“Listen, pal, I don’t give a shit about your jumped-up Yakuza bull—”
Jiro pulled a sword out from underneath the desk and had the tip at Cartwright’s throat in a flash. “One cannot demand respect. One earns respect through actions and demonstrations of one’s willingness to pursue such actions.”
Cartwright slowly raised his hands. “Hey, hey, calm down, Mr. Ikeda. We’re all on the same side here.”
The Harriken resisted snorting and lowered his sword. These mercenaries played at being soldiers, but without the honor that came with an organization like his own, they deserved no respect. He dirtied himself by relying on such scum, but with the local forces depleted the Harriken needed any help they could find.
Cartwright rubbed his neck and grinned. “Hey, just think of it this way. Thanks to this disrespectful and normally armed man your Brownstone problem is gone, so you need to pony up the cash.”
Jiro kept his hand on the sword and rested his arm on the desk. “Pay you? Why would I do that, when you clearly haven’t met the terms of our bounty?”
“You can’t fuck with Grayson, you know.” Cartwright stood and leaned over the desk in a feeble attempt at intimidation. “I want my fucking money.”
The sword went to the other man’s neck again. Cartwright winced and sat down again. He was clearly unused to not being able to intimidate others.
“If you do that again,” Jiro stated flatly, “you die. Do you understand?”
Cartwright nodded quickly and swallowed.
Jiro resisted the urge to skewer the man anyway. However, making additional enemies wouldn’t help the Harriken at this juncture. Still, he would remember this Cartwright’s arrogance for the future.
“Look, Mr. Ikeda, I’m just saying I killed Brownstone. I did what you asked. Everyone says the Harriken always keep their word, good or bad. A lot of our guys got killed because you gave us crap intel, so we deserve our payday for taking down Brownstone.”
“I believe our rules in this matter were very clear,” Jiro replied, his voice flat. “No body, no bounty. And I don’t see a body. Do you plan to deliver a body to us? That’s fine, or even a head. I’m sorry, we can’t accept a hand or limb.” He held up his stump. “As you can see, a man can survive losing a hand without too much trouble.”
The mercenary stared at Jiro’s arm for a moment, an unspoken question in his eyes. “I confirmed entry. I have video of him going in. His house is a fucking burned-out cinder now.”
“But you have no video of his body, or even his head. That leaves the possibility that he is still alive, and we’d be fools to pay you for killing a man who might still be alive, don’t you think?”
“The body would be extra-crispy anyway. What good would it have done to give it to you?”
Jiro snorted. “Between magic and science, we could easily verify if it was Brownstone’s body.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you want the money, deliver us the body…or the head as a minimum. Otherwise, don’t waste our time. We’re not offering to pay for Brownstone’s house to be destroyed. We’re paying for his death.”
Cartwright shook his head, his face red. “What if I get confirmation that he’s dead from the LAPD?”
The Harriken laughed. “You’ll beg the police to confirm this death? Don’t you think they’ll link you to the crime then, fool?”
The other man gritted his teeth. “I’m just saying they’ll report it sooner or later. Murders are a matter of public record.”
“Not good enough.”
“What the fuck? Him being dead isn’t good enough?”
Jiro shook his head. “No. His dishonor of the Harriken was too great. We require his body—or at least the head—so it too can be dishonored.”
A look of disgust passed over Cartwright’s face. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.” He shoved his chair back and stomped to the door.
Jiro watched him leave, his lips pursed. Once Grayson had served its purpose, he’d stab Sergeant Cartwright through the heart.
Colonel Grayson sat at the end of the long table that dominated the briefing room. His surviving trusted subordinates were all sitting around it.
Sentimentality didn’t weigh on Grayson’s heart. His previous second-in-command had been a good soldier, but he hadn’t considered him a friend. That didn’t mean there would be no repercussions for his death.
