That left Trey and Lachlan versus Shorty.
“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt,” Lachlan shouted.
Shorty grinned. “You ain’t won yet, Sun Tzu.”
“You want to take him on yourself?” Trey called.
“Nah. I ain’t got nothing left to prove to no one but myself. Let’s do this shit, Trey.”
Shorty shook out his hands. “Bring it, bitches.”
Trey and Lachlan charged Shorty and yelled at the top of their lungs. Lachlan threw his arms around the solid man’s waist, and Trey slammed into his top. The smack of muscle meeting muscle echoed, and Shorty fell, his head landing outside of the ring line.
Shorty laughed. “Damn. Why you got to do me like that?”
Lachlan stood up and stretched out a hand. Shorty took it, and the other man helped him up.
“You all right, Lachlan.”
“Same, Shorty.”
“The pink bandanas are the Mud Kings,” bellowed Royce. “Now rest for twenty minutes, and let’s see if you can win against your boss.”
James took several deep breaths. Defeating his men through brute strength would be trivial, but that wasn’t the point. Trey and Lachlan eyed him with hunger, Kevin and some of the others with open fear.
The bounty hunter allowed himself a grin.
These are good guys, but Royce is right. It’s time to remind them why this is the Brownstone Agency and not the Garfield Agency.
James backed up until he was right in front of the line and crooked a finger. “Bring it, if you’ve got the balls.”
Kevin and three other men rushed forward screaming. James spun to the side, and their momentum carried them outside the pit.
“You’ve read what Sun Tzu has to say and Marcus Aurelius, and other generals and wise men,” James shouted. “I’m not a fucking wise man. I’m just an asshole bounty hunter. I don’t even have a college education.”
The men cheered.
James charged two men near the edge. They crouched, ready to grapple, but he dropped into a sliding tackle that sent one man into the other and both past the line. James hopped to his feet, ready to face the remaining men.
“Winning isn’t always about strength. It’s about using your fucking head, making sure good people have your back, and sometimes just being damned lucky. You never know when a clown could save your ass.”
Half the men cheered, the other half murmured amongst themselves in confusion.
A few easy pushes and takedowns followed, until again only Trey, Lachlan, and Kevin remained.
James pounded a fist against the hard planes of his mud-covered chest. “I could toss any of your asses halfway across this pit, but I won’t, because I’m making a point.”
Lachlan rushed forward trying to flank James. He didn’t take the bait. Instead, he charged Trey and Kevin. The two split apart, but James grabbed them both by their shoulders and pushed them outside the line.
He spun and offered Lachlan a hungry grin.
The teen gritted his teeth. “Shit. It didn’t work.”
“I’m sure there’s plenty in Sun Tzu about repeating yourself, but nice try, kid.” James stalked forward, his arms out.
Lachlan’s eyes darted back and forth for a few seconds before he sprinted toward James and threw himself into a tackle. James spun with the man and stopped, letting the momentum send the trainee flying outside of the ring. Lachlan landed with a grunt and splash.
“Nice try, but always remember—sometimes you’re just gonna lose.” James grinned, and Lachlan gave a playful shrug.
The gathered men walked over to slap him on the back.
“Nice try, Lachlan,” several offered.
“And James Brownstone is the Mud King,” Royce announced.
The men cheered.
Shay settled at a table at the Leanan Sídhe and looked at the cleared-out area in front of the bar. A thick crowd surrounded it, eagerness in their eyes.
“You sure about this, James?” Shay inquired.
James grunted. “I can handle this shit.”
The Professor moved into the performance area, and several people whistled. Others cheered.
“As you know, today, we have a rare treat indeed.” He pointed at James. “Mr. James Brownstone himself is participating.”
The crowd roared their approval. James shrugged.
“As a condition of his participation, there will be no audio or visual recording.” A disappointed sigh swept the room. The Professor held up a box on the bar. “Which is why we’ve confiscated your phones. If anyone secretly records this you will be banned from this bar for the rest of your life, but let’s get on with it. We have four participants today, including myself and Mr. Brownstone. May the filthiest bard win!”
James was the first to go, so he offered as his opening salvo the limerick the Professor had previously enjoyed.
“There once was a man they called Brock,
Who worked like a bitch ‘round the clock,
A vacation he earned,
For the lessons he’d learned,
Like fucking your mom with his cock.”
The silence of the tomb gripped the room after completion. The seconds ticked by until the crowd all but screamed in approval and laughter.
The Professor waited for them to calm themselves before stepping forward to offer his rebuttal.
“There was a young sailor named Bates,
Who went off to sea wearing skates,
But a fall on his cutlass,
Has rendered him nutless,
Poor fucker’s now useless on dates.”
The Professor shot a toothy grin at James. After a moment, he realized the Professor’s cheeks didn’t have a hint of red.
