She Is The Widow Maker: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 5)

by Michael Anderle

  “Actually, yeah, and the bounty would be good money. Plus, think about it. This’ll spread your rep, so it’ll help the Brownstone Agency. I’ll push that angle with them so they know you should get something out of this.”

  “Fine, I’ll fucking do it, but I’m not flying until first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll call DPD and give them your contact information and tell them you’re on your way,” Mack offered.

  “I don’t want this shit to become a habit.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Okay, talk to you later.” James ended the call, closed his eyes, and scrubbed a hand over his face.

  He took a deep breath. Next week some Mountie might call him up and ask him to go to Ottawa. Or maybe some cop from France would need his help beating down a dragon in Provence. His reputation had grown beyond his ability to manage it.

  Fucking Harriken. Because of you, my life will never be simple again. Glad I killed so many of you fucks.

  By the end of all this shit, will I need a Brownstone Army?

  Trey adjusted his tie in the mirror. The dark suit looked damned good, and the wrap-around sunglasses only added to the hotness. He resembled a badass spy more than a bounty hunter.

  “Damn, I look good.” He snapped his fingers. “Brownstone wishes he could look this damned good.”

  His phone rang, ripping him out of his self-appreciation. A glance at the phone indicated it was Sergeant Mack.

  “Yeah. What’s up, Sergeant?”

  The cop muttered something under his breath. “It’s time to put you to the test. There’s a level one we need brought in.”

  Trey snorted. “Level one? Maybe I should call my nana and have her do it. Maybe stop by a kindergarten first for reinforcements.” He laughed. “Seriously, that’s all you need?”

  “It’s a nice test case, and this guy’s important. We need him to testify against some serious people. Name is Jack Conners, a con artist and low-level street hustler. Not known to be all that violent, but you never know if cornered rats will bite.”

  “Not even a gangster? This’ll be easier than I thought. I can scare this asshole into coming with me.”

  “This is serious, Trey, even if the guy’s not all that important. If he goes to ground or we lose him it’ll hurt some of our investigations. Do I make myself clear?”

  Trey could imagine the constipated frown on the cop’s face. He rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t worry, Sergeant Mack. I’ve got this. I’ll go you one better. I’ll have this asshole to you by tonight.”

  The cop chuckled. “If it were that easy we would have already found him.”

  “Nah, you wouldn’t, because you’re cops and you don’t know where to look. Even Brownstone doesn’t always know where to look. A life on the streets means I know what dumpsters to check when I’m looking for trash.”

  “If you say so. Just bring him in. If this goes well, we can really ramp up bounties for you.”

  Trey stared into the mirror with a smile. “Like I said, I’ve got this.”

  Trey glanced over his shoulder before following the man into the alley. He retrieved a few bills from his wallet and handed them over.

  “There you go, now spill with the info.”

  The man snatched the cash out of the newbie bounty hunter’s hand like a hungry wolf going after a steak. “You can’t tell anyone I ratted him out. That’d be bad for my reputation.”

  Trey almost laughed. The only reputation this asshole had was for turning all his money into dust and spending half the week high.

  “The Brownstone Agency maintains the utmost discretion for our sources. And I think you’ll find being on the good side of James Brownstone is better for your health than the opposite.” He pulled his glasses off to glare at the man.

  The other man rattled off an address. “Conners is there now, but he won’t stay there long. He moves every week, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Thanks for your assistance.” Trey slid his glasses back on. “Now I have an appointment with a con man.”

  During the fifteen-minute ride to the address, Trey considered his strategy. Pulling his gun would only escalate things, especially if he approached the man spoiling for a fight. The police needed the man alive, which meant anything that raised the chances of a fight would only work against him.

  Lying to the man was pointless. Only an idiot tried to con a con artist. Trey wasn’t above a little deception, but he’d lived his life being blunt and straight-forward. Being a gang leader was all about projecting honest strength.

  Con artists, as far as he was concerned, were cowardly little bitches. Gang members provided protection to those who gave them respect. Con men did nothing but take.

