The chief pointed to her chair. “Sit down, Lieutenant. Now.”
Maria dropped back into her seat with a frown. “Brownstone’s the problem, sir. You should bill him. It was his floozy.”
“That’s another thing.” The chief set his phone down and shook his head. “You need to get the fuck over Brownstone. You can’t blame him for everything, and your own follow-up report talks about how you wasted even more money to use a rare artifact to question him about this woman, and… Well, refresh my memory, Lieutenant. Did you detect any lies from Brownstone about this woman?”
“He was tricking us somehow. Maybe he had some sort of lying spell.”
“Oh, so he conveniently had that magic prepared in case you showed up with a rare and expensive artifact we don’t use in routine investigations?”
Maria groaned. “I’m telling you he’s connected to that woman. We linked her to the airport incident.”
“We’re cops. We go off evidence, not vendettas. I don’t want to see or hear anything about Brownstone again from you unless you personally witness him committing a major felony.” He held up a hand. “And, no, beating up or killing a valid bounty doesn’t count.”
Maria opened her mouth to offer another rebuttal but shut it when the chief’s phone rang.
He snatched it up with a frown. “What? I thought I told you I’d be busy.” His face twitched, and he sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor. Yes. Yes. I understand.” He glanced at Lieutenant Hall. “Right, I’ll tell her. Yes, I happen to be speaking with her right now on the subject.” He adjusted the phone. “Yes, I’ll let her know the details. Thank you for letting me know.” The chief placed the phone face down on his desk.
The AET officer just waited for the chief to deliver whatever news he’d received from the mayor. His fading anger suggested something big.
“The Oriceran consulate, on behalf of several local Oriceran leaders, has just contacted the mayor. They are concerned that the use of heavy magic toward the police in the most recent incident will reflect negatively on Oricerans.”
“What the fuck do they care? She wasn’t Oriceran, just an Earth witch, it looks like.”
The chief snorted. “They care enough that they’re willing to cover the costs involved in controlling the incident and throw in a little extra for the AET budget. They stressed to the mayor that they are concerned with out-of-control magic. According to them, they understand how bad these situations can get and want to do what they can to help smooth things out locally and help promote the authorities keeping irresponsible magic users in check.”
Maria grinned. “Hell, at least someone understands that importance of what we do. Too bad it has to be a bunch of people from another planet.”
The chief waved her away with a snort. “You did your job, and now a bunch of elves, dwarves, and who knows what else are cleaning up for you. Stop smiling, stop blaming Brownstone for things, and get the hell out of my office.”
The lieutenant stood and waved. She made it to the door before the snark bubbled out.
“Okay, sure, I won’t blame Brownstone, but that means he gets no credit for any of this!”
Hannah glared at her father as they continued into the dark alley. “This better not be a trick.”
Her father shrugged with a grin. “What’s the trick?”
“You told me you were gonna scare me on purpose to see if I had learned to be brave this year.”
He laughed. “Yeah. You’re going into second-grade next year. You’re practically an adult.”
Hannah squinted as glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness and grabbed her dad’s arm. “This isn’t funny, Dad.”
He frowned and glared into the shadows. “It’s okay, honey. I got this.” He nodded. “Hey, whoever is there, you better turn around if you know what’s good for you.”
“What’s good for me?” replied a hollow voice.
Her father reached underneath his jacket and pulled out a gun.
Hannah gasped. “You brought a gun?”
“I bring a gun everywhere now.” He pointed the weapon into the darkness. “Lots of freaks in Vegas. I told you about how my buddy got mugged a few months ago. Never can be too safe, honey.”
“Let’s just go and call the police, Dad.”
Laughter bubbled up from the darkness. “A gun? Police? Both useless.”
“Yeah, asshole,” Hannah’s father growled. “Turn around and run, or you’re going to end up with some lead in your head.”
Hannah trembled beside him and gripped his arm tightly. “Let’s just get out of here. Please.”
“Shoot me now,” the voice called from the shadows. “This is your one chance. You’ll fail, but at least it’s a chance.”
“Shut your mouth,” Hannah’s father shouted, then swallowed. “Okay, honey, I think you need to head back toward the street while I talk with this guy.”
“Dad, I’m scared,” the girl whispered.
The outline of the figure grew closer.
“Last chance,” the girl’s father barked. “I’m warning you.”
“I gave you your chance,” came the hollow and raspy response. “Now you die.”
Hannah’s father pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession. His daughter screamed and put her hands over her ears.
The figure didn’t fall. He burst toward them, the shadows cloaking almost every feature except his red eyes. His arm contorted in the darkness, and his fingers bent and twisted until the outline of a sharp blade cut through the shadows.
“What the fuck?” Hannah’s father yelled. He kept firing into the figure until his gun clicked empty. The rough outline of his target remained hidden, and the man didn’t fall or give the slightest indication he’d been hit.
Hannah, tears streaming down her face, backed up. “No, no, no. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real.”
A mottled leathery arm emerged from the darkness. The sharp blade wasn’t a weapon, or at least not a conventional one. It was a thin bony protrusion. Hannah continued backing up until she bumped into a wall, then stood there hyperventilating.