So you’re taking this shit that seriously, Professor?
After the third round, only James and Smite-Williams remained.
The silent tension that filled the room between rounds was more appropriate for a chess match than a filthy limerick battle.
The Professor’s fourth and final salvo left James reeling, if only because he hadn’t realized the rhyming potential of Dolores.
The older man cracked his knuckles. “Dethrone the champ if you dare, lad.”
James marched in front of the bar. Murmurs and whispered filled the crowd.
Shit. I’ve used the ones up I thought up before that were any good. Maybe I should have talked to Anna more.
James looked at Shay. She grinned back at him and winked.
The bounty hunter cleared his throat, and silence again swept the room.
“A beautiful woman named Shay,
Who was well used to getting her way,
Took a liking to James,
Her sweet spot he slayed,
And she couldn’t walk straight the next day.”
After the cheers died down, James’ stomach knotted as the implications of what he’d just uttered settled in. He couldn’t even bring himself to look her way.
Oh, fuck. What did I just do? Shay’s gonna fucking kill me.
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“The fine waitress is going around with the voting box again,” the Professor announced. “We shall see if the champion reigns, or if there is a new Bard of Filth.”
A few minutes passed as the waitress collected the voting slips, the bartender counted them, and another waitress recounted them.
“We have a winner,” the bartender announced. “The new Bard of Filth is…”
Everyone held their breath.
“Our defending champion, Professor Smite-Williams.”
The gathered crowd laughed and cheered, but James barely noticed. He slunk over to Shay’s table, staring at his feet.
“Are you being that much of a sore loser, James?” Shay asked. “I didn’t realize you were so into this shit.”
“No, I just… I’m sorry.”
“Look at me.”
James lifted his head. Shay was
n’t glaring or red-faced. Instead, she had a huge grin on her face.
“I’ve made a big impression on you,” Shay commented. “At least, part of me has.”
James groaned. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”
She snickered. “Nope.”
The Professor finished shaking hands and headed over to clap James on the back. “Close, lad, close. You did a good job, and I think you sort of get it now. Not completely, but close.” He leaned in and cleared his throat. “And I still haven’t had a chance to thank you for the job.”
James blinked. “Huh? Thank me? I texted you that it blew up.”
“Aye, it did.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I told you before, James. I wanted it out of circulation, but I didn’t know how to do that without risking people’s lives. If it blew up and helped you take down some right bastards, I don’t see the problem.” He laughed. “Next time you have someone with the power of Mount Doom coming after you, let me know.”
James grunted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Shay stood and tugged on his hand. “Let’s get out of here. The Professor needs to mix with his adoring crowds, and I want to see if you can put words into action.”
“What are you talking about?”
She grinned. “It’s time for a little slaying.”
FINIS
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
July 5,2018
Thank you for reading my Author Notes here in the back!
Here we are rocking book 07 in the Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone series and (fortunately) you guys and gals have provided amazing reviews and purchased this series enough for me to think “maybe we can go to twelve books here…” And so, I plan on it. If the series is still awesome at twelve, we might squeak out sixteen.
But that’s probably it.
In two books, we will have the ‘summer special’ that will be Alison coming home, but first there is a thunder down under effort that confirms boys will be boys.
Even when they are men, and should probably know better.
I was speaking with Martha Carr yesterday while eating lunch at Fuzzy’s Tacos (in Roanoke, Tx.) We were talking the beats (the bones of the stories) for the next School of Necessary Magic and a small part of Shay as I told her what got written in this story, and what’s coming up next.
While we were supposed to be working on more beats, what we really did was have fun dreaming up a new series. That series will have to be one that waits though, as we have a few to wrap up before we can even conceive of creating new books. (Not that Martha would hesitate to start something new. She is the queen of ‘there are never enough projects’ and I dread to hear what she thinks when she finds out about that comment.)
Fortunately, she is going to be tied up this month with her work, her books, and selling one house and moving plus another personal item or two…
So…let’s not mention that little comment to her, ok?
Running a publishing house is a lot of fun. It’s work (often, sometimes it is hard to figure out where fun ends and work starts) but I enjoy the opportunity to publish books in an industry that has given me so much pleasure.
Brownstone is now a legacy that has, at least for the summer of 2018, held on to many top spots in the sales charts and I’ll always smile when reading these books in the future (yes, I read my own books) knowing that we did it.
We made a bunch of fans super happy.
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Ad aeternitatem,
Michael Anderle
Hail To The King
The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 8
1
No one liked a frowning cop, especially a criminal like Tyler. An angry cop from the LAPD Anti-Enhanced Threat Team was even worse. Without the AET the Black Sun’s neutrality would vanish when the first violent asshole with an ego walked through the door, and given the place’s clientele, that would take exactly two minutes.
