The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files: Special Edition Fantasy Bundle, Books 1 thru 5 (Smoke Special Edition)

by Craig Halloran

  Allison wasn’t without a heart. Not entirely. She loved her daughter, but she was weak. Still, Sid held out some hope that maybe, just maybe, Allison had done what she did to save her and Megan. Any loving mother would do that for her child. And a loving sister would do that for her sibling, too. It was that part that Sid struggled with. After all the years of bailing Allison out, had Allison made a sacrifice that bailed Sid out?

  “Crap!” She banged on the steering wheel. “I don’t know.”

  For the last three months, she’d put all her energy into Megan. She put the FBI behind her, even though they still called. She blew off Sam and Guppy whenever they reached out. Mal Carlson had sent her a box, wanting his gear back. She’d been happy to oblige. And Smoke … she did her best to forget about the man. His handsome façade and odd musings. It angered her that he’d come into her life only to be gone again.

  She eased off the highway and pulled into the first gas station. She exited the vehicle and scanned her card. Pumping the gas, she leaned against her car and sighed. She noticed a couple police officers coming out of the convenience store. They were loaded up with sodas and hotdogs. They were smiling and laughing, too. She grimaced.

  I miss Sadie.

  She’d been blowing off her best friend. Her excuse was that Ted and Cyrus wouldn’t want them communicating. The truth was, Sadie had called and texted numerous times. She’d even gotten pretty ugly about it when Sid fired back a bunch of canned excuses. Sid thumbed through her phone and read the last text Sadie had sent.

  It read, “You see! This is why you’re going to die single!”

  Laughing, Sid took the nozzle out of her gas tank and placed it on the rack. Seconds later, she was driving down the road again, trying to sort everything out inside her head. Keeping Megan around kept her distracted from other things. The news. The job. The lies. With the girl gone to her grandparents’ house, Sid’s thoughts raced through everything that had gone on. It was driving her crazy. She didn’t like not being able to carry a gun like she used to. She felt naked without it. Her concealed carry permit still hadn’t been approved. I should move to Texas.

  Her phone rang. Her mother’s picture popped up.

  “Hey, Mom. How are things going?”

  “Hey Aunt Sidney,” Megan said.

  “Oh, hey, Megan. How are you doing?”

  “Well, Grandma and Grandpa keep taking me to places that smell really old.” Megan sighed. “And I’m getting tired of biscuits and gravy every morning. And smelling like bacon. They always eat bacon.” She kept rambling on another ten minutes. Finally, she said, “When are you picking me up? I miss you.”

  The words crushed Sid’s heart. It had only been a couple days, but Sid felt guilty. How do parents do this? She had decided to sacrifice everything for Megan, but not having a steady paycheck was starting to take its toll. At some point, she needed to find a job somewhere doing something. But she wasn’t going to just take anything. “Can you hang in there until tomorrow?”

  “Morning?”

  “Come on, Grandma and Grandpa aren’t that bad.”

  “They’re boring. Nice, but you know, boring. And my bedtime is way too early.”

  “All right, no promises, but I’ll try to be there by morning. Okay?”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  The line went dead.

  Sidney shook her head. How long can I keep this up?

  CHAPTER 4

  The following Monday morning, Sally and Keith had left on their vacation and Sidney was back inside her apartment getting Megan ready for school. The little girl sat at the kitchen table, eating cereal. She had a yellow bow in her hair and wore a khaki skirt and a white Oxford dress shirt. “I like cereal, so long as it doesn’t taste like bacon,” Megan said.

  “You need to finish up and get the rest of your lunch packed,” Sid said. She signed off on Megan’s homework and stuffed the notebook in the girl’s backpack. That was the thing she liked about the private school she’d enrolled Megan in: They ran a tight ship. And the school uniform made her life a lot easier than picking out different clothes. She could relate to the uniform. “And don’t forget your milk.”

  “I won’t,” Megan said. She loaded a milk box, a juice box, chips, and a cheese sandwich into her lunchbox. “Can I take a chewy granola bar? I get hungry.”

