She Is The Widow Maker: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 5)

by Michael Anderle

  James polished off the last of his beer as he thought over the explanation. Like everything lately it seemed overly complicated, but he figured the cop would know better than him how to deal with crime in a more systematic way.

  “Okay, I guess I can see how that much would be useful, as long as we balance it right. I don’t want everyone underestimating me, just the top bastards. If I’m gonna fucking embarrass myself, I want it to be helpful.”

  He deliberated for a few seconds to decide whether to go for more brisket, ribs, or a pork steak. He decided to first hit the former and follow up with the latter.

  Sergeant Mack nodded toward Trey. “He can bring in a lot of the low-level bounties to establish the reach of your agency, then you can hype it a bit. Hell, I’m sure I can get some departmental PR resources dedicated to this.”

  “I’m willing to do it, but are you sure it’s a good plan?” James asked. “A lot of people in the department don’t like me. That shit they did at the Black Sun is weird.”

  “Yeah, heard about that, but it’s got its advantages, too. Besides, we cops care more about stopping crime than who gets the credit. Yeah, not going to lie, more than a few people have it out for you—especially AET—but that doesn’t change the fact that if we can get a city-wide reduction in crime off your reputation alone, it doesn’t matter what they think.”

  “Okay. Just give me some time to let it sink in.”

  The three men fell into silence as they continued their exploration of the intricacies of meat and sauce.

  About an hour later, meat filled James’ stomach. Too full and bloated, but he’d gladly pay the price for the experience of eating all the delicious meat.

  James flagged down a waitress, then spotted a barbeque cookbook on a stand near the wall in the back. He stood and walked toward it.

  “What’s up?” Trey asked.

  “Nothing, just something personal.”

  “Badass Barbeque with Tom,” James read.

  The owner walked from behind the counter. “It’s by my uncle, God rest his soul. We brought it over for a bit of color.”

  “I used to have a signed copy.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “It got burned up in a fire,” James rumbled.

  Some sonofabitch blew up his house and took down his signed cookbook collection with it. Shay’s use of a hidden library warehouse made a lot of sense in retrospect.

  The owner glanced between the book and Brownstone several times. “Look, we don’t get a lot of celebrities in here.”

  James grunted. “I’m not a celebrity.” His gaze cut to Sergeant Mack.

  “You were on TV several times.” The owner shrugged. “And we know how much you love barbeque. I’m willing to trade you the book, which is signed by my uncle. In exchange, you sign ten of our t-shirts.”

  “Hell, yes!”

  The owner grinned. “I’m glad we could do business, Mr. Brownstone.”

  “You could have bargained his ass higher,” Trey called from the table.

  James was almost back to his apartment when his phone chimed with a text from Trey.

  Those motherfuckers from the BBQ place are already selling those signed shirts online for a grand a pop. Eight are already sold. You should have bargained his ass higher.

  The bounty hunter chuckled.

  Dumbasses. I’m not a celebrity.

  Whatever you say, motherfucker.

  6

  Maria’s desk phone rang. It was too damned early for the phone to be ringing. She hadn’t finished her second cup of coffee. Or her third, for that matter.

  Freaking Weber. He was slacking off.

  “Lieutenant Hall, LAPD AET.”

  “This is Special Agent Danforth from the NYC FBI Field Office.”

  Maria’s heart kicked up. “You have something on my mystery airport chick, don’t you? Please tell me you’re about to make my day. It’s been a real shitty week.”

  “We got a request to run the image through some additional facial recognition programs and databases we have, and we got a tenuous match. And I mean very tenuous. This shit wouldn’t hold up in a court in some banana republic, let alone get you a warrant or before a grand jury.”

  Maria scoffed. “I’ll worry about getting that far later. Just give me what you've got. This is important.”

  Agent Danforth sighed. “You’re not going to like this, Lieutenant.”

  “I don’t like a lot of shit, but I’m AET and a big girl. I can take it.”

