Even the cops can’t fucking touch my truck.
“Don’t worry, we didn’t break anything.” Lieutenant Hall shrugged. “We thought you were dead until Weber saw you were breathing. We were collecting evidence. So you have your phone. What’s that have to do with proof?”
“One sec.” James dialed Heather.
“I thought you were dead there until you woke up just now,” the hacker answered.
“You’re watching me?”
“Got a couple of drones high up.”
“Got any internal camera shit from the house? Video that I can show the cops?”
“I do. After the jammer was destroyed I started trying to access the house via the hardlines, and I found out I could access the electrical control itself. Turned everything back on and started watching. You’re one tough of sonofabitch, Brownstone.”
James grunted. “I need the video.”
“Sending it now.”
He held up the phone, which displayed a feed from an internal house camera, complete with audio of Schwartz’s final rants. He’d grabbed and twisted the ring to initiate his final self-destruction plan.
Lieutenant Hall blew out a breath. “Okay, that should be enough, but you still need to come downtown to fill out some reports and statements. Otherwise, you’re not walking.”
James grunted. “Can I at least change? I’ve got some other clothes in my truck.”
“Fine by me. Just follow me to the station after you get changed.”
James sat in a too-small chair in the office waiting for Lieutenant Hall to return. They’d taken his statement and hadn’t tried to seize the plaque.
The Professor had been more than willing to provide a statement indicating that he had hired James to recover the artifact and was ready to provide any necessary provenance documents. The bounty hunter had no idea if they were fake, but it had been enough, combined with the video and his statement, to induce the cops to not care.
The door swung open, and an unarmored Lieutenant Hall headed over to her desk and sat. “You’re a lucky sonofabitch.”
“What now?”
“Gregory Schwartz, your ranting thief nutjob? Turns out a level-four bounty was issued on him just a few hours ago.”
“By who?”
“The Paris Police Prefecture. I’m working something so you can get credit for the bounty. Fortunately for you, it was dead-or-alive.” Maria tapped the keyboard, and a mugshot of Schwartz appeared. “They say that guy was level four, but given the crater I saw, he should have been a level six. Even you are lucky to be alive, Brownstone.”
“I didn’t want a fight. That asshole did. I just wanted something he stole.”
Lieutenant Hall chuckled and finished typing. “Yeah, I feel you, Brownstone. I can’t remember the last time someone surrendered to AET. Maybe we should start a pool.” She nodded toward the door. “You’re free to go.”
James nodded. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
She returned to her typing with a nod. “Sure thing, Brownstone. Try not to get blown up next time.”
He grunted. “Okay.”
James opened her door and headed down the hallway. Sergeant Mack waited against a wall, his arms crossed.
“Everything okay, Brownstone?” the cop asked.
“Yeah. I’m free and clear, and I’m even getting a bounty payment out of it.”
Mack whistled. “Nice. We can buy an extra-nice pit now.”
“Almost getting blown up has to be useful for something.”
13
Shorty and Manuel sat in the Expedition watching people come and go from the front of the bar. Their target, Jenna Holmes, had been spotted in the place just a half-hour ago according to Trey’s internet informants. The rest of the team had already spread out to cover the exits.
“I hope this shit’s gonna be easy.” Shorty leaned his head against the back of the driver’s seat. “Haven’t heard shit about her having muscle. I’m guessing she’ll surrender without too much shit.”
He hoped she would, anyway. It’d already been a long day, and he wasn’t all that interested in chasing someone through Vegas’s back alleys.
Don’t be a bitch, Jenna. Be cool. I’m hungry.
Manuel stared out the window. “You know what our problem is?”
Shorty glanced his way. “What?”
“We’re too damned good. It almost makes it boring.”
Both men chuckled.
“Don’t know.” Shorty frowned. “You never know what’s gonna happen, you know what I’m saying? Might be an easy catch. I think she’ll be an easy catch, but she also might be a witch or have a guy we don’t know about.”
