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

  Pulling out his phone, James headed to his couch. If he wanted a real work-out, he’d go after a bounty. It’d also help him work out some frustration—and get paid for it.

  The bounty hunter tapped on his phone to connect to the LAPD Bounty Hunter Outreach Department app. Maybe there were some good local bounties he could pick up. Money, exercise, and stress-relief all in one—efficient and simple.

  “Jordan Adams,” James read aloud, “aka ‘King Pyro?’” He snorted. The douchebags who gave themselves nicknames like that always caused more trouble. It was like they were compensating for small dicks or something.

  From what James skimmed, King Pyro had been a run-of-the-mill bank robber until two years prior, when he’d gotten his grubby paws on the distilled essence of a fire spirit in a potion. Fortunately for the king he didn’t spontaneously combust when he drank the potion, which suggested at least some latent magical potential. Unfortunately for everyone else, the potion gave the man the power to control and manipulate fire.

  James didn’t really give a shit about the details of how the man had gotten his powers. All he cared about was taking him down. He skimmed farther down to get better insight into the man.

  King Pyro was nothing more than a violent thug, according to the reports. That would make him easier to find, since among other things, it meant the sonofabitch wouldn’t be as good at hiding his trail.

  The man’s level-four bounty would be worth a nice chunk of change, and suggested he was dangerous enough to warrant James’ time. There were plenty of other bounty hunters to take care of the small fries.

  James’ gaze drifted to the painting of Saint Jerome concealing his weapons locker. Anything level three or lower he could handle with ease, but going up to level four meant that he might have to consider the necklace. It made him nearly invulnerable, and enhanced his normally weak telekinesis ability. That would require a trip to the warehouse.

  No. Don’t want to use that thing unless I have to.

  Even though the artifact had saved his life more than a few times, James knew there had to be some sort of hidden cost. The revelation of Oriceran had changed a lot of things and put magic back into the world next to science, but that didn’t change the fundamental rule of the universe.

  There was no such thing as a free lunch.

  The damn artifact might be sucking his life with each use or changing him in some fundamental way, making him even less human. Maybe that was why he had the strange ridges and mottled patterns on his face along with his strength. They’d found the artifact with him as a child, so maybe it’d already worked its terrible magic by then.

  One day James might wake up a monster. He was half-convinced the necklace was cursed.

  He shook his head. He’d avoid the necklace for now, saving it for when he had to fight a real monster. Or clear an entire house filled with ruthless criminals, but he doubted that’d happen a third time in a couple of months.

  When did my life get so fucking complicated?

  James stared down at his phone. “Yeah, King Pyro, you’ll do for now. I’m gonna enjoy kicking your ass.”

  It was time to get armed and even more dangerous.

  An hour later the bounty hunter pushed into a dingy bar in Westlake called the Black Sun. Dim lighting helped the place live up to its name. The cracked tables and barred windows didn’t add a lot to its charm. One passed-out gang member sat at a corner table, the idiot’s gun clearly on display. James was half-tempted to take the man’s gun and throw it in the trash just so the fool would panic when he woke up.

  He suppressed a snort. The Leanan Sídhe was inviting and full of life. This place made him feel like he’d need another shower after leaving.

  It didn’t matter. He hadn’t come there to drink the piss they called beer. He marched up to the bar and took a seat.

  The tall, pale bartender looked up from polishing a glass and frowned.

  “James Brownstone.” The bartender sighed, putting up the now-shiny glass and grabbing another. “I haven’t seen you around for a while.”

  “That’s probably good for you then, Tyler.” James gestured. “I see this place is as shitty as ever. Hell, even shittier. Congratulations. I hope you won your award for ‘Most Appealing to Roaches.’”

  “We all enjoy a different ambience. People come here to disappear into their drinks. They don’t much care about the look of the place.”

  “Yeah, that much is obvious.”

  Tyler put down the glass and the rag. “Do you want something to drink, Brownstone? If not, well, you know what the sign over there says.” He gestured toward the door. “Management reserves the right to deny service to any customer for any reason.”

