“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?”
Tyler ground his teeth. The stupid drunks were more perceptive than he had realized.
“Yes, I placed the bet. What do you fucking care?”
“You’re fucking supporting Brownstone with your money, idiot. I thought you hated Brownstone.”
Several nearby patrons turned to stare at Tyler with a mix of anger and confusion on their faces.
“I’m not supporting Brownstone,” Tyler announced, raising his voice so everyone could hear. “I’m hedging my happiness.”
Ben narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Tyler sneered at the man, then pushed through the crowd to the chalkboard. “It’s like hedging your bet on roulette: when you put some money down on black even though you think red is going to hit.” He waved at the board. “If Brownstone dies I’m a happy man, but if he gets his ass out of this predicament…” He shrugged. “Well, at least I’ll have more money in my pocket.”
18
Shay sat across from Alison at a table in the dining hall, nibbling on some moist chicken. Or at least she thought it was chicken. It smelled like chicken and tasted like chicken, but she couldn’t ignore that she was at a magic school.
She eyed the breast on her plate. No strange patterns, no glow.
“This isn’t some weird Oriceran bird, is it? I mean, it tastes like chicken, but maybe that’s just some spell.”
Alison laughed. “No one would waste magic just to make something taste like chicken.”
“Huh. Maybe. Ever wonder why so many things taste like chicken, though? Maybe there is a spell after all.” Shay shrugged.
“It’s just baked chicken, Aunt Shay. No magic.” The teen winked. “I promise.”
Shay took another bite. Moist and well-seasoned; nice food for a school. She swallowed and then cleared her throat. “I read the other day about how some environmentalist groups want MMO warning labels added to anything magic has touched. They were mad about some companies using magic to help grow crops, especially in certain places with crappy soil.”
Alison blinked. “MMO?”
“Magically-modified organism. A lot of people have been going on about the potential health risks and all that, saying a lot of us might end up with cancer in thirty years because of traces of magic in food and water. There’s even going to be a vote on a referendum about it in California in the next election. If it passes, people will have to label any food that comes in contact with magic at any point from when it’s grown or caught to when it gets to the store, even if it’s just like there was a witch nearby casting spells when they packed it.”
The teen rolled her eyes. “The Oricerans have been dealing with magic since before humans had any real civilizations. I think they know what’s dangerous and what’s not.”
“Maybe.” Shay shrugged.
Alison sighed. “You don’t agree?”
“I hadn’t thought about it much, but the last thing I expect to die from is magical cancer.” Shay smiled. “Hey, don’t get too worked up, kid. That’s just California for you. Obviously Virginia is a little looser about that stuff considering they have a magic school here, but back in California I still have to read a notice about how my coffee might give me cancer every time I pick some up from a Starbucks.” Shay winked. “Got all offended on behalf of Oriceran, eh? Going native just because you’re learning magic?”
Alison’s cheeks reddened. “No, it’s not that. I’ve learned a lot since coming here, and I’m just, you know, frustrated.”
Shay looked at the young woman. “Why? Because of the whole delayed-magic-potential thing?”
Alison shook her head. “No, not that at all. It’s because we’ve been taught so many things that aren’t true. The problem is that our historians are wrong, lying, or both. I’ve been studying a lot about the true history of our world since coming here. Of both worlds.”
Shay nodded slowly. “Yeah, in my own research I’ve learned that a lot of the sh— Stuff I grew up believing isn’t true. At least you grew up knowing that magic is a real thing. What sort of things have they taught you here?”
“A lot of the gods in the ancient religions weren’t just metaphors for royalty or made-up stories, but people with magic or even Oricerans. How do you think the Great Pyramids got built? Just a bunch of guys moving stones with these really exact measurements?”
Shay laughed and raised her hands. “You don’t have to convince me. I’ve been to them. I know how much of what we think about our ancient history isn’t true, and how true a lot of reports we dismissed as stories actually are true. It’s still weird trying to wrap your mind around it. It’s like the world in general is shrugging about it, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less true.”
Alison nodded. “I read about how there are all these little statues they found in Japan from over ten thousand years ago. They look like little astronauts and some people thought they were modeled after alien astronauts, but they actually represent Oricerans who came over there wearing magic armor to help some of the people in that area.” Alison frowned. “I’ve also been taught that a lot of the age estimates for ancient artifacts are way off. Magic can mess up a lot of the archaeology techniques like carbon dating, so there are a lot of ruins and stuff out there that are actually way older than people know.”
Shay chuckled. “I’ve read about that. There’s been some pushback in the archaeology communities, both freelance and the more academic. Don’t know that I care all that much since I’m more concerned about magical artifacts than history, but I believe the dating’s often wrong.” She shrugged. “It’s hard to argue with magic. I believe in it, and as far I’m concerned all this is great for my profession.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just as an example, before, no one knew if Atlantis was real. Now we know it was, and it was advanced because of Oriceran magic. There are all sorts of lost cities and ancient ruins linked to Oriceran, so it means there are a lot more opportunities to find treasure…I mean, uh, things of interest, now that magic’s growing stronger on Earth. Plus, there are things that were hidden by magic that we didn’t even know to look for before.”