“A witch? If she was a witch she’d be at least a four.” Manuel shrugged. “Just because one witch slipped into a bounty don’t mean every low-level bounty is gonna have some magical surprise.”
“Just saying, we ain’t getting paid because this shit is safe.”
“Since when we ever live a safe life? When we was running on the streets, we had to deal with both the po-po and other gangs.”
Shorty grinned. “Now we’re in the toughest fucking gang of all.”
Manuel opened his mouth to reply, but shut it and nodded toward the passenger-side window. “I think that’s her.”
A woman in a low-cut red dress strode out of the bar in matching knee-high boots, a huge orange purse over her shoulder.
Shorty whistled. “She don’t like to blend in. Shit. Why do the hot ones always got to be trouble?”
Manuel laughed. “More fun that way, brother. Ready?”
“Yeah, ready. Let’s do this shit before my stomach gnaws its way out of my body.”
The bounty hunters threw open the SUV doors, stepped out, and advanced on the bounty. The heels of her boots clacked against the stairs leading to the bar as she made her way to the street.
Jenna stopped and gave them both a coy smile after looking them up and down. “Do you gentlemen need something? I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen you around before, and I think I’d remember two handsome men in suits like you.”
Shorty grinned. “Yeah, sweet thing. We need something. You.”
“Ooh, aren’t you the direct one?” The woman eyed them. “You’re not normally my type, but I can be persuaded. Tonight’s been so boring. What do you do for a living? Businessmen?”
Shorty resisted a laugh. It was the first time in his entire life anyone had ever mistaken him for a businessman, or even anything remotely respectable.
Shit, Trey. You win. The suits do make us look good.
Manuel and Shorty exchanged glances, and the latter spoke. “We’re bounty hunters with the Brownstone Agency. Jenna Holmes, we’re taking you to the police. We don’t want trouble, so if you could come along nice and quiet-like it’d save us all a headache and some scratches, you know what I’m saying?”
Shorty expected her to run or pull a gun from her purse, maybe even try to claw his eyes out. What he didn’t expect was for her to fall to her knees and sob, her face in her hands.
Shit. I hate crying chicks.
He blinked a few times and looked at Manuel. The other man shrugged, confusion on his face.
Jenna continued sobbing for several minutes before regaining control and wiping her tears away. “Please, you can’t do this. It’s not even my fault. My asshole ex-boyfriend framed me. You’re here about the level-two bounty, right? The one connected to where I was allegedly transporting a bunch of dust?”
“I don’t know shit about what you did. All I was told was that you are a level two.”
She shook her head. “Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s all crap. You should go after Zander Wainright, my ex. I’m sure if you look him up, he’ll have a bounty. I didn’t have anything to do with his crimes. This is bullshit, and it’s unfair.”
“That might be true, but if we take you to the police, they can figure it out.” Shorty shrugged. “Not our job to convict you. Just our job to bring you in, sweet thing.”
> Manuel nodded his agreement.
Jenna stood, her knees wobbly. “Yeah, they’ll figure it out while I’m stuck in jail waiting for some cartel assholes who think I stole millions of dollars of dust.” She clasped her hands together and pled with her watery eyes. “Please! If I get arrested I’m dead, and it’s not fair. Look Zander Wainright up. He’s got a bounty. He’s an actual scumbag. I broke up with him right away once I realized what he was into.”
Shorty rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t know.”
Manuel pulled out his phone and brought up the bounty-hunting app. He tapped away.
“There’s a Zander Wainright in here. He’s got a level two on him. Multiple assaults, attempted murder. Drug trafficking. Fucker’s nasty. Real thug.”
Jenna nodded quickly. “See? Come on, I’m begging you here, guys. It’s not like bringing in some level-two bounty is going to set you up for life, and if you need the money, Zander’s a better choice. He’s a real criminal. My only crime was dating a scumbag.”
Shorty sighed and looked at Manuel.
The other bounty hunter shrugged. “We can just say we didn’t see her. Not like some internet informant’s always gonna be right.”