  “I’d like to see you try and kick me out.” James chuckled. “And we both know this place is just a shitty front so you can deal in information, so spare me the hurt feelings bullshit.”

  Tyler shrugged. “I’m a bartender. People like to talk to me. Sometimes they like to give me a little extra money, and I pass on useful tidbits in exchange. I’m not hurting anyone, so I don’t understand where all the attitude’s coming from.

  The bounty hunter’s nostrils flared. “Attitude? You work with scumbags; complete pieces of shit. You look the other way when people ask you stuff, and they go out and use that info to become even bigger pieces of shit.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Brownstone. You’re not exactly royalty.” The man put his elbow on the bar and leaned forward. “And you’ve benefited from those useful tidbits yourself, so again the attitude is crap. If you want my help, I suggest you stop talking shit to me. Understand?”

  James locked eyes with Tyler. If it came to blows, the other man wouldn’t last one second. He must have been convinced that his usefulness as an information broker made him safe.

  “Whatever.” The bounty hunter shrugged. “I just need fucking information, and I’m willing to pay for it. If you play along, we both benefit.”

  “Okay, I’m listening. Information about what?”

  “A level-four bounty I’m tracking named Jordan Adams. He goes by the name ‘King Pyro.’”

  Tyler shook his head. “We’ve talked about this, Brownstone. Within reason, I will give you info on level threes and lower, but not level fours. If I started pissing too much in my own water bowl, where would I be? Everyone knows that if they reach a certain level of...respect, I give them extra respect. Sorry.”

  “That could be a problem for you, but it’s not like I fucking care.” James leaned forward. He was reaching the limits of his patience. “Maybe you should care if you want to be able to keep polishing your glasses.”

  Tyler smirked. “No bounties on me, Brownstone, and I’ve got cameras all over this place. You beat me down,” he nodded to a nearby camera. “even those bitch cops will have to do something, not to mention my lawyer. Oh, I’d love to sue your ass, because it’d be funny to drag you into court and watch you squirm in a suit. I bet you have all sorts of money I could sue you for, Brownstone. You running an LLC? You know how to protect your assets?”

  The bounty hunter’s hands curled into fists, and he weighed the risks versus the satisfaction of punching Tyler before deciding on a different tack. The fucker must have some small sliver of humanity left in him.

  “This isn’t some garden-variety asshole. This guy killed a whole family, including little kids, when he blasted away like a fucking maniac during his last bank job.”

  Tyler shrugged. “Accidents happen. You so sure everyone you’ve killed had it coming, Brownstone?”

  “Yes, and fuck you, you piece of shit. I’ve never killed a kid.”

  “Yet.”

  James grunted. “It’s not an accident when you use an explosion to rob a bank. This Pyro fucker doesn’t care who he hurts, and I’m going to bring him down. You should help me so you get my thanks rather than pissing me off.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes. “This is becoming boring, Brownstone. Even if I knew anything about King Pyro, and I’
m not saying I do, I couldn’t tell you. I’ve made that policy clear in the past.”

  “Fuck your policies.” James stood and pointed at the man. “If I find out you’ve seen this guy and you don’t tell me, this neutrality shit we have,” he waved a finger between the two of them, “goes away.”

  “Until I have a bounty on my head,” Tyler picked up his rag and glass once more, “you can’t touch me.”

  James spun and stormed off toward the door.

  “Next time buy a drink, you cheap bastard,” the man called after him.

  James was halfway to another contact when his phone beeped. The Professor. He put the call on speakerphone.

  “Hey, Professor.”

  “Good morning, lad. Sorry about having to cancel the other day. Something came up, but I’d like to meet with you later today. I’ve got an extra lecture at the college until 7:00, but right after that I want to meet you at the pub.”

  “And this is about the deal for the item?”

  “Aye. Miz Carson will be joining us. I think we’ll all benefit from this.”

