War Of The Four Worlds

by Michael Anderle

  War Of The Four Worlds

  The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone™ Book Eighteen

  Michael Anderle

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2019 Michael Anderle

  Cover by Andrew Dobell, www.creativeedgestudios.co.uk

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  A Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, April 2019

  ISBN: 978-1-64202-206-3

  The Oriceran Universe (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2017-19 by Martha Carr and LMBPN Publishing.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle and RVingPsychic

  Other series in the Oriceran Universe:

  Books by Michael Anderle

  Connect with Michael Anderle

  War Of The Four Worlds Team

  Special Thanks

  to Mike Ross

  for BBQ Consulting

  Jessie Rae’s BBQ - Las Vegas, NV

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  Kelly O'Donnell

  John Ashmore

  Jeff Eaton

  Peter Manis

  Micky Cocker

  Larry Omans

  Carissa Sanford

  Diane L. Smith

  James Caplan

  Charles Tillman

  Paul Westman

  Misty Roa

  If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!

  Editor

  Lynne Stiegler

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  to Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  to Live the Life We Are

  Called.

  Chapter One

  James stared at Thomas, his eyes narrowed. The dog stared back. Things would have been easier if the dog were acting more hostile. Even James had his weaknesses, and the dog was one of them.

  It didn’t matter. The animal might be stubborn, but there was no creature on Earth or Oriceran more stubborn than James Brownstone, especially when he was trying to protect someone or something he cared about.

  Maybe the Vax are more stubborn than me, but God willing, I’ll never meet one. And even if I do, I’ll just kick their ass.

  The day’s contest was the latest in a long-lasting battle of wills. It was as if Thomas believed he could wear down James through sheer repetition of his demands. James didn’t know if a dog could truly be so manipulative, but he’d witnessed some clever tricks from his last dog, Leeroy, enough that he wouldn’t put it past this one.

  Thomas barked and wagged his tail, a dastardly change in tactics.

  James grunted.

  That cute shit might work on Shay and Alison, but it won’t work on me.

  Sitting on his haunches on the immaculate tile of James’ kitchen, Thomas tilted his head and let out a quiet whine, reading his master’s thoughts as effectively as Whispy Doom. He padded forward and pushed his food bowl with his nose before letting out another whine.

  “Dogs shouldn’t have onions, boy,” James rumbled, a slight frown on his face. “And there’s a bunch of onions in the sauce I put in the refrigerator. It can make you sick. Why don’t you understand that shit?”

  Thomas barked once, his eyes flicking in the direction of the refrigerator.

  James pointed toward the living room. “No barbeque sauce, even if you are a Brownstone. That’s just the way it has to be. Now, get. Don’t make me pick you up and carry you in there. That’s gonna be embarrassing for both of us.”

  Thomas offered a final whimper and scampered off, done with his attempted manipulation of his owner and crushed by James’ denial of the obviously tasty treat hidden away.

  James could understand. As much as he ate barbeque, his dog must believe it was the ultimate food. And of course it was, if you were human.

  A real man protected his dog as much as his dog protected him. James might have failed with Leeroy, but he would never again let a pet suffer at anyone’s hands, including his own. As for others who might think hurting Brownstone’s dog was a good idea, there were only so many international criminal organizations he could annihilate before there were none left.

  Things had finally started to calm down, and something approaching simplicity had returned to James’ existence in the last several months. There hadn’t been a single level-five bounty in LA since he had taken out the remnants of the former CIA group Fortis, and Shay was content to continue planning the wedding and leave him out of the annoying process. She’d sent out some Save-The-Dates to their piles of guests with the help of the wedding planner Mary Winters.

  Turns out even Shay can’t handle all this complicated planning shit on her own. I’m glad she finally brought the specialist in. For a while, it looked like she was going to make me do shit.

  They were still figuring out a venue, but Mary was happy to learn there was no cap on the budget for the wedding. That was one of the reasons they could send out Save-The-Dates without having a venue fully locked down even conceptually. The number of guests was irrelevant. They could always get a bigger venue, given enough money.

  Huh. After the wedding and honeymoon are over, I’ll have to start seriously looking into setting up my own restaurant. Probably gonna need to get some help to handle all the annoying shit on that, too. It’s like everything worth doing is complicated now, even if my life has started to get simpler.