  Tricking a person to take their money made the man a leech, and Trey would enjoy taking down the parasite.

  He frowned, a hint of doubt creeping in for the first time. Taking down bounties didn’t bother him, but his talks with the gang had produced mixed results. Most of his boys seemed happy to work for Brownstone as long as they were paid well, but not everyone was convinced Trey was taking the gang down the right path.

  No one was willing to risk open revolt against a man backed by James Brownstone, but Trey couldn’t guarantee that no one would stir up trouble.

  Guess I’ll deal with that shit when it comes up. For now, though, I’ve got a job to do.

  Trey pulled his F-350 to the curb and hopped out, then patted his suit to make sure the gun was there. He didn’t want to have a fight, but he wasn’t going to let himself get shot like a little bitch either. He double-checked to make sure his handcuffs were in his pocket.

  Introduce myself and get the fucker to agree to come. Should be easy money.

  Trey might admire James Brownstone to the point where he’d purchased an identical truck, but he had no illusions that his boss operated on a level that he could ever hope to achieve. Trey couldn’t do the shit Brownstone did.

  Most normal people couldn’t. He didn’t know if it was magic or some other shit, but Brownstone was worth ten men. A little fronting was one thing, but real arrogance would end with Trey’s ass six feet under.

  Trey adjusted his tie again and knocked at the front door. Someone moved on the other side of the door, and the curtains to the living room window swished. He listened for the sound of a backdoor opening or closing.

  “Don’t run, asshole,” he muttered. “I don’t want to get dirt on my suit.”

  The front door swung open and a skinny white man with short spiky blond hair eyed Trey. The haircut was new, but everything else matched the picture of his target.

  This asshole looks like he should be running a fish taco stand on the beach. He’s not gonna be a problem.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Conners asked. “I don’t need religion, if that’s what this is about.” He spat in front of Trey.

  Be glad you didn’t hit my new shoes, asshole.

  Trey chuckled and slid off his sunglasses, placing them in his front pocket. “That’s not what I hear, Jack. If anything, a few gospel songs might be good for a sinner like you. We’re all sinners, really. The trick is to just accept it.”

  The bounty’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know my name?”

  “Because you were stupid enough to get yourself a bounty.” Trey shrugged. “I’ll make this easy. My name is Trey Garfield. I’m with the Brownstone Agency, and I’m here to bring you in.”

  “’Brownstone Agency?’ What the fuck is that?”

  Trey shook his head. “Brownstone Agency, as in James Brownstone. He’s my boss, but he’s too busy to go after low-level pieces of shit like you. That’s why I’m here.” He shrugged. “Let’s make this easy on both of us, Conners. You come along nicely to the police station and no one gets hurt. Let’s be real—you don’t get hurt.”

  The other man’s face twitched and he leaned to the side to look past Trey. “Fuck, that’s his truck, isn’t it? Only that bastard drives some old piece of
shit like that.”

  Trey stopped himself from throwing a punch. Dissing an F-350 should be punished with a beat-down to end all beat-downs. Brownstone would agree.

  The advantage of people mistaking his truck for James’, however, wasn’t lost on Trey. If anything, it’d already de-escalated the situation. Conners didn’t try to run.

  Time to bring this shit home.

  “It’s not Brownstone’s truck,” Trey admitted. “It’s mine.”

  “What? Every one of you fucks drives an old truck now?”

  “Something like that. So, you gonna come or what? I told the 5-0 that I’d have you tonight.”

  Conners’ gaze flicked to the side for a moment. “If that’s not his truck, then he’s probably not around.”

  “Don’t you listen? I told you how this was gonna work. You aren’t worth his time.”

  “Bullshit. You’re just some bitch pretending to work for Brownstone.”

  Trey squared his shoulders. “You’re about to make this very painful for yourself, Conners.”

  Conners threw a punch, but Trey ducked the blow with ease and pounded a knee into the man’s crotch.

