Karma Is A Bitch: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 12)

by Michael Anderle

  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.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  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?”

  The man swallowed and adjusted his tie, his hand dropping to his side. “I’m just taking a little break on my way to work. Why should I have to tell you anything? You’re just some bounty hunter, not the police.” He sniffed disdainfully.

  James grunted. “This is my neighborhood, and I’ve promised everyone that I’ll keep it safe, so I like to keep an eye on suspicious people. You look and act suspicious as all fuck.”

  The man sneered. “How am I suspicious? I’m not a tattooed freak with a mangy dog.”

  “Don’t talk shit about my dog, asshole.”

  The animal barked several times and growled, taking a few steps forward.

  “Screw this,” the man snarled.

  He opened the briefcase and flung it at James, the air filling with strips of shredded paper. James knocked the case down, but the man had already vaulted over the bench and was sprinting away.

  “What the fuck?” James growled, confused by the man and his confetti attack.

  He was gonna hand this shit off to someone, maybe? Trade briefcases? What?

  His dog matched him.

  The bounty hunter nodded to his new dog. “Let’s go, boy. Time to kick some ass.” He rushed after the man, the dog joining him.

  Their quarry vaulted a fence. James charged it, but his dog rushed toward an opening farther down.

  Resisting the urge to smash right through the fence, James jumped to the top and pulled himself over. He dropped to the ground and looked around for the man.

  There was nothing but houses and trees lining the quiet street, a few cars here and there.

  “Where the fuck did he go?”

  Loud barking sounded from down the street, and James jerked his head in that direction. The man was running toward an SUV, the dog in hot pursuit.

  James ran his way. The man threw open the door of the SUV, but the dog leapt on him and sank his teeth into the man’s leg.

  The suited man let out a howl of pain. “You fucking mutt. I will kill you.” Grimacing and trying to shake the dog off, he reached into his jacket.

  With a roar of anger, James picked up the pace. The man yanked a gun out and pointed it at the dog, but the bounty hunter closed the distance. He grabbed the man’s arm and forced it up just as the gun went off. With a quick yank, he dislocated the man’s arm.

  The man screamed and dropped his gun. The dog released his death grip and backed up, growling, blood dripping from his mouth like Cujo reincarnated.

  “You fucking son of a bitch,” the man screamed. “I will fucking kil—”

  James slammed a fist into his face, and the man’s head snapped back and he slumped to the ground, his arm hanging at an odd angle and blood pooling underneath his wounded leg.

  “You’re damned fucking lucky I held back, asshole,” James rumbled. “I should have fucking killed you for threatening my dog. If you know who I am, you should ask around about what I do to people who hurt my dog.”

  The dog padded over to the unconscious man and tugged at a pocket.

  Oh, yeah, no point in talking to the fucker since I knocked his ass out, but what’s he got on him? Food? The dog’s earned it.

  James leaned down and reached inside to find a baggie filled with dark green powder. No, not just powder—dust.

  He grunted. The drug, derived from Oriceran plants, had become popular in recent years. It wasn’t magical directly, but sometimes magic was used in its production. A few kilograms of dust could easily be worth millions of dollars.

  James chuckled. “You picked the wrong park for a drug deal, fucker.”

  He leaned over to scratch his dog’s ears. “Good boy. Maybe I should call you ‘Dust.’” He chuckled. “Nah, that’s just weird.”

  A few hours later, someone knocked at James’ front door. He glanced at his sleeping dog curled up in a doggie bed in front of the TV before rising to answer the door.

  Sergeant Mack stood on the other side.

  James grunted. “Didn’t know you were coming. We didn’t have a PFW meeting today.”

  Mack shook his head. “Not here about that. I was already nearby, so I figured I’d stop by and talk about that dust dealer you and your dog caught.”

  James nodded and motioned to the couch. “What, is the fucker planning to sue me or some shit? I’d like to see him try.”

  The cop made his way to the couch. “Nah, he’s got a lot more important shit to worry about. Turns out he’s a lieutenant of a huge drug lord. Apparently, your boy decided he wants to go solo, so he flew here from New Jersey to set up shop with some guys locally. Besides all the names and connections he has back East, he’s got a lot of people he can flip on here. Vice is crapping their pants. This is basically a best-case scenario for them.”

  James grunted. “What the fuck was he doing in my park?”

