The gang member turned to leave.
“I’ve got a message for Trey,” the bounty hunter added.
“What, Mr. Brownstone?”
“You tell him the community just did me a favor, and I don’t forget people who do me favors.”
Delroy leaned back in the seat of the SUV. “Are you a complete fucking moron, Greg? I can’t believe you’re saying that shit.”
“Kiss my ass, Delroy,” the man in the driver’s seat shot back. “You’re just mad because your boys can’t hit worth a damn. If they ever want to see a World Series again they better start learning some magic, because that’s the only way they’ll get better.” He chuckled. “Maybe they should let some Oricerans on the team.”
Greg glanced at the display screen in the center of the dashboard. It was divided into two halves, both providing feeds from their surveillance drones.
“Shit, the aerial feed isn’t that clear,” Greg complained. “Why don’t we drop its altitude?”
Delroy shrugged. “Because it’ll be too fucking obvious if it’s hovering at twenty feet.”
Greg pointed toward the lower screen, which provided a low but wide-angle view of the driveway. “The problem with these insect drone models is that damn camera angle. Is this fucker ever going to come home?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t been able to tag him in town. It’s like he disappeared.”
“You think he knows we’re watching his place? What if that old drunk told him?”
Delroy slammed his fist into a palm. “If Brownstone knew we were watching he’d come after us. He’s not the kind of guy who runs off with his tail between his legs. Just ask the Harriken.”
“We don’t have solid proof he did that,” Greg argued. “Official word is, it was a gang fight. Isn’t that half the reason we’re looking into this shit?”
“Proof? Everybody in fucking town knows he did it.”
A loud clink against the side windows made both men look that way.
James Brownstone stood there with a .45 in his hand, but not pointed at them. Faint smile in place, he gestured for them to roll down the window.
“Shit,” Delroy hissed. “What do we do, drive off?”
“We’ll be dead before we make it ten feet. If he wanted us dead, he would have already shot us. Let’s just hear what he has to say.” Greg pressed a button and the window lowered with a whir.
The bounty hunter’s smile grew into a grin. He didn’t point the gun at the men but neither did he holster the weapon. Both men inside realized that if they tried to draw they’d be dead before they got their guns out of their holsters, and that was assuming bullets would even work. Both had heard a lot of strange rumors about the so-called Granite Ghost.
“Just want to talk, assholes,” Brownstone rumbled. “No one has to die unless they do something stupid.”
The men in the SUV frowned, but didn’t say anything.
“See, my life is about keeping things simple. I tell myself that all the time: keep things simple, stupid. You know what’s not simple?”
Greg and Delroy exchanged looks, then shrugged.
“Dead bodies without bounties aren’t simple,” James explained. “So I’m really hoping that you two assholes can explain why you’re spying on my house, and that this doesn’t end with me killing you.” His expression darkened. “You’re obviously not Harriken, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t doing their dirty work for them. I know they are fucking looking for me.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down, cowboy,” Delroy exclaimed, waving his hands in front of him. “We’re cops.”
“Why the fuck should I believe that?” Brownstone growled.
“I don’t know, maybe because it’s the damn truth?” Delroy snapped back. He didn’t like the fact that they were having to kiss the civilian’s ass. Brownstone might bring in a lot of bounties, but he wasn’t a cop.
“I’m going to reach into my jacket nice and slow and pull out a badge,” the man said. “So don’t kill me, okay?”
Brownstone raised his gun. “Okay, do it. Nice and slow.”
Delroy pulled out a badge and held it out. “See? We’re LAPD, Brownstone.”
The bounty hunter’s eyes narrowed. After a few seconds, he holstered his weapon and crossed his arms. The cops let out a sigh of relief.
“I’m a licensed class-six bounty hunter,” Brownstone said. “So fuck off if this is about the family of some scumbag whining about me knocking around little Johnny Scumsalot.”
