“What about my background?”
The cop shrugged. “It’s not every day that a bunch of gang members decide to put on suits and switch teams.”
“And what do you think about that, Sergeant?” Trey tried to keep the hostility out of his voice.
“I’m not complaining. You guys are taking down bounties left and right, and you’re doing it with a lot more professionalism than a lot of guys running around calling themselves bounty hunters. It’s not what I would have expected, but I guess it makes sense to apply street smarts to bounty hunting.” Sergeant Choi frowned. “I don’t know. The average gang member around here doesn’t strike me as the type who would want to get a bounty-hunting license and start running down their fellow criminals.” He entered a few more lines into the bounty-processing document he was working on.
Trey snorted. “You see, that’s where you’re all twisted up about this.”
“How?”
The bounty hunter nodded down the hallway to where a frowning and handcuffed man with a black eye was being led to the lock-up by an officer. “Why do you think I joined a gang to begin with? Why do you think I worked my way up to lead the gang?”
“I don’t know, you liked power? Kicking ass? You wanted people to be afraid of you?”
Trey shook his head. “My nana always wanted the best for me. She looked after me when I didn’t have a mom around to keep an eye on me. She’s a good woman; goes to church, worked her entire life. But that didn’t stop bullets from passing through her living room because some dumbasses were doing a drive-by in the neighborhood.”
Sergeant Choi stopped typing and focused on Trey.
“Yeah, I wanted power and for people to be afraid,” the bounty hunter continued. “I wanted people to be so fucking afraid they wouldn’t dare fuck with anyone I cared about or even think about letting bullets fly without my permission.” Trey slammed his hand down on the counter. “That’s what most gangs are, Sergeant. You’re a cop; you’ve got to know that. It’s about protection in places where you can’t always depend on anyone else.”
The cop and the bounty hunter silently locked eyes for a long moment.
“Do you feel safe now in your neighborhood?” Sergeant Choi asked. “Even though you aren’t in a gang anymore?”
“You’re wrong. I’m still in a gang. I’m just in a tougher fucking gang.” Trey ran his hand down his lapel. “This is a uniform. These are gang colors for the Brownstone Agency, led by the toughest motherfucker in the United States; a man who is so strong he brought down the Harriken.” He shook his head. “I don’t need to be in charge, Sergeant. All I ever wanted was for my nana and friends to be safe, and now Mr. Brownstone’s shown me how I can do that and not annoy the 5-0. He started by giving me respect, and I gave him respect back.”
Sergeant Choi held his hands in front of him. “No disrespect was meant, Trey. I’m really happy with how you guys are performing. I was just curious.”
“No problem, Sergeant. I’m just happy the Brownstone Agency can be of assistance to the great city of Las Vegas.”
“You guys are a huge help. I know your teams rotate and are part-time, but I’m hoping someday that we’ll get a permanent branch office here in Vegas.”
Trey shrugged. “Never know what the future will bring.”
“Okay, just let me finish these documents, and it’ll free up the funds due.”
“Always nice doing business with you, Sergeant.”
19
James smiled. His exit was coming up, and he’d be back home soon. He wasn’t sure what Heather would decide about working for him or moving to Los Angeles, but taking down Eddie Green hadn’t been a mistake.
Fucking asshole should have just surrendered. People ask for my picture in restaurants, but there’s always some fucker who thinks I’m all talk and no walk.
He frowned as he took in the crack on his windshield. He’d need to get that taken care of soon. Without any bounties coming up, he should have time to get it taken care of that day.
And those fuckers really, really shouldn’t have hurt my truck.
Beating a man to a pulp because he damaged your truck wasn’t an overreaction. It was justice.
The bounty hunter’s hands tightened around his steering wheel. A loose piece of pavement to the windshield wasn’t as bad as wood smashing into his truck from his burning house, but his poor F-350 had been through a lot in the last year.
I wonder if Zoe knows someone who could make some sort of potion for my truck. Maybe even her. Is that even a thing? Maybe I could apply it like wax or some shit.
James’ phone rang, snapping him out of his truck-related brooding. He shook his head and glanced down at his phone on the console. Tyler was calling, so the bounty hunter answered on speakerphone.
“What’s up, Tyler?”
“Lars Hansen just called,” Tyler explained. “He’s ready for the party to begin.”
James pulled from his lane into his exit. “He’s got the time?”
“Yeah. He says he wants the showdown to be in four hours.”
“What? four hours from right now?” James grunted and turned off the exit onto a surface street.
“Of course. What do you think it’d be, four hours from next Tuesday?”
James’ many conversations with Alison had trained him well. He could hear Tyler’s eyes roll.
The bounty hunter grunted. “You’re lucky I just got back to town.”
“Wait, you weren’t in town? Brownstone, you had this fight coming up. What the fuck were you doing?”
“Bounty hunting, asshole. I’m not your fucking employee.”
Shit. Why did I even agree to this?
Tyler muttered something under his breath. “Just saying, this might be your one shot to get this guy without him being in the middle of a park or something.”
James didn’t respond to Tyler immediately. Instead, he took a hard turn into a nearby parking lot before pulling out again and heading back toward the onramp. He hated that Tyler was right.
