Father McCartney always told him that he was part of God’s plan to fight evil, but he didn’t know what he believed. He looked down at his hand, then balled it into a fist.
He wasn’t a good man, but at least he wasn’t a piece of shit.
21
“I thought you said three days,” Alison exclaimed when she answered.
James frowned and started doing calculations in his head. He sighed. Even though he’d thought about calling her many times the last few days, by the time he actually got around to it he’d ended up calling late. He scrubbed a hand across his face.
Yeah, some great father figure he was.
“Um, sorry. There was...sh— Stuff, and, uh. Then Shay said I’d be bothering you, and…”
“Very smooth, Mr. Bro— James.” Alison sighed. “It’s not a big deal. And I’ll never be bothered by you calling. I just didn’t know if you were mad at me, is all.”
“Why would I be mad at you, kid?”
“Because I’m going to this school. Because I didn’t stay with you.”
Oh, great. Now he was making some girl upset because he couldn’t keep his promises. Smooth. Way to be a douchebag.
James shook his head even though Alison wasn’t there to see it. “It’s just been a busy week. Sorry, it won’t happen again. And don’t ever think any mistake I make is your fault. I’m the adult, and I need to damn well act like it.”
“Okay,” Alison replied, her voice quiet.
I’m not fucking Walt. I’m never gonna make you feel bad for being you.
“How are things going for you, Alison?”
“Well, it’s been busy here. I completed orientation and I’ve started classes, but it’s kind of intimidating.”
James grunted. He’d gone to Catholic school, so he could semi-relate to the private school experience. “Why?”
“I’ve always been able to see soul energy, but that’s different than doing magic. A lot of kids here know a lot more about magic than I do. I feel stupid, and I’m way behind.”
James grunted. “Most people didn’t know crap about real magic until not all that long ago. Don’t beat yourself up. What about the other kids? Are they talking trash to you?”
His free hand curled into a fist, and he reconsidered the merits of terrorizing some punk teens.
“They’re just students, you know? Some are nice, some aren’t. I don’t know how it compares to normal school, ‘cause I never went.”
James gritted his teeth. “You tell those little asses they better be nice if they don’t want me coming over there and feeding them to a Chupacabra.”
Alison laughed. “I don’t think we have a Chupacabra on campus. It’s okay, you know. I’ve made some friends, and I’m getting to know more people.” She sighed.
“If it’s okay, then why are you sighing?”
“It’s just… Okay, I’m scared. I lived at home my entire life, and now I’m over here. Mom’s gone, and... It’s a lot to deal with.”
James took a deep breath. “You need to do what’s best for you, but always keep in mind that if you want to leave I’ve got your back. I have a room here for you.”
“Thanks, James. I...think I’m gonna be okay. One sec.” A scratching noise came next, followed by some muffled talking. James assumed she was talking to someone else. “I have to go now. Sorry.”
“Everything okay?”
James couldn’t help but imagine some rabid top-hatted ferret flying around and blasting the school with fireballs.
“Yeah. Just more orientation stuff. They are showing me some of the special creatures, and it’s a big scheduled thing, so I can’t miss it.”
“You do what you have to do, and call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks. Talk to you later. Tell Shay I said hi.”
“Talk to you later, and I will.”
The line went dead.
James stared at the phone for a long moment, still wondering if he’d done the right thing by sending Alison to the School of Necessary Magic.
He shook his head. There was no doubt that the half-Drow girl would benefit from learning to control her powers. He couldn’t be a bitch about it just because he felt a little lonely.
“Fuck,” the bounty hunter muttered. “Isn’t there someone’s ass I can kick to take my mind off things?”
James grinned at a sudden idea. There was someone he could potentially take out his anger on. He dialed Stephen.
I hope for your sake, you didn’t fuck this up, Broker Boy.
The broker picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Brownstone.”
“Hey, Stephen. I wanted to follow up on my little investment deal.”
“Yeah, about that.”
James didn’t like the man’s tone. He frowned and pulled back to glare at this phone, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. If the stockbroker had screwed him over, the bounty hunter would have to reconsider his decision not to bring him in.
“So, yeah,” Stephan began, an amused undercurrent to his voice, “your plan worked well. The stock ended up doubling and then some, but then it went down like a cheap hooker.”
“What the fuck? Doubling and going down? I wanted to help the church, not throw my money away.”
James took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Even though he wanted to be pissy with the man and take out some frustration on him, the stockbroker had gone out of his way to warn him of the risks. Punishing people for his mistakes wasn’t James’ style. He gritted his teeth.
“You okay, Brownstone?”
“It’s all good. I’m hoping my church friend knew when to sell.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “So what am I down?”
“Oh, you’re really not understanding this, are you?” Stephen laughed. “You’re not, Brownstone. You’re up.”
“Huh? What about the hooker dive?”
Stephen snickered. “This is why it’s good you came to a professional instead of trying this shit yourself, Brownstone. You might be good at kicking ass, but you wouldn’t last three seconds day-trading.” His voice dripped with contempt. “I started pushing your stock, but I’d barely bought much of anything when it took off like a rocket on its own. Somebody sold ten thousand shares all at once when it was already well over double.”