“We don’t give a shit about your bounties,” Delroy told him. “We’re part of an interagency anti-gang task force, and ever since the incident with the Harriken, there’s been a lot of strange movement among the local gangs. We’re worried about a gang war breaking out. And your name pops up every time we talk to an informant.”
James snorted. “So, what…you think I’m the local kingpin or something?”
The cop shrugged. “Just saying your name pops up, and dead bodies pile up around you.”
“Show me someone who didn’t have it coming, and maybe I’ll give a shit.”
Delroy stared at the bounty hunter. “We’re not here to hassle you, Brownstone. We just want to stop a gang war.”
The bounty hunter grunted. “I don’t know shit about gang warfare.”
“How do I know you’re not blowing smoke up my ass?”
“If it’s not a bounty,” Brownstone said, “I don’t give a shit.”
The cop smirked. “Unless it’s personal.”
James eyed the man, his eyes narrowing. “That’s different. And plenty of cops can vouch for me.” Brownstone shook his head. “Fuck this. You know what? I bet you don’t even have a warrant.”
Delroy tried not to wince. A few people mentioning the bounty hunter’s name might have been enough to arouse the department’s suspicion, but it hadn’t been enough to convince a judge that the man should be a surveillance target.
Watching for Brownstone at the bar had been simple enough. It was a public place. Using drones and doing continual surveillance of his home would be harder to justify if too many people started asking questions.
Bending the rules a little in defense of the public didn’t bother the cop, but he didn’t like getting called on it, either. He’d hoped that if he didn’t say anything, Brownstone would just assume they’d followed all the proper procedures.
“We’re allowed to do basic surveillance in public places.” Greg withered under Delroy’s angry glare.
“Last time I checked, my house isn’t a fucking public place,” the bounty hunter snapped. “Anyway, thanks for confirming this is all bullshit.”
“We’re just doing our jobs, Brownstone,” Delroy replied. “You can go around kicking bounty ass all day, but that doesn’t mean regular crime goes away.”
Brownstone inhaled deeply. “Look, like I said, I like my shit simple. As far as I’ve heard, the gangs in this area are trying to keep things light, not gearing up for war. But if you want to talk to me and not spy on me, we can meet later. You guys might not always like my methods, but we’re on the same side.”
Some of the tension left the cops. If they could just get a tighter rein on the bounty hunter, this might work out well enough for them in the future.
“Fair enough,” Delroy said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Brownstone pulled out his phone.
“We don’t need your number,” the cop told him. “We already have it.”
“This isn’t for that,” Brownstone replied. “It’s for something else. My way of making a point.” He smirked and tapped through a few menus on his phone.
SIGNAL ONE AND TWO LOST appeared on the console’s display screen.
“How high did you have the first one?” Brownstone asked. “Because your standard issue drone isn’t that sturdy. Unless it was real low, it’s smashed to pieces now. You gonna clean that up?”
“Oh, shit!” Greg yelled.
“Damn it, Brownstone,” Delroy snarled. “That shit w
as expensive.”
“Next time get a warrant.” Brownstone shrugged. “Can’t help it if shit’s in my property’s airspace. Sucks to be you guys.” He put his phone back in his pocket. “I’ll let you go pick up the other one. From the looks of the screen before, I’m guessing it’s one of those stick-bug models. I fucking hate those things. Creepy as hell.”
The central display buzzed, and both cops looked at it. Greg tapped a few options on the screen and text flooded it.
“What’s going on?” Brownstone asked, trying to tilt his head to read the screen.
“Fucking sonofabitch,” Delroy said. He didn’t want to give the bounty hunter another reason to think he was big shit, but he could be useful. He slowly turned to look at the bounty hunter. “It’s an APB.”
“For who?”
“Jordan Adams.”
“King-fucking-Pyro?” Brownstone’s face darkened. “How the hell did he get out?”
“Don’t know. Just says he’s escaped, and he took out a couple of cops during his exit.” Delroy gritted his teeth. “Damn it.”
“There a bounty out on that asshat yet?” Brownstone’s voice was practically a growl.
