The Unbelievable Mr Brownstone Omnibus 3

by Michael Anderle

  “Not the same thing,” Weber replied, gripping the sides of the podium tightly. “Brownstone’s a bounty hunter, so at least he plays within the system somewhat. He also respects and listens to cops, and I’m not just talking about the donuts and donations. Remember how he coordinated things with the LAPD when he was leading the hitmen out of the city?” He released the podium. “Brownstone may make a mess, but he cares about staying on good terms with us. Not only that, it’s like you said—Maria works for him now, and Sergeant Mack’s his friend. They can always whisper in his ear and push him away from something that’s going to cause too much trouble. I don’t think of him as a vigilante or even a bounty hunter. I think of him as backup we can call on if things get too tough. It just so happens he’s not an immediate option in this case.”

  Jacobs crossed his arms. “How do we know the Silver Ghost doesn’t like cops? The 25K might have brought this thing on themselves. Maybe they crossed a line they shouldn’t have or something like that. Plenty of cops in the city she could go after if she was just an Oriceran on a power trip.”

  “We don’t know one way or another, but we can’t ignore the pattern.” Weber shrugged. “She hasn’t killed any non-criminal targets yet, but she also hasn’t killed an entire roomful of men before. And we’re not just talking about shooting a few guys. Decapitations, stabbings, guys with holes burned through them.” He sucked in a breath. “It was pretty nasty.”

  “Lots of deaths are brutal. We’ve all seen what a railgun can do to a man.” McMahon frowned. “Besides, this is really just about the brass covering their ass. That’s why they suddenly care about this escalation, and that’s why they won’t issue a bounty. They forced the department to bury the recent vigilante cases, and now it’s going to look like a cover-up. They’re probably looking for scapegoats.”

  Several other AET officers nodded their agreement, frowns on their faces.

  “Not going to say the same thing hasn’t occurred to me,” Weber replied, “but from what the chief has passed on to me, some of the other units are seeing bad signs, so this isn’t just politics and CYA anymore. It’s a serious threat to public safety, and AET needs to be at the forefront of dealing with it.”

  “Bad signs?” McMahon frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Look, it’s an escalation thing, right?” Weber gestured toward a window. “At least Brownstone is a known factor, and like I said, even the criminals get that he’s not going to wander around LA killing any random criminal he runs into, but there’s already a lot of chatter from informants about how the underworld is treating the Silver Ghost differently from the Granite Ghost.”

  “How so?”

  “A lot of gangs and organized crime groups are worried about the Silver Ghost, including normal and enhanced threats. There’s talk of arming up, maybe doing joint patrols, even forming alliances until she’s dead.” Weber frowned. “The last thing we need is a lot of these assholes deciding they should work together and sending armed posses around town. Imagine what would happen if say the Russian Mafia teamed up with the Yakuza.” He shook his head. “They’re going to end up hurting innocent people or maybe convince other enhanced individuals to proactively go after criminals. Next thing you know, LA’s on fire and a damned war zone. Things could get as bad as they did when the gates first started opening. The fact we still have so many bounty hunters should be proof enough that we don’t want to go back to that.”

  The gathered cops all nodded, determined looks on their faces as they murmured their agreement.

  Weber summoned his inner Hall and glared at the officers in front of him. “This is a briefing, not a debate. The orders have come down: we’re to stay on maximum standby with at least two teams ready to deploy 24/7 until the Silver Ghost has either been determined to have permanently left town or we’ve caught her. Understood?”

  “Understood,” the cops replied in unison.

  Weber swept the room with a steely gaze. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll catch the Silver Ghost before it’s too late and let every wannabe vigilante in LA know that the LAPD is still the Thin Blue Line protecting this city.”

  5

  James frowned as he took a seat across from Anna. A green silk tablecloth covered the table, and there was an elaborate floral centerpiece. There were also way too many forks and spoons of different sizes. Another expensive and complicated restaurant—the kind Shay liked to make him go to every now and again.