Relief washed through him. At least Father McCartney hadn’t taken a hit. The small number of outstanding shares associated with the company at least suggested such.
“That’ll probably be my church friend,” James said.
“Well, I guess all that praying paid off, because he knew just when to exit. Once he sold, it started a sell-off. Like I told you before, Brownstone, these microcaps are volatile.”
“So how am I not down, then?”
Stephen chuckled. “It never fell below the original price. You’re up on the deal, and your church buddy now has a lot more money to spend on candles and incense. It’s almost like God really is on your side.”
“Or the Devil.”
“Yeah, love of money and all that crap. Hey, whoever delivers the profits in the end, right? You didn’t lose any money, and your friend made a lot. Everyone walks away happy.”
James blinked several times, both surprised and happy. “Thanks, Stephen. You’ve actually done something worthwhile with your life.”
“Damn, Brownstone. Now you sound like my wife.”
James slipped out of his F-350 and headed uneasily into the church. He should have been happy. He’d taken out some bad people in the last week, and his stock plan had helped Father McCartney and the orphanage out of their financial hole.
At least he assumed as much. That was one thing he needed to confirm.
He didn’t even bother to look around before heading straight into the confessional booth. Even if he’d done what he considered good works the last week, that didn’t change the fact that he’d killed a man and beaten another half to death.
Once inside the booth, he slid the door closed. The shadow of Father McCartney crossed the
grate.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. This week, among other things, I beat a man half to death.”
“I see,” the priest said, not a hint of surprise in his voice. “God asks us to control our wrath. And what did this man do?”
“Threatened to kill everyone I loved.”
A pained sigh escaped Father McCartney’s mouth. “I would hope that after a while that these people would learn their lesson. And what else, my child?”
“I killed a man. I’ll be honest. I’m not sad because he’s dead. He was a necromancer. He killed innocent people and fuc— He defiled their bodies and made them into the walking dead.”
The priest sucked in a tight breath. “While the Church is still clarifying what types of magic are sinful, from the beginning there has been no ambiguity about necromancy. To defile a body in such a way is among the gravest of sins.”
“Like I said, don’t feel bad. The thing is, I killed him, but I don’t know how. That’s not sitting well with me.”
“You don’t remember?”
James sighed. “I remember. I just don’t understand it. I was neck-deep in zombies, and he snuck up on me. He has some sort of death touch–at least that’s what they told me—but when he touched me, he just fell to the ground with his eyes glowing, twitched, and died.” He ran a hand over his head. “Magic. Can’t trust it, I guess. Crazy sh— Crazy stuff.”
“Hmmm. You sound as if you don’t believe it.”
“I believe it. I was there. It’s… I don’t know.”
“Just try and explain slowly what’s going through your head,” Father McCartney requested.
“What kind of monster am I, that a necromancer dies when he touches me?” James asked.
“You’re not a monster.”
James looked at the grate; the priest was barely discernible on the other side. “Then how do you explain it?”
“Do you know how many saints have faced demons or deadly animals and survived? Do you know how many faithful have called upon their intercession to survive evil?” Excitement filtered into the priest’s voice, heightening his Jersey accent. “What you’re describing, James, isn’t being a monster. It’s divine intervention. It’s a miracle.”
James barked out a laugh. “A miracle?”
“This isn’t like before Oriceran. Science can’t claim a monopoly on knowledge and truth. Magic is real, so there’s no reason to doubt the power of divine miracles. This necromancer, this dark servant of Satan, found that his dark power had limits when challenging a servant of the Lord. Whatever troubles you about your work, you shouldn’t worry that an evil man has been sent to enjoy his time with his master.”
James grunted. “What if it’s just some weird magic backfire?”
“A miracle of timing is still a miracle. You lived. He died. There’s nothing to be concerned over.”
James pondered that for a few moments. He wasn’t convinced, but he couldn’t dismiss the explanation out of hand. Father McCartney was right about how miracles weren’t so easy to ignore in an age of open magic.
The priest was one of the few men James dared showed weakness in front of, so he decided to unload all his concerns.
“I got kind of freaked out by the whole thing. I ended up using my health potion. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought I’d die right after or something. Right then and there, it was hard to believe.”
James had made a point of not telling Shay that little detail. Even though they’d grown closer, he still didn’t think she needed to know everything that had happened—especially when he didn’t understand the events himself.
“It doesn’t hurt to be safe,” Father McCartney assured him.
“Yeah, but now that I used that potion, I’m gonna have to go back to Zoe and get a new one.”
The priest chuckled. They’d discussed the lush witch on more than a few occasions.
“I’ll pray for your willpower,” Father McCartney told him. “Oh, and the confessional isn’t always the best place to talk about this sort of thing, but I know you find it more comfortable than my office. There’s something I needed to tell you.”
James’ stomach tightened. “What?”
