Trey laughed at the thought. He’d been a gangbanger not all that long ago, but now the lifestyle seemed like a pathetic dead end. It was hard to believe he’d ever thought he could focus so much on short-term violence. Even if his current lifestyle wasn’t exactly full of pacifism, James, Staff Sergeant Royce, and others offered a vision for the future besides controlling some small slice of turf and dying young.
Have I really changed or have I just joined a tougher gang with a tougher gang leader? Don’t matter much. Suppose what I’m about to do when I find this sonofabitch ain’t that different from what I was doing before, but respect is respect.
Trey had visited more than a few dives and spent the day touring the darker parts of Las Vegas in pursuit of the thief. A few answers pointed him toward his current unpleasant environment.
Deafening rock music blasted from the speakers as Trey maneuvered through the room toward a table in the back. A wrinkled old man wearing an ill-fitting suit and sporting a bad bronze spray tan sat there. The man took a long drag from his cigarette as the bounty hunter closed on him.
“Hey,” Trey began, “You Anthony? ‘Cause you look like him.”
The man blew the smoke in Trey’s face. “Maybe. Who the fuck are you, and why should I care?”
Won’t do me no good to knock his ass out even if he is a little bitch.
Trey coughed and waved the smoke out of his face. “Someone’s looking for information, and I checked around and heard you might be able to help me with said information.”
“And how can I help you?”
“I heard you’re a man who likes to pay for shit people find,” Trey replied.
“Lots of people help lots of other people. And lots of people hear lots of things.” Anthony stubbed his cigarette out in a glass ashtray. “And, yeah, maybe I pay for a few things here and there when people happen to find them and bring them to me.” He smirked. “You think I don’t know who you are, Trey Garfield? You and your Brownstone buddies are walking around swinging your dicks like you own the town. Half of fucking Vegas knows who you are.”
“That’s the damned point.” Trey shrugged. “And good that you know already. That makes this shit simple. I ain’t got no beef with you, but I do have a beef with the fucker who broke into Jessie Rae’s.”
Anthony picked up a half-empty glass of beer and took a sip, his brow furrowed in confusion “The barbeque place?”
“Yeah. The barbeque place.”
Anthony frowned. “What’s any of this shit have to do with me?”
“Along with other shit, some trophies and plaques got stolen. Awards for winning competitions.” Trey chuckled and shook his head. “The dumbass motherfucker who did this probably thought they were gold. He goes to a pawn shop or something, the people gonna spot his stolen shit all the way from Oriceran. But he goes to someone with a little more discretion or who gives less of a fuck, and maybe he can make a little money. I’m sure that person, that fence, knows exactly who this fucker is.”
The fence narrowed his eyes. “You think I ran into the guy? You think he tried to sell me the shit from Jessie Rae’s? I’m big-time. I don’t need no trophies from a barbeque place.”
Trey’s face twitched. Breaking Anthony’s nose wouldn’t get him the information he needed, and he knew the bastard had it. This was no fishing expedition, but it’d help if he let the fence believe it was.
“I think you’re a man who can take care of shit, and so why wouldn’t the thief show up and chat with you?” Trey shrugged. “Look, I’m not asking for anything other than confirmation. I ain’t the 5-0. You don’t have to testify or shit like that. I just need a name, and I’m willing to pay for it, probably a lot more than you can make selling whatever the asshole gave you.”
Anthony shrugged. “If I send bounty hunters after people who sell to me, that’s gonna be bad for future business. You need to see this from my perspective.”
Time for a little “What would the big man do?”
Trey pulled a chair back and sat. He reached into his pockets and retrieved his gloves. After sliding them on, he offered a thin smile to Anthony.
The fence snorted. “What? Am I supposed to be scared because you put on some cheap-ass gloves?”
