“I can’t do magic that way,” James rumbled. “I just use things. This doesn’t heal other people.”
Please note alternative power liquid healing solution is still available, Whispy reminded him.
Shit. You’re right.
James reached toward where his pocket would have been. The armor parted, and tendrils extended a small vial, one of two. The other was formulated for his specific needs, but he always kept one on hand for normal humans in case he was on an agency job and one of the bounty hunters was injured.
He grabbed the first potion from the tendril. “But this does heal other people.” He raised the man’s head, opened his mouth, and dumped the potion down his throat. If the victim was already dead, it wouldn’t do any good.
I wonder if this shit will ever get cheap enough that everyone will carry it around? James thought. We won’t even need ambulances then. What good is all this magic garbage if people are dying in traffic accidents?
Everyone stared at the SUV driver with pensive expressions, their breaths held. The seconds ticked by as the sirens grew closer.
Come on, James thought. I just wasted a lot of money on you, so the least you can do is stay alive, so Shay won’t give me shit later.
The man gasped, and his eyes fluttered open. His burns began to fade as the gashes in his flesh knitted closed. The crowd exploded in raucous cheers, and a few people exchanged hugs.
The truck driver offered James a weak smile. “Do you have another one?”
“Sorry.” James shrugged. “That was the only one that works on…humans.” They could assume he was carrying Oriceran first aid. Highway Patrol cars and an ambulance zoomed down the road toward the accident. “But help’s coming. You breathing all right?”
The injured truck driver nodded. “This shit hurts like hell, but I can still breathe.”
The SUV driver sat up, blinking. “What happened?” He stared at his burning car and then at James. “Did you pull me out of there?” Wonder filled his voice.
“Dude,” a light-haired young man nearby shouted. “Brownstone pulled you out of there by himself, and then he gave you a magic potion to save your ass. It’s, like, straight-up superhero stuff.”
James groaned. “It’s not superhero shit. I just happened to be driving by. If there was a witch, elf, or gnome or someone like that nearby, they would have been able to save him easier than I did.”
He wasn’t a superhero. At least Alison could fly. He couldn’t even pull that off in full Forerunner mode.
“I-I don’t know what to say, Mr. Brownstone,” the SUV driver stammered. “I’ll let everyone know about what happened. I’ll make sure they’re shouting about it on the news.”
James scrubbed a hand down his face. “Well, shit. So much for not having to deal with dumbass reporters.”
Chapter Two
James pulled his phone away from his ear and glared at it. It wasn’t a video chat, but he hoped the reporter could sense his irritation before he lost control and did something he regretted, such as destroy his phone. This was doubly hard with his wife watching. He stood in front of the couch in his living room. Shay sat on the other end, watching him with a slight smirk, and Thomas lay curled up in his recliner, half-asleep. He was glad his loyal dog would live long enough to witness the birth of his child, but that thought only dampened his existing anger.
You would think these people would have bought a fucking clue after all these years, but the cycle starts over.
“No,” James growled into the phone. “How many times do I have to tell you people that I’m not interested in this shit? Any of it. I don’t care if it’s a big, specially advertised exclusive, or you have some big payment you’re going to give me for a few words on the record. I don’t care what celebrity reporter you plan to send to interview me. I’m not interested. Is that clear? You could drive up to my house with a truck of the best barbeque ever made, and I still wouldn’t be interested. If you know anything about me, then you should know if that wouldn’t motivate me, you don’t have a chance in hell.”
“Mr. Brownstone, please be reasonable. This is a matter of public interest.” The reporter sighed. “And I’m not asking for an exclusive. I’m just asking for a few comments on the record about what happened on the highway. This could be beneficial to you. I understand you value your privacy, but you acted, and now people are talking about it. You might as well take advantage of it, especially since you obviously haven’t considered all the implications.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What implications?”
“You should keep in mind that your non-barbeque reputation is primarily associated with violence,” the reporter explained, “whether some might consider it appropriate or not, such as the incident with Nadina. It couldn’t hurt to highlight you using your abilities in a non-violent manner to save someone. Not only that, but you could share a few other pieces of information about your life. A lot of people are very interested. I understand that you’re a private man, but a few comments, or even a short interview, would sate people’s interest. It’ll result in less trouble for you in the long run if you think about it, and it could drum up more business for your restaurant.”
“I don’t need advertising for my restaurant. I’ve got plenty of customers.” His aggravation at the caller caused the words to come out in a half-growl. He doubted giving any small piece of information would satisfy people. In his experience, hungry people gobbled down more once they got a taste of something they liked. “What sort of comments are you even interested in, if not stuff about the accident?”
Years ago, he’d consider hiring a PR agent, but he had decided having one would, in and of itself, attract additional media attention by sending a signal that he wanted people to contact him about pointless interviews or sponsorships. He didn’t need money and he didn’t give a shit about fame, and he didn’t understand why people wouldn’t believe that despite him telling them over and over and over. Maybe he should get someone to take him to the moon, so he could carve the message into it.