Alison looked away from Shay, staring around the dining hall at the students chatting with one another.
“I guess the other thing that I find frustrating is that a lot of people keep acting like Oricerans don’t belong on Earth.”
Shay picked up her glass of water to take a sip. “People will always find a reason to not like someone different. That’s kind of what defines humanity.”
Alison reached for her own drink. “I know, but Earth and Oriceran have such a long history together. It’s kind of strange for people to act like Oriceran is new when they’ve touched so many places and civilizations throughout our history. Why can’t everyone just get along?”
A dark chuckle escaped Shay’s mouth. “It’ll take a lot more than magic to get that to happen.”
Gordon stepped around the rock, using it to keep himself upright on the steep slope. He wiped off some of the sweat beading on his shaved head and glanced at his brother. Sweat covered the other man’s reddened face.
“You doing okay, Darrell?”
His brother nodded. “Fine. Just want to end Brownstone already. How fucking long have we been chasing him? I want to catch up to that motherfucker.”
The waning sun signaled the coming turnover between day and night. Gordon gritted his teeth. Losing Brownstone in the middle of the fucking hills at night meant they’d probably lose him forever. The bastard would keep running south, and the next thing they heard it’d probably be some Mexican hitman taking him down.
“Just think about how much money we�
�re gonna collect, bro,” Gordon reminded Darrell, glancing over his shoulder at the loose formation of hitmen trailing them.
After Brownstone had killed the three mercs, Gordon hoped he would thin out the herd a little more. Eventually things were going to get sticky about who would get to keep Brownstone’s head, and Gordon didn’t want to have to take on more than a dozen men over the bounty.
Instead, the damned bounty hunter kept running.
Fucking pussy. You can’t run from us forever.
“I see something, bro,” Darrell shouted, and pointed.
Gordon snapped his head in that direction. Something glinted in the distance.
“Fucking idiot. We wouldn’t even be able to follow him if he wouldn’t keep messing up like that. Fucker’s too used to being the one chasing.”
The hitman ran toward the glint. His brother followed, and soon the entire little army was sprinting at top speed, their breathing ragged and labored as they attempted to close on their target.
A good half-mile later Gordon slowed, looking around and kicking the dirt. “Where the fuck did he go? It was like he was here, then just disappeared.”
Darrell gestured to the south. “There are some bushes and rocks and shit over there. He was running that way. Let’s just keep going that way.”
The gathered hitmen had made it another three hundred yards when Gordon spotted movement from the corner of his eye.
The hitman spun, raising his gun. “Time to die, Brownstone.”
The ground suddenly birthed strange humanoid plants, or at least that was what it looked like at first. It took Gordon’s brain a few seconds to realize he wasn’t surrounded by magical monstrosities, but dozens upon dozens of men in ghillie suits—maybe even a hundred—pointing assault rifles at his group.
The hitman spun, seeking an escape route, but the ghillie-suited men surrounded the hitmen on all sides. The killers all raised their guns and exchanged nervous glances.
“United States Marine Corps!” shouted one of the ghillie-suited men. “Drop your weapons or we will drop you!”
Gordon jerked his head around, his heart thundering. It wasn’t fucking fair. They were supposed to have the advantage. They were hunting Brownstone as a pack, but there was no way they were going to win against a whole unit of Marines.
“Drop your weapons, go to your knees, and put your hands on your heads,” shouted the Marine who had spoken before. “You have thirty seconds, or we will light you up.”
Gordon let his pistol fall to the ground along with his knees, and he laced his hands behind his head. “Fucking, Brownstone,” he muttered under his breath. “How did you pull this shit off?”
The rest of the pack complied, all except for one. He threw his hand out and a magical green bolt shot toward a Marine. Another Marine pushed the target out of the way and the bolt buzzed over their heads, exploding into the ground a few seconds later.
Gordon had never before seen a man hit by bullets from dozens of assault rifles simultaneously. One second he was there, the next he had exploded in a shower of blood.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!”
The Marines surged forward to secure the surviving prisoners with zip-ties.
The Marine who had shouted the commands earlier stomped up to Gordon, who was the closest of any of the hitmen. “What kind of fucking morons do you have to be that you would show up heavily armed and invade Camp Pendleton?” He leaned forward. “It was a useful training exercise for us, though. Got to give you that.”
Gordon glared at the Marine, resisting the urge to threaten the man who was obviously in charge.
The Marine grinned at him. “You know, I’m sure they’re going to slap all sorts of terrorism charges on you assholes. Going to throw away the key, I bet. You better hope you don’t have any bounties or warrants or you’ll never see daylight again.”
Another Marine laughed. “I sure as hell hope they do have bounties, Gunny. Since we caught them on base we can get the bounty, and that’s some major fucking beer money.”
The older Marine laughed and looked Gordon up and down. “Yeah. Good training exercise, and now beer money. Great day. Really great day!”
The gunnery sergeant looked up as Brownstone made his way through the Marines. Some of them eyed him with respect as he passed, and others with suspicion.