  All this decoration shit just detracts from the food.

  Anna offered him a polite nod. The last time he’d seen the Celtic faerie she’d gone with a professional look, but today the pale blonde wore a clinging gray metallic strapless high-slit dress and lethal-looking heels. Her glasses were gone, and her hair was loose except for two small braids. She rested her red eyes on him with a faint smile.

  “Hey, Anna,” he rumbled.

  Anna propped her elbow on the table and her cheek in her palm, her creamy neck on full display. “Good afternoon, Mr. Brownstone. I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering. I’ve heard the tuna crudo here is divine, and I’m sure you’d enjoy it given a chance. Everything I know about you, after all, suggests you’re a man who enjoys eating.

  “I enjoy some stuff.” James blinked and frowned, having trouble concentrating just like the first time he’d met her. He shook his head to clear it. No Celtic succubus was going to pull him off his Shay-centered mission. “Can you shut the sexy aura or whatever off?”

  Anna let out a quiet laugh. “It’s an inherent part of what I am. Is it really so distracting?”

  “More annoying than distracting.” James gestured toward her dress. “And what’s with the outfit? I thought you were going for the whole sexy librarian thing rather than ‘woman going to a cocktail party.’”

  “My body and sartorial choices are a type of art in and of themselves, and it’s important to change myself so I can become the most effective muse to my current artist.” Anna smiled and lifted her head. “The man I provide inspiration for now is less moved by, as you say, ‘sexy librarians.’”

  James grunted. “Oh. That makes sense, I guess. Whatever works.”

  “I’m glad you understand. And what about you, hmm? Last time we spoke, I believe you mentioned a particularly jealous girlfriend with magic knives?” Anna raised a pale eyebrow. “Or have you moved on to a less lethal woman? Somehow I doubt it. The woman who could capture your heart will, by her very nature, probably be just as dangerous as you are.”

  James nodded. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I want advice. Same woman, and she needs a special proposal. I need advice on how to deliver one. I figure you’ve lived a long time and think about a lot of romance shit, so maybe you could help.”

  Anna smiled softly. “How wonderful. Despite what you might think, I find myself envious of those who can commit to another for a lifetime. It’s something I will never be able to truly do for many reasons, most outside my control.” Sadness flickered across her face for a moment before she pushed it away with an obviously forced smile. “Before we continue, let me ask you something. Did the discussions we had for the Bard of Filth competition give you any insight into sexuality and people’s interface with it? I'm assuming they did, or you wouldn’t have had a chance. Humor requires deep insight into the human condition. It’s one of the reasons I found myself drawn to comedic artists. The good ones have such a fascinating understanding of the world.”

  James looked around with a frown. “Yeah. I guess those discussions helped. I didn’t win, but I came in second, and the shit did involve sex and the woman I want to marry. I finally understood why people find sex jokes funny, so that’s got to mean something, right?”

  “Delightful. I’m glad our talk was of assistance.” Anna picked up her glass of wine and took a small sip. “Unfortunately, if that’s the case, I suspect there’s little I can do to help you in this matter, Mr. Brownstone.”

  James grimaced and was about to say something when th
e waiter arrived and set plates in front of them. Both held sliced tuna crudo covered in capers and red pepper flakes. After a polite nod, the waiter departed.

  The bounty hunter frowned down at the meal in front of him, not bothering to hide his disdain. “This doesn’t even look like it’s been cooked.”

  “That’s kind of the point of crudo.” Anna let out a quiet chuckle. “Cooking isn’t necessary for every grand meal, Mr. Brownstone.”

  “My daughter made me go to a sushi place last time she was in town.” James made a face. “I think she’s getting a taste for it, but I prefer my meat cooked. I’m a barbeque guy, and it’s all about cooking.”

  Anna squeezed a few drops of lemon on top of some tuna and took a bite, inhaling and letting out a quiet murmur of appreciation. “You’re really missing out.” She winked. “And you’re paying. More’s the pity.”

