James snorted. “I didn’t have problems before the Harriken, and now they aren’t around anymore to be a problem.”
“Just saying you really think you can revitalize that neighborhood? That why you rebuilt your house?”
“I’m not trying shit, Mack. I just liked my location. I’m rebuilding, and the neighborhood has my back. If it’s shitty, then we’ll work together to clean it up.” James’ hand tightened around the phone. He took a deep breath and loosened his grip. “You remember that shit with the first Harriken bounty on me? Some asshole from Laguna Beach called me, said he was representing HOAs there. Didn’t want me driving through because they were worried about damage.”
“Huh. Didn’t know that.”
James snorted. “The fucking point is that maybe the people in my neighborhood are poor and maybe a few of them are criminals, but I know they have my fucking back. If I moved to some neighborhood filled with rich pricks, I know they wouldn’t give two fucks about me. Yeah, you remember who your friends are when shit gets real.”
“I understand, Brownstone.”
“Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”
Nope, I’m not moving.
James gulped some beer. “The assholes with the nicknames are the worst. They always have to give me a big speech about how tough they are before I pound their fucking smug faces in.”
Lieutenant Walsh laughed. “Yeah, you’re right, when I think about it. Which has been the worst for you lately?”
“This dick who called himself ‘King Pyro.’ Talk about a fucking ego.”
“Yeah, I read about him. The king is dead, long live the king, I guess.” The cop smirked.
Several of the other police officers chuckled and nodded in agreement.
Two burly young men in crew cuts advanced on James and the cops tensed and rose from their seats.
James gestured for them to sit down. If someone wanted a few rounds with him, he’d be more than happy to comply. They’d regret it, and the cops wouldn’t have to get involved.
“You’re James Brownstone, right?” one of the new arrivals asked.
“Yeah. What about it?”
The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Lance Corporal Nelson, United States Marine Corps.” He nodded at the other man. “This is Lance Corporal Larsen.”
James gave the Marine a firm handshake. “What can do for you?”
“We wanted to buy you a beer.”
The bounty hunter shook his head. “I should buy you guys beers, not the other way.”
“Nah, you don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“How much great fucking publicity the entire Corps got out of that shit at Pendleton. Our Gunny won’t shut up about it, and our CO says recruitment’s up all over the country. The least we can do is buy you a beer.”
James chuckled. “Your money.”
A couple of hours later it was down to James, Walsh, and the two Marines. The beer and whiskey had flowed freely, and the red faces on everyone but James and their slurred speech proved they were well past drunk and all the way to smashed.
James hadn’t skimped on the drinks but was only buzzed, not smashed. For whatever reason, it took a lot of booze to get him drunk. Always had.
Guess maybe it’s some of that alien shit. Maybe I should be drinking a bunch of Coca-Cola or something to get wasted.
“Shit, Walsh, you served?” Nelson asked. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“Yeah. Army, but a long time ago. I got in trouble all the time, though. I barely managed to get out with my honorable discharge.”
Nelson eyed the cop. “What? You get in a lot of fights or something?”
“All the time. Especially with Marines.”
“You win?”
“Sometimes. Not often enough.”
Everyone laughed.
Walsh shrugged. “Plus I used to piss off my CO during PT by leading the guys in ribald cadences. He kept talking about how I was going to get the unit written up.”
James looked up from his beer. “Ribald cadences?”
“Yeah, dirty shit. The kind of shit that gets you in trouble with people who want a more…professional military.”
Nelson nodded. “Yeah, we got a female Marine in our unit who likes them. She thinks they’re hilarious.”
Walsh sipped some more beer before responding, though at this point he was so drunk he swayed when he spoke. “I think my favorite always was ‘Monkey from the Coconut Grove.’ You know that one?”
“Yeah, that Marine I just told you about taught us.” Nelson grinned and nodded to Larsen.
All three men stood and opened their mouths.
“Up jumped the monkey from the coconut grove.
He was a bad motor scooter, you could tell by his clothes.
He wore a four-button diddy with a double-knit stitch.
He was a muff-bucking motherfucking sonofabitch.
He had cast-iron balls and a blue-steel rod.
He could hip-fire Vulcan and thought he was God.
Lined a hundred women up against a wall
And on a two-dollar bet said he could fuck ‘em all.
Well, he fucked ninety-eight till his balls turned blue.
Then backed off, jacked off and fucked the other two!
Singing hey, I feel all right now
Hey, really out of sight now.”
Everyone else in the bar laughed and clapped.
James rubbed his temples. This shit was worse than the Professor’s last Bard of Filth competition. At least the limericks didn’t go on as long.
“That shit doesn’t even make sense,” he blurted before even thinking what he was saying.
Walsh laughed. “What doesn’t make sense, Brownstone?”
“How the hell would you fuck a hundred women anyway?”
All three of the men laughed even harder now.
Nelson sat down. “Trying to protect your good-guy cred, Brownstone?”
