“Quid pro quo makes the world go around. What’s this have to do with me?”
“The Professor said he needs both of us.”
“Not to be a total bitch, but let me make it clear that my heart didn’t grow three sizes just because we killed a bunch of scumbags together. That was partially self-preservation.” Shay sighed. “Or does this have something to do with Alison?”
A thoughtful look crossed James’ face. “If you’re trying to work up a motivation, the Professor said he’d pay you.”
Shay grinned. “Oh. Well, if someone is paying me, of course I’d be glad to help.”
James side-eyed her for a second with a faint smirk on his face. “I never doubted it.”
6
Father O’Banion needed to be much drunker. Maybe if he were, the presence of two obvious spies in the Leanan Sídhe wouldn’t have bothered him so much. The damned men weren’t even trying to be subtle as they continually searched the crowd with their suspicious little eyes.
Their too-slick hair and too-perfect suits didn’t fit the atmosphere of the Irish pub. Worse, they were barely touching their drinks. Spending an hour in the pub and drinking only a quarter of a beer was ridiculous. Not only were they draining the joy out of Father O’Banion’s wonderful buzz, they were all but stealing from him by not pounding down beers.
Very few people knew that he owned the Leanan Sídhe. He found that a useful convenience. Surprise, he’d found through the fifty-two years of his life, was a wonderful weapon against the arrogant and the impatient.
Father O’Banion wondered if James might have figured out the truth, but if the bounty hunter had, he’d never bothered to mention it.
A huge man at the bar raised his glass. “To the best damn bar in all of Los Angeles.”
“To the best damn bar in all of Los Angeles,” everyone else shouted.
No. Almost everyone, not the two slick-hairs.
Idiots.
The best way to spy on people was to blend in with the local environment. That was Intelligence Gathering 101.
Father O’Banion’s irritation grew when the crowd erupted into a rowdy drinking song and the two interlopers didn’t even fake interest.
Lazy fucking bastards. I hope they aren’t getting paid well. Time to rattle their cage a bit.
With a sigh, the man rose from his table in the back and made his way to the bar. The bartender had a mug ready for him before he arrived. He grabbed the drink and offered the man an exaggerated bow.
His circuitous return path took him near the spies’ table. The men whispered while the loud singing continued around them. The chaos provided an almost perfect cover for anyone who hadn’t already attracted attention.
Of course, they had no reason to suspect the ruddy-faced drunk stumbling past them of being anything more than three sheets to the wind.
Father O’Banion couldn’t make out much, but he made out one syllable, which was more than enough: brown.
A feigned stumble ended with his mug on the two men’s table.
“Oh, sorry, lads. I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” He swished the beer in his mug with a grin. “But at least I didn’t lose anything important.”
“What the hell, man?” one of the slick-hairs snapped, glaring at him. “Fucking be careful. You could have stained my suit.”
“I’ve only had four drinks tonight,” Father O’Banion replied. “And so I still care, lad. That’s why I’m here.”
“Get out of here, you old drunk. I don’t give a shit about any idiot crap you spew.”
Father O’Banion lifted his mug, keeping the smile on his face. “I’ll give you one fair warning.”
The other man pulled his suit jacket back to reveal a holstered gun. “And I’m giving you one warning, you drunken piece of shit. You don’t know who you’re messing with, and you’re pissing me off.”
“Aye, I don’t know who I’m messing with, lad, and so that’s why I’m giving you the warning. You don’t want to be here when he arrives, because I will tell Brownstone you are looking for him. This is my happy place, you see. The place I come to relax, and I won’t have people causing trouble—especially men flashing guns.”
The other man’s face twitched. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, old man. Get out of my face before you regret it.”
Father O’Banion shrugged. “I’ve done my due diligence. Enjoy your beer, you cheap bastards.”
Idiotic pieces of shit. You’d think these fuckers would learn.
“Feels good to be in a real vehicle,” James said, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel of his F-350.
Shay laughed. “I love my Spider, but not enough to marry it—unlike you and this fucking antique truck.” She gestured with a flourish. “I now pronounce you man and truck.”
“Quality never goes out of style, Shay.”
James’ phone beeped inside the console. He pulled it out and frowned.
“What?” Shay said.
“The Professor says he got our message, but he doesn’t want to meet tonight. He says you should call him, though, for some background info.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
James’ frown lingered on his face.
“What’s wrong, Brownstone?”
“Nothing. Just it’s not like the Professor to cancel a meeting. I wonder if something happened.”
Shay shrugged. “Maybe he had a bad burrito and is worried about having to run to the bathroom. It happens, Brownstone.”
“If you say so.”
“I’ll let you know if he tells me anything useful when I call him.”
James nodded.
Maybe it was nothing, after all.
Shay settled on her couch before calling Dr. Smite-Williams. She didn’t know if he’d had a special reason to cancel the meeting, but the atmosphere at the Leanan Sídhe grated on her nerves. She wasn’t sad to have an excuse to avoid the pub after a day of traveling.
