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

  James grunted. “Don’t I know it, but maybe some things shouldn’t change.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Got to think long-term.” Michael swallowed a bite of his food. “I’ve got my preferences, but barbecue’s always grown. Every once in a while I get some dumbass who comes in here and says some garbage about how my Las Vegas Style is crap, and only there’s only one real style, which is whatever random thing they grew up with. Small minds. Small taste buds.”

  James gestured to one of the larger trophies. “I think that proves whose style is crap and whose is good.”

  “Yeah, everything’s been going great, but I don’t do this for the trophies.” A broad grin broke out on his face. “But the trophies don’t hurt.”

  The men shared a laugh.

  Michael slapped a hand on a table. “You know what, James? I don’t know a man who isn’t in the industry who is as much into barbecue as you. You should come to a competition sometime. You should try out. Got several coming up soon. You’d love it.”

  “Nah. I’m happy being a civilian in the barbecue war. I figure I’ll leave it to the experts.”

  “You are an expert, James. Even if you don’t want to cook, you can still come and taste. Even if a bunch of Mr. Memphises and Mrs. Lexingtons are talking trash, that doesn’t change the fact there’ll be a lot of quality flavors from all over. And now with that elf girl having won that show, you’re going to see a lot more experimentation with the Oriceran stuff, too. Brave new world. Try it out. You might like it.”

  James stared at the trophies and plaques. “Maybe I will come. Might even have someone join me. Someone I’m trying to get to understand barbecue more.”

  The other man shook his head, his eyes wide like he’d seen a ghost. “Oh? Someone else, as in a woman?”

  “Maybe. Everyone should love barbecue, man or woman.”

  Michael gave a rueful chuckle. “Never thought you would succumb, man. There’s nothing more complicated than a woman, and I know how much you like the simple life. You think Oriceran barbecue is going to blow your mind? Just wait until you’re trying to keep a woman happy. That’s the single most complicated thing a man can do.”

  James was spared having to immediately respond by the timely arrival of another tray. Little meat remained on the massacred remnants of the original one. He’d devoured the majority of it himself, only barely aware of how much he was eating.

  Not that he was satisfied. Not yet.

  As James ripped into some brisket, he thought about why he’d even hinted at bringing Shay to a competition. They weren’t together; not in that way. He didn’t even know how he really felt about her, other than the fact that he trusted her. His response to Michael had almost been reflex, which maybe spoke to a hidden truth he wasn’t ready to face.

  Shit. Michael’s right. That woman’s making even my barbecue trip complicated. Need to get this conversation away from breasts…chicken, and back to ribs.

  “Lot of people on the barbeque podcasts thought the Barbecue War judges were too biased this year,” James offered. “Even ignoring Nadina, there were some weird calls.”

  “Hard to say since we weren’t eating it, but I know what you mean. Sometimes the judges totally went against what the diners were saying.” Michael set his rib down and furrowed his brow in concentration. “I don’t know. Can see it both ways, and I think that was more about Cassie. That woman’s way too obsessed with white sauce. She’s the reason they kept pushing Sam through. That guy just didn’t want to leave behind those Alabama roots.”

  “Got to be honest. You know I’m not much on the mayonnaise sauces.”

  “Lot of people love my Bama Slama. It’s not God Sauce, but it’s at least demigod sauce.”

  James snorted. “I want barbecue sauce, not potato salad. That’s why I always order shit like the Pig Sweat or the God Sauce.”

  Michael pointed his beer bottle at the other man. “Next you’re going to give me some big speech about the constant superiority of low and slow vs. fast and hot. Got to be flexible and mix techniques, otherwise you’ll miss out on a lot of good stuff.” He tapped his forehead. “I’ve kept an open mind and experimented with my own types of fusion, which is why I’ve been tearing it up for years now.”

  “I’m flexible,” James muttered. “I just got my favorites, is all.”

  “If I had too many customers who got stuck on only eating one style, I might have some trouble.”