  “Sure.” Sid slung Megan’s little backpack over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  The drive to school took about ten minutes. There were two teachers, a man and a woman, standing outside at the student drop-off.

  Sid waved at them.

  They waved back.

  “Aunt Sid,” Megan said, “are you going to look for a job today?”

  “Uh, I don’t know, why?”

  “Well, you need something to do. You can’t just wait around on me all the time.”

  Sidney caressed Megan’s face, looked her in the eye, and said, “I like doing this.”

  “I like it too, but…” Megan’s voice trailed off.

  “But what?”

  “But you’ve got to be you.” Megan popped the door open and hopped out. “See you later.” She slammed the door shut and ran into the school.

  After Megan made her way inside, Sidney pulled away. What did she mean by that?

  ***

  Sid jogged around the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. It was one of her routines while Megan was in school. Jog. Work out. She was as fit as she’d ever been. And the time between that and when Megan got out of school was torture. She’d read the paper. Skim the news. She’d picked up reading books again. Fiction. Biographies. Maybe go home and watch some old shows on Netflix. She tried to avoid anything that made her think of the Drake or the Black Slate. Huffing for breath, clothes clinging to her body in sweat, she kneeled down and tightened her shoelaces. She walked over to a bench and sat down.

  The DC campus was beautiful, but there was darkness hiding in the shadows of the magnificent architecture.

  Washington, DC. Home of the greatest truths and the greatest lies.

  That’s what Smoke said. It had all been so very true. Sidney had learned the hard way that nothing in the world was as it seemed. More than she ever imagined was saturated with evil. Good men and women died for no reason because of it. People were careless in how they lived their lives. She couldn’t be that way. She wanted to keep herself and Megan away from those shadows. They had taken her sister. They could take anything.

  Never underestimate evil.

  She rubbed out the tightness in her calf muscles, watching other joggers and walkers make their way around the great pool. It was midmorning, and the sun warmed her face. People loaded down with strollers and fanny packs took pictures. Some moved at a brisk pace, others with more leisure, noses stuck in their smartphones. Every one of them seemed lost to her.

  Just a bunch of people wandering around waiting for someone to tell them what to do.

  She got up, ran in place a bit, and took off around the reflecting pool. She picked up the pace, made one more lap, and then fast walked back to her car. There was a small newspaper pinned under her wiper blade. She didn’t see any on the other cars parked nearby. She removed it. It was the size of a tabloid, only a few pages, similar to a college newspaper. She unfolded it, exposing the front. It was a copy of Nightfall DC. Her fingertips tingled as she scanned the area.

  Grumbling, she spread the paper out on the hood of her car and started to read. There weren’t any pictures, just bolded headlines.

  Missing Girl. Strange Lights in the Park. Senator Howser, Man or Alien? Muggers in Fur Coats. Loch Ness Monster in Mallows Bay. Man Shot Ten Times and Walks Away.

  She skimmed through them. The stories were bizarre. Odd. And clearly designed for the gullible. Her eyes froze on the next headline that she read.

  Vietnam Vet Murdered. “Jake Miller, known to his neighbors as Big Jake, was found dead inside his apartment, having been shot with his own revolver.”

  She gasped.

  C
HAPTER 5

  Russ Davenport’s home was on wheels, with no engine. The old trailer was long and weather beaten, with a railed ramp leading up to the front door.

  Sid shut off her engine, checked the surroundings at the trailer park ten miles west of DC, and exited the car. With that edition of Nightfall DC crushed in her hand, she stormed up the ramp and pounded on the door.

  “Geez!” a rugged voice said inside. A glass bottle fell and rattled on the floor. “Aw, great!”

  Sid pounded on the door again.

  “Who is it?” said the man on the other side.

  “It’s Sidney Shaw.”

  Things got quiet for a moment. Then the familiar voice of Russ spoke up. “What do you want?”

  “Answers.”

  “Ever hear of a game called Jeopardy? Give that a try,” he said.