In his years of operating the Grayson PMC Services company the colonel had suffered losses—more than he wanted to admit at times—but he’d never dealt with a total unit-wipe. This James Brownstone had embarrassed him by killing his men.
The man had to be handled, and soon.
Most Grayson employees were former Special Forces operators from some of the best units in the world, including AET teams.
What little intelligence they’d been able to stitch together, including a single satellite image, suggested there might have been some heavy magic involved. Brownstone was not normally associated with magic, from what their previous intelligence had indicated.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t make out much from the image other than that a single person was killing his men.
He didn’t know all the details. The Harriken were obviously holding some of them back, but Brownstone had been involved, and he had been on-scene when all the Grayson men had died. Now the criminals were willing to pay for his death. If someone else had been involved, he could be handled after Brownstone’s liquidation.
The gathered men stared at a large television hanging on the wall opposite the colonel, where a blurred battle raged inside a bank. James Brownstone was blasting away with weapons at a man cloaked in flame; the now-deceased Jordan Adams, aka King Pyro.
“Did you see that?” asked Major Tallmadge, the next highest-ranking man left alive in the company. “Those monitors moved, but he wasn’t near them. Some sort of magic, I’m guessing. Telekinetic magic, or air magic.”
Colonel Grayson nodded. “And Brownstone doesn’t seem to have any armor on, but he’s not taking much damage from the flame attacks. From what public reports indicate this Adams could generate serious heat. Enough to melt metal, anyway.”
Tallmadge’s phone beeped. After he answered, a huge frown appeared on his face. “Sergeant Cartwright reports that the Harriken have refused to pay without a body.”
The Colonel continued to watch the screen as the bank battle unfolded. A powerful blow from Brownstone sent King Pyro sailing through a front window.
“That’s fine,” he replied after a few seconds of thought.
The other officers exchanged glances, but it was Major Tallmadge who spoke. “It’s fine? This asshole killed dozens of our men, and the Harriken are offering us an extra five hundred thousand on top of the existing five hundred thousand if one of our guys takes him out.”
Grayson shook his head. “I say we sit back for a while. I don’t want any of our remaining men going after Brownstone if he survived. We’ve lost enough personnel, and we still have a lot of gaps in our intel. We took the original job on without enough intel, and we lost forty men because of it. We need to be more careful this time.”
Tallmadge’s forehead creased. “Even if we’re not sure that this Brownstone is responsible, and the Harriken are using us, all the rumors say he was the one who took down our men. That’s hurting our reputation.”
“You need to think long-term, Tallmadge, not short-term. Strategically, not just tactically.” The colonel tapped the tablet in front of him, halting the video. “Let other people go after the bounty hunter. I don’t give a shit if it’s Brownstone at this point or some Oriceran fuckers he has in his back pocket on retainer. Someone will go after him, and they’ll die. It’ll bleed out enough of the idiots around here to help us.”
“How do you figure?”
“It’s just economics, Tallmadge. Supply and demand. Given Brownstone’s rep, it’s not going to be street punks going after him. If it weren’t for our dead men I wouldn’t have authorized any strikes at all.” Colonel Gray
son nodded slowly. “No, we’ll let Brownstone thin everyone out. Once he’s tired and off-balance, we’ll finish him.”
He stared at the paused and grainy image of the bounty hunter on the screen.
You’re just a man, Brownstone. You can die like anyone else.
The morning after the complete and utter destruction of his house, James rolled into the parking lot outside a familiar LAPD station. He’d been there countless times, since they performed all high-level bounty processing in the building.
The bounty hunter glanced down at his clothes after he hopped out of his wounded truck. They reeked of smoke and ashes, and he himself smelled like an ashtray. He hadn’t bothered to take a shower, and all his other clothes were gone. At least his gray coat had survived.
Shay would be thrilled.
He’d thought about standing outside in one of the thunderstorms that were supposed to hit the city, but NOAA updates now suggested they wouldn’t arrive as soon as they’d originally predicted.
