Larry groaned. “I’m going to lose my job.”
“Your boy certainly isn’t keeping a low profile, Mack,” Maria remarked, staring at the video the RSMPD had sent their way. “It’s like he wants them to find him. He is such a cocky sonofabitch.”
Sergeant Mack pulled out his phone and dialed Brownstone. He was certain the bounty hunter had a reason for what he was doing, but he wanted to make sure he hadn’t just given up.
“Hey, Mack,” Brownstone answered, voice as casual as ever. “This rain’s been crazy.”
“I’ve mostly been inside. Anyway, I’m not calling to chitchat.”
“Then what are you calling for?”
“To ask you what the hell you are doing,” Mack ground out through gritted teeth. “You were home free with that storm, and then you went out of your way to attract attention. You could have maybe hidden out until the heat died down.”
“Yeah, I can understand how you’d see it that way.”
“I’ve been busting my balls to get you some help and get these assholes off your back, but then you pulled that stunt with the flare. I just saw it on the computer. If the RSMPD is spreading that shit around, it means probably half the hitmen after you are now heading toward Coto de Caza.”
Brownstone grunted. “That’s the point.”
“Brownstone, our drones have tagged at least five hitmen heading toward you. Are you saying that’s what you wanted?”
Maria, Delroy, and Weber all looked at Mack with curiosity on their faces.
“I’m not near the rich people’s houses,” Brownstone assured him. “Come on, running away isn’t gonna solve this. I’ve got to convince these assholes it’s not worth following me, and to do that I need to do something real flashy.” He grunted. “What are you worried about, anyway? I’m out in the wilderness, away from people. I’ve got a plan, but it works best if I get most of the assholes after me there together.”
Mack snorted. “So you’ve got a plan? Care to share it with the rest of the class?”
“Nope. I trust you, Mack, but it’s best you don’t know what’s going on. That way you’ll all play the part I need.”
“I hope you have a fucking clue what you’re doing.”
“Guess we’ll find out soon enough. If not, thanks for being a good cop.” Brownstone hung up.
“Did I hear you right?” Maria asked. “He wanted his position leaked?”
The sergeant sighed and nodded slowly. “Sounds like it. He’s got some sort of plan to handle all the hitmen at once.”
“Weber,” the lieutenant ordered, “make sure you add trespassing to Brownstone’s list of accomplishments. That’s private land he’s on right now.”
Weber entered the note on the computer. “Recorded, Lieutenant.”
Delroy chuckled. “Your boy sure likes to keep it flashy, but I’ve been thinking that even after the hitman shit is taken care of that still leaves us with a big issue.”
“What issue?” Mack asked.
“The Harriken. I mean, Ikeda’s in town, which means they’re going to be a lot more aggressive in re-establishing themselves. We might miss the old Harriken after this is all done.” Delroy furrowed his brow. “And the power vacuum could lead to serious clashes unless the Harriken are completely taken out.”
Maria tried to take a sip of coffee, only to find that her cup was empty. “Weber, go get me some more coffee.”
Weber grabbed her mug and headed out of the room.
The two other men chuckled and shook their heads.
“The Harriken can be handled like any other group of normal criminals,” Maria said. “I don’t see what the big deal is. They might have started this problem, but the main issue at the moment is Brownstone.”
Delroy nodded toward one of the screens displaying a frozen image of Brownstone. “I’m just saying that since we’re already playing it fast and loose, maybe we should use this whole situation to clean house.” He looked at Mack. “And that includes giving your boy what he wants.”
“What do you mean?” Mack asked.
“Ikeda has been linked to the assassinations of federal agents, tons of cops, and at least one sitting congressman. The FBI said that attempting bombing of the Supreme Court last year had his fingerprints on it.”
Mack shrugged. “He’s a piece of cop-killing shit. Big surprise. What about it?”
The lieutenant scowled. “I see where you’re going with this, Washington, and I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit.”
Mack looked at them. “I’m not following you.”
“All those government and law enforcement targets, Mack,” Delroy explained. “They change things, even if this guy isn’t some big flashy asshole using magical artifacts. If we pushed just a little bit, we could get a dead-or-alive bounty issued on the entire organization all the way down, or at least on the local chapter because of what’s going down. When Congress changed the law a few years back they put in some provisions that made it easier when dealing with organized crime, ever since that incident in Santa Fe.” The detective nodded toward the screen with Brownstone’s image. “The Harriken have given us what we need to take them down.”
“So now you want Brownstone to do his thing, then? Bloody damned vengeance?”
Weber entered the room with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. “Got your coffee, Lieutenant.”
“That’s bullshit,” Maria thundered. “No fucking way.” She stood and slashed her hand through the air.
“I’m pretty sure it’s hazelnut,” Weber told her, eyeing the cup with a confused look.
The lieutenant snatched cup from him and gestured with it at Delroy. “Not you, Weber. Washington’s lost his mind.”
Delroy chuckled. “I’m just saying the Harriken aren’t going to last the weekend anyway, and I figure the least we can do is let Brownstone earn some cash. That way he can pay off all the fines his ass is generating. Plus, it sends a message to the Harriken and any other group that thinks they can do whatever the hell they want in our town.”