“Don’t whine about it,” the bounty hunter rumbled. “I’m back now. I’ll grab some gas on the edge of town, get some gear, and then head straight to the fucking Salton Sea.”
Tyler let out a sigh of relief. “Good. For a second there, I thought you were going to flake on me.”
“Nah. I’ve got an appointment with a level five.”
Fucking Lars. You couldn’t give me a day’s notice?
Tyler whistled to himself as he counted money at his desk in his back office. Betting on Brownstone might be uncomfortable, but winning was a foregone conclusion with the man’s track record. At least this time he wasn’t alone. There was a healthy pro-Brownstone betting faction, even among people who otherwise hated the bounty hunter.
Some of these idiots can actually learn. Good for them. Can’t run away from the truth, no matter how annoying it is.
The information broker’s greed murdered his earlier concern over helping his nemesis. If Tyler ever got upset later that he was working with Brownstone, he figured he’d just go to the bank, withdraw a pile of hundred-dollar bills, and roll around in it.
I’ve got to stop thinking like a short-sighted idiot and remember that I’m a successful businessman. Brownstone’s not my partner. He’s a product I’m exploiting to make money.
Maybe I’ll even start another place in a different spot in town. Kathy can run it, and collect more info for me. Yeah, that shit would work out well.
Tyler stood and moved to the corner of the room. He placed his palm over a smooth spot on the wall. A light flashed, and a hidden panel popped open to reveal a safe.
He tapped in a code to open the safe and slipped the money inside.
“Thanks, Brownstone, for making me the money to pay for this safe and the palm reader. Maybe I’ll upgrade to a DNA scanner with what I win from this fight.” He rubbed his chin. If he made enough money, he could start messing around with trying to get some magical protection.
Brownstone obviously uses a lot of magic. At least potions, but I bet he’s got all sorts of artifacts hidden on him when he fights. Doesn’t matter, as long as it makes me money.
Tyler laughed. Nothing like being a winner no matter what.
He closed the safe and the hidden panel. Between online and physical bets, he was going to make a shit-ton of money just off his take from the pot, let alone what he’d earned off Brownstone’s victory.
Maybe I should hedge against him. It’s not like Brownstone will always win. He’s just a guy, not a god.
Someone knocked on his door.
“What?”
The door opened, and Kathy stepped through. “A large blond asshole is here to see you.”
“Lars Hansen?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I can’t believe you told that guy to come here. He smells of trouble.”
“Of course he does. That’s why I’m going to make money.” Tyler walked toward the door. “The man wanted to place some bets, and I want his money. Don’t worry, this situation is completely under control.”
Kathy rolled her eyes. “You think that throwing some level five at Brownstone and being involved directly in that shit is having the situation completely under control?” The woman shook her head. “For such a smart guy, Tyler, sometimes you can be a real dumbass.”
Tyler stopped at the door and frowned. “Okay, Miz Junior Bartender and Info Broker, explain to me how this is a problem? I’m making money, and both Brownstone and Lars know the score. The cops can’t bitch about Brownstone going after a bounty, and it’s not like I’m setting him up, because he agreed to the whole thing.” He shrugged. “Is this just you being a chick?”
“Being a chick?”
“Yeah, you know—soft.”
Kathy snorted and spun on her heel. “Whatever. Your place. I just work here.”
Tyler followed her down the hallway to the main room. She led him straight to Lars Hansen. With a slight bow, she mockingly gestured to the huge criminal before making her way behind the bar.
Seeing a picture of Lars Hansen didn’t have the impact of staring at the behemoth from only a yard away. The level five glowered down at Tyler. His thick muscles strained his wifebeater, and an arrogant smirk covered his face.
Yeah, here’s a guy who thinks he’s going to win. Good. I can use that.
Tyler looked to either side of the man. A skinny redheaded man in a trench coat stood to Lars’ side, but the info broker knew not to judge him on his appearance.
It was Patrick Cavanaugh. The level-four wizard might not be as strong as Lars, but he could blow shit up well enough with his wand.
Tyler narrowed his eyes. Patrick had turned Tyler’s offer down. He didn’t recognize the dangerous-looking dark-haired man on Lars’ other side, but he suspected he was another level four or five who’d been too chickenshit to take the information broker’s offer.
He didn’t understand what they were doing there. Maybe they wanted in on the betting action, even if they were too afraid to participate themselves?
Wait, this could work. If Brownstone doesn’t kill Lars, maybe some of the other guys would be at least willing to try. But what if they do kill Brownstone?
Tyler furrowed his brow and rubbed his chin. If he couldn’t get another bounty hunter, maybe he could arrange some sort of high-end fight club between criminals. He’d have to wait and see how the first match went before he worried about future business opportunities.
Lars yanked out a wad of bills from his pants pocket. “All on me for the kill, Tyler.” He held out the money. “Unless you know something about Brownstone I don’t.”
Tyler took the money. “Nope. It’s not exactly like his ass-kicking is secret, though. You, though, got a nice ability. You’re not some wizard that Brownstone can smash in the face and win.” Tyler risked a quick glance at Patrick.
The wizard’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t say anything.