  “I just drove four hours to eat some of your damn barbecue. I don’t think I’m too stuck.”

  “True enough.” Michael finished his beer. “How long are you in town?”

  “Just the day and the night. Wanted to clear my head and get some good barbecue. You should be honored.”

  Michael shook his head and pointed at James. “You should be honored to eat my food.”

  Both men chuckled.

  James thought about his recent travels. He’d had some of the best tacos ever in Cabo, and now he was eating the best barbecue. It’d been a good week for both bounty hunting and eating.

  “Heading back home tomorrow morning.” James added, “Though I’m taking five pounds of your ribs with me to the hotel tonight.”

  “Keep in mind what I said about the competitions.”

  “I’ll think about it, but things have a way of getting complicated when I least expect it so it’s hard for me to plan for that sort of thing.”

  “What?” Michael asked. “Like you’re worried some random truck full of guys with guns will show up when you’re on your way to a competition?”

  James laughed darkly. “You’d be surprised how often that shit happens to me.”

  23

  James already missed the distinctive Jessie Rae’s flavor by the time he turned onto his street. He didn’t regret taking the road trip, and speaking with Michael had been relaxing in a way he’d not felt in a long time. The idea of going to a barbecue competition was appealing, even if he didn’t think he could fit it into his lifestyle. And the less he thought about taking Shay to a competition, the simpler his life would be.

  Probably a bunch of fucking Harriken would attack me if I went to a competition. People shouldn’t get close to me. It’s a good thing Alison is in Virginia with a bunch of fucking wizards and witches protecting her.

  A rough-looking teen waved to him from the street, and James slowed. He didn’t recognize the kid, but he did recognize his colors. He was one of Trey’s boys.

  The F-350 pulled to a stop and the bounty hunter rolled down the window. He gave the gangbanger a fist-bump.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Brownstone,” the gangbanger said. “Trey be telling us that if we saw weird shit around your house we need be telling you about said weird shit.” He slapped a hand over his chest. “So here I am, ready to deliver the motherfucking weird-shit news.”

  James grunted. So much for his relaxing mini-vacation. At least he’d gotten his barbecue.

  “And what weird shit did you see?”

  “Nothin’ until earlier today.” The gangbanger leaned forward and lowered his voice. “That’s when this black SUV with tinted windows rolled into the hood. I ain’t ever seen that piece of shit around here before.” He gestured up the street. “They been three blocks up from your crib since fucking lunch, man.”

  A patient enemy was a dangerous enemy. James was getting sick of people fucking with his home or his neighborhood. Trey had a decent point about keeping outside influence on the neighborhood to a minimum.

  James could accomplish that through the not-so-careful application of copious amounts of violence, but he needed to know who to beat down first. That would require a little investigation.

  “I know you don’t recognize the car,” the bounty hunter began, “but do you have any idea who it is?”

  “Nope.” The gang member looked up and down the street. “You think it’s some of them Harriken bitches? Trey says we’re supposed to keep an eye out for those sword bitches, whether they around y
our crib or not.”

  James’ gaze flicked up the street. The car was too far away to see from where he was. “Maybe. They’ve got enough of a beef with me.”

  “It’s more like you got a major beef with them. Those bitches have a death wish.” The gangbanger snorted. “Stupid motherfuckers should learn to leave well enough alone.”

  James chuckled. He couldn’t disagree with the kid’s evaluation of the Harriken. They were the dictionary definition of stupid motherfuckers.

  “You can head on out,” the bounty hunter told him. “I’ll handle whoever it is, and it’s best if they don’t see you around me.”

  The gang member turned to leave.

  “I’ve got a message for Trey,” the bounty hunter added.

  “What, Mr. Brownstone?”

  “You tell him the community just did me a favor, and I don’t forget people who do me favors.”

  Delroy leaned back in the seat of the SUV. “Are you a complete fucking moron, Greg? I can’t believe you’re saying that shit.”