Several cops eyed him as he entered and strode toward the front desk. Sergeant Mack stood up from behind his computer and looked James up and down.
“No offense, Brownstone, but you look like complete shit. Did you fall asleep in a ditch yesterday or something?”
“Yeah, of course I look like shit. I got blown up yesterday.”
Understanding dawned on the cop’s face. He looked down and tapped on his keyboard for a few seconds.
“Damn,” Mack exclaimed. “I hadn’t looked into it. I mean, I heard about some big-ass explosion in your neighborhood, but I didn’t put two and two together. That was your house?”
James rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I was hoping that you guys wouldn’t get involved, but you’re cops and you’re nosy. I figured I should come clean before there’s a misunderstanding and good men get hurt.”
Mack chuckled. “You definitely need to get clean, that’s for sure. But what are you talking about?”
“The gas explosion contributed, sure. But the original cause was the two fucking rockets some bastard put into my house.”
“What the fuck, Brownstone?” The cop’s face scrunched in confusion. “Are you shitting me?”
James shook his head. “There’s a hit on me; at least a half million, Harriken-funded.”
Mack whistled. “Damn, Brownstone. When you piss people off, you do it big-time. I don’t know if I’m more surprised that it took ‘em so long, or that they’re too stupid to quit when they’re ahead.”
“This isn’t going to end until I make it clear that I won’t put up with any more of their bullshit.” The bounty hunter gestured toward the front door. “They busted up my truck, too. Fuckers.”
“Look, Brownstone, we can take you into protective custody. Maybe that’s the best play.”
James snorted. “These people came after me with rocket launchers. If I hide behind some cops, all that’s gonna result in is dead cops. I don’t want that on my conscience.”
“Yeah, but we can’t have LA turned into a war zone, and we both know that’s what is about to happen.”
“Tell that to the Harriken.” The bounty hunter shook his head. “I don’t want people caught up in my shit, cops or civilians. I’m gonna try and draw these bastards away so I can deal with them my own way. This is all underworld shit, so I’m not gonna hold back or shed any tears for any fuckers who come at me thinking they’ll find an easy payday. Fuck them for blowing up my house and messing up my truck. You know how fucking hard is to find parts for a vintage Ford F-350?”
“Calm down, Brownstone. Calm down.” Sergeant Mack let out a long sigh. “I’m not going to say I know everything about you, but I know you’re a man who takes a personal slight seriously. I’ll pass the word on, but you know this isn’t going to make AET happy. Or hell…a lot of the guys in the department.”
“My house is a fucking crater.” James grunted. “Half of Los Angeles….shit, half of the West Coast will probably be coming for me. The last thing anyone, AET or otherwise, should be doing is getting between me and the fuckers who come after me unless they want to get hurt.” He pivoted on his heel and marched toward the door.
“Brownstone,” Mack called to him.
James stopped and looked over his shoulder. “What?”
“Don’t die, man. You’re one of the good ones.”
“Don’t worry. Even if I do, there’ll be a lot fewer pieces of scum in Los Angeles before I go.”
4
Shay paced in front of the boarding gate, ignoring the annoyed glares of the other passengers. She needed to get back to Los Angeles as soon as possible—hopefully before Brownstone ended up dead.
She sighed. You fucking moron. Of course you have to get into this kind of bullshit when I’m out of the country.
Despite their conversation about Alison, she wasn’t sure if Brownstone realized how much trouble was bearing down on him.
He’d been mostly on the side of the establishment and the law in the war against crime. The field archaeologist, in contrast, had put in her years on the opposing team.
She suspected she knew how criminal scum ticked a lot better than he did.
The best solution is a punch to the face. That was his motto.
Brownstone might be tough and have a lot of experience hunting criminals, but he’d probably gotten too used to them not working together.
Shay had witnessed the vicious beauty of a criminal collective focused on a single goal too many times to underestimate the danger.