  “The only match we have is for a dead woman,” Agent Danforth explained.

  “’A dead woman?’” Maria echoed.

  “The picture vaguely matches a hitman we were tracking in the general New York City area for a while. She ended up being killed by another hitman. They burned her house to try and cover up the crime.”

  Maria rubbed the bridge of her nose. She hadn’t expected tracking the woman down to be easy, but she hadn’t expected a dead woman to show up either. “And you’re sure she’s dead? She was positively identified a hundred percent?”

  “Yeah, dead. We recovered DNA from the body. According to our DNA records her name was Lisa Sellers, but we’re pretty sure that’s not her real name—and there’s evidence that her birth records were manipulated. Not exactly unusual for some of these high-end killers. Not like they are going around using their real names on the job, and a lot of them have gotten good at covering their tracks with tech or magic.”

  Maria frowned. “Send me the DNA profile and I’ll see if I can collect some samples for matches.”

  “Lieutenant, this is a wild goose chase. Lisa Sellers is dead. We investigated the scene thoroughly. I’m only calling you because an old buddy of mine put out the call that you needed help, and I just wanted to make sure that if you heard about Sellers you wouldn’t waste time chasing a ghost.”

  “Maybe she is a ghost or a zombie or some shit, but I’m AET. We deal with magic all the time. Maybe some necromancer decided that Sellers or whatever the fuck her real name is needed to rise again. Please just send me that DNA profile, and I’ll waste my time if I think I need to. Thanks, though. I needed this break.”

  “Huh. Good point, and you’re welcome. If it does end up being Sellers, let me know. You’re right. These days we can always say, ‘Stranger things have happened.’”

  “Will do, and thanks again.”

  Maria hung up the phone. Her gut told her this wasn’t a necromancer or some sort of strange Oriceran bullshit.

  No, this killer was still alive. She was running around LA helping Brownstone kill people, and Maria would track both their asses down and catch them in the middle of a crime. Even if her department didn’t focus on normal killers, she could use resources related to enhanced threats and their associates.

  “Working with a hitman now, Brownstone? Why does this not surprise me? I knew you were a piece of a shit, and you’re an accomplice to murder.” Maria brought up the drone photo from the airport and grinned. “You’ve got most of the LAPD snowed so I might not be able to get you first, but I’ll be able to bring in your floozy killer friend, who is already supposed to be dead, and I’ll bet that pisses you off enough that you do something stupid I can finally grab you for.” She closed the image. “I hope you enjoy going to an ultramax, Brownstone. I’m sure there’s tons of guys there you helped put away.”

  A notification popped up on Maria’s computer. She clicked on it and ground her teeth.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

  Officer Malley scribbled a few notes on his pad. The gathered visiting businessmen were pale, but he wasn’t sure if that was from fear or hangovers. Several of the men could barely stand. Most rested in chairs on the edges of beds in the motel room.

  He didn’t frown, even though he didn’t like the idea of a bunch of hungover businessmen wasting his time.

  “So, do you know the name of the woman your friend left with?”

  The most vocal of the group, John,
shook his head. “No. He told us not to wait up for him, but he never came back.”

  “And this was last night?”

  “Yeah. Chuck likes to party, but he always comes back, and he’s not answering his phone. We think something happened to him. Something bad. Maybe they got carjacked or something.”

  The cop shrugged. “Look, I don’t think it’s been enough time for us to do anything. Your friend has barely been gone.”

  John shot to his feet and swayed for a moment. He gulped as if trying to avoid throwing up.

  “My brother is a cop in Dallas,” he said, glaring at the cop. “I know you don’t have to wait twenty-four hours or anything to report a missing person, so don’t feed me that ‘enough time’ bullshit.”

  Officer Malley frowned. “Watch yourself, sir. I’m not saying you have to wait twenty-four hours. I’m saying he’s a grown man who didn’t come back to a motel room after leaving with a beautiful woman, not some kid who disappeared in the mall.”