  “Kiss my ass, Delroy,” the man in the driver’s seat shot back. “You’re just mad because your boys can’t hit worth a damn. If they ever want to see a World Series again they better start learning some magic, because that’s the only way they’ll get better.” He chuckled. “Maybe they should let some Oricerans on the team.”

  Greg glanced at the display screen in the center of the dashboard. It was divided into two halves, both providing feeds from their surveillance drones.

  “Shit, the aerial feed isn’t that clear,” Greg complained. “Why don’t we drop its altitude?”

  Delroy shrugged. “Because it’ll be too fucking obvious if it’s hovering at twenty feet.”

  Greg pointed toward the lower screen, which provided a low but wide-angle view of the driveway. “The problem with these insect drone models is that damn camera angle. Is this fucker ever going to come home?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t been able to tag him in town. It’s like he disappeared.”

  “You think he knows we’re watching his place? What if that old drunk told him?”

  Delroy slammed his fist into a palm. “If Brownstone knew we were watching he’d come after us. He’s not the kind of guy who runs off with his tail between his legs. Just ask the Harriken.”

  “We don’t have solid proof he did that,” Greg argued. “Official word is, it was a gang fight. Isn’t that half the reason we’re looking into this shit?”

  “Proof? Everybody in fucking town knows he did it.”

  A loud clink against the side windows made both men look that way.

  James Brownstone stood there with a .45 in his hand, but not pointed at them. Faint smile in place, he gestured for them to roll down the window.

  “Shit,” Delroy hissed. “What do we do, drive off?”

  “We’ll be dead before we make it ten feet. If he wanted us dead, he would have already shot us. Let’s just hear what he has to say.” Greg pressed a button and the window lowered with a whir.

  The bounty hunter’s smile grew into a grin. He didn’t point the gun at the men but neither did he holster the weapon. Both men inside realized that if they tried to draw they’d be dead before they got their guns out of their holsters, and that was assuming bullets would even work. Both had heard a lot of strange rumors about the so-called Granite Ghost.

  “Just want to talk, assholes,” Brownstone rumbled. “No one has to die unless they do something stupid.”

  The men in the SUV frowned, but didn’t say anything.

  “See, my life is about keeping things simple. I tell myself that all the time: keep things simple, stupid. You know what’s not simple?”

  Greg and Delroy exchanged looks, then shrugged.

  “Dead bodies without bounties aren’t simple,” James explained. “So I’m really hoping that you two assholes can explain why you’re spying on my house, and that this doesn’t end with me killing you.” His expression darkened. “You’re obviously not Harriken, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t doing their dirty work for them. I know they are fucking looking for me.”

  “Whoa, whoa, slow down, cowboy,” Delroy exclaimed, waving his hands in front of him. “We’re cops.”

  “Why the fuck should I believe that?” Brownstone growled.

  “I don’t know, maybe because it’s the damn truth?” Delroy snapped back. He didn’t like the fact that they were having to kiss the civilian’s ass. Brownstone might bring in a lot of bounties, but he wasn’t a cop.

  “I’m going to reach into my jacket nice and slow and pull out a badge,” the man said. “So don’t kill me, okay?”

  Brownstone raised his gun. “Okay, do it. Nice and slow.”

  Delroy pulled out a badge and held it out. “See? We’re LAPD, Brownstone.”

  The bounty hunter’s eyes narrowed. After a few seconds, he holstered his weapon and crossed his arms. The cops let out a sigh of relief.

  “I’m a licensed class-six bounty hunter,” Brownstone said. “So fuck off if this is about the family of some scumbag whining about me knocking around little Johnny Scumsalot.”

  “We don’t give a shit about your bounties,” Delroy told him. “We’re part of an interagency anti-gang task force, and ever since the incident with the Harriken, there’s been a lot of strange movement among the local gangs. We’re worried about a gang war breaking out. And your name pops up every time we talk to an informant.”

  James snorted. “So, what…you think I’m the local kingpin or something?”

  The cop shrugged. “Just saying your name pops up, and dead bodies pile up around you.”