The young girl closed her eyes and fell to the ground, covering her face with her hands.
Her daddy cried out and his gun clattered against the ground, and there was a dull thud a second later. Hannah risked opening her eyes, and she screamed.
Her father still gripped the gun, but the hand holding it now lay on the ground, detached at the wrist. His open, lifeless eyes stared at her from his severed head.
The red-eyed figure retreated into the shadows. “Go ahead and run, little angel.”
Hannah forced herself to her feet despite her shaking knees and chattering teeth. She tried to will her feet to move, but they remained stubbornly stationary. She sobbed, and her salty tears kept her from making out anything but the red glow.
“Run now,” the voice growled. “It’s better that they know. Better that they hear it from you. You can go ahead and tell everyone that I am the one who makes angels cry.”
The girl stumbled as she ran, but picked herself up and continued running down the alley. The mocking laughter of the killer followed her.
6
“I’m out of shit to clean,” James mumbled. “Fuck.”
The tile gleamed, and the carpet looked even better than when it’d been installed, which had only been a few days ago in any case. Even the slightest hint of dirt in the grout had fallen prey to his attention. There was no dirty laundry or suspicious-smelling food. He’d even trimmed all the bushes in his yard and made sure his lawn was even.
Everything was clean, organized, and its place. Everything was…simple as long as he didn’t go into the bathroom.
None of that helped him figure out how he was going to fill the rest of the day.
James frowned and shook his head. It wasn’t like he’d never taken a few days off bounty hunting before, so he didn’t understand why this gaping chasm lingered in his soul. Confession had helped but had
n’t closed it. He was missing something, but he wasn’t sure what.
When he stepped into his room and looked at his dresser, he knew exactly what he was missing—or more accurately, who.
Shay and Alison.
James sighed. Loneliness. He’d always been on the outside of society, but he’d never felt the painful void accompanying true loneliness.
Shay needs to concentrate on her job and Alison on school. I can’t call them like an emo teenage girl.
The bounty hunter grunted. He also couldn’t sit around his house all day. Maybe a drink at the Leanan Sídhe was a good plan.
He tossed that idea after a few seconds. The problem was that anytime he hit a crowded place, people swarmed him to ask questions or ask for his fucking autograph. Walking into the popular Irish pub might put him around people, but it’d also mean he wouldn’t have two seconds to think.
Not only that, he stilled owed the Professor participation in a Bard of Filth competition. He might be able to tolerate the pain with Shay around, but not by himself.
So where could he go? What could he do? What could possibly fill the deep chasm in his heart?
A wide grin spread across his face. There was one constant in his life, something he could claim as one of his earliest loves.
It was time to get some barbeque. And not just any barbeque, the best damned barbeque on the planet.
“Jessie Rae’s,” James rumbled. He grabbed his coat and made a quick trip to his basement to secure a .45. While he didn’t expect any trouble on his way to Las Vegas, he also hadn’t expected any trouble at the Italian restaurant. Being properly prepared would mean fewer regrets later.
Maybe a few knives. Just in case. A grenade wouldn’t hurt. Just one.
Now armed better than the average man but carrying far less than was typical for him or Shay, the bounty hunter made his way to his truck. He started up the F-350, smiling at the fact he’d filled the gas tank the night before. He wouldn’t even have to stop on his way to Las Vegas.
James pulled out his phone, synced it with his truck’s speakers, and turned on the Sauce Wars podcast, then headed out.
He half-listened to the hosts’ chatter as his mind drifted to the growing labyrinth of complicated relationships now defining his life. He had a girlfriend. Well, a lover. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he should call her.
He had a daughter. For that matter, he had friends like Mack and Trey and a pile of employees.
Simple was gone. No, not just gone. Simple was dead, its body blown into bits by a rocket launcher over the ocean.
Keep It Simple, Stupid. James had lived his life by that philosophy, but without sacrificing every connection he now had it was no longer possible. Even if he’d left behind the woman and girl who had a claim on his heart, his reputation followed him everywhere.
There was no keeping it simple when you were the Scourge of Harriken.
James grunted. None of it mattered, anyway. If some genie popped out of one of Shay’s artifacts and offered him the chance to turn back time, he’d tell him to stuff his ass back in the bottle.
He pulled his truck onto the highway.
Fuck it. If I wouldn’t change anything, no use overthinking it. I might not be able to keep it simple, but I can at least keep it from getting more complicated.
Trey adjusted his tie and smiled into the camera. He was taking far too much satisfaction in standing in front of a police station for his interview.
The reporter standing next to him had a nice rack. Maybe he’d ask her out after they finished.
“This is Nina Edgars, with an exclusive interview with a man whose name has been coming up a lot lately—Trey Garfield, a bounty hunter with the newly formed Brownstone Agency.” She stuck the microphone in his face. “Can you tell us a little bit about the bounty you just captured?”
Trey gave the woman and the camera a bright smile. This situation called for Smooth Trey, not Gangster Trey. He was glad he had on one of his more dapper suits.