  James grunted. “Just as long as you hold up your end.”

  “Have I ever not?”

  There was a first time for everything.

  8

  King Pyro pushed into the Black Sun. The huge man inhaled deeply, loving the stale smell permeating the place. A dozen other men were scattered around the bar. Most hunched over their drinks; only a few chatted together.

  What a bunch of sad pieces of shit. It’s not even worth kicking their fucking asses.

  It’d been a couple days since he’d last beaten someone down, and he craved the rush. Plus, if he took someone down in this place, the right people in Los Angeles would know not to fuck with him.

  The robber strutted to the bar, wanting everyone to see him. Fear was for pussies. King Pyro was the king of fire, maybe even a god. He sat down at the bar, chuckling to himself about changing his nickname.

  The bartender set a beer in front of him. “On the house.”

  King Pyro smirked. “Nice. What’s your name, bar bitch?”

  The other man’s face twitched for a moment. “I’m Tyler. I own the place.”

  “You’re just the bitch I’m looking for. You know who I am?”

  “Jordan Adams. They say you go by ‘King Pyro.’”

  “That’s right. I’m the damn king, and you must bow before royalty.” The criminal gave the other man a feral grin. “Word is that you’re the man to see when someone needs to buy or sell information.”

  “That’s true, but I have a special offer for you today…in addition to your drink.” Tyler glanced around the bar for a moment. “Free information.”

  King Pyro slammed his hand on the bar. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  Tyler narrowed his eyes. “You better get your ass out of town.”

  “Yeah, that’s... What?” King Pyro frowned; he hadn’t expected such a blunt statement. The man in front of him might need to be made into an example. “If you know who I am, then you know, you do not disrespect me, bitch.”

  Tyler pointed to the drink. “It’s because I respect you that I’m telling you this. You don’t understand. Earlier today, Brownstone showed up looking for you. That’s not the kind of heat you need, king of fire or not.”

  “Who the fuck is Brownstone? I don’t know any bitch named Brownstone, so why should I care?”

  The bartender shook his head. “He’s a bounty hunter, and you don’t want to know him. If you want to stay free—or alive for that matter—get the fuck out of town while you can.”

  “You think some bitch-ass bounty hunter’s gonna take down King Pyro?” The man barked a harsh laugh. “I’m not some punk-ass criminal. I’m almost… No, I am a god. I’m the God of Fire, and I burn what I want when I want.” He hopped out of his seat. “You think I’m gonna leave town without doing what I need because of a bounty hunter? You know how many cops I’ve killed? How many bounty hunters? I’m a level-fucking-four. I’m worth a lot of money, and I’m gonna force them to make me level-five.” He spread his hands to his sides and yelled, “Hey, bitches!”

  Every man in the bar looked his way.

  “Did you hear? I’ve got a huge bounty on me. Any of you want to take a shot at King Pyro? You could drag my ass in for a lot of cash.” He glared around the bar. “But none of you have the balls to face a god.”

  A man in a worn suit stood and whipped out a Glock. “Bet you’re not bulletproof, asshole.”

  “Gentleman, please don’t do this in here,” Tyler said with a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is neutral ground. You know the rules. You cause trouble, you can’t ever come back to the Black Sun.”

  “Sorry, Tyler. This guy’s worth a lot of money, and he’s getting on my fucking nerves. He thinks he’s big shit because of some magic? Who gives a shit? A gun is the real magic.”

  “I hope the money’s worth it,” Tyler muttered. “Because assuming you survive the next few minutes, you’ll never be allowed back here again.”

  King Pyro shook out his arms. “You think you can take down royalty, bitch? I rule through strength. I’m beyond human now.”

  “You face is certainly ugly enough,” the man with the gun agreed.

  The fire master sneered. “We’ll see how your face looks after I burn it off.”

  “Let’s just take a walk down to the nearest station,” the suited man suggested, motioning with his gun. “I’m in deep with my bookie. Sorry, pal—just not your lucky day.”

