The Unbelievable Mr Brownstone Omnibus

by Michael Anderle

  Brownstone locked eyes with her, his face unreadable as if he were trying to peer into her soul. A good half-minute passed before he opened his mouth and said, “Welcome aboard, Hall.” He chuckled and turned to Trey. “You were gonna do some training today anyway, right? Might as well throw her into the deep end.”

  Trey grinned and nodded. “Yeah. Good time to test her out. I hear you, big man.”

  Maria frowned. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

  Maria laughed as she zipped up her tactical room jumpsuit. “This is the shit I’m talking about. I don’t know how much Brownstone spent on this training room, but I would have killed half the city council to have gotten a training environment like this for AET. VR shit isn’t good enough.”

  The bounty hunters who were suiting up all laughed.

  Trey shrugged. He wasn’t suiting up because he was supposed to concentrate on observing the whole training session. “The big man likes us to be prepared. Between Royce, this place, and Fort Shorty, how do you think we went from a bunch of street hoods to badasses who can take down wizards and freaky monsters and shit?”

  She snorted. “Good point.” She looked behind her at the nine men wearing red armbands. “I want to get this shit out of the way. Brownstone said he wanted me to lead your red team against the blue team. Do any of you guys have problems working with a woman?”

  Isaiah stepped forward and pulled up his red armband. “We worked with Alison all summer, and we’ve seen Shay kick a fuck-load of ass. We ain’t got no problems with chicks as long as they can keep up with us.”

  Maria shook her head. “Let me put it a different way. Do you have a problem working with me, and more importantly, taking orders from me?”

  She stared them all down. Despite her respect for the Brownstone Agency men, they were all young and brave but had limited experience, and they were used to working with their ex-gang friends, not cops. Maria had two decades of experience as a cop, years of that leading highly-trained tactical units.

  Isaiah shrugged. “Show us what you got, 5-0, and give us no reason to bitch.”

  Maria smirked. “Okay, then.”

  The two teams filed into the mist-filled tactical room. Loud peals of thunder roared from hidden speakers, and a bright flash shot overheard.

  That’s some convincing fake lightning. If we just clone Brownstone and put one of him in each big city, major crime would shrink to zero in this country.

  The ramps and blocks that formed the maze were confusing enough in the normal dim lighting, but the simulated storm conditions would make for a difficult fight for both sides.

  “I want five minutes to talk to my team,” Maria announced. “Leadership is about planning, not just shouting.”

  Trey shrugged. “Fine by me. How about you, Blue Leader?” He looked at Kevin.

  The other man shrugged. “We’ll go get set up.” He waved his arm and jogged away. The blue team men followed him, disappearing into the fog after a few seconds.

  Maria chuckled and cracked her knuckles. “So, first things first, everyone’s going to have a partner. Who’s the best shot?”

  Several men raised their hands.

  She snorted. “I don’t have time for a big dick contest. Who honestly is the fucking best?” She glared at the men.

  Everyone dropped their hands except Carl.

  Maria grinned. “Congratulations, you’re a sniper.”

  He frowned. “How am I gonna snipe shit in this fog?”

  Maria slapped the side of the rifle and a flashlight lit. “Your partner’s going to watch your ass, and someone else is going to paint your targets.” She held up the rifle and nodded. “Good penetration through the simulated fog. Who’s the fastest runner?”

  Daryl raised his hand. This time she didn’t even have to yell at them.

  Good. They are naturally accepting my authority, which means I can work with them.

  Maria nodded. “Okay, we’ve got the start of a plan, especially given what Trey explained—that we don’t have access to grenade simulators this time. Your DI is good at giving you discipline and jobs as general experience, but I think you could all use a lot more direct breach-and-clear training. That’ll turn a lot of your future jobs from potential clusterfucks to curb stomps that are over in less than a minute. Today, though, let’s just kill ourselves some fucking blue team.”

  The red team men grinned. “Let’s do this shit, Lieutenant.”