The bounty hunter’s hatred poured off him like deadly radiation. Delroy’s stomach tightened.
“You know how it works, Brownstone,” the cop responded. “You already got paid for bringing him in, so they’ll have to do the processing to set up a new one—and that’s if they even decide they want one.”
“Tell someone to get on that shit,” Brownstone suggested. He pulled out his phone and tapped away, his eyes blazing in anger. “I’ve just submitted a donation to the Los Angeles County Citizen’s Bounty Fund requesting a bounty issuance against that fucker. That should help things along.”
Greg and Delroy looked at each other in confusion.
“You’re going to take a bounty that you’re funding yourself?” Delroy asked. “What’s the point?”
“He’s level four and a cop-killer,” Brownstone said. “That combo should almost automatically result in a dead-or-alive flag.”
The cops stared at the man. He’d already brought down King Pyro once, and the only reason he hadn’t killed the man is because the police on site had stopped him. Now the criminal had added several LAPD officers to his victim list. About the last thing either Greg or Delroy wanted to do was protect the asshole.
When a monster showed up, throw another monster at him.
“I’ll see about expediting things,” Delroy offered. “I know some people who work in Bounty Processing.”
Brownstone nodded and turned to leave. “Remember to pick up your drone before you leave.”
Greg rolled the window back up once the bounty hunter was out of earshot. “You think that’s kosher? I mean, he practically told us he’s paying into that fund to go kill a guy and get away with it.”
“Nah, he’s paying money to take out a murderous sonofabitch who killed a bunch of cops. I’m not gonna cry for King Pyro. That fucker is about to reap what he’s sown.”
24
Half an hour later James stood in front of the shelving unit behind the false wall in his hidden room in Angel Long-Term Storage, his so-called “warehouse.” He peered down at a safe near the wall.
I beat Pyro last time without the necklace. I shouldn’t use that shit. Maybe next time I put it on, I’ll listen to the whispers and start ranting about how I’m King Ghost.
The bounty hunter sighed and shook his head. He didn’t understand how King Pyro had escaped so quickly. He’d beaten the man down and broken more than a few bones. Even if the maniac had healed quickly, he should have been out of commission longer.
What did you hide, asshole?
James chuckled darkly to himself. It was just like he’d thought when dealing with Sombra: the smart bastards always held back one last trick, just in case. The LAPD and the bounty hunter had underestimated King Pyro, and now several cops were dead because of it.
No. The bounty hunter needed to go all-out before more people died. Besides, dealing with the bastard had stopped being about a bounty the second Pyro had issued his threat.
This was now personal.
A personal vendetta that would end with a piece of shit being removed from the streets. Sounded like win-win to James. Father McCartney might disagree, but the bounty hunter would leave it to the priest to save his sinner’s soul.
James knelt in front of the safe and placed this thumb on the DNA reader. A burning sensation spread over this thumb. Thirty seconds later the safe popped open, revealing the interior safe with its keypad and required sixty-digit code. He started the long, laborious process of entering the code.
The smaller safe clicked open, revealing the artifact he both feared and needed: a circular gold and silver amulet connected to a necklace. The familiar three crystals colored azure, crimson, and jade lay inside the amulet without even a speck of dust on them.
James frowned. His heart thumped with fear at the idea of having to use the cursed artifact, but he couldn’t get past the fact that King Pyro was rampaging again.
Both Adams and Padilla were nothing—just weak-ass pieces of shit who found something and got stronger. What did that say about him?
His rough fingers slid under the necklace, and he pulled it out. James wondered if he was any better than King Pyro or Sombra the Deathbringer. No one could see the bounty hunter in action without realizing he was stronger and tougher than a normal man, even without the necklace.
One sick thought kept returning: he’d been found with the necklace as a child.
What kind of monsters would Adams and Padilla have been if they’d grown up already influenced by magic like that?
James lifted his arm, ready to throw the necklace to the ground in disgust, but instead he slowly lowered the artifact and shook his head.