Tyler sat across from the frowning Maria Hall at a table in the corner. The AET lieutenant sipped a beer, her frown sometimes turning into an outright scowl. She’d been quiet since strolling in, which was why he’d offered to chat with her at a table rather than the bar. He didn’t need her exploding at someone until he knew the situation. One punch from a drunk thug and AET would swarm the Black Sun.
Need to get this shit figured out before I end up with a nasty surprise.
Tyler forced a smile onto his face. “Problem, Lieutenant?”
The cop took a long draw of her beer before answering. “It’s annoying when you think you have shit figured out but then everything changes. Not just annoying, frustrating. I’m not a damned rookie. I shouldn’t be making rookie mistakes.”
Tyler shrugged. “Everyone’s wrong now and again. Even me, on rare occasions.”
“Sure, but they don’t throw a lot of resources and time at their mistakes, and I have.” Maria set her beer down. “Plus, once you make a mistake, it makes you think about other shit, and that messes with you. Maybe I’m pissed about all these new questions bothering me.”
“What questions?”
The cop continued staring at her glass for a few seconds before replying, “About how I might be wrong about a bunch of things, and as a cop, that’s not a feeling I like having.”
Tyler chuckled. “Having some sort of crisis of conscience?”
Maria looked up. “I guess you could call it something like that.” She looked at the bartender and shrugged.
“I figure if you’re not dead, you can always fix it going forward. What were you wrong about?”
“Brownstone.” The lieutenant locked eyes with Tyler.
No, no, no. Say ain’t it so, Lieutenant. Your hatred of Brownstone was the thing I liked about you the most.
Tyler groaned and scrubbed his face with a hand. “No, you’re right about him. He’s still a power-hungry douchebag who doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. Fuck Brownstone with a rusty two-by-four.”
“How do you have a rusty piece of wood?” Maria laughed.
“You know what I mean.”
Maria shrugged. “The point is it took me a while, but I get that he’s just a guy trying to move things along the only way he knows how. I know you two don’t see eye to eye, but think about it. If Brownstone really had it in for you this place would be a crater. Busting down your door was nothing, and he even paid for that.”
A crater? It might still be. Brownstone’s gonna get me back for my little practical joke with his groupies. He might have gotten lucky with those freaks erasing the video, but he still blames me. I know he does.
“Easy for you to say.” Tyler pointed at her shield. “You’re a cop. Brownstone doesn’t fuck with cops.”
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s gone out of his way to communicate with the cops when shit’s going down.” Maria glanced down at her uniform and then nodded before looking up. “And I’ve been a petty, jealous little bitch about the whole thing. Brownstone’s saved a lot of lives by taking down high-level assholes, and I have to respect him for that.”
“No, you don’t. I’m still firmly in the ‘Fuck Brownstone’ club.” Tyler shook his head. “This is one of those things where we’re just going to have to agree to disagree, Lieutenant.”
“Maria.” She tapped her name tape on her uniform. “Think we’re past the Lieutenant Hall stage of things.”
“Huh?” Tyler blinked a few times, confused.
“I hang out here e
nough and I call you by your name, so why don’t you call me by mine?” She shrugged. “You’ve done it a few times, but mostly you call me Lieutenant or Hall, so let’s make this a little less formal even if I’m not a member of the ‘Fuck Brownstone’ club anymore. Friends can disagree about stuff.”
Some subtle emotion flickered across her face, but Tyler couldn’t place it. His stomach tightened.
Shit. What’s going on here? Does she have the hots for Brownstone? I could handle a lot of shit, but not that. Anything but that.
The bartender returned her shrug. “Okay, Maria. Fine by me.”
She reached into her pocket to pull out a business card and tossed it in front of him.
Tyler picked up the card. It was for the Seven Hills, a ritzy and exclusive Italian place that he’d heard of. He’d never been able to score a reservation there.
He eyed the card. “What’s this about? AET going to raid the Seven Hills?”
Maria gestured toward the card. “It’s got a date and time on the back. I’m inviting you to dinner. So unless you decide to do something highly illegal during our meal, there won’t be any cop shit going down.”
Tyler picked up the card and stared at it like it was some bizarre Oriceran scroll. “Dinner?”
The cop snorted. “Yeah, you know, the thing where two people eat at night? They often dress up. It might be nice to eat in a place with you that has something a little more substantial than pretzels.”
“Oh. Sure, I guess. That sounds fine.” Tyler glanced behind him at a pretzel bowl on the bar.
Maria stood. “Anyway, I’ve got to get going. See you around, Tyler.”
“See you around, Maria.” He gave her a polite nod, hoping she couldn’t see how confused he was.
Tyler sat there and stared at the retreating woman as she made her way out of the Black Sun, still stunned and having trouble processing what had just happened. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the tough cop had just asked him, a criminal information broker, on a date at a fancy restaurant.
The Unbelievable Mr Brownstone Omnibus Page 20