  She shook her head. “I’m retired now. Just call me Maria.”

  Ten minutes later, blue-team screams cut through the fog as three men charged up the ramp, hoping to get the sniper who’d been picking off their men. Daryl’s spotter job had ended a minute ago since even his speed couldn’t save him from a crossfire.

  Maria and two other men waited, their rifle simulators pointed to the side. They were flattened against the walls as the blue team men charged toward Carl’s last position. The attackers didn’t even have time to notice the woman and men on either side as the red team opened fire.

  The blue team men fell to the floor with groans of pain. Every man knew it was better to just take your hit and fall rather than deal with the secondary shocks.

  That leaves only two guys, Kevin and Lachlan, but we’re down to four ourselves.

  “Carl, get up here.” Maria lifted her arm and motioned for the men to follow her. “Okay, we’re going to use a basic clearance formation. I’ll take point.”

  The red team men exchanged confused looks.

  Maria sighed. She had a lot of work to do. “It’s simple. We’ll form a diamond. I’ll be the top, and Carl will be the bottom. Carl will watch our backs, I’ll be pointing forward, and the other two will keep decent firing arcs on my left side and right sides. The main point is we have 360-degree visibility and overlapping firing arcs to the front and sides. Make sense? And I’m in the front, so I’ll be the first to go down. Not like I’m hiding behind anyone.”

  The men nodded and moved into position.

  “Let’s go finish off those blue-team bastards.” Maria smirked and stepped forward, keeping her weapon ready.

  This training is nice, but still a lot of things I’d prefer to do differently. Next time I’m going to demand grenade simulators.

  They advanced down the ramp in formation. Maria was impressed by how well and naturally they held it. Even if some of their direct tactical training was lacking, their familiarity and trust for each other led to natural teamwork. She could work with that.

  A shadow popped around a wall and Maria, and the man to her right lit him up before he even finished turning. His partner thought he was going to get a nice flank ambush in, but the man on Maria’s left put three quick shots into him, securing the red team victory.

  Maria grinned. “Good job. Still sloppy in parts, but I’ll whip you guys into shape.”

  An alert popped up on Heather’s first monitor, so she turned to look at her second to check the details. A half-dozen open windows displayed live feeds from the drones she had flying over James’ neighborhood in search of his mystery dog.

  Probably creeping people out to have so many drones in that part of the neighborhood.

  Heather chuckled.

  Just do computer shit.

  That was what James had told her, like it was trivial to just throw up some drones and find whatever you wanted. She understood where he was coming from. Enough drones with decent cameras could find a person through facial recognition, but researchers hadn’t spent nearly as much time training the dog breed recognition algorithms.

  Heather clicked into a highlighted window, the one responsible for her alert, and zoomed in with the camera.

  “Another cat. Great.”

  She sighed and shook her head. That was the fourth dark cat she’d encountered. Six other false positives were for dogs, but at least they had dark fur and were roughly the right size, but wrong breed. Another two had been for raccoons.

  It could be worse. At least the algorithms
aren’t tagging every single animal in the neighborhood.

  Another alarm popped up, and she looked at the new highlighted window.

  “Wait a second.”

  A dark-furred dog was eating out of a garbage can behind a small Vietnamese pho place.

  Heather dropped the drone’s altitude but kept it more than a hundred feet from the dog. She didn’t want to spook him. She zoomed in with the camera.

  Dark fur. Floppy ears. Decent size.

  She brought up a few breed pictures for comparison. He looked like their target.

  Heather sighed and shook her head. “Sorry about the next part, boy. Hope this is far enough away that it doesn’t spook you.”

  With a flurry of typing, she set the drone to follow the dog.

  The dog wandered away from his garbage-can lunch and padded down an alley away from the restaurant, tail down.

  Heather sighed. “You should just stop running away from James. He’ll make sure you don’t have to eat out of garbage cans.”

  She picked up her phone and dialed her boss.