“I sold that stock you gave me. I don’t know what happened; the price kept increasing and increasing until it more than doubled. I didn’t want to be greedy, so I sold it.”
James grinned, happy to have it verified that the ten-thousand-share movement was from Father McCartney.
“Maybe it’s another miracle,” the bounty hunter suggested.
“You think you’re being funny, but you may be right. Both the church and the orphanage are in good shape for at least six months, and that includes many upgrades to the facilities. Your tithe has saved that orphanage.”
James nodded to himself, all his concern about Sombra’s death vanishing. He still didn’t buy into the idea that a miracle had saved him from the necromancer, but for that brief moment, happiness consumed all the heaviness weighing down his soul.
22
Four hours for some barbecue might seem extreme to a lot of people, but James knew his little jaunt to Las Vegas would be worth it. The drive from Los Angeles to Las Vegas had gone smoothly enough, and it’d given him an excuse to take the F-350 to his mechanic for some overdue maintenance. A little loving care for his truck, and it’d continue to serve him well.
James pulled his Ford into the small parking lot outside Jessie Rae’s. One wouldn’t discern the meaty treasure within from the unassuming exterior. Even the landscaping was low-key; a few small palm trees here and there, none of the gaudy flair you saw elsewhere in Vegas.
The typical ignorant tourist would hit up a place like the nearby Mandalay Bay, not realizing how close the fancy building was to a place that offered pure barbecue perfection.
The most glorious sign James had seen in the last few weeks sat in the window: YES, WE’RE OPEN.
A few steps through the parking lot brought James into the restaurant and its small two-room dining area. It had only eight tables, four in each room. From what Mike Ross had told him, the majority of his business came from pick-up and delivery.
There was a modestly-sized TV in the corner and the menu was on the wall, its content detailing mouth-watering barbeque and sides.
The simplicity of the restaurant stood as a testament to the fundamental quality of the product. Jessie Rae’s didn’t do well because of some fake-ass ambience, or by filling the walls with a bunch of random pictures and knick-knacks.
Instead, it ruled Las Vegas barbeque by providing a delicious and unbeatable product.
Near the cups and the drink machine, trophies and plaques stood on shelves connected to the walls. An inspection would reveal all the barbecue contests won by the small restaurant. One of the earliest dated back to 2015, and the place had upheld its success in contests in the following years. James wouldn’t be surprised if that streak kept up for as long as the place continued to exist.
A woman finished paying for a large bag of ribs and eyed James with suspicion as she stepped past him. The bounty hunter didn’t do anything more than offer her a tight smile. The last thing he’d ever do was stir up trouble in Jessie Rae’s.
“Well, here’s a man I haven’t seen in a while,” called a man standing near the cash register. It was Michael, the owner.
James shrugged. “What can I say? I got a hankering for ribs, so I hopped in the truck and drove to Vegas.”
“From Los Angeles?” Mike asked.
James shrugged. “Yeah. Not like I had anything better to do today.”
Michael chuckled and pointed to a table. “Take a seat. I’ll bring out some food. Lucky you. You missed the lunch rush.”
Fifteen minutes later the two men sat across from each other devouring the best damn barbecue on the planet. The glorious flavors played across James’ tongue, and the tender ribs melted in his mouth.
Father McCartney had spoken of miracles and divine intervention. As far as James was concerne
d, the existence of the restaurant proved there was a loving God. There was even a God Sauce at Jessie Rae’s.
The bounty hunter chuckled at the thought as he took another bite.
“Did you watch Barbecue Wars: New Generation this season?” Michael asked.
James swallowed before answering. “Yeah. I just watched the final episode the other day. I was out of the country for a few days, so I missed it on the first run.” He shook his head. “It’s... Damn! I never saw that coming.”
Michael chuckled. “Freaked out that an elf won?”
“Not freaked out. I just didn’t know if they were being easy on her because they wanted an elf for the ratings. Then she won it. I mean, those guys have their reputations, so I don’t think they’d give her the win unless that shit tasted great.”
“Yeah. Times are changing, man. That’s not always a bad thing.”
James finished off his rib and picked up a new one. “Not saying it is. It’s just, I like things simple, and it’s hard wrapping my mind around an elf winning a barbecue competition. I mean, yeah, all this magic and shit’s been around for a while, but before it was like us and them. Things were separate. Now we got Oriceran barbecue, and humans are running around tossing magic all over the place.”
“It’s more than that.” Michael shot him a grin. “It’s not even Oriceran barbecue, you know.”
“Huh?”
“Nadina’s style; think about it. It’s Oriceran-Carolina fusion, you know? And it’s not like there’s such a thing as even just American barbecue. That elf brought her game from her home, but think about all the different regions. Think about all the intelligent critters they have over there. Some talking elk-man might be making your barbecue in the future.” He shrugged. “Elves are going to seem pretty freaking normal by then.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?” James grabbed one of the waffle fries with the white sauce and tossed it in his mouth. “All the change?”
“Whole world’s changed in a lot bigger ways than just barbecue. Just got to go with the flow.”
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 36