Every piece of garbage in Los Angeles would be coming after him, and as tough as he was, he’d slip up without someone to watch his back.
Shay didn’t care that she’d seen him take a shotgun blast at point-blank range or that he had some weird-ass Oriceran amulet that probably made him tougher. She’d also seen recordings of him taking on King Pyro, and that made one fact painfully clear.
Whatever James Brownstone was, he could be hurt.
The concerned woman fished out her phone and took a moment to log into a darknet black market forum she had frequented in her killer era. It’d proven useful in the last few days. Brownstone’s bounty had become a big topic of interest.
His general bounty had risen to five hundred and fifty thousand, and there had been specific details added since last time she’d checked.
We wish to make our policy very clear. No body, no bounty. As a minimum, we will accept a head. If you lose the head, you must have at least the torso. These terms are non-negotiable if you wish collection of the reward.
“Well, that should keep them from trying to blow him up, at least,” Shay mumbled to herself. That improved his odds of survival.
She skimmed the rest of the forum’s topics. She frowned, realizing she had a money-making opportunity when she spotted some people talking about taking bets paid out in cryptocurrency. From what she saw, it was ten-to-one against Brownstone surviving more than a couple of weeks.
It wouldn’t hurt for me to take a little money from the bad guys and save Brownstone’s ass at the same time.
Another forum topic caught her attention: Latest Brownstone Sightings. Her stomach tightened.
Brownstone last seen entering the LAPD Police Department. Timestamp, GPS coordinates, and address as follows.
Shay let out a long sigh and looked at the flight board. “Stay alive, Brownstone. Stay alive.”
The mechanic eyed the F-350 after closing the hood. “Do you know how hard it is to get parts for this thing? I feel like I’m ripping you off every time you bring it in for maintenance. Just buy a new truck, man!”
James grunted. “I didn’t ask how hard or expensive it was. I asked if you could fix it.”
“I don’t even know how you drove it around with all the damage to the engine.” The mechanic moved to a nearby counter to wipe his oil-covered hands on a rag. “You should just sell it for scrap. It’ll cost more than it’s worth to fix.”
“No fucking way. I want it fixed.”
; “Brownstone, do you understand what I’m getting at? This ain’t about rotating the tires and slapping on some new paint. I’m gonna have to replace a lot of shit in this truck, starting with the engine.” The mechanic gestured toward the F-350. “Look, you told me not to ask before, but now I’m asking. How did you even get a two-by-four through the window? What the hell happened?”
James shrugged. “My house blew up, and my truck was next to it when it happened. Explosions send shit out. No big mystery.”
The other man blinked. “Your house blew up?”
“Yeah. Boom.” The bounty hunter mimicked the explosion with his hands.
“Damn. That sucks. I don’t even want to know why your house blew up.” The mechanic shook his head. “Anyway, don’t matter. We’re talking roughly thirty thousand to get it back into shape. Like I said, makes more sense to just put that toward a new truck—and the costs might go higher. I’ll need a lot of rare parts, and those go for a premium.”
James grunted. “Don’t worry about the cost. I’m gonna get the people who blew up my house to pay.”
About fifteen minutes later, the bounty hunter hoofed it away from the shop. Rideshares or cabs presented too much risk of an assassin or a car bomb. He needed to think about his next step now that his truck was handled. At least something he cared about was still around.
The bounty hunter surveyed the area as he approached an intersection. A small number of delivery drones and a single police drone hovered in the sky. Cars streamed up and down the road, along with a flowing river of humanity on the sidewalks.
Too many damn people. Too many damn potential casualities. James needed to go somewhere safe, at least for a couple of minutes so he could get his bearings and take care of a few important personal matters.
It didn’t matter how badly he wanted to keep his life simple. Preparing for war was always complicated.
The bounty hunter squinted into the distance. Over a dozen flagpoles, each flying a different flag, stood in front of a walled-off building: the local Oriceran consulate.
Eye For An Eye: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 3) Page 3