  John sighed and sat back down. “I’m just saying this isn’t like him.”

  The cop looked down at his notepad. “You also said, ‘a super-hot chick in a super-hot dress. She looked like a movie star, and we didn’t get why she’d even want Chuck, and we were all jealous.’ You don’t think that maybe your buddy decided to say fuck it to the conference and spend a day banging some piece of tail he’ll never land again? Especially if his wife isn’t around to crowd him?”

  “Why wouldn’t he answer his phone then?”

  Officer Malley laughed. “Are you shitting me? Do you answer the phone when you’re having sex?”

  John shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Look, this is LA. I’ll tell you what this probably is. Annoying, but not sinister. That chick is probably some aspiring actress or model trying to make ends meet as a waitress. She goes to the club, sees some middle-aged dude and decides she can get a new sugar daddy, but she’s got to put her work in first.” The cop shrugged. “The best thing you can do for Chuck is convince him not to send her any money once he heads back home.”

  John nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I don’t know if I should be pitying him or calling him a lucky bastard.”

  “Hey, as long as he doesn’t give her any money he’s still getting to have sex with a hot chick, and his wife will probably never find out.” Officer Malley closed his notepad. “If anything else comes up let us know, but I guarantee you that your boy will call you the day of your flight back, panicked and in a rush because he lost track of time between all the sex and blow.”

  “You really think he’s okay?”

  “I think he had a better night than any of us.”

  Kathy finished pouring a beer and pushed it over to a customer. The door opened and a curvy raven-haired woman stepped into the Black Sun. The bartender didn’t recognize the woman, but something about her seemed vaguely familiar.

  She snickered to herself after a few seconds. It wasn’t that the woman was familiar, it was just that she didn’t fit in with the rougher crowd.

  Kathy was attractive, but this woman could stop traffic. Hell, she could stop air traffic thirty-five thousand feet up. She only seemed familiar because it was the second ultra-hot woman who had come into the Black Sun recently.

  The bartender didn’t care. Jealousy was for the insecure. Kathy trusted in her combination of brains and beauty.

  Yeah, wonder if that blonde is pissed at Tyler. Wonder what her deal was? Just looking for the biggest and toughest guy to fuck?

  The dark-haired woman grabbed a stool. “I’ll have a Black Russian.”

  The bartender nodded and grabbed the bottles to prepare the order. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

  “Oh, I’ve just heard this place is popular lately.”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” Kathy finished preparing the drink and set it in front of the woman.

  The woman took a sip and smiled. “There are a lot of things in human civilization to despise, but this planet is good at booze.”

  Kathy laughed. “I hope so. Otherwise, I’d be out of a job.”

  The dark-haired woman offered a weak smile and fell silent as she nursed her drink.

  Kathy didn’t mind. Some people wanted to talk to bartenders, but a lot of people just wanted to drink a little booze somewhere other than home. Besides, a place like the Black Sun could be entertaining because of the crowd alone.

  A good twenty minutes passed as the bartender served refills and a few new customers. The dark-haired woman was on her third Black Russian.

  The loud conversation of two slick-haired men in suits at a table caught Kathy’s attention. They were local Italian Mafia—a diminished presence in LA now between all the competition supernatural or otherwise, but the local Italians still took pride in their traditions and stubborn resistance.

  “You hear about Brownstone and the Demon Generals?” one of the gangsters asked; a man named Lenny.

  “What about him?” the other gangster replied.

  “I heard he beat six of them to death because they pissed on the grave of his dog.”

  “Shit, that didn’t happen.”

  “Yeah, because fucking Brownstone is known for his restraint.” Lenny snorted. “I’m surprised it was only six.”

  The dark-haired woman picked up her drink and sauntered over to the table. The timing made her intent obvious.

  Yet another Brownstone groupie? Bet she’s some rich bitch from Coto who got all wet when she found out Brownstone drove through there.