James grimaced. Good-guy cred. That and the fact that he was a virgin—about the last thing he wanted to admit to two Marines and a cop.
If sex was great, then it made more sense to spend a lot of time with one woman than fucking a hundred. Shay was still waiting for him to make a move and he hadn’t. Maybe she still thought he was gay, even if they were together.
He didn’t know. Didn’t care. Sex would come when the time was right.
“Just saying,” James mumbled.
Nelson waved a hand. “Shit, that one isn’t even that bad. You want bad? How about this?”
This time the Marine kept his voice down.
“Whip me, beat me, I need love.
Let me feel that leather glove!
Swing it round and let it crack.
Lay that whip across my back.
Walk spiked heels across my back,
Fishhooks through my scrotum sack.
Whips and chains, now they’re a blast.
Let’s go, baby. Spank my ass!”
Everyone at the table winced.
James stared at Nelson. “You run around shouting this shit all the time?”
I better never get the Professor in the same room as these guys. All those fucked-up sex songs and limericks will probably a blow a new portal straight to Oriceran.
The Marine laughed. “Nope. We can’t even do most of these most of the time. It’s like Walsh said—you use those cadences, you get in trouble, at least if a tight-ass hears you. But we have bad-ass ones anyway.” He cleared his throat.
“Above the land,
Across the sea,
We're everywhere,
We need to be.
We're brothers of,
A special kind,
A better band,
You'll never find.
Band of brothers,
That's what we are,
Fighting evil,
Near and far.
Band of brothers,
That's what I said,
Baptize
d by fire,
Scarred by lead.
We're lean and mean,
And fit to fight,
Anywhere,
Day or night.
When bullets fly,
And rockets fall,
We'll stand our ground,
And give our all.
We're on the move,
We're on the march,
We're diggin' ditches,
And breakin' starch.
When you hear,
Our battle cry,
You better move,
And step aside.
Band of brothers,
That's what we said,
Mess with us,
We'll shoot you dead.
Band of brothers,
Trained to kill,
If we don't getcha,
Our sisters will.”
James grunted. “Now that shit I like.”
10
James surveyed the empty living room, rubbing his chin. Empty houses unsettled his stomach. They always made him think of death.
A home was meant for occupation. It was so much more than the walls.
This wasn’t a home, not yet. It was just wood, paint, and metal, an artifact with no meaning.
This is my land, and this will be my home again. And Alison’s. Shit, maybe Shay’s in the future.
James grunted. Maybe not. The woman’s tastes ran in a different direction than his, and despite their relationship, she still taunted him about his attention to fine detail.
Being concerned about cleanliness and keeping your living space organized wasn’t being anal. It was about keeping things simple. Why couldn’t Shay understand that?
At least she’s not calling me a dumbass anymore. Maybe we’re best if we don’t spend too much time together? Or maybe we should spend more time together? Fuck, I don’t know.
Bill, the construction foreman, sighed. “Almost finished with the plumbing and electrical work, Mr. Brownstone. Plus, your little surprises need to be completed. The exit to the safe room in the basement is pretty much finished, but we’re waiting on a few specialty parts before we can get the floor-hatch from your daughter’s room into the basement finished.”
James nodded. Everything was coming together easier than he’d dared hope. He was half-convinced someone would show up in the middle of construction and launch another few rockets. Even Trey’s gang watching the place wouldn’t have been able to prevent that.
“How long do you think it’ll take to finish up everything?”
Bill shrugged. “A week, tops.”
“Good.” James nodded and wandered into the kitchen. He still had a few little touches to handle personally, including access issues for Alison’s safety hatch. The girl might be able to feel around for the handle, but in an emergency, seconds mattered.
He’d asked Zoe if she could recommend anyone to help him with his problem, and she’d put him in contact with a runes witch who would inscribe a few runes Alison could perceive without normal human sight.
“This shit is really coming together,” James mumbled.
A home with a family. Who would have ever seen that coming?
An hour later, after Bill departed, a familiar F-350 rolled up with Trey at the wheel. Two of his gang rode with him.
James waved to the men and sat on the steps of his new porch. The three men stepped out of the truck and moved toward the bounty hunter, hands in their pockets.
The juxtaposition of Trey in his suit and sunglasses with the low-hanging jeans, white beaters, and bandanas of the other two gang members made James snort.
“Sorry I only dropped you a text, Trey,” he started. “I wanted to tell you in person that you did a good job while I was gone. Any other problems I should know about?”
Trey shrugged. “Nah. Not really.”
“On to everything in the app?”
“Yeah. It’s not hard. The only problem…” Trey frowned. “Nah, it’s not important.”
James shook his head. “Tell me.”
“I’m just annoyed, is all.”
“Annoyed?”
“They always run. No one just gives up. It ends the same way, so why not just give up?”
James grinned. “Yeah. They’ll do that at first, until the reputation of the agency spreads. Then you’ll be able to get the small guys to surrender, but you’ll start to get bored and want them to run.”