  The bounty let out a yowl. The newbie bounty hunter followed with a rising uppercut and a kick. Conners collapsed to the ground.

  Trey slammed the tip of one of his Oxfords into the man’s stomach. “Now why the fuck did you gotta go and do that, you stupid motherfucker?” he shouted, his street language, inflection, and rhythm returning. “You almost messed up my fuckin’ suit. I ain’t even be paid yet and you gonna go all up and cause me trouble?”

  Conners stumbled to his feet, groaning. Trey slammed him into the wall and pinned an arm behind his back.

  “I ain’t gonna be pissed at you for playin’ the game, motherfucker, but you’re a dipshit. You got yourself the wrong sort of attention. You should just be happy it ain’t my boss here. He would’ve kicked your ass through a window already for being a dumb shit.”

  The bounty jabbed at Trey’s body with his free elbow. Trey returned the favor with a few kidney punches, then swept one of the man’s legs, dropping him to his knees. The bounty hunter slammed Conners’ head against the wall a few times.

  Maybe it was excessive, but it was still nicer than his boss would have been.

  “Bitch, please! You think you’re all tough? You don’t know shit about real fightin’. Street livin’ ain’t about your bullshit con jobs. Now stop being a pussy. Even if your ass gets away, all that’s gonna happen is Brownstone’s gonna come lookin’, and then you’re gonna get the real beatdown.”

  Conners stop struggling. His bloodied face left stains on the wall.

  “You’re not shitting me? You really are with Brownstone?”

  “Yeah, motherfucker. Guess we need to print up some fucking business cards or some shit.” Trey cleared his throat, and when he next spoke his voice had shifted from Gangster Trey to Smooth Trey. “Now, you want me to continue beating your ass down on the off-chance you escape? I’ll just call the big man up and tell him what happened.”

  Conners grunted. “I don’t want him coming after my ass.”

  Trey yanked Conners up and handcuffed him. “Damned right you don’t.” He glanced down at his suit. “Shit, you got blood all over my suit, motherfucker. You’re lucky you didn’t break my sunglasses.”

  “I’m sorry. Don’t tell Brownstone.”

  Trey shoved the man out the door.

  I should fucking bill the cops for my dry cleaning.

  8

  James sat behind a table, looking up at the Detroit PD’s AET tactical commander, Lieutenant Walsh. The cop was a barrel-chested rusty-bearded man with a good six inches on the bounty hunter. He looked more like a pirate than a cop. Just needed a parrot.

  A half-dozen more AET members were spread around the table.

  James drummed his fingers on his leg. He didn’t know any of these cops, and half-wondered if the whole call for help was part of a plan by the AET officers in LA who hated him.

  I wouldn’t put it past some of them. That Lieutenant Hall seems to really want my ass in prison.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Brownstone,” Lieutenant Walsh began. “We’ve been lucky in Detroit that a lot of the high-end bounties pass us over. Not always bad being fly-over country, I guess.”

  Several of the other cops chuckled.

  James nodded. “Mack wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the details, so I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be tracking.”

  “We’re sorry about keeping this so hush-hush, but we didn’t want to spook the guy. We figured that would give you a better chance of catching him before he causes trouble.”

  James grunted. “Could have scared him off by mentioning me if you didn’t want him around here.”

  Lieutenant Walsh shook his head. “Then we just send this asshole to another city to hurt innocent people. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t sit well with me.”

  James nodded his agreement. He liked Walsh. The man didn’t seem like a glory hound.

  “Okay, what’s the bounty’s deal?”

  “His name is Jacob Leesom, and, well, this is where things get complicated.”

  James groaned. “I hate complicated shit. I’ve found that punching it hard enough makes it simple.”

  Several of the cops laughed.

  Lieutenant Walsh cracked a smile. “Leesom was a necromancer. Is a necromancer.”

  “Motherfucking zombies,” James growled.