  James waved a hand. “That’s okay. I think I’ll stop by In-N-Out on my way home for a Quad-Quad.” He didn’t want wine or raw fish, but a little water wouldn’t hurt. He picked up his glass and took a sip, relieved that it tasted like nothing besides cold water.

  This is okay, and at least it’s not some weird health water. How do people manage to make even water complicated?

  Anna swallowed and set her fork down. “But back to our previous discussion. I’m assuming you’ve come to me because you’re desperate. You’ve perhaps talked to many different people, and you found you’re no closer to the perfect plan than you were before.”

  James grunted. “Exactly. I get that you’re focused on a particular kind of guy, but you have to know about romance and shit. I’m sure you can help me plan something.”

  Anna clucked her tongue. “That’s where you’re already going wrong.”

  “Huh?”

  She reached over and patted his hand. He snatched it back, half-worried about leanan sidhe seduction. Anna’s face suggested she was more amused than annoyed.

  “There are different beliefs, of course, but I’m of the belief that the purest expressions of romance are without calculation,” Anna offered quietly, her voice a near-whisper. “Planning and artifice are antithetical to such pure expressions of emotion. The thing is, you already know what you need to do if you’ve gotten to the point of wanting to marry the woman. You’re letting your brain distract your heart.”

  “But I don’t know, and she says it has to be fucking epic. I tried before, but she cut me off. I didn’t even have the ring then, but I do now—and it’s epic, too—but I still don’t know what to do.”

  “Fucking epic?” Anna laughed. “How adorable. Still, that changes nothing. The truly effective connections and gestures come from spontaneity and not the artifice of careful and scripted planning. The very act of planning the gesture may smother the romance under logistics and cold rationality. Men, prone to over-planning to begin with, often tend to have extreme problems with this.”

  James furrowed her brow. “So, you’re saying there’s no perfect proposal?”

  Anna shook her head, her red eyes alight with amusement. “No, no—quite the opposite. There’s of course a perfect proposal for all who wish to pledge themselves to one another, depending on circumstance. I’m simply arguing that you might not be able to find it if you’re busy attempting to force it into being. Let me ask you… When you started to ask her before, did you have a big plan?”

  “No. It just felt right.”

  “Then remember that feeling.” Anna took another sip of her wine. “It sounds like you had the right idea before, but maybe she wasn’t ready. Now you have a ring and a burning desire to be with her, so it’s simply a matter of waiting for the right place and the right time. Stop thinking about it, and it’ll naturally present itself.”

  “That’s not what they said on the podcasts.”

  “Unless any of those podcasters are as old as I am, I’m willing to bet I’ve had more practical and direct experience with that sort of thing.” Anna took another bite of her crudo with a smile.

  “So wait for the right moment, then just do it. No fancy planning, no skywriting, no Jumbotron at the stadium?”

  “I don’t even need to know the woman to know that anyone who could choose you wouldn’t be impressed by skywriting or other such banal efforts.” Anna sighed. “The right moment hasn’t arisen because you’ve been too preoccupied with trying to bring it about. I guarantee you that if you stop thinking so hard about it, you’ll probably be able to propose to her in a matter of weeks, if not days. If you’re still having trouble in a couple of weeks, call me again and we can discuss the problem some more. Do make sure you always have the engagement ring with you, though. You don’t want a chance to pass you by.”

  Will that shit actually work? Don’t know, but at least she’s saying I can come back. Maybe it will help just to not think about it so much.

  James nodded. “Okay, fair enough, then.” He shrugged. “That’s my end of things, but it sounded like you wanted me for something when I called.”

  Anna’s smile faded, and her mouth twisted into a frown, which didn’t suit her pretty face. “Yes, I wanted to call in my favor. As you can imagine, a being such as me can sometimes find herself the center of unwanted attention. Through no efforts of my own, I’ve acquired a stalker.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m not asking you for anything as barbaric as killing him, but I do think the appearance of the famous James Brownstone might be enough in and of itself to dissuade this man from pursuing me further.”