“A lot of people would like to know a little more about your child,” the reporter responded, hope in his voice. “There are so many mysteries there, and I don’t think you understand how much the public craves knowledge about the first biological child of the James Brownstone.”
“Whatever.”
“Think about what a family profile could do for you, one you authorize rather than some unofficial thing. You could control the narrative a lot more than has happened in the past, especially with your adopted daughter. I understand why you hold some bitterness, but understand, Mr. Brownstone, that you could get the press working for you, rather than against you if you simply cooperated a little more.”
Alison had experimented with cultivating a few reporter contacts to manage some of the press, and she had said it wasn’t totally a miserable experience, but she’d always been better with people than him. If he tried something similar, it would end poorly.
James’ hand tightened around his phone, but he stopped himself from squeezing any harder. He didn’t need Shay mocking him for breaking another phone. He couldn’t help it if they were so easy to snap. “I want to make this very clear,” he began, his voice low. “I need you to listen, and to understand where I’m coming from.”
“Yes, Mr. Brownstone? I’m more than happy to listen to anything you have to say. You can set the scope of our conversation. I might ask you a few things, but if you don’t want to answer them, I understand. I won’t try to force you to offer more information than you’re comfortable with.
James resisted the urge to hurl his phone across the room.
None of these assholes ever gets it, no matter how many times I tell them. It’s like I’m cursed.
“I won’t be doing any fucking interviews,” he explained. “I didn’t save that man on the highway because I wanted reporters sniffing my ass. And before anyone even thinks about poking their damned nose into my family’s life, they should as
k themselves one important question because that’s the only question they need to ask.”
The reporter audibly swallowed. “A-and what question is that?”
“Are there any Harriken still around?” James rumbled. His jaw tightened, and he ground his back teeth. He let the question linger in the air, the implications clear.
“You can’t possibly be implying what I think you’re implying,” the reporter sputtered. “I-I… Those people were criminals who hurt people. I’m not talking about doing anything unpleasant. I’m trying to help you, Mr. Brownstone. Everything I’m suggesting will help you.”
“You want me to tell you something?”
“Yes, I do.’
“Then I got something for you. ‘No fucking comment.’ And don’t call me again.” James killed the call and threw his phone on the couch with a loud growl.
Thomas raised his head to stare at the phone before dropping it again. The dog embodied the KISS philosophy better than his master and had long since learned to ignore it when said master became angry at the tiny metal slab. Of course, it was easier for a pet. It was not like he had reporters asking for his views on annoying neighborhood cats and birds.
James dropped onto the couch, his fists clenched. “That’s the eighth fucking one today, and they’ve been swarming the restaurant like fucking vultures.” He picked up his phone and turned it off. “Motherfuckers. At least the ones at the restaurant order something.”
Shay laughed. “Vultures are carrion-eaters. Are you saying you’re dead? I think I would have noticed, even with how sleepy I’ve been lately.” She patted his shoulder.
He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I had all this shit nice and balanced. Why can’t they leave us alone? There’s always some new guy who thinks I’m going to open up to him and tell him all my secrets. Why can’t they talk to someone else about this and buy a clue?”
“No good deed goes unpunished.” Shay ran a hand over her swollen belly. “But threatening to murder reporters will probably not get them to leave you alone. They’ll just write about what a dangerous and unstable man you are, and how the government needs to do something about you.”
James snorted. “Half the government wishes they could send me to the World in Between, and the other half wants to keep me around in case they need someone to wrestle a giant space squid or some shit. Fuck reporters. Fuck the government.”
Shay looked to the side and chuckled. “I don’t care about the reporters, though. It’s more what you did earlier that I think is funny.”
“Earlier?”
She nodded. “You saving that man, and even going so far to use a healing potion on him.”
“What do you mean?” James looked her way. “What’s so funny about it?”
“When we met, you didn’t do shit if you didn’t get a paycheck.” Shay pointed at him. “The only reason you even helped Alison at first was that she helped you, and you don’t like being in anyone’s debt. If some dragon was burning up half of Wyoming, you wouldn’t have given a shit until the bounty came in. ‘Not my fucking problem if they don’t have dragon insurance.’” She related the last sentence in her best attempt at the low, rumbling voice of her husband.
James frowned. “I was a bounty hunter. I hunted bounties. It’s in the fucking name. Nothing weird about that.”
Shay rolled her eyes. “You’re still technically a licensed bounty hunter, and you do all sorts of things to help people without worrying about bounties. I like how you tried to pretend that Nadina thing was inspired partially by bounties, but you wouldn’t have cared. You would have looked into it all for free.”
James growled. “That’s different. That was about barbeque. I’ll always defend myself, my family, my friends, and barbeque for free.”
His wife’s look suggested she doubted that. “Oh? So if the Vax had shown up and said, ‘We’re just going to blow up Canada and leave,’ you would have shrugged and said, ‘Fuck it. There’s no bounty, and I’ve got no close friends in Canada.’”
“The Canadian government would have issued a bounty, even retroactively.” James snorted. “There’s no way they wouldn’t have.”