  King Pyro turned his back to the other man. He didn’t fear the gun, but he didn’t want to show all his cards yet. For all his bluster, he understood that a powerful ruler should be both strong and intelligent. He held his hand in front of him with a grin. Flame grew above it over the course of several seconds, and then he spun and blasted an orange-white fireball at the other man’s hand.

  The sizzle of burning flesh filled the air. The other man screamed and stumbled backward, his hand cracked and charred. The half-melted gun fell to ground, hissing on contact with the floor.

  “Fuck,” Tyler muttered. “This was not what I needed tonight.”

  The suited man collapsed to his knees, still groaning. “My hand… My damned HAND!”

  King Pyro stalked toward the man and kicked him in the stomach. “I’m feeling generous, so you don’t die, fuck. You can tell this Brownstone bitch that he will burn. He can kiss my ass. I hope this Brownstone does show up to try and take me in. I’ll enjoy killing him and showing everyone in this town who they should really be afraid of.” He grinned at Tyler. “Give me another drink, bar bitch. I’m not leaving Los Angeles until I’ve killed James Brownstone.”

  Tyler sighed and shrugged. “Your funeral.”

  James stepped into the Leanan Sídhe. He stopped for a moment and chuckled, thinking how the rowdy and bright bar contrasted with the Black Sun. Not only was it a more inviting place, but customers swarmed it.

  He spotted the Professor sitting in a booth in the back, and the man waved merrily at him. As James closed on the man, he wondered if Father O’Banion had already come out. There were two empty glasses and a half-filled glass of beer in front of the red-faced man. O’Banion usually waited to come out until after their business was finished, but not always.

  The bounty hunter slid into the booth. “Hey.”

  “Good evening, lad. Miz Carson informed me that she’ll be here soon.” The Professor glanced toward the door, then smiled at James. “So, you delivered the girl to her school without trouble?”

  James nodded. “Yeah. Weird place.”

  “You’re a man who recently killed three blood warlocks, and you’re letting some junior wizard and witch school concern you?”

  “There was a ferret that walked around on two feet and wore a top hat. A fucking top hat!” James griped. “When do rodents walk on two feet? That shit isn’t right.”

  The Professor laughed. “What’s wrong with being fashionable?”
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  “It at least could have worn a... I don’t know, a fedora or a ball cap or something. Not a damn top hat.”

  “I’ll tell that to the next fashionable ferret I run into.” The Professor gulped down some beer before continuing. “It is a school of magic. A man should expect a few oddities when they set foot on the grounds. Besides, given who Alison is, it’s probably the best place for her…and the safest.”

  James let out a low grunt. “Not saying I disagree, but still feels kind of strange dropping off a kid at a place with top-hat-wearing ferrets and Kirin.”

  “They have a Kirin there?” His eyebrows rose. “Impressive. As for the getting used to the girl being there, these things take time.” The Professor picked up his half-full glass and took a sip. “Before Miz Carson shows up, I wanted to make you aware of something.”

  “What?” James asked.

  “There were two undesirables loitering here the other day. I’m fairly certain they were looking for you. I couldn’t hear everything they said, but they said at least part of your name, and I find too coincidental to believe it has nothing to do with you?”

  “Assassins?”

  “For sure they weren’t nice men, but they didn’t have that air about them. They didn’t seem dangerous enough.”

  James grinned. “Most assassins aren’t dangerous to me.”

  The Professor shook his head. “I’m saying I don’t think they’d be dangerous to me. I assume they were just interested in keeping tabs on you.”

  “I kind of assume everyone wants to keep tabs on me. I keep blowing shit up and killing people.”

  That elicited a chuckle from the older man. “I’m only telling you so I can drink with a clear conscience tonight. What you do with that information is up to you. Ignore it, or go on a path of bloody vengeance—that’s on you.”

  “Thanks, Professor. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  A broad grin spread across the Professor’s face as he looked past James. “And here is Miz Carson now.”