Jenna’s eyes widened, and she placed her palms together. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She blew out a breath. “This has been very stressful. I think I need another drink.” The woman spun on her heel and all but sprinted into the bar.
“Wait,” Shorty shouted, his arm outstretched, but Jenna ignored him. “Shit. Guess she’s right. One level two ain’t gonna make a big difference anyway.” He nodded back toward the Expedition. “Might as well wait in there.”
The two men made it back to the car and sat in silence, both staring out the window. They were unsure of if Trey would believe them.
Shorty gritted his teeth a few minutes later when their leader turned the corner, pushing a handcuffed Jenna Holmes.
“Fuck my life,” he muttered.
Manuel slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned.
The bounty hunters hopped out of the SUV and hurried over to the pair.
“I—” Shorty began.
Trey held up a hand. “Don’t say shit. You got conned, Shorty. I know, because this bitch just tried to con me, and I know there’s no way she’d be sneaking out the back unless she went out front and ran into you.”
Shorty shrugged and averted his gaze.
Trey chuckled and shook his head. “My bad, Shorty. I should have briefed you better. She ain’t got a level two for losing any dust. She got a level two for all her con-woman shit.” He shoved her toward the Expedition. “Nice try, but no one can con a Garfield without some magic, bitch.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “I was this close to getting away.” She batted her eyelashes. “I can still make it worth your while if you let me go.”
“Please.” Trey snorted. “The money they’re gonna pay out for your bounty will make it worthwhile.” He pushed her forward and glared at Shorty and Manuel.
Both men got into the back of the car, avoiding looking at Trey or the bounty.
Shorty sighed.
Fuck. Can’t believe I got played like that.
Tyler leaned back in his chair and put his feet on his desk. Several rings sounded before the call connected.
“Who the fuck is this?” rumbled a voice over the line.
“Tyler, owner of the Black Sun. You heard of me?”
“Yeah. I know who you are. Why the fuck are you calling me?”
Tyler grinned. Time to make some money.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve heard some shit that I’d thought I pass along to all the level fours and higher. People who are ass-kickers like yourself, Patrick.”
“I’m listening.”
Tyler dropped his feet and sat up. “James Brownstone’s throwing down the gauntlet. Told me he’s willing to take people on. It’ll be one-on-one. No AET. No other bullshit. They beat his ass or kill him. They don’t have to look over their shoulder.”
Patrick snorted. “Fuck that noise. You expect me to seriously agree to walk up to Brownstone?”
“You scared, Patrick?”
“Fuck it. I’ve got a great rep without taking on Brownstone. If I try and go after him, there’s no fucking upside for me.”
Tyler smiled. “First of all, there’d be some extra money in it for you, courtesy of me. Also, you wouldn’t have to worry about when he’s coming because—”
Patrick hung up.
The informer broker frowned. There weren’t a large number of level fours and fives in the area. Brownstone’s presence in LA had seemed to scare them away in recent months, but Tyler didn’t want his career as a fight promoter to be over as soon as it started. He had to try harder.
Okay, whatever. Patrick’s just one guy. I’ll call the next guy. Not everyone is a pussy afraid of Brownstone.
Tyler stared at his phone for a moment before nodding. The plan wasn’t dead.
Two hours later, Tyler had contacted five more candidates with no more success than the first. Three men were briefly willing to consider the idea before deciding, much like Patrick, that it wasn’t worth the risk to their reputations or freedom. Two others talked a lot of trash but still said no in the end.
Tyler slumped over his desk, resting his head in the palm of his free hand as he made his pitch to candidate number six.
“There’d be money for you showing up, and you’d know exactly when Brownstone would be coming and where. With that kind of information, a witch like you could take him down easily. I mean, shit…you’ve got a level-five bounty. And like I said, there will be no AET. This is fucking silver-platter material here.”