  That blonde probably had been, too. Crap, how many of these skanks are going to come to the Black Sun looking for him?

  Kathy’s face twitched. She didn’t like the idea of random hot women showing up and screwing with customers. The Black Sun was neutral ground, not some place for Brownstone groupies to sniff around.

  “Care for some company?” the dark-haired woman asked.

  The two gangsters exchanged glances and grinned.

  “Sweetheart, you get your ass into a chair,” Lenny ordered.

  The beautiful woman took a seat with a soft smile on her face and her hand on the man’s shoulder.

  The trio fell into quiet murmurs that Kathy couldn’t make out over the next several minutes. The woman stood, and one of the gangsters followed.

  “I think we’ll enjoy exchanging something valuable with each other,” the woman stated and sashayed toward the door.

  The gangster winked at his friend and hurried after her.

  Once the pair stepped through the door, several men grumbled. Kathy bit down the laugh at the pathetic jealousy on display.

  “What the fuck?” a scarred man at the bar muttered. “Since when does Lenny get chicks like that?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Kathy told him. “She’s hot for Brownstone. I doubt Lenny will get a reach-around even with his pants on.”

  7

  James leaned back in his chair, enjoying the opening banter on the Sauce Wars podcast.

  “Forget about Nadina.” Francis, one of the hosts scoffed. “Not saying she’s not cute and doesn’t know her way around some sauces, but she’s not the be-all and end-all. If everyone’s interested in fusion, screw Oriceran. We’ve got nine billion people on this planet. Hundreds of countries. Why are we getting all impressed by Oriceran spices and flavor combinations when we’ve got our own? How many barbeque fans could even identify a Moroccan spice combination if they tasted it?”

  Ava, the other host, laughed. “Good point. Many people argue about whether certain regional barbeques styles are true barbeque, but I say, bring it all on. Let’s mix it all in. Let’s get the Oricerans obsessed with our flavors, not the other way around.”

  The podcast paused as James got a call from Sergeant Mack.

  “What’s up?” James answered.

  “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  James grunted. “I thought we agreed to send Trey after the level-ones. That was the whole point of me settin
g up the Brownstone Agency.”

  “This isn’t about that, and what I’m asking requires James Brownstone, not Trey Garfield. Like it or not, there aren’t a lot of other people like you out there.”

  Don’t I fucking know it. If Shay’s right, there may be nobody like me on this planet.

  “What do you need?” James asked.

  Mack cleared his throat. “So, you’re not going to believe this, but I just got a notice from AET requesting your help. As in, you were requested by name.”

  James laughed. “No shit? Why didn’t they just call me directly? Not like the cops don’t know my number.”

  “I think Lieutenant Hall would have a stroke if AET did that, and her superiors aren’t fond of you either. To be clear, our local AET doesn’t need your help, but there’s been a request from the Detroit Police Department for the LAPD to facilitate you going to Detroit to help their AET. They’ve got some intel that a level-five bounty might be rolling in and they want a little Brownstone backup.”

  “And they can’t handle it? I handle local shit because I live here, not because I’m the only one who can.”

  Mack sighed. “We’ve got decent funding in the LAPD. DPD AET? They’ve got shit for funding. It’s amazing they can even field an AET team there. They are underfunded, underpaid, and understaffed, but I’ve met a few of the guys. They are good cops, and I don’t think they would be reaching out if they didn’t respect you.”

  “I’m not some sort of bounty hunter for rent. I don’t want every police department in this country suddenly thinking they just have to dial me up and I’ll come running.”

  Fuck. Talk about complicated shit. Shay’s deal is running around and doing things, not mine.

  “No one’s saying you are or that you have to, Brownstone, but if you’re willing to go out of the country for a bounty, going to Michigan shouldn’t be a big deal. Take a supersonic flight and you could get there tonight.”

  James grunted. “Are they gonna pay for that?”