“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 Sha
y 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.
James’ phone rang. He pulled it out and frowned at the caller ID.
UNKNOWN NUMBER. CALLER BLOCKED.
“Who the fuck is this?” James answered. “If you’re trying to sell me shit or scam me, it’s not the fucking day, asshole. If you’re a politician, I’ll pay you money not to run.”
A man cleared his throat on the other end. “I am very sorry for your annoyance, Mr. Brownstone. I suspect it’s partially my fault.”
“Is this Mario-fucking-Dragna?” James growled.
“No, Mr. Brownstone. My name is Frank Altieri, and we have some things to discuss.”
2
“Frank Altieri?” James rumbled. “You’ve got some balls calling me.”
“Yeah, that I do.” Altieri chuckled quietly. “I’d like to meet with you at Francesco’s. It’s my place. It’s at—"
James interrupted with the address.
“You do your homework, Mr. Brownstone,” the mob boss replied. “Not that I’m surprised.”
“And why do you want to talk to me? You gonna threaten me?” James grinned at his phone, wanting the bastard to egg him on.
“Nah. I’m sorry. The problem is that I don’t have certain conversations over the phone. You never know who might be listening. Even worse these days, with all this hocus-pocus bullshit. You come to Francesco’s, and I’m sure it’ll be worth your while.”
James scoffed. “Maybe. Fine. I was planning to come anyway. At least if you’re inviting me, I know you’re not gonna fucking run away.”
“You were planning on coming?” Altieri sighed. “Yeah, I figured. That’s the problem.”
“Let me make a couple of things very, very fucking clear.” James’ grip tightened on the phone. “I’m in a very bad mood. I’m gonna come over there to talk to you, but if this is some sort of lame-ass attempt at an ambush, you’re going to fail. And after you fail, I’m going to be even more pissed. I think you know what happens when I’m pissed. Do we understand each other?”
Altieri laughed. “Yeah, you’re not known for your restraint, Mr. Brownstone. I know there are a few dumbasses out there who think they have a chance, but I pride myself on my clear understanding of my limits.”
James grabbed another grenade from an open container and clipped it to his vest before closing the container, which clicked locked. “This isn’t just about taking a fucking shot at me. You scratch my truck, I’m gonna be pissed, too.”
“Everyone’s heard about what happened to the Eyes by now. Just come over here. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. I promise.”
James grabbed one of his ugly gray coats from a rack of ten. He tried getting Shay to call them tactical coats, but she still insisted on referring to them as “ugly-ass eyesores.”
“You better hope so,” James replied. “Otherwise, you’ll be joining the Harriken in hell.”
“I understand. See you soon.” Altieri hung up.
James pulled into the parking lot of Francesco’s. His ancient F-350, as well-maintained as it was, was out of place in a parking lot half-filled mostly with electric luxury and sports cars. There was a heavy concentration of Lexus and Maserati vehicles.
Compensating much, assholes?
James finished parking and stepped out of his vehicle. His long coat concealed his holster and vest. Any day he could go to sleep without having to kill people was a good one, but James wasn’t always the one who made that choice. Today, the Mob was going to make it.
Altieri called me, which means this shit is even more annoying than I thought. Dragna was acting like he didn’t know I was helping that orphanage, but they must have known. They’re thinking I can’t protect everyone and everything.
Maybe they even think they can point me at someone for them.
James’ glower grew as he stomped toward the entrance. He wondered if he should bond Whispy, but decided against it. He had healing potions if he took a serious hit, and these days, with the passive regeneration Whispy did even without full bonding, the symbiont wasn’t necessary for a basic low-level ass-kicking.
The tuxedoed maître d’ who stood behind the dark wooden podium offered James a smile as the bounty hunter opened the tinted glass door and entered.
Most of the men filling the darkened restaurant wore nice suits. More than a few bore scars or displayed obvious bulges under their jackets like they weren’t even trying to conceal the fact they were armed. Women in elegant dresses sat at many of the tables, and they cast appreciative looks James’ way. The sounds of light opera filled the air—Italian, of course.