  “Russ, are you going to open the door or not?”

  “Eh.” The door handle started to turn and the door swung open. Russ sat in a wheelchair on the other side of the threshold. He wore a Washington Senators jersey. A sawed-off shotgun rested back against his shoulder. “I don’t like visitors.”

  Sid stepped inside and tossed the copy of Nightfall DC into his lap. “This isn’t a social call.”

  Russ wiped a little bit of drool from his mouth and rubbed his eyes. The husky man backed his wheelchair toward a small table and picked up some glasses. He put them on, studied the paper, and grunted. “So, what do you want? It’s my rag. So what?”

  “Why’d you stick it on my car?” she said, noting all the newspaper clippings hanging on all his walls. The wood-paneled place was musty but organized. A computer was hooked up to three monitors, and a flat-screen television was on in the tiny living room. The trailer was plenty big for a single person. “Or did you have one of your reporters do it?”

  “It’s nice to see you too, Agent Shaw,” he said. “You could at least ask how I’m doing, seeing how I’m back from the brink of death.”

  “Looks like you’re doing fine. You even have new wheels. Good for you.”

  “You’re cold.”

  She stepped closer and glared down at him. “I’m angry.”

  “I didn’t put this on your car. And even if I did, why are you so bent out of shape about it? It’s got nothing to do with you. Just more of my imaginary rubbish.” He folded the paper up and set it aside. “What happened? One of the articles cut too close to some FBI informants?”

  She eased back, shuffled some papers over on his couch, and sat down. “What happened?” she said more softly.

  “With what?”

  “The wheelchair. Why are you on wheels?”

  “Oh, now you ask.” He rolled his eyes. “Well, ever since I got shot, I have moments. I lose feeling in my extremities from time to time. It’s scary. Sometimes it lasts a few hours. Other times, for days. Doctors can’t figure it out.” His eyes became sad. “I woke up this morning and couldn’t move them at all. It’s like I’m cursed or something.”

  “Sorry to hear that, but at least you’re alive.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not much for living. If it keeps up, I’m going to have to give up on Nightfall DC.” He wheeled toward the refrigerator. “Want a drink? I have cold beer and Gatorade.”

  She made a stop gesture and shook her head no.

  “Suit yourself.” He found a bottled beer and twisted the cap off. He flicked it with his thumb across the room into the trashcan. “I never miss.” He grabbed a prescription bottle, took out a large white pill, flicked it into his mouth, and washed it down with beer.

  “I didn’t think you were supposed to take medicine with alcohol,” she said. She’d noted the label already. It was a narcotic for pain. “And I thought you didn’t feel anything.”

  “Sure, from the waist down. But this wound in my chest still hurts like hell.” He took another drink. “You’ve seen action. You telling me you don’t have aches and pains? Surely you’ve got monster scratches on you.”

  She did. Her scars and bruised bones would ache in the cold. Her knees would ache if she sat too long. Sometimes tiny, painful needles raced up and down her neck and arms. “So you still believe in monsters?”

  “I know you’ve seen them. That’s good enough for me. There’ve been others, too. That look in their eye when I asked them questions and heard their stories. I know the truth when I hear it.” He wheeled closer and eyed her. “What brings you to me?”

  “The Big Jake Miller story,” she said.

  “Oh.” Russ nodded his round, scruffy face. “You knew him?”

  “I met him, and I think I know who killed him.”

  Russ’s eyes shone like moons. “You don’t think I did it, do you? Are you investigating me?”

  “No.”

  “Is this one of your cases?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t work for the FBI anymore.”

  He cocked his head. “You’re serious.”

  “I resigned.”

  Russ smiled.

  “What?” she said.

  “I know you did. I just wanted to see if you’d admit it to me.”

  “I’m not very fond of games, Russ.”