“Another Brownstone fanboy? Perfect. I don’t want to see him fined. I want to see him in a damned ultramax.”
Delroy shrugged. “Let’s just say maybe I think Mack had a point earlier, and I don’t think taking Brownstone out of circulation is a good idea long-term. If this whole situation ends with a bunch more hitmen in jail and a lot of Harriken gone… Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to sleep better at night.”
Maria dropped into a chair, gazing at him with murderous intent. “Whatever. I’m going to keep adding to his list of infractions. I don’t want Brownstone coming out ahead when this is all said and done.” She focused her glare on Weber. “And when was this coffee made, Weber? The damned Ice Age? Go get me some coffee that is hotter than room temperature.”
17
Too damn slow. Damn, are these guys slow. Geez, these fuckers are SLOW.
James watched the killers approach through his binoculars, wondering if he’d moved too far into the hills. Initially he’d spotted four vehicles, but in the end ten had shown up. Some of the trucks had tried to drive farther into the terrain, but the steep hills convinced everyone to give up on driving and hoof it sooner rather than later.
Once everyone unloaded from their vehicles, the bounty hunter determined he would be dealing with a total of twenty killers. They had spread out to make their individual ways through the hilly and rocky terrain in search of their payday.
James climbed the steep hill behind him. Once at the top, he pulled a small mirror from his backpack and held it up, letting the light reflect off it. The fish had gone for the bait, and now he needed to start reeling them in.
He dropped a second later. Bullets whizzed over him, accompanied by the crack of gunfire. If the enemy had been closer they might actually have stood a chance of hitting him, and he suspected that only the fact that such a large group of people were blasting away at him had resulted in any of the shots coming close.
A buzzing and glow
ing green bolt zoomed past where he’d been standing and continued into the distance, so at least one of them had ranged magic available.
At least he wasn’t shooting that green shit through holes in the sky like that last douchebag.
James hurried down the opposite side of the hill from the hitmen. Now that they’d laid eyes on him they weren’t going to give up.
He chuckled as he thought about the fact that the killers had naturally spread themselves out as they searched; no one had thought to take a few of the competition out. No honor among thieves, but plenty among professional killers, apparently.
All you fuckers are suddenly singing Kumbaya and cooperating. I doubt you’re all from the same organization, so how are you going to decide who gets the reward? Or are you just going to kill each other at the end for my head? I guess everyone else wins either way.
The darkening sky threatened the return of the rain. James didn’t mind. Most scenarios where the enemy couldn’t shoot at him from long range worked to his advantage, especially since Mr. Green Buzzing Bolt was in the mix.
James arrived at the bottom of the hill and spotted another rockier hill a few hundred yards farther away. He picked up the pace, not wanting to get caught out in the open.
Now how many of the bastards should I pick off? Too many will send them scurrying, and not enough might cause me trouble later. Plus, I need to leave enough of them to make sure everyone else hears about what went down.
Fuck. Should have called Tyler and issued an invitation or some shit.
James grunted. Everything would be over soon if he kept moving south.
A couple more hours of hiking south through the increasingly rocky and hilly terrain in the rain were punctuated by rest periods where James waited for the idiots to catch up. The intermittent rain helped keep him from being picked off from a distance, but also meant the pack after him kept losing him. He’d had to arrange a mistakenly kicked rock or errant flash of light to reveal his location more than once.
Yeah, that’s your problem. You guys are thinking too city. Should have anticipated my path and set up a sniper or something. Maybe you’d have had a chance.
James patted a pouch containing his potions. Assuming no one killed him he could survive a lot of damage—even without the amulet—with the help of his healing potions, but he suspected he might need them for his showdown with the Harriken.
After a quick survey of the surrounding terrain, the bounty hunter decided to wait in a crag. He couldn’t risk the hitmen getting tired and giving up, and he needed to give everyone a shot of adrenaline by introducing himself up close and personal to some of the killers.
Maybe I should have just waited at the ruins of my house and told people to stop by. I could have spent a week killing every asshole who came up. They wouldn’t all have had rocket launchers.
Since no one had picked him off with a high-powered rifle yet, James assumed his pursuers were mostly a pistol-and-shotgun crew. Mr. Green Buzzing Bolt seemed to have good range, but poor aim. He suspected the man was used to tossing his magic around at much closer range.
The twenty hitmen now walked in three groups about fifty yards apart. The frontrunners, three men in gray urban camouflage fatigues who were armed with pistols, made their way carefully toward the last position they’d spotted him in. From what he’d seen earlier they weren’t Grayson, so he assumed they were from a different company.
Of course, you’re wearing urban camouflage in the middle of the wilderness. You’re not exactly blending into the terrain here, assholes.
James also doubted that Grayson would be dumb enough to come after him with only three guys, given that they believed he’d slaughtered an entire unit. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t true. It only mattered that they believed it.