  James realized after a moment that his life hadn’t gotten simpler. He’d simply pawned off all the complicated shit to other people. Maria, Trey, and Royce were running the agency, and Shay was handling the wedding. Maybe that was how normal rich assholes got so much done in their day? He’d spent most of his life not trusting other people enough to do that, though.

  And now he did. Family had changed him, or maybe it was just time.

  James grunted and headed toward the living room, shaking his head. Too much self-reflection would lead to brooding, and that would just waste his time. The only things worth thinking deeply about were barbeque and his family.

  His phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. He frowned at the caller ID.

  “Huh? Wonder why Charlyce is calling.” His receptionist was volunteering at the orphanage that da
y. “Fuck. I hope the pipes didn’t break again. If those assholes did a shitty job after Father McCartney paid them extra for the quick repair, I’m gonna go have a talk with them.” James brought the phone to his ear. “What’s up, Charlyce?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Brownstone,” Charlyce replied. Her voice was unsteady and had a hint of panic in it. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t careful enough. At least I think that’s what happened. I’m so sorry.”

  James’ mild irritation about the pipes vanished, deep concern replacing it. “What’s going on? Are the kids all right?”

  “Yes, yes, they’re fine.” Charlyce audibly swallowed over the line. “I didn’t know if I should call you or Father McCartney or the police or Trey or whoever. I just didn’t know. I’ve dealt with the rough sorts before. You can’t live on the streets without doing it, but not in this sort of situation.”

  “What the fu…” James took a deep breath. “What’s going on? Slow down and tell me.”

  “This nasty, nasty man came up to me as I was getting in my car to leave. I told him to leave, or I was gonna scream so loud Jesus would come down and see what was going on. He tells me he’s not gonna hurt me, but he says how he thinks we’re laundering money through the orphanage, and he’s been watching the orphanage and me for a few months.”

  James gave up and let his anger through. “What the fuck? He some cop or fed?”

  “No. He said he was a family man.” Charlyce sniffled. “He never said outright he was Mafia, Mr. Brownstone, but he did show me a gun, and he made it clear his Family doesn’t like disrespect. He said if we’re gonna be hiding behind kids, then we better start paying him his share, unless we want some of those kids to have some accidents. He says he knows that this is some money-laundering place for ‘corporate or Hollywood assholes.’ That was what he said.”

  James took a few deep breaths as he struggled to not crush his phone, then let out a low growl. “And what did you say back?”

  “I told him the truth, Mr. Brownstone. I told him, ‘You don’t want to mess with this place. This isn’t money-laundering. This is just a generous man.’ I tried to tell him that you supported this place, but maybe that made it worse. He laughed in my face and called me foul names. He told me he didn’t believe any of it, and that James Brownstone didn’t need to launder money, and I was lying. I reminded him about Father McCartney, and he said he didn’t care at all about no priests being involved, and he already knew about him anyway. He said this was business, and he’s convinced it was some Hollywood or company thing.”

  “I…see.” James’ deep voice was laden with the promise of imminent punishment.

  Fuck. I haven’t been going to the orphanage lately. If that asshole had seen me there, he wouldn’t have thought to even try this shit, but this stupid motherfucker is still gonna pay.

  Charlyce took a deep breath. “He told me he’s been watching this place for a while. Watching me. He’s seen some improvements in the place, and he didn’t understand how they could afford it. He told me we were going to start making weekly payments to him as a token of our respect to his Family. After all, he says they help keep the neighborhood around the orphanage safe from criminals.”

  A real man never fucks with dogs or orphans. Time to teach someone what a real man is.

  “Does this piece of shit have a name?” James asked.

  “Mario Dragna. Do you think they are gonna hurt the kids? Should I have called Father McCartney or the police after all? I didn’t know what to do. This kind of thing never happened here before. If it was just me, I’d call the cops, but if he’s watching and I try something, maybe the kids get hurt before the cops can do anything.”

  James grunted. “No cops. The cops will make things complicated. I’ll handle this. Don’t even tell Father McCartney. He doesn’t need to know about this. It’ll just stress him out, and within a day, this shit won’t be a problem anymore, I promise you that. Mario Dragna is a very stupid asshole who is going to get a lesson in what respect really is.”

  “God bless you, Mr. Brownstone.”

  God’s got nothing to do with what’s about to happen.

  James replied, “You did the right thing by calling me. And don’t worry about it. It’s all under control now. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up.