  He answered before the first ring was complete. “You got something?”

  “I’ve got eyes on the target and have a drone following him now. He was eating out of a can near a pho place, and now is heading eastbound away from it. You know where that is?”

  “Yeah. It’s close to the park.” James didn’t say anything for several seconds. “I’m heading to my truck now. Just give me updates on the way.”

  Heather smiled. “James Brownstone, Scourge of Harriken, Council Slayer, and Dog Catcher.”

  James grunted. “If I can’t catch one dog, I have no fucking business calling myself a bounty hunter.”

  The F-350 pulled into a parking spot at a nearby park. James knew the place well, as he’d held several community barbeque events there.

  “You still got eyes on the target?” James rumbled into his phone.

  “He’s passed the playground, and is now lying underneath a tree. Can’t tell if he’s asleep, not without getting closer.”

  James reached into the passenger seat to grab a foil-wrapped paper plate. “Don’t get any closer. Don’t want to spook him.”

  He stepped out of the truck, his plate and phone still in hand as he walked toward the playground in the distance. Resisting the urge to walk toward the dog, James took a deep breath.

  This is it.

  “Okay, gonna hang up now,” James whispered. “Keep an eye on him in case he bolts.”

  “Good luck,” Heather replied.

  James pocketed his phone and slipped his second hand underneath the plate, keeping a slow but deliberate pace as he approached the floppy-eared dog.

  The animal’s head shot up as he approached, but the dog didn’t bolt. James pulled the foil slowly off the plate, revealing baked chicken. The dog sniffed the air, and the human nodded.

  “Yeah, this is for you.” James tore off some meat and threw it in front of the dog. “Sorry I couldn’t give you barbeque chicken, boy, but you might not be able to handle it. Learned that the hard way with Leeroy.”

  The dog sniffed the meat and looked up at James before returning his attention to the food. He licked the chicken for a few seconds before gobbling it up and barking once, his tail wagging.

  James grinned and tore off another piece. He threw it a few feet in front of the dog. The animal barked and stood before walking over to eat more chicken.

  Soon, a line of chicken pieces spaced yards apart led from the playground to the F-350. James set the plate in the back seat with the last remaining piece of chicken and waited, his arms crossed, watching as the dog continued eating the meat and moving toward his vehicle. It was a delicious treat for a dog that had been eating only scraps from garbage cans.

  James took slow, deep breaths as the dog walked closer toward him. Fifteen yards. Ten yards. Five yards.

  Come on, boy. Just get in the truck, and this will all be over. You want to keep eating garbage or do you want to actually eat decent food?

  Four yards. Two yards.

  The dog sniffed the air and eyed James. The bounty hunter stepped away from the backseat. A second later, the dog crawled inside the truck.

  James closed the door slowly so as to not startle the dog. The animal looked at him but didn’t bark or appear concerned.

  He hurried to the driver’s seat with a shit-eating grin.

  Target acquired. Mission fucking accomplished.

  A few minutes later, James opened the door to the garage, and the dog rushed through barking and wagging his tail.

  He followed the animal, a smile on his face.

  Shay leaned against a wall in the living room, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. “Your chicken trail plan actually worked?”

  James shrugged. “It would have been easier if I could have given him barbequed ribs.”

  The dog ran into the living room and barked a few times. He sniffed around the carpet for a few seconds before walking in circles and sitting down near the couch.

  Shay laughed. “So what’s the plan? Does he have any tags? Is he chipped?”

  James shook his head. “No tags. I felt around for a chip but couldn’t find one.”

  Shay reached into her jacket and pulled out a thin black rod. “I thought this might happen, so I brought this along.” She marched over to the dog and moved the rod slowly over him. She shook her head. “No chip. Shelter it is.”

  James grunted. “Why does he have to go to a shelter?”

  She looked up at him with a soft smile. “Is this the part where I say you can keep him?”

