “Who knew all this braille-tech crap was so expensive?” James muttered.

  “I knew,” Alison told him. “You could have just asked me.”

  “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just surprised.”

  The teen sighed and looked down. “You sure it’s not a big deal? My dad used to tell me if I ever broke any of my devices I’d never get a new one.”

  James gritted his teeth.

  The last person he wanted to be compared to was Walt Anderson. The sonofabitch had turned his wife over to the Harriken to be tortured, and tried to give his daughter to them to steal the wish owed the girl.

  The wish James now controlled.

  Not a good time to tell her. I’m gonna have to trust my gut on this.

  “Money’s not an issue,” he told her. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to worry about anything but what you need. We’ve got plenty of money for you in the trust, and I’ve got plenty of money myself.”

  “No offense, Mr. Brownstone, but you live in a pretty crappy neighborhood for a guy with a lot of money. I don’t get why that is.”

  James snort-laughed. “I like my house. It keeps things simple, and if my work ever follows me home, the people in the neighborhood have the common sense to stay the fu—”

  He sighed. Controlling his mouth around the girl was harder than he’d ever expected. “They know to stay out of the way. Some rich idiot might poke his nose into trouble, and the last thing I want is for somebody to get caught up in my stuff.”

  “Ever thought about stopping?” Alison asked quietly.

  “Stopping?”

  “Bounty hunting. You have a lot of money, right? I’m betting you could never work a day again and not have to worry about money. All you ever do is sit at home watching cooking shows, or going to that dumb bar with their perverted song contests.”

  “Huh? How do you know about that?” James grimaced. “And I don’t participate.”

  Alison scoffed. “They advertise it on their website. ‘Bard of Filth Competition?’ Gross.”

  “Stay off shady websites,” he told her. “And anyway, I don’t hunt for the money.”

  “Why do you do it then?”

  James turned left. They were almost to Shay’s house.

  “I do it because Harriken garbage try to kidnap kids like you, or some shifter decides he likes to hunt prey who walk on two legs. Or some jerk who just likes blowing stuff up. This is a big world. It’s beautiful and ugly at the same time, and I’m trying to pretty it up by taking out the trash.”

  James spared a glance the girl’s way. She was looking down with a worried look on her face.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s on your mind, kid.”

  Alison sighed. “I just worry, Mr. Brownstone.”

  “About what?”

  “About you getting hurt or killed.”

  “I don’t get hurt, kid. Bad guys get hurt.”

  “There’s always someone bigger and tougher, Mr. Brownstone. What if some dragon comes to Earth and starts stirring up trouble?”

  “Then I’ll change my name to ‘Dragonslayer.’” James made the final turn onto Shay’s block. Her townhouse stood at the end. “I can’t quit, kid, but I can be careful.”

  They pulled up to the curb in front of it.

  James snickered as he took in the small but carefully manicured lawn. This was the kind of neighborhood Alison probably would have preferred he’d live in.

  Shay’s door opened, and she stepped out and waved before setting her security.

  She carried a silver metal briefcase as she hurried to the truck. The field archaeologist opened the back door and hopped in, setting the briefcase at her feet.

  James glanced over his shoulder at Shay and nodded. The briefcase wasn’t his business, and if the woman wanted it to be, she’d tell him.

  That didn’t mean he couldn’t wonder. He only worried that she’d have some trouble getting it past security at the airport, but then he remembered who he was dealing with.

  A treasure hunter with a past as a professional killer wasn’t the kind of woman who’d get caught by some bored TSA agent.

  “This won’t take long,” James assured them, pulling up in front of a church. “Just have to talk to Father McCartney for a quick moment.”

  “I’m fine. Not going into a church,” Shay muttered.

  “I wonder what kind of religion my mom believed in,” Alison said.

  James and Shay both looked at the girl.

  She’d grown up believing her mother was just another normal human, and not secretly a two hundred and twelve-year-old Drow princess with insane magical powers. Fitting in with human society had probably meant not flaunting beliefs that weren’t common on your planet, let alone your neighborhood.