  Shaking down an orphanage had to be a new low, but the Italian Mafia in LA was practically non-existent. Too much competition from different organized crime groups throughout the decades had almost chased them out of the city entirely. They had taken advantage of the chaos following the initial opening of the gates to Oriceran to re-establish a foothold, but that didn’t mean they were strong. That might explain the desperate move.

  There was nothing illegal about James’ contributions to the place, and he was surprised the mobster hadn’t done enough checking to learn that it was the orphanage the bounty hunter had grown up in. Perhaps if the mobster had, he wouldn’t have made such a serious mistake.

  James flexed his fingers a few times. He was itching to hit someone. Random mobsters didn’t shake down places without permission. Someone might have even known exactly what they were doing and thought they could gain some leverage over him by threatening the orphanage.

  I don’t give a fuck what they think is going on or what their plan is. They should have known better than to threaten kids. Stupid motherfuckers. This is gonna be real fucking satisfying.

  First, James needed a direct target for his wrath. He dialed Heather and waited, his heart pounding and his jaw tight. He started running through all the creative ways he could bend Mario Dragna. If the man apologized immediately, James might show him some mercy, but the local Italian Mafia still needed to clearly demonstrate that they understood the depth of their error.

  “Something up?” Heather answered. “You didn’t say you would need me today. It’s not a big deal, but I was going to take my son to a movie later.”

  “Sorry. Some shit came up.”

  “I almost want to say, ‘It always does,’ but things really have slowed down for you lately, so that wouldn’t be fair. And I don’t bitch because you don’t mind if I do side work.”

  “I need an address,” James replied. “I need to know who some piece-of-shit mobster named Mario Dragna works for, and I want his boss’s exact address. I need to have a loud conversation tonight with Dragna’s boss where we talk about respecting the Church, women, and children.”

  Heather whistled in appreciation. “This Dragna really, really pissed you off, didn’t he? One second.” The clack of her typing came over the line. “Oh, that was easier than I thought. I’ve got a lot of passive data collection going on in regards to the local criminal scene. Turns out I already had the info.” She chuckled. “You never know when it might come in handy.”

  James snorted. “Yeah. So what do you got?”

  “Yes, our boy Mario does work for the local Italian Mob. He’s a new guy, from what I can tell. He was in New York, and he’s only been in LA for a few months. He works as an enforcer directly under Frank Altieri. Do you know him?”

  “Yeah, I know the guy. He’s the local head of the Italians. I thought he was smarter than this shit. I’ve barely run into them, and the few mob bounties I’ve tracked, they understood they couldn’t fucking win, so they didn’t even try.” James growled again. “I understand the guys fucking with Trey in Vegas, but fucking with shit here? Whatever. I don’t give a shit about the reasons. Just give me his address and I’ll take care of it.”

  Heather gave James two addresses. “The first is Altieri’s mansion. The second is the restaurant he uses as his primary headquarters.”

  “Thanks, Heather. Keep cop drones away from both places for the next few hours. Can you do that?”

  Heather laughed. “I can, but are you really going to blow up some mobster’s house tonight?”

  “Depends a lot on what the fucker says. I’m gonna grab some tools, and I’ll think more about what I’m going to do on the way.” James glanced toward
the secured doorway leading to his basement.

  “I better get to work. I expect overtime for this. I owe my son a movie.”

  “Again, sorry about that, and I’ll send you a bonus. Send me a message if I need to know anything else.” James ended the call.

  It was time to prepare for some exercise.

  James clipped a few more frag grenades to his tactical vest. He was glad that Shay was still at her archaeological symposium at the college. She might have objected to his current plan, or at least the level of pain he was planning to deliver. Although Shay understood vengeance, she had been encouraging him to dial down the general mayhem until after the wedding.

  How big a point do I want to make?

  James stored most of his gear in one of Shay’s warehouses now, but it was always good to keep a few toys around when he didn’t want to use Whispy to make his point.

  He knelt by a metal case and tapped in the code before placing his thumb against the silver pad of the DNA scanner. The top of his thumb burned with the scan, and the case popped open to reveal a rocket launcher.

  James considered the weapon. “Huh. That might be too much and piss off the cops.” He closed the case and re-entered the lock code.

  The grenades and guns would have to be enough. Besides, if he blew too many things up, it would start a big enough fire that the fire department would have to come. He didn’t want them to have to clean up after his mess.