Trey crossed his arms. “You know, we could corner the market on these small guys if we work hard, Mr. Brownstone.”
James stared at Trey. The man’s shift in language didn’t surprise him in and of itself, but the fact the new bounty hunter was doing it in front of two of his gang members did.
“Why so respectful?” the bounty hunter asked, keeping his tone neutral. “You got the suit on now, so you want to dial it down or some shit?”
Trey shook his head. “You’re my boss now, Mr. Brownstone, not just a man in my hood. I respected you before, but now I’ve also got to set an example for my boys. Respect needs to come from the bottom.”
James grunted. “No. Respect needs to be earned, not given just because I’m tossing you a paycheck.”
“You’ve earned your respect.”
“And you’ve long since earned mine. I’m not ‘Mr. Brownstone’ to you anymore. I’m James.”
“Okay, then, James.” Trey grinned. “You’re still the boss.”
James smirked and nodded to the two other gang members. “These are the two you told me about?”
“Yeah, these boys know what’s up. I think they can do a lot more than protect property or collect information. This is Daryl and Isaiah.”
James shook both the men’s hands. They remained silent, trying a little too hard to look tough.
“And you think they’re ready?”
“No, James, I think they have potential.” Trey furrowed his brow and looked away. “The problem is, gangbanging involves a lot of fronting. I want to whip the boys into shape—you know, give them real discipline—but now I’m running all over catching bounties. I don’t have the time, and I know you don’t have the time, so I’m trying to figure out what to do.”
The men watched James apprehensively. They wanted the job. They wanted something more than being gang members in some shitty neighborhood.
James pulled out his phone. “That’s not a problem. I think I got someone who can help.”
James pushed into the Far Shores. The dense crowd of people and raucous din reminded the bounty hunter of the Leanan Sídhe, but that was where the resemblance ended.
Photos of soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines decorated the wall in the dimly lit main room, along with various military coins. This wasn’t a pub. This was a bar.
Beyond the décor, the haircuts and builds of the average customer made it clear it was a place frequented by military personnel. The proximity to Camp Pendleton didn’t hurt.
Gunnery Sergeant Hawkins waved from a booth in the back, and a young, fit Latina woman sat next to the weathered Marine. James made his way to the booth and took a seat.
“Thanks for meeting me, Gunny,” James began. He extended his hand to the woman. “You’re Lance Corporal Vasquez, right? From what the gunny told me, you stopped me from taking a sniper round to the head. I asked him to bring you here so I could personally thank you.”
The woman gave his hand a firm shake and shrugged. “I just stopped some asshole who was trespassing. No big deal. Just doing my job.”
“My brain disagrees.” James grinned. “And I kind of like not having it splattered all over the dirt.”
Vasquez smirked. “Yeah, that shit sucks.”
James looked at the Gunny Hawkins. “Ran into some Marines in Detroit. They said recruitment was up or some shit because of what happened with the hitmen?”
The gunny nodded. “Yeah, that’s what the brass says. Lots of good press over the whole thing. A few people were worried about the active-duty military doing law-enforcement shit on US soil, but those
bastards came on to our land, so no legal worries. Hell, even a few medals are getting passed out.” He nodded to Vasquez. “She’s getting one for catching that sniper.”
Vasquez looked down at the table and her face reddened. “It wasn’t a big deal. Like I said, just doing my job.”
“That guy might not have stopped with me,” James told her. “He might have taken a few shots at Marines too. You saved lives that day.”
“If you say so,” the Marine muttered, her face now scarlet.
Gunny Hawkins chuckled. “So you said you needed some help? Since you’re not running from hitmen this time I was curious. What’s up?”
“I’ve got a new business venture, ‘the Brownstone Agency.’ A bounty hunting company.”
The gunny laughed. “I don’t know if the world can handle more than one Brownstone.”
Vasquez chuckled at that, some of her embarrassment fading.
James shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t have the time to deal with a lot of low-level bounties, so I’m trying to hire people who can.”
Gunny Hawkins nodded. “Makes sense. But I’m guessing you don’t plan to have your guys trick all those bounties onto Pendleton?”
James snorted. “Nope. That’s not the problem. What I need are disciplined men. I need to take them from thinking they are tough to actually being tough.”
“Okay. What do you got to work with?”
James locked eyes with the gunny. “Gangbangers.”
Vasquez blinked, but Gunny Hawkins didn’t change his expression at all.
“I’m willing to pay good money for someone who can whip them into proper shape rather than just being thugs,” James continued, then shrugged. “I figured you might know someone who could help me out with that.”
“Yeah, I know a guy. Just got out of the Corps. Spent time as both a recruiter and a drill instructor.”
“A drill sergeant. Perfect.”
Vasquez and Gunny Hawkins both winced.
James looked between them. “What?”
The gunny pointed to a picture of R. Lee Ermey on a nearby wall. “In the Corps, we have drill instructors. Drill sergeants are an Army thing.”
She Is The Widow Maker: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 5) Page 8
