Sometimes a man just wanted some barbeque without trouble.
A detective in an ill-fitting suit looked his way and frowned.
Shit. They got a problem with me here? This might have been a bad idea.
The detective marched straight toward James, even pushing a handcuffed suspect out of the way.
“Watch it, bro!” the suspect shouted.
The cop flipped him off and continued on his path to James. He stopped right in front of the bounty hunter, looking him up and down.
“You’re James Brownstone, right?”
“Yeah,” James rumbled.
“Come with me.” The detective spun on his heel and marched toward the front door.
The bounty hunter blinked a few times and shook his head. He had no idea why the cop would be leaving the building instead of taking him to another room inside. Maybe this was his way of telling James to get the hell out of Las Vegas, or something worse.
Fuck. Is this some sort of trap? Maybe they’ve got AET set up?
James walked after the detective, his muscles tensing. He wanted to trust the police since they were on the same side, but his experiences with Lieutenant Hall and the AET in LA had made it all too clear that not every cop trusted him.
Still, what choice did he have? He needed the local cops to be on his side, and refusing to go with a detective because he was paranoid about an ambush wouldn’t help with that.
The cop continued to the street and waited for the walk sign to change. He hurried across and James followed, now more confused than ever.
“I hear you like barbeque, Brownstone,” the cop mentioned.
James chuckled. “Yeah, I like barbeque. I guess you could say I really like it. Didn’t realize that was something people knew about me.”
“Yeah, I love me some good barbeque myself.” The cop shook his head. “Except for gas. It’s just…”
“No bark,” James finished for him.
“Yeah, exactly. Just not the flavor I want.” The cop looked thoughtful for a moment. “If you love barbeque, there’s one place you need to go. The best I’ve ever had, and I’ve had barbeque all over.”
James waited, his heart rate kicking up at the possibility of discovering a place he’d somehow missed.
“It’s called Jessie Rae’s,” the cop continued. “It’s not a fancy place, so some people just pass it by, but it’s damned barbeque perfection, I’m telling you. Won all sorts of awards.”
James laughed. “Yeah, I know Jessie Rae’s. I came here this trip to go there.”
“You came to Vegas just for Jessie Rae’s?”
“Yeah.”
The cop scratched his chin. “You know what? Can’t say I blame you. You’re a man of discriminating taste, Brownstone.”
James shrugged. “Not to be a dick, but where are we going?”
“Yeah, I guess I should have mentioned that to begin with. We’re close to a CPS office. There’s something I wanted to show you. I’m Detective West, by the way. I’m in homicide.”
James remembered the name from the news report and some of the additional notes attached to the bounty. “You’re one of the main guys investigating the Red Eyes Killer.”
“Yeah, I am. We’ll talk a little bit more about it after I show you something. I just want you to have all the important information before we start chatting.”
The worn brick façade of the CPS building came into view about a block away. James’ tension had vanished with the brief discussion of barbeque, but realizing the cop was attached to the bounty summoned it all back. He’d gone to the police station to talk to someone about the killer.
He might have come to Vegas for barbeque, but he was staying to take down a serial killer.
They arrived at the concrete steps leading to the front door of the CPS building. Once inside Detective West waved to a woman at the front desk, and she nodded toward a nearby hallway.
The cop didn’t even slow as he turned into it. He led James to a room halfway down the corridor past an intersection and opened the door. The bounty hunter stepped inside. A one-way mirror dominated the center of the room.
Two young girls were playing with dolls in a small playroom on the other side of the mirror. A middle-aged woman in professional dress sat in a small chair looking at her phone. One of the children, a little blond girl, looked young—maybe four or five. The other was a few years older. James wasn’t sure. He wasn’t that good at guessing kids’ ages.
Detective West cleared his throat. “Since you knew who I was, I’m guessing you were at the station to ask about the Red Eyes Killer.”
James grunted. “Was gonna check into him, at least.”
“Three little girls have lost their parents. One was lucky; she had relatives in town. These two have no close relatives, so we’re going to have to put them into the system. That’s what this asshole is doing, Brownstone. Butchering people, and not just killing them, killing them in front of their children.” Detective West shook his head. “Even if these kids get into a stable new family situation, they’re going to have to deal with having witnessed those murders for the rest of their lives. Think about how fucked up that is.”
The little blond girl turned. It was as if she was looking right at James with her mournful gaze.
Orphans. Just like me.
His stomach knotted. What sort of horrible shit had he seen before his parents had sent him to Earth? He didn’t remember those early years, but maybe that was a mercy.
James spun and stomped out of the room.
“Brownstone!” the cop called after him.
He ignored Detective West and walked around the corner toward the entrance to the playroom.
James threw open the door and marched right into the room. The woman in the chair let out a yelp and hopped up, almost dropping her phone.
“What are you doing, Brownstone?” Detective West inquired.
James stared down at the little girl. The other girl in the room gave him a quick glance before returning her attention to her doll.
The blond little girl stood. Her eyes widened. She took tiny steps until she stood right in front of him and wrapped her arms around his leg. Tears streamed down her face.