Trey raised his hand and shook a finger at Anthony. “My girlfriend gave these to me, and they ain’t cheap-ass, but I’m gonna let that shit pass and ask you another question. Do you really want to piss me off, Anthony?” His smile disappeared. “Lots of other shit I can let slide, but not fucking with Jessie Rae’s. This ain’t about you giving people up to bounty hunters; this is about some fucker who shouldn’t have messed with a place protected by the Brownstone Agency. He disrespected Jessie Rae’s. He disrespected the Brownstone Agency, and shit, he disrespected James Brownstone.” He laughed. “You’re lucky I’m here and not the big man. He might have thrown your ass through a wall already for not giving up the thief right away.”
“You think threats are gonna work on me, bounty hunter? You think you’re the first fucker to ever walk in and say shit like that?” Anthony shrugged. “Please.”
“Don’t know about other assholes. Only know about me. Though I’ve been asking myself lately: how fun is it to throw shitbags through walls? Big man’s done it a lot. Has to be at least a little bit fun, don’t you think?” Trey offered the fence a feral grin. “But we don’t have to be uncivilized like that. We can handle this like businessmen.
Anthony narrowed his eyes. “Businessmen?”
Trey nodded and reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet. He fished out several large bills and tossed them on the table. “Give me a fucking name, and I walk out of this nasty-ass place and leave you alone. Don’t give me a name, and we might have trouble that ends with me throwing you through a wall.”
Anthony crossed his arms. “You don’t look so tough.”
The bounty hunter held up a gloved hand. “By the way, that girlfriend who gave these gloves to me? She’s a witch, motherfucker.”
The other man stared at Trey’s hand. “You’re saying they’re magic?”
“I’m saying my fingers are twitching to test the strength of the walls in this place.” Trey shook his head and sighed. “But you see, my nana, she would be pretty fucking pissed at me if I beat down some old man, even if he’s a piece of shit who should probably be rotting in a cell somewhere, so I’d really, really prefer not to have to do that.”
Anthony swallowed.
Trey slid the money toward Anthony. “It’s not like you bought the shit, did you? Wait.” He laughed. “Not the plaques. No money in it. Too traceable. But you brought the fucking tv, didn’t you? Mister Big Time buying tvs.”
The fence’s face twitched. “Fuck you, Garfield.”
“Here, this is how nice I am. I don’t even give a shit about the tv. Insurance will cover that.” Trey shook his head. “But those trophies and plaques—I need to get those back, and the thief, well, he needs to understand there are certain places you don’t touch because you’ll draw the wrong kind of attention.” He leaned forward and locked eyes with Anthony. “Last chance, motherfucker, before I start practicing what my boss has been doing for years.”
“Demetrius,” Anthony snapped. “I don’t know his last name. I know he lives in Huntridge because he mentioned it. I can describe him, but I don’t have a picture or anything.”
Trey held up a hand. “Don’t need that. I already have a picture. Demetrius, you see, is a dumb motherfucker in addition to being a thief.” He patted the money. “Enjoy the payday, Anthony. If Demetrius comes sniffing around again, you tell him Trey Garfield’s coming for him.”
Anthony blinked. “You want him to know you’re coming?”
Trey grinned. “Yeah. I want that motherfucker to sweat so much he runs to the police to turn his ass in.”
The fence shook his head. “He’s not gonna do that. You know he’s not a normal thief. I saw it. He’s got himself this magic knife. You might be biting off more than you can ch
ew, Garfield.”
Trey stood and adjusted his tie. “Just more fun for me then, and besides, the big man will be coming to the show.”
“The big man…you mean Brownstone?” Anthony paled.
“Yeah. Like I said, Demetrius is a dumb motherfucker.”
The falling snow cut visibility to a few yards, and the howling wind sounded like an angry ghost waiting for Shay and James to become its victims. The Jeep continued chugging along what remained of the dirt road they were following to the refinery. They hadn’t run into any other mercenaries, or anything more interesting than snow-covered trees.
James glanced down at the GPS. “We’re almost there. I can’t see shit, but we’re almost there.”
Heather sighed. She and Peyton had been monitoring the situation and staying in touch through the speakerphone.
“What’s wrong?” James asked.