“Are you fucking out of your mind?” the witch yelled. “You think I’m an idiot? Brownstone wouldn’t even care that I’m a woman. I heard what he did to the Collector in Japan. Don’t call me again.” She hung up.
Tyler scrubbed a hand over his face. Why weren’t people greedier? Half these people could destroy a city block by themselves, but were wetting their pants because he suggested they take on James Brownstone in a deserted area.
Sure, the guy kicks a lot of ass, but he’s just a man in the end. He’s not a freaking god. Maybe I need to spin that he won’t kill them if he can avoid it.
The info broker dropped his head to his desk. Guaranteeing they wouldn’t die would only scare people off. Where was an arrogant fuck like King Pyro when he needed him?
Thirty minutes later Tyler pulled his phone back to stare at it, convinced he hadn’t heard right.
He put the phone back to his ear. “What did you just say?”
“I’ll do it,” rumbled Lars on the other end. “But I get to pick the place, date, and time. That way I know there’ll be no Brownstone bullshit tricks.”
Tyler thrust his fist into the air in triumph. Lars might have been his last hope, but the man was a level five. The info broker could make a lot of money off this fight if he set things up right.
“Brownstone wants to pick the place. I know where he’s going do it. It’s fucking far away from anywhere in LA. He wants to make sure no random people are hurt, and I can guarantee there will be no AET.”
Lars grunted. “Fine. Don’t give a fuck, then. If we fight in the city, those AET assholes will show to spoil all the fun. Make sure you pass that along to that fucker Brownstone, and we’ll talk soon about when I’m gonna end his ass. You better not be shitting about the money. You fuck with me, I don’t give a shit about your place’s neutrality. I’ll walk into that bar and flatten it, AET guarantees or not.”
Don’t fucking threaten me, asshole. I hope Brownstone knocks you around a lot.
Tyler shook his head instinctively, despite being on the phone. “Nope. You’ll get a flat fee plus a percentage of the gross receipts from the bets. Not only that, you’ll go down as the man who took down James Brownstone.”
“Damn right. Now I got shit to do.” Lars ended the call.
Tyler set his ph
one down and rubbed his hands together. No matter how this ended, he would make sure he made money.
I’m so damned brilliant.
14
Carl yawned from the middle seat of the Expedition. “I thought you said Holmes was the last one tonight. We’re kicking ass, Trey. Not like we need to kick all the ass, though.”
Trey forced himself not to yawn, even if fatigue tugged at his eyes and muscles.
He shook his head as he pulled the SUV in front of a modest home. “I thought about that, but then I got a tip that this asshole was staying here. Only a level one, so I figured, why not just drop by and pick up some free cash? Ignoring it would be like ignoring a Hamilton on the sidewalk.”
Several of the other bounty hunters grumbled but stopped once Trey shot them a glare. This had always been a problem with his boys in their gang days. They were brave and tough but could be lazy if he let them.
“Don’t be pussies. It’s like the staff sergeant told you. When it’s time to play you do what you need to do, but when it’s time to work you deliver the goods, even if you’re tired as fuck.”
Carl shrugged. “We ain’t Marines, Trey.”
“Nah, we’re just bounty hunters working for James Brownstone, so we should be trying to be more badass than Marines.” Trey threw open the door. “Now surround the fucking house, so the bounty don’t get away. Or you can stay here and suck your thumbs.”
The front door of the home opened before all the men exited the vehicle. Trey grabbed for his gun, but the emergence of an old woman in a robe, her hair up in curlers, had him dropping his hand a second later.
Hope that nana ain’t no witch.
“You Mafia?” the woman called. She frowned and looked at each of the men. “Or work for them?”
Trey straightened his tie and gave her a winning smile. Time for Smooth Trey. “No, ma’am. We don’t associate with such disreputable people. We’re firmly on the side of the law, you see.”
The woman frowned, her eyes darting back and forth. “Then why you here? Don’t try to feed me a line and tell me you’re here to sell me religion. I don’t need religion, and I know thugs when I see them.”
Hail To The King: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 8) Page 11