“I’m James Brownstone,” he rumbled.
“I’m Dina.” She sniffled. “I told Red Eyes that I’d get someone to punish them, and I asked the nice lady about finding you.”
“Finding me?”
He glanced at the woman and she shrugged, confusion written all over her face.
The girl bobbed her head. “I prayed, and I asked the angels to bring you so you could find my daddy’s killer and punish him. The old man on tv said you stop bad people.”
Old man on tv? James stared down at the girl, a bit lost but understanding the most important thing: this little girl was suffering.
He picked the girl up. “Yeah, I stop bad people. No one hurts little girls. I’ll take care of your daddy’s killer.”
The professional woman had put her phone away and stepped forward with her arms out. James slipped the girl into the woman’s arms with a sigh.
Detective West nodded toward the door. “We shouldn’t be here, Brownstone.”
James nodded and followed the cop outside.
The cop blew out a long breath. “Just to be clear, this isn’t a dead or alive bounty, Brownstone. You take him out, you might lose fifty percent of the bounty, if not the whole thing.”
“Sometimes it’s not about the money.” James glanced toward the door. “Sometimes it’s about making sure little angels don’t cry themselves to sleep at night fearing what is out there.”
Trey’s phone chimed for the fifteenth time in a half hour, and he groaned and shook his head.
“What do you think of this one, Trey?” Aunt Charlyce called from farther up the row of dresses. She held up an orange maxi.
Trey had insisted they go shopping. He of all people understood how new clothes could change a person’s perspective and attitude.
“It looks good.” He shrugged, and his phone chimed again.
All the messages were variations on the same, his boys bitching about Staff Sergeant Royce going all drill instructor on their asses. They needed to stop whining and start doing what their trainer told them. They weren’t gangbangers anymore, and the minute they accepted that, the easier it’d be for them to transition to being bounty hunters.
His aunt draped another dress over her arm. “What’s all those messages?”
“Complaints from my boys.”
“You’re a busy man. Shouldn’t Mr. Brownstone be handling that sort of thing?”
Trey shook his head. “No. The big man needs to concentrate on the big threats. My boys and me, we’re cleaning up the normal threats rather than the freaks, but I’m the one who led these boys, so it’s my responsibility to make sure they get with the program.” He chuckled. “We’ve got a Marine Corps drill instructor working with them. Some of my boys thought they knew tough, but between Mr. Brownstone and Staff Sergeant Royce they’re learning what real toughness is.”
Aunt Charlyce nodded. “It’s good, what you’re doing. What he’s doing, too.”
“I’ve always tried to give respect to get respect. The big man understands that so we’ve gotten along, but he’s only one man, and he can only do so much. The Brownstone Agency is the next step.” He shook his head. “Maybe the cops aren’t as bad as I thought, but we both know they got their priorities. Maybe the Brownstone Agency will get so large we won’t even need cops anymore.”
“That’d be a sight.” Her smile lit her face.
Trey furrowed his brow. “When was the last time you stayed somewhere nice, Auntie? Real nice?”
“It’s not so bad now that I’m clean. The shelters have lots of rules against junkies, so I’ve had more warm beds lately.”
Trey snorted. “I ain’t talking about that. This is a family reunion, and I’ve got money now. I want to make sure you experience some nice stuff for a change.”
“Nice stuff?” The woman stared at him, a puzzled expression taking over her face.
He grinned. “I’ve got just the idea.” He whipped out his phone to text James.
Hey, big man. I went shopping with my aunt, and we’re gonna go stay at the Aria tonight.
Trey couldn’t think of anything nicer than a four-million-square-foot luxury resort.
13
Trey chuckled as he sat down at the fancy white wooden table near the doors to the balcony. His nana’s whole house could almost fit inside the suite.
He tapped away at the app on his phone, looking for level one to three bounties. If he was going to stay in Las Vegas for a few days anyway, it might not hurt to pick up a little extra cash. His little trip to the Aria was going to blow through a lot of the cash he’d earned lately.
Not that he regretted it. He was happy to do something nice for his aunt, but he’d be even happier if his account grew instead of shrank.
Aunt Charlyce emerged from the bathroom. After their shopping trip and a visit to a hairdresser, she didn’t look like a woman who’d spent seven years on the street. She just looked like some professional woman who needed to eat a little more.
“You’re so hardworking, Trey.”
He shrugged and scrolled through the potential bounties. “I thought the gang was my shot before, but this is my real shot. Mr. Brownstone’s made it easy for me.”
“I still don’t understand how this all works. I saw you on the news so I get that you’re going after people, but how is he involved?”
“It’s his agency, but me, and soon a lot of the other boys, are his employees. We get the advantage of his rep, and we concentrate on all the bastards without freak powers since we can handle them. He gets a small cut.”
His aunt frowned. “So he’s making you risk everything and still taking money? He seemed like a good man, but now I don’t know.”
Trey burst out laughing. “Me risk everything?”
“What’s so funny?”