She dialed and waited for Smite-Williams to answer.
“Good evening, Miz Carson.”
“Brownstone said you wanted me to call you directly, and I assume he wasn’t bullshitting me when he mentioned that you’re willing to pay for my help.”
Smite-Williams chuckled. “No one does anything unless they get something out of it. Some might be satisfied with just a warm and fuzzy feeling, but I assume you’d prefer money.”
“Yes, preferably shitloads.”
“Given what I’m asking, I might have to provide just that.”
“I’m listening.”
“Have you heard of the Green Dragon Crescent Blade?”
Shay whistled. “The weapon of the legendary ancient Chinese general Guan Yu—a man who could probably take a dragon or two. What the fuck are you hunting that needs that kind of ass-kicking ability?”
“It’s not the blade I’m interested in, it’s the enchanted jade in the base that legend says powers it. My information suggests it might be somewhere relatively close.”
She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should give away any information for free, then decided it was a test. There was no way Smite-Williams didn’t already know the basic history of the weapon.
“Legend says,” Shay began, “that Taoist priests sailing in the treasure fleet of Admiral Zheng had the weapon with them. They were worried about encountering demons on their travels that might be beyond the ability of their magic to handle.”
“Aye, I’ve heard that as well.”
“According to at least some recent translations of the Lost Navigation Records of Admiral Zheng He, a small group of his men were detached in 1421, with the priests in tow, to continue on when the rest of the fleet turned around because he had some sort of vision. They allegedly reached what we now call Mexico, though that’s debatable because they were never heard from again.”
Smite-Williams clapped. “Congratulations, Miz Carson. You’re very well-informed.”
“So that’s what y
ou want me to get? That blade, or the jade?”
“Aye, and soon. Within the next few weeks.”
Shay frowned. “Why the hurry?”
“I have my reasons. You don’t need to know them.”
“And in exchange, I’ll get paid my standard fee and Brownstone will get the shit he wants?”
“Because of the pressing nature of my request, I’m willing to pay you twenty percent above your normal fee. I think you’ll find I’m fair.”
Shay snorted. “Yeah, I know you say you are always fair with people—and Brownstone says the same thing—but I’m going to have to see it several times before I believe it. No offense.”
“Trust but verify, Miz Carson. It’s a good policy to live by. Talk to you later, hopefully soon.”
The treasure hunter sighed as the called ended. More than a few of her kind had gone looking for the Green Dragon Crescent Blade, and none had ever come back alive. Some claimed the blade would destroy anyone who lacked the spiritual strength to wield it.
Shay sighed and headed up to the bedroom where she kept her bookshelves and computer and grabbed Ancient Chinese Legends Reevaluated in Light of Post-Oriceran Contact. In a world of returned magic, a stray piece of information might be the difference between an artifact destroying a person and that person controlling it.
She opened her browser and clicked on her favorite bookmarks, Archaeology Plus and Archaeology Source. Each was a massive database of academic articles on archaeology and related fields. She also opened a database of articles on historical and applied extra-dimensional engineering.
The field archaeologist couldn’t help but chuckle at the convoluted name every time she saw it. She didn’t understand why so many researchers didn’t want to admit they were studying magical artifacts. Whatever it took to keep some people from freaking out over how the world had changed so much in the last couple decades, she supposed.
A lot of people might think Shay was using the title “field archaeologist” flippantly, but the truth was a good tomb raid required a lot of academic leg work ahead of time. The main difference was that unlike academics, she also had a variety of more colorful contacts.
First, though, a lot of reading awaited her. She needed to know the right questions to ask before calling anyone.
“Let’s see what people have to say about you, Guan Yu.”
James moved the painting of Saint Jerome hanging in his living room aside, revealing his biometrically-sealed weapons locker. He placed his palm on the sensor to unlock it, then started placing his various death-dealing implements inside.
That night he had only a light load: a single .45 handgun and a K-Bar.
The bounty hunter sighed at the silence of his home. Only the tick of clocks broke up the choking lack of noise.
He’d gotten used to having Alison around, and before that, having Leeroy rush up to him barking and demanding to be walked.
Now he had no one.
James shook his head. The school was the best place for Alison—he didn’t doubt that. Not only did he know nothing about raising kids, he wasn’t a wizard.
Using a few magic items was totally different than wielding innate magic power and casting spells. He couldn’t help Alison learn what she needed to know to control her powers.
After hanging up his coat, James dropped into the black leather recliner in his living room and picked up his remote. Worrying wouldn’t solve shit. He’d just have to throw himself into work to try to take his mind off things.
The Professor must have moved their meeting for a reason, and it kept gnawing at the edge of the bounty hunter’s mind. Maybe if he hadn’t so desperately needed Smite-Williams’ help he wouldn’t have cared as much.
You better come through on that item, he thought.