“Maybe.” Shay laid her head back on the couch. “But look at you now, running around saving random people’s lives like you’re a superhero.”
“I’m not a fucking superhero,” James complained. “People need to stop saying that shit.”
Shay grinned as she looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I’ve been saying for years that I’ve been fucking Superman. Accepting a little praise doesn’t mean people are going to expect you to solve all their problems.”
James wasn’t as convinced of that. He groaned. “I didn’t have a choice but to help the guy. That shit happened right in front of me. It’s not like I’m purposefully driving around town trying to save random people for free and getting involved in stuff.”
“Sure. Just keep pretending you’re the stone-cold mercenary bounty hunter from when we first met.” Shay waved a hand. “Whatever gets you through the day.”
He grunted, not having a good response.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Shay added. “I think you should just accept that you’re not the same man you were. It’s been a lot of years and a lot of bodies, but people change.” She lifted her head, her smirk even wider than before. “And before you say anything, I fully admit I’m nowhere near the same woman I was when I first met you, let alone when I faked my death. I only got a few years in with Alison, and motherhood is really going to keep my reflexive killing down—assuming no one screws with our kid. If they do that, they brought it on themselves.”
James rubbed his temples. “I just don’t want shit to get complicated again. We’ve got the kid coming, and he or she will take all our attention.” He shrugged. “The agency’s good. The restaurant’s good. Everything is perfect, and we don’t need reporters running around hassling us and messing with our perfect lives because they think they can use us to push their careers. Fuck them. If scaring them a little gets them off our backs, I’ll do it.
“You do realize that you never getting attention is impossible, don’t you? You might as well hope people vote you King of America and then issue a royal privacy decree.”
“Why the fuck is it impossible? I’ve gotten the reporters off my ass before. If it happened before, it could happen again.”
“I’m just saying, it’ll always be temporary, no matter what you do or say.” Shay snorted. “Because you’re James Brownstone. No matter how hard you try, you’re going to get involved in something that’s a big deal because of who and what you are. The Vax might never come back, but they’re hardly the only threat to the planet or the country, and at some point, you’ll get dragged in because sometimes you just need a guy in alien armor to chop an asshole in half or blast them with a death ray.”
“I’m not the fucking Army,” James retorted. “It’s not my responsibility to protect everyone and everything.”
“No, but you are a one-man army,” Shay observed. “And it’s obvious now that you’re aging slower than a normal human, so that means you might be around for a long time, leaving plenty of time for trouble to happen. The cold, hard truth is, you’re never going to have true peace unless you retire and move deep in the mountains or to a hidden island on Oriceran or some shit like that. Unless you just want to give barbeque to bears, you might as well accept that you’ll have to deal with reporters and other annoying assholes every three to six months.” She nodded. “That seems about right.”
“The mountains wouldn’t be so bad,” James muttered. “At least the bears would appreciate the damned food more than some of these bastards.”
“Maybe Alison should think about it, too,” Shay added, a concerned look on her face and the humor gone from her voice.
James frowned. “What do you mean? You think Alison should move to the mountains? She’s better at handling this kind of attention, and she’s got that English chick helping her.”<
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“No. It’s just like…” Shay sighed and held up her palms about a foot apart. “Imagine there’s some sort of universal Brownstone Trouble Level set by God, the Devil, scheming super-intelligent magical dinosaurs, or whoever.”
“Huh?” James had lost track of the conversation, and his attempts to figure out where it had gone only deepened his confusion.
“Just try to keep up.”
James stared at her. “Trust me, I’m trying.”
“It used to be that the amount of trouble you got into was more than her, kind of, but now you get in less trouble, and she gets in more.” Shay pushed her hands together before moving back to the original distance. “But the universe demands a certain amount of Brownstone trouble no matter what, so it’s got to go somewhere.”
“What are you saying?” James furrowed his brow in confusion.
“I’m saying that you get in less trouble, but she gets in more.” Shay shrugged. “It’s not like I believe there’s really some absolute Brownstone Trouble Level that must be satisfied. It’s just a metaphor, and I get that a lot of that is because she’s running that security company, but I just worry sometimes, is all. And it feels that way. That shit with the Tapestry was next-level weird, and I also don’t like that she needed to get help from those other secretive assholes.”
“Yeah, I get that. I don’t know if I trust them fully either, but I’m surprised. I thought I was the one worrying too much about Alison. You were the one who was always telling me to sit down, shut up, and trust her. Why the change?”
“Yeah, I have been the one saying that. I’ll admit that.” Shay let out a quiet sigh. “The pregnancy’s got me worrying more about our existing kid, even if she is an adult Drow princess who can blow up a building. I wish we could do more for Alison, with all the weird billionaires and other Drow princesses screwing with her. We’re semi-retired from loud shit, and she’s fighting giant monsters half the time. I get that she’s got her own personal army and her fiancé’s got her back, but I still worry.”
Road Trip: BBQ Delivered with Attitude (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 20) Page 2