“The storm’s not going to clear for hours,” Heather explained. “The drones wouldn’t survive thirty seconds in the air. We’re not going to be able to do much to back you up.”
“She’s right, you know,” Peyton added. “Maybe you should hold your position for a few hours.”
James grunted. “This isn’t the kind of job we need babysitters on, and I’m not sitting around in a Jeep not doing shit for several hours because of a little snow. I don’t like the cold, but I’m not afraid of it. If a Yeti shows up, I’ll kick his ass.”
“Aren’t Yetis more of a Himalayan thing?” Peyton asked.
“Point is, just some fucking snow.”
“Not like it’s flying,” Shay murmured under her breath.
James shot her a dirty look, and she shrugged.
“But you know someone’s watching you,” Heather complained. “After what happened with the mercenaries, I doubt we can just write it off as Canadian intelligence. More mercenaries will probably show up. You can’t depend on them trying to take you alive. What if they surprise you and shoot off a missile or rocket while you’re still driving?”
James let up on the gas slightly. “Don’t know. Don’t give a fuck at this point. Got plenty of ammo left for them. If they do get the drop on us, they better finish us off with the first fucking attack or they’re all dead.”
Peyton groaned. “Shay, can’t you talk to him?”
She snickered. “I know what you two are saying, but it cuts both ways. If we can’t see shit, then the Brotherhood can’t see shit. Neither can any mercenary assholes who want a piece of James, rocket launchers or not. By the time the storm clears, we’ll have cleared out the Brotherhood, so if a few more mercenaries show up, it’ll be no big deal.”
“Exactly,” James rumbled. “This isn’t some fancy shit where we need you to hack doors and watch for enemy drones. This is just us killing twisted fuckers. No evacuation. No worries about them running like little fucking roaches through portals. We show up. They surrender, or they die. Simple. Just the way I like it.”
Despite James’ mention of killing, Whispy remained silent. The amulet had been quiet since the encounter with the mercenaries, although something approaching frustration and irritation leaked from it.
Are you fucking pouting?
The amulet didn’t respond.
Whatever. Do what the fuck you need to do when the time comes. I like it better when you keep your fucking thoughts to yourself.
The Jeep shook for a moment, and loud static filled the phone line.
“Shit,” James muttered, glancing down at his phone. “We lost signal.”
Shay frowned. “Off a high-powered satellite phone? Even with this storm, it should still be getting a signal.”
James shrugged. “Technology isn’t perfect.”
“Maybe you have a shitty phone.” Shay pulled out her phone and dialed. After a few seconds, her frown deepened. “I don’t think this is just a satellite hiccup. I think something’s blocking the signal, which is damned suspicious considering we don’t have any mountains or major hills around.” She pointed to the console screen.
GPS SIGNAL LOST. ATTEMPTING RECONNECTION…
The Jeep slowed more as James let up on the gas, his eyes narrowed. The headlights illuminated a partially collapsed metal fence through the raging snow. The outlines of small buildings showed in front of the massive cylindrical storage tanks, their white color making them disappear in the blizzard. A central building filled with mechanical spires and a latticework of metal formed the center of the facility.
“We’re here.” James stopped the Jeep. “The Brotherhood must have some spell set up.”
“That might also mean they know we’re here.” Shay looked at James. “And they’ll be prepared.”
“They can prepare all they want. They won’t be prepared for me.”
Locate and kill all enemies, Whispy sent. Adaptation potential moderate. Achieve primary directive.
Oh, you wake up for the good shit?
James grinned and threw open the door. The muffled cry of the wind grew deafening. Clouds of snow flowed over the land, doing their best to bury everything in their path.
Shay let out a low chuckle. “Fuck it. Next time, we’re going to a his-and-hers ass-kicking in the Caribbean.”
James raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d been to Antarctica.”
“I have, and it was fucking cold there, too.” Shay shrugged. “What can I say? When you’re right, you’re right.”
James grunted. “I should record that shit. Might not ever hear it again.”