“Maybe I’ll die in ten years at the hands of an AET team,” he muttered to himself. “But before then, I’m gonna do what I can to stop the bastards who’ve already crossed the fucking line.”
James set the necklace on an empty spot on the shelf, then searched the safe for a small gray box. He found the object of his search and pulled it from the shelf.
It wasn’t anything special or lethal, just small metal squares and plastic strips with adhesive backing. A man never knew what he might need during a bounty hunt.
The bounty hunter pulled off the paper covering the adhesive pad on one of the metal squares and then affixed it to the back of the amulet portion of the necklace. He couldn’t be sure if the bonding process wouldn’t start if the amulet portion didn’t touch, but he hoped so. In battle, he wanted to be able to just tug off the backing to quickly gain the necklace’s power.
James took a deep breath and slipped the necklace over his head and under his shirt. The cool metal square touched his chest, but no pain or burning spiked his nerves. He’d been right. More importantly, the amulet necklace wasn’t whispering to him.
Good. If I need it, I can use it. If not, no harm, no foul. And no creepy whispers.
The bounty hunter pulled a go-case filled with weapons from the other side. He still needed to clean his equipment from the Mexico trip, but that could wait until after he’d dealt with King Pyro. Fortunately he always kept a few cases ready, just in case he had to kick a lot of ass in rapid succession.
It’d been a busy week.
James grabbed a duster from the shelf. It provided plenty of concealment for weapons, and the last time he’d worn one, Shay hadn’t bitched so much about his fashion choices.
What the fuck? Why was he worried about what that woman would think? She wasn’t involved in this shit.
He grunted and pushed the thoughts of the dark-haired tomb raider out of his mind. Michael had been right. Women were complications, and James still wasn’t sure if he needed more of those in this life.
A loud groan escaped his mouth a moment later.
James might not have to worry about Shay, but before he dealt with K
ing Pyro he’d have to negotiate with another difficult woman.
How did I end up with so many women in my life?
James steeled his nerves as he hopped out of his F-350 and marched toward Zoe’s front door. He’d wasted her last healing potion, but he didn’t want to risk taking on the out-of-control King Pyro without a new one. The last encounter had made it clear that the pyromancer was right in one sense—even the bounty hunter had burned in the end.
The front door swung open before James even knocked.
“Hello, James,” Zoe purred, her breath stinking of wine. Unlike their last visit, this time the woman at least had on a dress—even if the hunter-green sundress was a bit on skimpy side. “I was delighted when I got your call.” She motioned him inside, then took several unsteady steps.
James wasn’t sure how much of Zoe’s drinking was because she was an alcoholic, or because she followed the alcohol-intensive Dionysian Way of magic. Probably like most things in life, it was a little of both. He couldn’t argue with the results, though, and he didn’t know her well enough to question her life choices.
The bounty hunter followed the potions witch into her kitchen, having to duck to avoid some of the plants hanging from the ceiling and shift to the side to avoid pots on the floor. Every time he came to Zoe’s house, he was convinced that it was slowly changing from a home into a mystical arboretum. He couldn’t spot any actual furniture in her living room.
Snapping and rustling caught his attention when he stepped into the kitchen. A bright orange plant sat in the corner; it was several feet tall, and its top was adorned with a single huge orange-red flower. Twitching razor-tipped tendrils surrounded the flower, and an angry fanged maw snapped in the center.
“What the fuck is that?” James said, pointing to the monstrosity.
“Oh, I don’t know what they call it. The Wood Elf who sold it to me told me I wouldn’t be able to pronounce the name anyway. I just call it Audrey II. It’s very hard to raise, though. It can only be fed small creatures already infused with magic.” Zoe shook her head, trying to focus her bloodshot gray eyes. “And they’ve been cracking down on invasive alien species lately.” She rolled her eyes and blew a few rogue strands of dark hair out of her face. “Those bureaucrats in Sacramento; always standing in the way of an honest woman’s work.”
Rejected By Heaven: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 2) Page 19