  Mack laughed. “The idiot didn’t do his due diligence. The guy he was supposed to meet, who Vice has already picked up, suggested it. He didn’t tell our boy, but this other guy figured that you cleared out all the local scum in this neighborhood so they could do a major deal with less risk.” He slapped his knee. “And that fool runs right into you and this dog. What an unlucky guy.”

  James looked at his sleeping dog. “He sniffed those drugs right out. Maybe he’s a police dog.” He frowned. “Not that they usually look like that.”

  Mack shook his head. “I half-wondered, but, nope. No missing police dogs anywhere in California. Maybe the dog used to work for some drug dealer.” He frowned. “Maybe he’s just got good instincts. You know, for justice.”

  Shay emerged from the stairs. James hadn’t even heard her, but unlike him, she was good at not drawing attention to herself.

  She chuckled. “That dog likes me and he never growls at me, so his justice instincts can’t be that good.”

  Mack stared at the dog. “Got a name yet?”

  James shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Leaning toward one?” Mack asked.

  “Been thinking a lot, but I haven’t come up with one.”

  Mack grinned. “Then what about Justice?”

  Shay snorted. “Last thing James needs is a preachy dog.”

  James shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

  Justice? Shay’s right. I kick ass, but I’m not a cop. I’m not about justice. Probably can’t call my dog Ass-kicker or Biter, either.

  James grinned. “Could call him ‘Sonofabitch.’ That’s true, after all.”

  Shay rolled her eyes. “That was so painfully bad that I think they felt it in Oriceran.”

  He grunted and scratched his cheek. Naming his new dog was proving harder than he thought.

  Francis’ mother squeezed his hand. “Keep hold of me, sweetie. There are a lot of people at the amusement park today, and I don’t want you to get lost.”

  He smiled up at her. “Yes, Mommy.”

  People flowed around the pair, families, children, and teens, all rushing to different buildings or rides, desperate to get in all the enjoyment they could from the Happy Magic Land Amusement Park. A few costumed characters wandered by, waving and bouncing—Captain Duckster and the Rabbiteer.

  A man stood near a tree watching the crowd, his face blank and his eyes covered by sunglasses. A faint red glow shone on the edges of the glasses. If the boy hadn’t been staring right at him, he might have missed it.

  The boy pointed at the man. “Look, Mommy. That man is magic.”

  His mother sighed and frowned at him. “Shush, now. It’s rude to point at people just because they look different, and there are a lot of people who come from Oriceran to visit this park. I don’t think they have amusement parks on Oriceran.” She looked around and sighed as she spotted a Light Elf eating a snow cone a few feet in the opposite direction and mistaking him for her son’s object of interest. “I’m sorry, sir. He’s young. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  The elf blinked and shrugged. “Uh.
Sure. Okay, then. I’m just going to go back to eating my snow cone now.”

  The boy’s mother tugged on his arm. “Let’s go, Francis.”

  Francis looked back toward the man with glowing eyes and sunglasses, but he was gone. A faint red glow surrounded a rock on the ground.

  “Oh, he turned into a rock.” The rock stopped glowing. “But I think he died.”

  His mother glared at him. “Don’t make me regret bringing you here.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shay paced back and forth in James’ living room. The dog was following her, not barking and wagging his tail. She was supposed to already be at Warehouse Three arming up, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

  This is a bad idea. Something is wrong. I can feel it. It’s like I can smell the damned blood in the air but can’t find the body. Something’s just not sitting right, but what?

  She sucked in a breath and rubbed the back of her neck.

  James looked up from the article on seasonal spicing he was reading on his phone. “You trying to walk the dog inside?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe I shouldn’t go on the tomb raid.”

  He grunted. “Why? You said it was just some Canadian shit. You don’t have to fly halfway across the world for this one. Not like you’re gonna have to ride some horse in the desert for days.”

  Shay stopped pacing, and the dog barked and ran around her legs a few times before retreating to his doggie bed. “I’ve just got a bad feeling. I’ve had it for a while. Not saying it’s psychic or magical or something, just years of instinct.”

  James shrugged. “About He Who Hunts? He’s dead, or he ran back to Oriceran to go cry about the Council getting their asses handed to them. Even Senator Johnston said they’ve seen no Council shit, and they’ve got half the fucking spy shops in the world looking for them. Tyler hasn’t mentioned anything about the Council. There are no Council safe houses left, and no Council wizards. We’ve wiped those fuckers out. If there are any left, they can join the survivors of the Harriken and the Nuevo Gulf Cartel and form some sort of ‘We Got Our Asses Kicked’ club.” He grunted. “I’ve got instincts too, you know.”