  “Me neither. Since you’re being up front with me, now I’m going to be up front with you.” He reached back and found the local newspaper. “Your friend Big Jake. Huh. He wasn’t the only one dead. The truth is, I was too scared to report all that I found, and anyway, the cops did a pretty good job covering up the rest.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Big Jake was shot with his own gun.” He winced. “Poor guy was in the middle of a Matlock marathon, too. And that ain’t all.” He opened the paper up to the crime section and jabbed at it with his meaty finger. “In that same area, a woman was killed with a knife and another man was run clean over. Dead. Those were witnesses.” He eyed her. “How come you think you know who did it?”

  She told him the story about the two goons at the range.

  Russ’s face turned pale.

  “What is it?” she said to him.

  “I’ve heard about those guys before. They call them the Buffalo Brothers Assassins, and they say they can’t be killed.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “Where do you come up with this stuff?” Sid said. “I’ve never come across any files dealing with any Buffalo Brothers. And why would they take out Jake?” She hit the arm of the plaid sofa. “Damn!”

  “He probably shouldn’t have stuck a gun in their face. Guys like that, they don’t take threats lightly.” He wheeled his chair back and eased his way in front of his computer. He started typing. “Sounds like they were making a point.”

  “If they can’t be killed, why worry?” Her nostrils flared. Her face got flushed. Were the Buffalo Brothers the ones that had put the paper on her window? “Sickos!”

  “My guess is they wanted you to know about it. Look, Agent, er, well, Sidney—that all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Seems to me they wanted you to know about it. Or somebody did for some reason.” He eyed his screens. “Huh, this is interesting. Seems Big Jake had quite a unique history.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was an ex-cop that worked a lot of strange cases. Looks like they made him retire early.” He clicked through some more articles. “Yup. The top brass didn’t like him. Hmmm, now that I think about it, his name’s pretty familiar. When I started my rag ten years ago, he was one of the few that would talk. Not much, but better than nothing.” He pulled up a picture of Jake, younger. Clean shaven and in uniform. “That’s him. Now I remember what he said. I quoted it in one of my papers. He said, ‘Monsters pull the strings, not men.’ Huh.” He rubbed his lip. “I burned my lip with my coffee when he said that one.”

  “That was the last time you saw him?”

  “Yep. Of course, I was pretty self-absorbed back then. I moved on. He retired. He had an edge about him, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if ol’ Jake knew something. Or made some enemies. They decided to
take him out.”

  “When you say they, who does that mean, to you?” Sid asked.

  “Oh, well, you have the Black Slate. The Drake. The Hierarchy Enslaving You. Probably several more they go by.” He plunked away on the keyboard. “Who do you think they are?”

  “The same, I guess.” Sid’s fingers drummed on the sofa arm. Were the Buffalo Brothers coming for her, or were they satisfied having gotten Jake? Who had put the paper on her car? It all seemed so convenient. It didn’t help that she felt like someone was watching her all the time, either. The people she passed. The cameras in the streets and stores. They controlled all of them. “How do you know about the Buffalo Brothers?”

  “Huh. It’s another one of those dirty little DC secrets. That pair’s been killing people around here for years. They’re assassins. Hit men. It was the weird earrings, sunglasses, and the one’s long neck that gave it away. When they show up, death follows.” He guzzled down some of his beer. “Yep, real spooky. And they take out criminals mostly. Rats. People no one even cares about. The faces that don’t make the papers. I think they’re part of the Drake’s cleanup crew, to be frank. Those monsters that leave tracks in the blood they spilled. They need looking after, too.” He shook his head. “I sure hate to see someone go like that. Seems Big Jake was one of us.”

  “Us?”

  “Yeah, us. People who aren’t scared to shine the light on evil.”

  Sid nodded. “Tell me more.”

  “There was this one fella, worked the door in town at one of the strip clubs. Well, he said there was a scuffle in the alley. Said he saw a guy in sunglasses take a few gunshots at point-blank range and walk away.” Russ finished off his beer. “The guy doing the shooting survived because the guy he shot vanished just as police arrived. The bouncer said it was lucky, because he saw murder in that assassin’s eyes. The bouncer said that look scared the piss out of him. And he was a big dude.”

  “Maybe he wore a vest,” Sid suggested.