“Probably.” Shay reached into the back seat to grab her AK and a few more grenades for her belt, along with her sword belt holding her Masamune tachi. Being geared up, complete with a sword, made sitting in the Jeep uncomfortable, but they’d be leaving soon enough.
James had replaced his shirt and pants earlier, but the front of his parka was still a bullet-riddled mess. Whispy was keeping the cold from being all that noticeable. James wondered if he could run around naked with the damned thing on and barely feel the temperature.
Shay handed James a headlamp before slipping on her own and putting her AR goggles in her pocket. Even though it was still daylight, they had no idea if any of the buildings would have decent light, and they wanted their hands free for weapons. From the looks of things, he doubted they’d restored electricity to the place, and it’d been abandoned for decades.
“They are right, you know.” Shay shrugged. “We could sit and wait for the storm to die down.”
James shook his head. “Nah. It’ll be easier to pick the Brotherhood off one by one this way.” He stepped out of the Jeep and peered into swirling snow. “And if they did know we’re here, they could have thrown a spell or some shit at us, but nothing. From what the Professor sent us in the briefing files, most of the Brotherhood relies on magically-enhanced hand-to-hand anyway.” He grunted. “Their mistake, if they’re going to be fighting me.”
Shay took a deep breath, opened her door, and stepped out. She shook out her white-gloved hands. “Let’s find some asshole to kill. It’ll warm me up. They might want to punch someone with a fire fist or whatever, but I’m just going to shoot them. It’s what field archaeologists do. Just ask Indiana Jones.”
You good with keeping me warm? James thought.
Temperature regulation will require minor realignment of general defenses, with minor overall efficiency reduction.
Fine. Not like these fuckers are gonna require advanced mode.
Insufficient power for advanced transformation.
James grunted. I know.
He slammed his door shut, the noise swallowed by the wind, and waded through the already-deep snow. Shay stomped toward him.
“Want to retire up here?” she asked. “I’m sure there’s great skiing, or you can take up hockey.”
“I don’t fall down mountains on purpose.” James continued toward the fence. “And I don’t play games.”
“Don’t I know it.”
A dark mound right past an opening in the fence caught James’ atte
ntion. He pulled out his .45.
Shay raised her AK. They both crept forward and kept their weapons trained at the dark mound in the snow.
Kill enemy, Whispy demanded.
The pair closed on the mound and realized it was a man partially buried by snow, most of his face obscured under layers of white precipitation. They aimed their weapons and waited for the man to spring his attack, but after thirty seconds he hadn’t so much as twitched.
Kill enemy.
Yeah, this guy’s real threatening. I think someone already did that.
James holstered his pistol. “Cover me.”
Shay nodded and kept her rifle trained at the man.
The bounty hunter stomped through the snow and knelt. He brushed some of the white off the man and realized they weren’t looking at a Brotherhood assassin lying in wait or stunned, but a corpse.
Dusting off the snow revealed hints of a layer of splattered blood on the snow around the man. His left arm was missing, a frozen and torn stump left in its place. A wide-eyed expression of terror was fixed on the man’s face. His face was covered with deep scars carved to form intricate arcane glyphs, which proved he was a member of the Brotherhood. Deep tears marred his shirt, along with huge ragged parallel gouges in his flesh.
“What the fuck?” Shay muttered. “That looks like claw marks.”
“Yeah.” James grunted. “Get up close and personal with a bear?”
Shay shook her head. “A bear that ripped his arm clean off and then just took off?” She surveyed the area. “Too much fucking snow. No tracks.” She pointed with the rifle behind James. “Even our tracks are getting filled in quickly.”
“If it wasn’t a bear, then what was it?” James stood and shrugged.
Shay sighed. “We’re raiding a cult led by a dark wizard with a powerful artifact. I’m guessing he tried to summon something that got out of hand, and it’s angry and hungry.”
Find and kill the new enemy, Whispy ordered. Adaptational potential high. Achieve primary directive.
How did I know you’d be happy when we found a torn-apart body?
James frowned. “Maybe, or maybe not.”
Vax Humana: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 13) Page 11