  “Just saying it took a class-six bounty hunter backed by informants and a hacker with a drone fleet to find the dog.” He shrugged. “I think he’s earned a nice home.”

  “Good little escape artist, huh?” Shay knelt to pet the dog, and he thumped his tail against the floor. “You’re one lucky pup.”

  16

  A few days later, James stared down at the dog as the animal devoured more chicken and beef. He’d been given plenty of dry dog food as well, but James saw no problem with extra meat. Any pet of his needed to know the glories of meat and the poor guy’s ribs were showing. He needed to bulk up; probably had another fifteen or twenty pounds to gain.

  James had called and checked around, and no one had reported a missing dog matching the description of his new pet anywhere in the county. He found it hard to believe the animal was feral, given how even-tempered he was and how he’d taken an immediate liking to Shay and James.

  He rubbed his chin and walked to a closet to pull out a leash he’d bought the day before. He’d never thrown out any of Leeroy’s leashes, but they’d gone up in the fire when his last house was destroyed.

  James marched over to the eating canine and knelt. The dog looked up and him and tilted his head.

  “We’re going for a walk.” James reached down to connect the leash to the dog’s new collar, expecting resistance. “My backyard isn’t big enough to satisfy you, I’m guessing.”

  The dog barked and wagged his tail.

  Still need a name, but I don’t think “Chicken Eater” works.

  The dog didn’t snap, bark, or bite, just waited patiently for James to connect the leash.

  James grunted and led the dog to the front door after grabbing a pooper scooper and a bag from the closet.

  They stepped out of his house and walked down the sidewalk toward the park. A few neighbors waved at him from the other side of the street, and he nodded back. The dog barked.

  “Nice dog, Mr. Brownstone,” called a neighbor, Mrs. Garth. “I thought I heard barking from your place. What’s his name?”

  James frowned. “Still working on that.”

  The woman laughed. “Don’t feel bad. We didn’t name our son until he was a month old.”

  “I think I can figure out a name before then.” He nodded to her and continued along with the dog.

  James Junior, maybe? Nah, that sounds fucking lame. Shorty? Not sure
if the guys would like that. Can’t call him Leeroy. He’s a new dog, not a replacement.

  He wrestled with names, not coming to any decisions by the time he arrived at the park. Only a single person, a gray-suited man on a bench with a briefcase, was in the park. That didn’t surprise James given that it was still early in the morning.

  James knelt by his panting dog. “Okay, gonna let you off the leash, but don’t run off again. I shouldn’t need a hacker and army of kids to find a fucking dog.”

  The dog barked and thumped his tail on the grass.

  James snorted and removed the leash, then grabbed a nearby stick and hurled it into the air. The wood flew in a high arc over the bench and the man.

  The man’s head jerked up, and he frowned.

  “Shit, used too much strength,” James muttered.

  The dog barked happily and charged after the stick. It skidded to a halt right in front of the bench, and he growled at the man. The man frowned and looked down at the dog.

  James jogged over to the confrontation.

  The man stood, his hand reaching inside his jacket. James narrowed his eyes at the suspicious bulge.

  If you fucking shoot my dog, asshole, you’re gonna not like how your day ends. Wait a second. The dog hasn’t growled at fucking anyone he’s run into until now. Not Shay. Not Mack. Not Trey. Not the Andercarr delivery guy the other day.

  “Who are you?” James asked.

  The man swallowed and looked him up and down. “If your dog attacks me, I’ll sue you.”

  Something about the man’s face made James’ own twitch. Maybe it was the barely concealed contempt.

  James snorted. “Big fucking deal. I’ve got a lot of money. Who the fuck are you?”

  “Who…Wait.” The man’s eyes widened. “You can’t be him. There’s no way. He told me this neighborhood was safe, but you’re here.”

  “Recognize me, huh? This neighborhood is safe because I’m here.” James offered the man a feral grin. “I’m James Brownstone. You might have seen me on TV a few times and my house is close to here, so I’m asking you again. Who the fuck are you?”