Maybe if I write them a nice letter explaining that I didn’t kill their guys they’ll lay off. Then again, the assholes were planning to ambush and kill me before, so yeah, fuck them. I’ll take out the Harriken, then maybe Grayson will get the damned point.
James glanced down at the slight bump in his shirt marking his amulet. The whole point of the plan was to avoid having to use his amulet. He hadn’t had to use it yet, but he hadn’t had to deal with such a large group until now—and at least one man had access to magic.
Time to make this chase a little more exciting.
The bounty hunter surveyed the area, and a smile came to his face as he spotted a good hiding place—a ledge with thick sides that jutted out from the rocky hill. He scurried up the rocks and flattened himself to wait.
Always wanted to try this out even if it seems a little chickenshit.
James pulled out a knife and waited still as a statue as the crunch of boots on rocks joined the slight howl of the wind. The whole ninja-lying-in-wait strategy wasn’t really his style, but just bolting out and killing everyone would ruin his plan.
“I know I saw him around here,” one of the mercenaries said in a low voice as they got closer. “Must have already crossed over to the other side of this damn hill. That fucker can move fast.”
Another man laughed. “You know, I heard all this shit about how tough Brownstone is, but in the end he ran off to hide like a little bitch. The Harriken aren’t so tough if they are afraid of this guy.”
“Hey, according to what I just read, the little bitch is now worth six hundred thousand,” the third man chimed in. “I don’t care if the Harriken are weak-ass bitches. I just care about their money.”
Six hundred thousand? Man, if I’d known they were going to keep increasing the bounty I might have gone for a few more days and gotten it up to a million, just so I could brag about it.
The scrape and thud of the boots against rock grew closer until it was right below James. He waited, his breath held, for all three men to pass under him.
James didn’t yell, scream, or offer any pithy one-liners. Instead, he rolled off the side of the ledge and landed right behind the first mercenary, then reached around and slit his throat. The gurgling mercenary managed to squeeze off a single round into the air.
The bounty hunter held the man up, not letting him fall to the ground. The other two mercenaries spun, raising their guns, and James sent a throwing knife into the head of the first. He shoved the dying mercenary toward the second and lunged toward the man.
The merc squeezed off several rounds and the body Brownstone had propelled toward him jerked as it took the hits. The distraction gave James enough time to close on him. He grabbed the man’s gun and thrust it upward before slamming his fist into the man’s stomach.
James yanked on the pistol as the mercenary flew backward several yards, landing hard on the rocky terrain and rolling. The man gasped for breath and coughed up blood. A second later Brownstone shot him in the head with his own pistol.
Bullets pelted the rocks and dirt around him. He tossed the pistol to the ground and hurriedly pulled his knife out of the second mercenary’s throat. A green bolt exploded into the ledge above him, showering him with shards of rock.
James sprinted away from the three dead mercenaries and the remaining killers.
Mission accomplished. That should be enough to keep them after me.
Colonel Grayson was behind his desk in his office, thumbing through manila folders containing personnel files for new recruits. He didn’t care if it would be more efficient to do it on the computer. Something about the old-fashioned approach always seemed more effective to him, as if handling the actual files somehow gave him better insight into the men who might want to join his company.
The Brownstone matter would be resolved soon enough, one way or another, and it was important that he focus on rebuilding the strength and reputation of Grayson PMC Services.
“You’ve caused me quite a lot of trouble, Mr. Brownstone,” the colonel muttered. “It’d be helpful to me if you would die soon.”
Someone knocked sharply on the door.
“Come in.”
The door swung open to reveal Maj
or Tallmadge, who strode in and saluted Grayson. The colonel saluted back.
“What is it, Major?”
“I just got some intel that might give us additional leverage in the Brownstone matter.”
The colonel folded his hands in front of him. “Leverage?”
“Yes.”
Colonel Grayson didn’t like the self-satisfied grin on the major’s face, but he did like what he was hearing. Strength was almost an afterthought when it came to winning a conflict; proper intelligence and logistics were the true keys. If they’d had better intelligence on Brownstone they wouldn’t have suffered the losses they had.
“Elaborate, Major,” the colonel ordered.
“There’s a girl—a teenager—who has a connection to Brownstone. We’re not sure if she’s a relative or just a friend or something, but she’s going to a school on the East Coast. Some sort of government place for training people with magic. It might not be a good idea to go after her there, but maybe when she comes home we could capture her.”
The colonel snorted. “A school is a school. It’s a place filled with soft trainers and children. It’s like suggesting a bunch of kids at a military prep school would present any risk to real soldiers.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t care if they can do some magic tricks. A bullet to the brain will stop that quickly enough. Find out more about her. We might just have to send someone to pay her a visit.”
The huge bear of a drunk, whom Tyler had learned was named Ben, eyed him suspiciously.
For all the profit the bartender was making, he was realizing how annoying it was when there were so many people in the bar.
“What?” Tyler challenged. “You have a problem?”
Ben shrugged. “Maybe. Did I just hear you place a big side bet that said Brownstone won’t even be killed? That’s not even one of the fucking options on your board.” He pointed to the chalkboard. “And, what…you think Brownstone’s gonna live now?”
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