“Thanks for the help, Gunny,” Brownstone said, extending his hand. The Marine gave it a firm shake.
Gordon glared at the bounty hunter, but the man ignored him.
“Don’t worry about it, Brownstone,” the gunnery sergeant told him. “It’s nice when we can train the men in a more realistic scenario.” He nodded toward the bloodied remains of the slain hitman. “Too bad he was stupid. It didn’t have to go down like that.”
Brownstone shrugged. “I hate to ask this of you, Gunny, but I’ve got one more favor.”
The Marine chuckled. “What?”
“I need someone to give me a ride to a rental place. I need to rent another Humvee.”
Esteban peered through Isabella’s scope, leading Brownstone as the man walked through the crowd of Marines.
The hitman almost didn’t believe what he’d witnessed. Brownstone was there one second, then he’d vanished. By the time he reappeared the Marines had surrounded the rest of the hitmen. Some of the top killing talent in Los Angeles would now be going to prison.
But not Esteban.
His patience had been rewarded, and his inferiors had been captured or killed. He couldn’t kill Brownstone with the damned military men so close, but now that his prey thought he’d escaped the pack he would let his guard down—and Esteban would kill him and take his head.
“Tonight your head is mine.”
“Nice rifle,” a young woman remarked from behind Esteban. “Wonder what kind of range you get on that.”
“I’ve made kills as far…” Esteban rolled, his hand going for the pistol in his shoulder holster.
He cried out as a 5.56×45mm bullet tore through this shoulder. His pistol dropped to the ground.
A young Marine MP lance corporal stood over him, her rifle pointed directly at him. Her nametape indicated that her last name was Vasquez. The fresh-faced enlisted didn’t look like she was even in her twenties yet.
Vasquez kept her rifle trained on him, anger in her eyes. “You know one of the first things they teach about shooting in boot camp?”
Esteban kept still, even though his shoulder throbbed. “What?”
“Don’t shoot at anyone you’re not willing to kill. You’re lucky you only got shot in the shoulder.” Vasquez gestured with her rifle. “Roll the fuck back over. And welcome to Camp Pendleton, you terrorist asshole.”
Esteban rolled over with a grunt. He started to chuckle and it escalated into a loud laugh.
“What’s so funny, asshole?” Vasquez hissed. “Don’t give me another reason to shoot your ass.”
“I was going to kill the ultimate prey when none other could. Yet you, some puta soldier girl, have defeated me.” The hitman cackled. “Well played, Fate. Well played.”
“Shut your mouth. And I’m no soldier, I’m a damned Marine.”
19
James decided that if he were to ever replace the F-350, he might consider a Humvee. He’d just experienced the world’s most expensive test drive, and he was impressed, even if he had now moved on to a second one. Contacting the original rental company about the first could wait a few days.
He stifled a yawn as he turned down the street toward the Leanan Sídhe. It’d been an exhausting couple of days, but he’d managed to drive all the way back to Los Angeles with nothing more than the occasional police drone following him. The current situation offered hope that he wouldn’t be sucking on a rocket or fireball anytime soon.
The dark clouds lingered in the night sky and blocked the moon and the stars but the worst of the storm had passed, leaving only an occasional light shower.
James pulled into the lot behind the Irish pub and parke
d. When he stepped out of the truck, he did a cautious check of the area. Even though he assumed that most of the hitmen willing to go after him had been taken care of, it didn’t hurt to be careful.
The bounty hunter made his way into the crowded bar. It didn’t matter that it was late at night; the place was still packed, as always.
A comfortable familiarity settled over James and he smiled to himself as he navigated through the crowd toward the back, where the Professor sat drinking a beer. The older man’s red face suggested it wasn’t his first.
It was good to be back. All this complicated-plan shit was wearing him down. Fucking Harriken.
Most of the crowd parted for James, though several stared at him. He chuckled. His days of running, climbing, and a little bit of violence had left him looking as shabby as his coat.
He glanced down. It bore tears, dirt, and more than a few blood stains.
“Sorry, it’s been a rough day,” James rumbled when he got to the table and took a seat. He heaved a great sigh. “This shit is annoying.”
The Professor laughed. “Aye, I’m sure it is, but you should know, lad, that word has gotten out, along with a few curious rumors.”
“Like what?”
“They mention that you’ve killed several of the men after you, and now you seemingly have the Marine Corps on call.” The Professor chuckled. “I suppose that’s not even much of a rumor since it’s been all over the news that a group of armed criminals attempted to invade Camp Pendleton and one was killed. According to the reporters, the group had become convinced that one James Brownstone was in the area. The Marines Corps are just saying the invaders should be treated as terrorists. No one’s exactly weeping about the Marines gunning down a known hitman.” He picked up his beer and swallowed a huge slug of it, then put a hand over his mouth and belched. “From what I understand, all the local freelancers have decided your hit contract is more trouble than it’s worth. The Marine stunt fed into the narrative that the authorities are pulling out all the stops to help you, and that seems partially true from what I can tell.”
Eye For An Eye: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 3) Page 14