  “Why haven’t you gone to the cops?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t trust human authorities. Consider it holding a grudge, but far too many tried to murder me or burn me in more primitive times, and because of what I am, I’ve even had trouble in modern times with human authorities convinced I’m purposely charming men with my abilities, so they ignore my criminal complaints.”

  Chasing off a stalker? That shit sounds easy enough.

  “I’m listening.” James cracked his knuckles. “Who is this asshole?”

  “He goes by Fifty-six.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s his chosen name—Fifty-six.” Anna sighed. “He’s rather pretentious. He’s a musician and a wizard who fancies himself as pushing the boundaries of artistry with his magic and sound efforts. That’s where I come in. I met him briefly at a party a few weeks ago, and he’s become obsessed with the idea of a leanan sidhe being the source of inspiration to take his art to the next level.”

  James shrugged. “And you’re not interested in this guy at all?”

  Anna snorted. “No, he’s a boring and shallow individual who produces trite art masquerading as radical. My inspiration would be wasted on a man like him, and I don’t like the idea that he thinks he can force me into serving as his muse.”

  “Couldn’t you just agree and then drain him until he’s dry? Just saying.”

  “I have certain rules I live by. I prefer not to violate them even for annoying men.” Anna traced her finger around the rim of her wine glass. “And he hasn’t done enough to warrant death. I find violence unpleasant.”

  James grunted. “If I’m involved, things might end up violent.”

  “I hope that you being who you are will prevent that.” Anna smiled at James. “Is this something you can help me with, Mr. Brownstone? I did help you with your little contest, and I guarantee that my advice will be helpful for you and your beloved.”

  “Fine, but I don’t want to have to go running halfway around the city looking for this asshole.”

  “Not a problem,” Anna replied. “Despite his lifestyle of Bohemian wandering, he’s invited me to a performance at a club in a few days. I figure that will be a good spot for you to confront him, even if I’m not present. I will send you the date and time.”

  James nodded. “Sounds good, but to be clear, unless this asshole has a bounty, I’m just going to have a loud conversation with him.”

  “That’s all I ask.” Anna picked up her fork. “You really should try
the crudo. You’re missing out.”

  “I’m okay with missing out on some shit.”

  6

  Trey sidled up to the bar, Zoe in tow and a smile plastered on his face. He surveyed the room, taking in everything: the tablecloths, soft lighting, and light jazz playing from the speakers. There wasn’t a tv in the place, and several impressionist paintings hung on the walls.

  Place is more rocking a gastropub vibe than a bar. Classy. Glad I’m in my suit.

  The bartender turned toward him—an attractive brunette in a silk shirt and dark vest. It was Kathy, co-owner and former Black Sun employee.

  “How do you like the White Sun?” she asked with a smile. “This is your first time here since we opened. I was beginning to think you were avoiding the place, Trey.”

  “Nah, just how the schedules worked out.” Trey shrugged. “It’s definitely got a fancier vibe than Tyler’s place, that’s for sure. Several of the boys who have already been here had good things to say, but I had to see it myself to make up my mind. Lachlan don’t like it, but he ain’t got no taste, so don’t mind that little bitch.”

  Kathy chuckled. “He’s not the only one. When Brownstone came, he was annoyed we didn’t have ribs for him. I did satisfy him with Irish Stout on tap, but he kept mumbling under his breath about that Irish pub he hangs out at.”

  “That’s the big man for you. He’s got what he likes, and it hasn’t much changed, I suspect, for a long time.” Trey laughed. “He’s like a mountain who just happens to be a man.”

  Kathy snorted. “That’s the best description I’ve heard of him yet.”

  Trey nodded toward Zoe. “This is my girlfriend, Zoe.”

  Kathy extended her hand. “I’ve heard a lot of about you.”

  Zoe shook the hand with a soft smile. “And me you. Congratulations on your business successes.”