  The lieutenant shook his head. “Not that kind of necromancer, thank God, but he’s nasty in another way. You see, he can switch into new bodies. He can’t just hop instantly—it requires some effort and like a day from what we understand, so you don’t have to worry about him jumping from body to body—but it means we have no idea what Leesom currently looks like. He could be a man or a woman. Elf or human. Young or old.” He shrugged.

  “How the fuck do you even know he’s here?”

  The lieutenant moved over to a lectern and tapped a few commands into a keyboard. A police image of a withered husk of a body popped onto a screen in the front of the room. The cracked and dried corpse looked like it might turn to dust at a touch.

  “This body was found in an empty apartment a few days ago after someone started complaining about the smell. We brought in some specialists to do some testing, and their results, both magical and medical, are consistent with previous tests of Leesom’s victims. This was probably his previous host or whatever you want to call it.”

  James twitched, heat flooding his face and his breathing turning ragged. Zombies were a grotesque affront to nature and God’s plan, but hijacking another person’s body to wear them like a suit? Leesom had found a way to make necromancy even more disgusting.

  Congratulations, asshole. I’m gonna really enjoy taking your twisted ass down.

  “Anything else I should know?” James rumbled.

  “Yeah. Because the bodies aren’t technically alive by the time he switches into them, they are hard to kill. Just shooting them in the head or heart won’t work. You have to…” The lieutenant paled and averted his eyes. “You have to remove the head from the body.”

  “Decapitate the fucker. Sure thing.” James stared at the corpse on the screen. He’d have no problem ripping the fucker’s head off.

  “Enhanced strength as well.”

  James snorted. “Not a problem.”

  Lieutenant Walsh raised an eyebrow. “Well, that was why we wanted you, Mr. Brownstone. We figured if you can take out an entire gang, you can help with Leesom.”

  “Just Leesom? He doesn’t have some sort of nickname like ‘The Bodysnatcher’ or ‘Jumper?’”

  The cops exchanged glances and shrugged.

  Damn. That means he’s probably not as arrogant and stupid as half the guys I deal with.

  Lieutenant Walsh nodded toward the screen. “This guy’s a monster. Anything you can do to help us stop him would be appreciated.”

  James nodd
ed. “Okay, just send me the information on the apartment. I’m gonna want to go check it out myself.”

  “Sure. One last thing. Uh, after you, do the deed, you’re gonna need to bring us his body.”

  “So this is dead or alive, with an emphasis on dead?”

  “Yeah, but to be clear, we need the body. All parts of it, including the head. We’re going to have a magic specialist confirm he’s dead. You know, dead-dead. Not just undead.”

  James chuckled. “Decapitate the fucker, bag ‘im, and bring ‘im in. Understood, Lieutenant.”

  It didn’t seem like telling them he’d taken the heads of bounties in the past had made them feel any better. Everyone looked really uncomfortable.

  If you’re not already out of town, Leesom, I’m gonna find you and deliver a real death. Then you can go meet the Devil and tell him I’m gonna kick his ass eventually, too.

  A few hours later James sat in a White Castle parking lot in his U-Haul. He originally thought about grabbing a 4Runner but figured it’d be easier to hose out the U-Haul if things got messy.

  He tossed a slider in his mouth and chewed.

  I’m getting fuckin nowhere fast. Glad Shay’s not here to see this shit. It’s damn embarrassing.

  His inspection of the apartment had turned up nothing. Big fat surprise, considering the cops had already been over it. He had no fucking idea how to proceed.

  James lived and worked mostly in LA. Outside of that city, he lacked any real contacts. When he’d taken down out-of-country bounties, other people had provided him the information he needed to track his targets, but the local cops had no clue at all where Leesom might be hiding.

  Fuck. You ain’t in LA, and you ain’t got contacts.

  James didn’t have any ideas about local information brokers he could pay, threaten, or beg for information. Even a pissant Detroit version of Tyler would have been welcome.

  His hand dropped to the amulet resting underneath his shirt. He’d separated it from his body with a piece of metal, unsure if he’d need to use it against Leesom.