“Have you seen some of the guys Mr. Brownstone has gone after?” He shook his head. “He’s taken down guys who would have wiped out every last one of my boys and me even if we went after them together.” Trey snorted. “Mr. Brownstone doesn’t need to do any of this sh—”
He sighed. It wasn’t like his homeless aunt hadn’t lived around people with rough speech, but cursing a lot around her still struck him as wrong.
“What are you saying?” his aunt pressed.
“He’s got expenses, and he needs those covered. Mostly, I think he just wants to help out the city and the police, even when he’s busy. Before I thought he was just a badass who did it for the money, but after everything I’ve seen and the way he’s treated me, the boys, and the neighborhood, I know he cares, even if he sometimes acts like he doesn’t.”
“That’s good to hear. That’s very good to hear. I guess my first impression was right.”
Trey continued scrolling through potential jobs. Las Vegas was filled with low-level scum with bounties. He half-wondered if some of the bounties were sponsored indirectly by organized crime groups who didn’t like the freelance competition.
His aunt slipped into a chair beside him and glanced at his phone. Her eyes narrowed.
“You should go after the one on the top,” she declared.
Trey frowned, and he stared at the scarred face and shaved head on the screen. “Bruno Smith, level two?” He tapped on the man’s picture. Assaults and murders all over the Southwest. The man liked to keep busy. He looked back at his aunt. “Why him? These guys are all garbage.”
“I recognize him. That mean SOB likes to go after homeless people. He doesn’t kill us, thank God, but he likes to beat us down. I think it’s like a game to him.”
“You ain’t homeless anymore, Aunt Charlyce.”
She gave Trey a slight nod. “I… Well, that bastard knocked some teeth out of a friend of mine last winter. Told him if he went to the cops he’d come back and finish him. We figured out where he lived, so we just avoided going around there.”
Trey stood up. “You know what the most annoying part of this job is?”
“No, what?”
“Tracking these guys down. If you know where he lives, this’ll be easy money.” Trey marched over to the closet. “Grab anything you need. We might not be back here for a few hours.”
Aunt Charlyce frowned. “Wait. Why would I be going? I’m not a bounty hunter.”
“You know where the guy lives and you’ve got local street knowledge, and I might need that when I’m going after him. Also, I just realized what the Brownstone Agency really needs.”
“What?”
“A new administrative assistant.” Trey opened the closet, strapped on his holster, and fished out his cuffs. “The big man hates complicated stuff. He’s already got an HR firm helping us with the hiring, so having another employee to handle administrative stuff is right up his alley.” He slid his coat on before walking out, not even checking to see if she was following.
His aunt wiped a tear away and stepped through the door after him. A home, a job, and a nephew on a good path. She couldn’t ask for anything more.
Tyler moved from behind the bar to the front as a new customer sat down; a mousy-looking woman. He kept a smile on his face, though he was a little surprised. Men always outnumbered women in the Black Sun, and the women who did come naturally sorted into hot babes or tough chicks who could rip a man’s balls off.
This woman, with her floral sundress, light brown hair, and black glasses, had more of a girl-next-door vibe. He half-wondered if she was a lost tourist who wandered into the first bar she’d spotted. She wasn’t ugly, but something about the whole package wasn’t doing it for Tyler.
“What’ll it be?” he inquired.
“A White Russian,” the woman replied. There was nothing sultry or noteworthy about her voice.
She scanned the bar with a curious expression on her face. “Rough crowd.”
>
Tyler added vodka to a glass before responding, “I don’t judge people. Everyone’s got to have a place to drink.”
The woman chuckled. “True enough.” She nodded at a cop sitting in the corner. “More than a few cops here, so I guess I shouldn’t be too worried.”
The bartender added coffee liqueur to the glass. “Yeah, this place is kind of…neutral ground.”
“Neutral ground?”
“Cops and people who like to pay less attention to the law at times.”
The woman smirked. “You mean criminals?”
“All a matter of perspective.”
She leaned in. “Anyone really interesting ever stop by?”
Tyler narrowed his eyes. There was one type of woman who might not fit in at the Black Sun but still risk coming. Time to figure out if the new arrival was one of those.
He finished mixing her drink and set it in front of her.
“Sure, but before you ask, Brownstone isn’t here. He almost never comes here, and from what I’ve heard he’s out of town.”
The woman’s lips parted in surprise. Tyler didn’t bother to stop his smirk. Nothing like surprising someone with his grasp of information and psychology. He never got tired of the feeling of superiority.
The woman forced a smile. “Why would you tell me that?”
Yeah, you didn’t deny looking for him, now did you? Now I know you were looking for him.
“The new bunnies in my place who don’t know what the Black Sun is always turn out to be Brownstone groupies.” He snorted. “That stuck-up arrogant prick.”
The woman laughed softly. “I wouldn’t say I’m a Brownstone groupie, but I do find the man interesting. He’s famous, after all, for his exploits.”
“He’s a dick. I hope some bounty caps his ass when he’s on the toilet someday.”
“That would be…a colorful way to die.”
“Hey, Tyler,” a man called from down the bar. “What’s a man got to do to get a damned refill around here?”
When Angels Cry: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 6) Page 10