  “Show me someone who didn’t have it coming, and maybe I’ll give a shit.”

  Delroy stared at the bounty hunter. “We’re not here to hassle you, Brownstone. We just want to stop a gang war.”

  The bounty hunter grunted. “I don’t know shit about gang warfare.”

  “How do I know you’re not blowing smoke up my ass?”

  “If it’s not a bounty,” Brownstone said, “I don’t give a shit.”

  The cop smirked. “Unless it’s personal.”

  James eyed the man, his eyes narrowing. “That’s different. And plenty of cops can vouch for me.” Brownstone shook his head. “Fuck this. You know what? I bet you don’t even have a warrant.”

  Delroy tried not to wince. A few people mentioning the bounty hunter’s name might have been enough to arouse the department’s suspicion, but it hadn’t been enough to convince a judge that the man should be a surveillance target.

  Watching for Brownstone at the bar had been simple enough. It was a public place. Using drones and doing continual surveillance of his home would be harder to justify if too many people started asking questions.

  Bending the rules a little in defense of the public didn’t bother the cop, but he didn’t like getting called on it, either. He’d hoped that if he didn’t say anything, Brownstone would just assume they’d followed all the proper procedures.

  “We’re allowed to do basic surveillance in public places.” Greg withered under Delroy’s angry glare.

  “Last time I checked, my house isn’t a fucking public place,” the bounty hunter snapped. “Anyway, thanks for confirming this is all bullshit.”

  “We’re just doing our jobs, Brownstone,” Delroy replied. “You can go around kicking bounty ass all day, but that doesn’t mean regular crime goes away.”

  Brownstone inhaled deeply. “Look, like I said, I like my shit simple. As far as I’ve heard, the gangs in this area are trying to keep things light, not gearing up for war. But if you want to talk to me and not spy on me, we can meet later. You guys might not always like my methods, but we’re on the same side.”

  Some of the tension left the cops. If they could just get a tighter rein on the bounty hunter, this might work out well enough for them in the future.

  “Fair enough,” Delroy said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Brownstone pulled out his phone.

>   “We don’t need your number,” the cop told him. “We already have it.”

  “This isn’t for that,” Brownstone replied. “It’s for something else. My way of making a point.” He smirked and tapped through a few menus on his phone.

  SIGNAL ONE AND TWO LOST appeared on the console’s display screen.

  “How high did you have the first one?” Brownstone asked. “Because your standard issue drone isn’t that sturdy. Unless it was real low, it’s smashed to pieces now. You gonna clean that up?”

  “Oh, shit!” Greg yelled.

  “Damn it, Brownstone,” Delroy snarled. “That shit was expensive.”

  “Next time get a warrant.” Brownstone shrugged. “Can’t help it if shit’s in my property’s airspace. Sucks to be you guys.” He put his phone back in his pocket. “I’ll let you go pick up the other one. From the looks of the screen before, I’m guessing it’s one of those stick-bug models. I fucking hate those things. Creepy as hell.”

  The central display buzzed, and both cops looked at it. Greg tapped a few options on the screen and text flooded it.

  “What’s going on?” Brownstone asked, trying to tilt his head to read the screen.

  “Fucking sonofabitch,” Delroy said. He didn’t want to give the bounty hunter another reason to think he was big shit, but he could be useful. He slowly turned to look at the bounty hunter. “It’s an APB.”

  “For who?”

  “Jordan Adams.”

  “King-fucking-Pyro?” Brownstone’s face darkened. “How the hell did he get out?”

  “Don’t know. Just says he’s escaped, and he took out a couple of cops during his exit.” Delroy gritted his teeth. “Damn it.”

  “There a bounty out on that asshat yet?” Brownstone’s voice was practically a growl.

  The bounty hunter’s hatred poured off him like deadly radiation. Delroy’s stomach tightened.

  “You know how it works, Brownstone,” the cop responded. “You already got paid for bringing him in, so they’ll have to do the processing to set up a new one—and that’s if they even decide they want one.”