Several men glanced his way. Some looked impressed, others worried, a few angry.
James swept the dining room with a cool gaze. He couldn’t start a major gunfight inside with so many non-mobsters around.
Is this Altieri’s plan? Is he gonna ambush me here because he thinks I won’t shoot back? I’ll just go outside and wait for them to come to me.
The maître d’ smiled and gestured inside. “Mr. Altieri is waiting for you in a back room, sir.”
“Fine,” James rumbled. “Show me.”
The other man spun and maneuvered between the rows of tables, and James followed him closely. No one made any sudden movements. There were no flashes of metal out of the corner of his eye. If the mobsters were going to shoot him, it would probably be wherever he was being led. His hand twitched as he prepared to go for his gun.
The maître d’ stopped in a hallway in the back in front of a door marked Private. He knocked a few times.
“Yeah?” Altieri called from inside.
“Mr. Altieri, your guest is here,” the maître d’ explained.
“Thanks. You go back up front.”
“Yes, sir.” The maître d’ offered a polite nod to James before walking away.
The door opened a moment later. James' hand shot up, but he stopped before pulling out his gun. The scene in the room confused him.
A man was on his knees in front of a huge wooden desk, his hands tied behind his back. His face was bruised and battered, and one of his eyes was swollen shut.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark suit with salt-and-pepper hair stood over the man, his knuckles bloody and bruised. Frank Altieri.
Another mobster stood beside the door, his expression blank, no weapon in his hands. James doubted the mobsters were going to try to win against him in hand-to-hand. Everyone had seen enough videos of him kicking people into walls to know why that was beyond a terrible idea.
James stepped inside, and the closest mobster closed the door behind him before crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.
Altieri grabbed the kneeling man’s hair and yanked his head up. “Do you got something to say, Mario?” He pointed to James. “To that man who went to all the trouble of coming over here and took time out of his busy day?”
“I-I’m sorry,” Mario sputtered out, blood dripping from his mouth.
James frowned. “What the fuck is going on here?”
Altieri released Mario, and the man slumped forward. “I’m sorry for making you come down here, Mr. Brownstone, but I couldn’t talk about any shit t
he feds might overhear. At least here, we can talk in private. Even got some nice anti-magic shit set up.” He gestured toward Mario. “I want to make something clear. Mario was not authorized for the money-making opportunity he pursued. Even if that orphanage wasn’t associated with you, that shit’s not allowed.”
James grunted and nodded, confusion still weighing on his mind. He’d been so convinced it had been a high-level mob plot against him that hearing the opposite left him confused and a little unmoored. A man didn’t grab a half-dozen grenades and just not use them.
“So, what…random guys working for your crew just go and fuck orphanages up?” James asked.
Altieri clucked his tongue and peered down at Mario with a mixture of contempt and irritation. “Here’s the thing: I do encourage the guys to show, you know, initiative in terms of their revenue collection skills. Mario here, he’s new. He came from a different…organization. I don’t think he realized how things work out here.” The mobster gestured with his hands. “First of all, I’m a man who still goes to Church, so I would never allow someone to mess with a Church-run orphanage. Second, I don’t believe in screwing with kids. That’s just a personal thing. It’s what separates us from savages.”
James narrowed his eyes. “According to my witness, your guy Mario here seemed convinced there was some sort of money-laundering going on.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard, and as I explained to Mario, that doesn’t mean shit in terms of how we deal with kids and Church orphanages.” Altieri shook out his bruised hand. “That’s the real problem here—sloppy employees. I’ll admit it reflects poorly on my leadership.”
James grunted. “That reminds me, the woman your man insulted wasn’t just some volunteer. She’s one of my employees.”
Altieri laughed and shook his head. “Mario, you complete and utter fucking dumbshit. No wonder you had to leave New York.” He looked at the other silent mobster in the room. “What am I always saying about opportunities?”
The Unbelievable Mr Brownstone Omnibus 3 Page 101