James turned on his television. It was the near the end of an episode of Barbecue Wars: New Generation. The season finale was coming up, and even people who didn’t care about barbecue had taken an interest because of the presence of an elf competitor who consistently earned high marks from the judges.
He shook his head. Unicorn and Kirin roamed Virginia, and elves were cooking barbecue. He’d been young when the truth of Oriceran came out, but it’d still taken years for the influence of the magical world to truly affect things.
Everything that had happened in recent weeks made him wonder. He wasn’t from Oriceran, but he also couldn’t deny his strength went well beyond that of a normal man. The strange amulet necklace he kept at the warehouse, the reason for his Granite Ghost nickname, was obviously magical. The necklace had been found with him when he was a young child wandering alone by himself and unable to speak.
He’d thought about the different possibilities. Maybe he had an Oriceran relative, or his family had died protecting him from an Oriceran.
James snorted.
I should stop thinking about shit I won’t ever know.
He forced his attention to the show.
“It’s really not that complicated,” Henry, one of the judges, was saying. “A good rule of thumb is thick meat, low and slow. Thin meat, high and fast. But, that’s just a generalization. At this point in the competition, especially with the protein we used today, you have to be thinking about combinations of temperatures, otherwise you’re not going to get maximum quality—like the failure you had with the bark there. Remember, we’re evaluating all aspects of the meat during judging. But to be totally honest, there was a noticeable quality difference in the flavor between what you gave us and what the other three contestants provided, and I’m actually shocked to see that from you this late in the competition.”
Sam, the portly gray-haired contestant being critiqued, shook his head. “I had some time issues because of the nature of the challenge. I wasn’t as familiar with this meat, so I relied on what I knew.”
Another judge, Cassie, gestured to the other three contestants, who were standing in a row behind Sam. “Everyone has the same amount of time to cook.” She pointed to the elf contestant. “Nadina has had far fewer years of experience with any of these ingredients, let alone a cultural or national history with this cooking style, and both her plates were spot-on. She didn’t even use any Oriceran spices this time.”
The light-haired elf blushed, and the color spread all the way up her pointed ears. She looked down at the ground as the camera lingered on her.
Sam ran a hand through his thinning hair. “We all make mistakes, you know.”
The third judge, Larry, furrowed his brow. “My issue is less with the first plate than the second plate. We clearly stated that the challenge for the second plate was about perfect bark. You obviously lacked temperature and smoke control. Do you think you smoked it long enough?”
“I think… Uh, like I said, there were time constraints.”
“And like Henry said, everyone had the same time constraints.”
“I had some problem with my wood.”
Larry narrowed his eyes. “Everyone had the same materials available. And I’ll be honest—even if you’d managed the temperature and smoke well, I’m still confused by some of the choices you made for your rub. Did you really think such a minimal rub was a good choice for a bark challenge?”
James let out a sigh of contentment. Maybe he couldn’t control a lot of things in his life, but at least he’d always have barbecue.
7
The next morning, James opened his eyes and stared at popcorn ceiling. He’d always thought about replacing it since he didn’t like the look, but it always seemed like more trouble than it was worth.
Sometimes the simplest path was the one of least resistance.
The funk from Alison’s departure still hung over him, but that didn’t mean he could rot in bed like some bitch-ass emo teenager. He rolled out of bed and stood up.
James cracked his knuckles, ready for his morning routine. Paying money to go work out was a sucker’s choice. On top of that, it messed with his desire to live his life as simply as possible.
&nbs
p; Keep it simple, stupid. When things got complicated it was at best annoying, but more often than not someone end up suffering—or in his line of work, dead.
Gyms made exercise complicated. All the bounty hunter needed was a good space for his movements.
Quickly dropping to the ground, he put himself into push-up position and started his reps.
The minutes passed as he dipped and rose.
“998...999...1000.”
James finished off his push-up reps and rolled to his back. It was time for some sit-ups.
An hour later, after pounding out a variety of additional exercises, the sweat-soaked bounty hunter headed into the shower.
Now fully dressed, James made his way downstairs. The morning’s exercises were intense enough to give him good cardio, but he still liked to hit the neighborhood for a little run. If anything, it helped keep him aware of who was wandering the streets near his house.
“Hey, Leeroy, get ready for some exercise—”
He stared down at the empty space where Leeroy’s food and water bowls had been. It’d been a week since he’d last forgotten that his dog was dead.
James ran most days, and he’d made sure to run with his dog a few times a week. The black lab had loved it.
“Fucking Harriken,” he growled. “I wish I could kill another fifty of you fuckers.”
The anger drained away, and James sighed. With Alison gone, it might be time to consider another pet.
Animals were simple. A man didn’t have to play word games or worry about their loyalty. If he treated them well they’d have his back, just like Leeroy.
He shook his head. Never again. James didn’t want another poor animal to get killed because of who he was.
“Dogs love me,” he muttered. “But they can’t fight those I fight.”
Running didn’t seem all that appealing anymore. It wouldn’t hurt to skip it.
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) Page 24