You’re the pussy who didn’t agree to the fight.
Lars grunted. “Yeah. Brownstone’s just a man, and I’ve taken out entire teams before. That fucker is going down.”
Tyler started counting the money. “You don’t want to bet using any of the other categories? All sorts of nice categories here. If you’re confident, you can even make money by directing the fight. You know, maybe just maiming Brownstone instead of killing him? It’s more profitable odds, since everyone expects this fight to end in a kill.”
“Fuck that. All I need to do is kill Brownstone and make money off it.”
Lars’ flunkies chuckled.
Patrick, you fucking pussy. You’re acting all tough now, but you couldn’t be bothered to be a headliner like Lars.
Tyler forced a smile on his face. “What about you, Patrick? You want to place a bet?” He glanced at Lars’ second friend. “Or maybe this guy?”
“Victor,” the man offered. His voice had a slight Russian accent. “I’ll bet on Brownstone dying.”
Victor? Fuck, I called that asshole, too, and he blew me off.
Patrick nodded. “Yeah. I’ll bet on Brownstone dying.”
Tyler accepted their money and nodded. “You all seem pretty confident that your boy Lars is going to be able to take it.”
The three men all smirked at the same time. It tightened Tyler’s stomach.
Lars shrugged. “Not gambling if you know you’re gonna win.”
What the fuck? Something’s wrong here.
Two more large men pushed into the Black Sun and walked toward the trio.
Lars gave them a slight nod. “You two watch this place. Make sure the bookie keeps taking bets, but also make sure he doesn’t ruin it for us.”
Tyler frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, loser, that you didn’t set any rules.” Lars lifted his hand. The skin grayed and hardened. “All I agreed to is to show up at specific coordinates.” He laughed. “You didn’t say I couldn’t bring friends.”
The room fell silent as everyone inside the Black Sun focused their attention on Tyler and Lars.
Tyler kept a smile painted on his face to hide the panic that sent his heart thundering. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t say anything about that.”
Lars stepped toward the info broker until he towered over the other man. “You talk a good game about being neutral, but what’s that even mean? It means you’re working with the cops, and you’re the one who was calling around on Brownstone’s behalf.”
“I’m just trying to make some money here, Lars. I’m not on anyone’s side.”
The level five gave Tyler a feral grin. “Good, then you won’t mind if my two new friends keep an eye on you. If you try to let Brownstone know about this shit we’ll have to have a little discussion, fucker.”
“Wait one second. The Black Sun is neutral ground.”
Lars snorted and shrugged. “Don’t see any cops here right now, fucker.” He flipped Tyler off and headed toward the door, trailed by Patrick and Victor.
Tyler sighed and walked over to the odds board. “Because of the new information, the odds have changed. Give me a few minutes to update everything.”
Fuck. Do I tell Brownstone? This is bullshit. He’ll think I set him up.
He started erasing the info in some of the boxes, his face tight. Even ignoring Brownstone, Tyler didn’t like thugs hanging on him and threatening him in the Black Sun. There were no cops here and they likely wouldn’t do anything unless actual violence broke out, but if he let these assholes intimidate him, everything he’d built up with the Black Sun would be worth nothing.
A man just couldn’t tolerate disrespect in his own place.
20
James had just finished fueling up when his stomach rumbled. He grunted. He needed to eat, but he didn’t have time to grab some good barbeque. He hopped into the F-350 and brought the truck to life.
Fuel. Just like his F-350, the bounty hunter needed a lot of fuel for his upcoming Lars ass-kicking. He�
�d already stopped by his warehouse to grab a few goodies, but he hadn’t thought to get anything to eat.
James pulled out of the gas station and frowned. He was already hungry, so driving another couple of hours would leave him ravenous.
“Fuck. Why does driving always make me twice as hungry? All I’m doing is sitting here.”
A yellow and red sign down the road caught his attention. In-N-Out Burger. Not barbeque, but it’d do.
James pulled into the drive-thru and waited behind the long line of cars. In a moment he pulled up to a cheerful teen holding a table. “Welcome to In-N-Out Burger, sir. May I take your order?”
“I read online the other day that you can order a Quad Quad from the Not-So-Secret Menu. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir. You want a Quad Quad?”
James shook his head. “No, I want three Quad Quads.”
The girl blinked. “Three? Sir, just so you understand, that’s twelve patties.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll take four Quad Quads. So you know, a quad of Quad Quads.”
“Your stomach.” She smiled, tapped at her screen, and walked to the next car in line.
That should be enough fuel to kick Lars’ ass.
Tyler and Kathy sat in front of the odds board next to a table with a small lockbox on top. A crowd of scumbags surrounded them. Many of the men were waving their cash in front of them or above their heads, shouting out their bets, desperate and worried the fight would start before they could get their money down. They feared missing out on the fight of the decade, if not the century.
“One thousand on Lars,” shouted a suited man with slicked-back hair.
A massive biker shoved him out of the way. “Two thousand on Lars, though I also want to put five hundred dollars down on maiming.”
“Single-file line, please,” Kathy called. “Everyone calm down. We still have time. Brownstone’s not even there yet.”
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