“Sure, Nina. Today wasn’t a big deal. We weren’t talking about King Pyro here.” He chuckled, and the reporter joined him. “Not to say that the man I brought in, Anatoly Egorov, wasn’t dangerous. He’s a level-two bounty. My boy’s been traveling up and down the West Coast killing people for cash, so I brought him in for a little cash of my own.”
Nina nodded. “And you’re not concerned about vengeance?”
“By the time Anatoly gets out of jail, I hope to be retired on some tropical island somewhere.”
They shared another laugh.
“Mr. Garfield, please give us a little insight into how you tracked the elusive hitman down.”
“Not so hard. I’ve got a lot of contacts on the street. The thing is, no one can disappear—not really. A man shows up in town, he sends out ripples. All you have to do is look for them. Even if someone doesn’t want to give up a name, you can tell if a certain guy is fidgeting more or people are avoiding a certain bar…that sort of thing.”
“Very impressive.” A hungry look appeared on Nina’s face.
Shit. Down, girl.
“Isn’t it true that before you were a bounty hunter, you were a criminal?”
Trey kept his smile. “I used to lead a collective neighborhood security association if that’s what you’re talking about.”
“Is that how you referred to your street gang?”
“It’s all perspective, Nina. I’ll only note that a man like me knows the streets and what to look for, like those ripples I mentioned. It helps me bring in the dangerous guys before they hurt innocent people.”
The hungry gleam in the woman’s eyes only intensified. “That’s an interesting perspective, and your reputation so far is one of extreme professionalism.”
“We at the Brownstone Agency strive for that, even when dealing with hitmen.”
“Even though your boss is a killer?”
Trey couldn’t help the frown that broke through. “Excuse me?”
“James Brownstone, the founder of your agency. He’s killed a number of his bounties.”
Trey forced the smile back onto his face. “Mr. Brownstone has defended himself on numerous occasions against very dangerous men. Considering he normally only deals with level-three and above bounties, you’re almost always talking about not just criminals, but criminals with magic. You think Mr. Brownstone should have exercised restraint against the necromancer body-hopper in Detroit?”
Nina’s face twitched. “And the Harriken?”
Trey laughed. “Last time I checked, they had a dead-or-alive organizational bounty on them. The police helped block off the street while he took them down.”
“Are you willing to guarantee that every death associated with James Brownstone was legal and justified?”
Trey snorted. “Nina, I can’t guarantee that everything you’ve done in your life is legal and justified.”
The reporter frowned. “So you have nothing you want to add about James Brownstone?”
“Add about Brownstone? Sure. This city and country are safer because he’s around.” Trey shrugged. “Mexico’s safer because he’s around. He’s taken down more than a few big bounties down there, too. Japan’s also safer because of him.”
Nina turned to the camera. “There you have it. Trey Garfield of the Brownstone Agency providing some interesting perspective on his controversial boss.”
The cameraman lowered his equipment, and the reporter stormed off without further comment.
“Not like I would have asked you out anyway after you tried to do James like that,” Trey mumbled.
The pile of stripped ribs spoke of both James’ hunger and the quality of the cuisine. He’d wanted to slow himself down and savor the glories of Jessie Rae’s God Sauce as it rested on his tongue, but his self-control had failed as soon as the first rib had hit his mouth. Several pounds of ribs later he didn’t regret his choice, and he was confident he wouldn’t after several more.
An older couple sitting at one of
the other tables looked between James and the wall several times before the wife cleared her throat.
“Excuse me, sir, but would you happen to be James Brownstone?”
He shrugged. “Last time I checked.”
“Honey, come over here. It’s James Brownstone.” She pointed to a picture on the wall. “Just like in the picture.”
The picture hanging on the wall depicted James standing next to Mike, the owner of Jessie Rae’s. It had been James’ first attempt at a barbeque competition. He had come in first, but he attributed that more to Mike helping him than any skill of his own.
A rumbling chuckle escaped. He’d assumed the couple recognized him from his bounty-hunting exploits. It had never even occurred to him that someone might recognize him for barbeque.
The woman’s husband hurried over to the table and extended a bony hand. James shook it, and the couple seated themselves at his table.
“Maybe you can settle a debate,” the husband began, “between my wife and me about barbeque.”
James shrugged. “I can offer an opinion. Maybe a stupid one.”
The couple exchanged a glance before the husband spoke again. “Is there one type of meat that’s better than the others?”
James shook his head. “Not really. Doesn’t matter what type of meat, or even the cut. Different types of meats and cuts work for different meals. That’s how barbeque is special.”
The wife pointed to a television in the corner. “Look, Mr. Brownstone. You’re on television. Did you win another competition?”
He shook his head. “Nope, haven’t been in one for a while.”
The sound was off, but he could read the subtitles with ease. A local Vegas station was rerunning a report from a sister affiliate in LA.
James watched stone-faced as Nina Edgars interviewed Trey. The reporter trying to paint him in a bad light was only a mild annoyance, which watching his friend defend him more than made up for.
When Angels Cry: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 6) Page 5