  Even now Alison looked normal enough, the only external hint of her otherworldly heritage the natural white ends on her dark hair.

  “Maybe that’s something you can find out at the school,” Shay suggested. “There are Oricerans there. Some of them might be as old as your mom was.”

  Alison smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  James patted the girl on the shoulder and stepped out of his truck. The teen still seemed very hesitant about going to the School of Necessary Magic, so it was good for her to at least see some advantage to it other than learning to control magic she hadn’t even known about a few weeks before.

  He stepped into the church, spotting a few familiar faces and giving them a polite nod. An elderly man he didn’t recognize gasped when he saw James, but didn’t say anything.

  Not a big surprise. With his mottled skin and ridges, he had a visage only a dog could love—and now even his dog was dead. His tattoos probably didn’t help.

  Hey, Jesus walked among the sinners, pal.

  James threw the guy a smile as he strolled toward the confessional. He’d confessed many horrible sins in that booth, so the man was probably right to assume he was about to admit to some violence or evil crime and beg for forgiveness.

  With that thought in mind, the bounty hunter slid open the confessional and sat.

  A few moments later movement on the other side caught his attention, and the grate was pulled back.

  “Forgive me, Father, I’m not here to confess any sins today.”

  “Then why have youse come to the confessional, child?” The strong hint of Father McCartney’s native Jersey accent hinted at stronger irritation than normal.

  Must have been having a bad day.

  James could understand. It had to be frustrating dealing with a bastard like him, but he wanted the priest to understand he wasn’t disrespecting God’s house.

  “I wanted to talk to you about helping you out, and I felt more comfortable doing it in this booth than your office.”

  The priest chuckled and some of the tension left his voice. “This booth is like a second home for you. You spend more time here than any other member of the parish. Fine, what is it, then?”

  “I wanted to give you something to help with the parish’s money problems.” James pulled out his phone and tapped a few keys. “Check your phone.”

  The rustling of cloth was the only noise James heard for a few seconds. It always gave James an anachronistic jolt when he saw the priest in his vestments pull out a smartphone.

  There was a pause before the father finally spoke. “I don’t understand what I’m looking at. You’ve transferred me ten thousand packets of experimental barbecue sauce?”

  James laughed. “No, it’s shares of stock in a specialty sauce company I invested in a long time ago. Very low volume, so the stock price is kind of all
over the place, but I’ve got a good feeling that if you hold them for about a week the price might go up, and then you can sell. Just be patient. I’m pretty sure it’ll pop to a decent share price soon, at least twice the current amount. Then you’ll have plenty of money for the parish and the orphanage that doesn’t come from bounties.”

  “I see. I’m not much for the stock market, but I’m very, very grateful for this. I’ll do what you say and watch it for a week.”

  “I have a good feeling about this stock, Father.”

  The priest murmured, “This is a generous gift, James.”

  James shook his head. “I bought it when it was super-cheap. Just been lucky, and wanted to share my wealth to help the church and the orphanage.”

  “Go with God, then. I thank you, and I’m sure the children will thank you.”

  James slid open the door and stepped out of the booth, giving the suspicious guy another grin before striding out of the church. He wasn’t sure if fucking with people’s minds in a church was a sin, but he figured he’d bring it up at his next confession.

  Once outside, he slowed his pace and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and finally dialed a number.

  “Hello,” answered the man on the other end. “This is Stephen.”

  “This is Brownstone.”

  “It’s been a while… Does this mean…” His swallow was audible over the line. “Wait, how the hell did you even get this number?”

  “I’m a bounty hunter, numbnuts,” James retorted. “I’m actually just interested in some stock action today. You’re a stockbroker. You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Technically. You know I’m not licensed anymore, Brownstone. It’d be against the law for me to help you.”

  James scoffed. “Are you in the game or not?” He paused outside his truck, lifting a finger to Shay to let her know he would still be a moment.

  “Okay, okay. A man’s got to make a living, right?”