The Unbelievable Mr Brownstone Omnibus 3

by Michael Anderle

  Trey gave a little snort. “We ain’t there yet. We’re almost there, but keep in mind even the big man still has fuckers who screw with him. Sergeant Mack told me he had to put some piece of shit who threatened to shoot Thomas through a window the other day.”

  The bounty hunters all glowered.

  Kevin growled. “What motherfucker is going to take down Doggy Brownstone? We should pay them a visit and show them how we feel about that.”

  Trey threw up a hand. “Weren’t you listening? Big man handled it. We don’t need to do shit. The point is that there’s no badder motherfucker on this planet than James Brownstone. Maybe there is on Oriceran, but who gives a shit, because that ain’t Earth. And even with him being the baddest motherfucker on Earth, dumb shits still come and try to step up to him. So, yeah, it’d be cool and shit if fuckers would buy a clue about fighting the Brownstone Agency, but there will always be someone who does.” He opened his door. “Let’s arm up and do our thing.”

  The men nodded their agreement and hurried out of the vehicle, with Lachlan grabbing stun rifles from the back and handing them to each man. Soon, the four bounty hunters strode down the street, all in dark suits, though without their sunglasses, given the time of night.

  Trey had complained about that a few times, suggesting maybe James invest in augmented-reality glasses with fancy night vision for all of them. It was one of the few times Trey’s boss hadn’t seemed interested in spending extra cash on his men.

  You don’t need that shit. Sounds like you just want to look cool.

  Trey chuckled at the memory. James might be a badass, but the man had no sense of style.

  They closed on the body shop. The lights inside were still on, but the bounty hunters lacked line-of-sight on the front window.

  Trey spotted a camera. A jammer wouldn’t do shit if it were on a hardline, and part of Maria’s growing influence on the agency was restricting the use of expensive gear like EMPs to situations that warranted them to cut down on unnecessary expenses.

  He didn’t mind. He wasn’t planning on sneaking up on the bastards anyway.

  “Kevin, Daryl,” Trey began, “you cover the back. Lachlan and I are gonna knock on the front door and say hello to our friends.”

  The other two bounty hunters nodded and sprinted toward the back of the brick building.

  Trey and Lachlan strutted toward the front. If they were going to intimidate the men into surrendering, confidence would be key. They passed the front windows. A single man stood behind the counter, looking up not at a security monitor but a TV showcasing a boxing match between two Kilomea.

  Lachlan grimaced. “Shit. I forgot all about that fight. I was gonna bet on that. Championship bout.”

  Trey snorted and threw open the front door. He stepped inside, followed by Lachlan. The burly man in stained coveralls wore a nametag that said Hank, but Trey recognized him as Luke DeBois, one of their targets.

  After a few more punches between the boxers, DeBois spotted the bounty hunters, his brow knitting. “What the fuck?”

  Trey lifted his stun rifle. “Don’t like this shit, DeBois?”

  “Who the fuck are you?” The bounty’s hand edged underneath the counter.

  “I’m Trey, and this is my associate Lachlan. We represent the Brownstone Agency. You've been a bad boy, Mr. DeBois. We’d like it if you surrendered without trouble.” Trey grinned. “But for such a badass, you sure let us get the drop on you.”

  DeBois narrowed his eyes. His hand now rested underneath the counter and out of sight. “You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

  Trey shook his head. “Nah, that’s just the thing. We do, Mr. Level Three.”

  The criminal’s arm shot up, a pistol in hand.

  Trey and Lachlan fired, the blue stun bolts blasting from the rifles. DeBois jerked to the side, the shots striking the wall behind him, and opened fire, the loud report of his pistol echoing in the front room. Two bullets struck Trey.

  He winced at the pain and stumbled back, yanking his rifle to the side to lead his target and fired again. This time the stun bolt landed square in the criminal’s chest. DeBois collapsed with a groan.

  Lachlan put another bolt into him before rushing over to kick the gun out of his hand. He shouldered his rifle with a quick fling of the strap and knelt to handcuff the bounty. “Shit, you okay, Trey?”

  The other bounty hunter took a few deep breaths. His chest was sore, but the ache felt more like a solid punch to the chest rather than the rib-breaking sledgehammer he’d experienced before in that situation.

  “I’m fine.” Trey grinned. “I wouldn’t risk getting shot with my gloves without my vest, but stacking the shit is working nicely.” He nodded to DeBois. “Keep an eye on him. I’m gonna go find his friends.”

  Even if Daryl and Kevin hadn’t heard the modest buzz of the stun rifle, they would have heard DeBois’ gunshot and rushed in the back. Trey didn’t need Maria there to tell him the importance of a pincer attack.

  Trey kicked open the door to the garage and flattened himself against the wall to peek around the corner. Two dented cars sat inside, one on a jack stand. He rushed around the corner, his rifle still over his shoulder.

  This shit might be dangerous, but if I don’t test these gloves now, never gonna know how good they are.

  Someone shouted from a back hallway leading to the garage, and a few gunshots rang out.

  “Fuck,” Trey muttered.

  He sprinted toward the hallway. His boys didn’t have magic gloves. He had passed the dented car on the ground when someone sprang up from the front and swung a tire iron at his head.

  The tool connected with a resounding thud and pain shot through the side of Trey’s head. He dropped with a grunt and hissed in pain. After a few seconds, he shook his head and touched the side. It was slick with blood, and his head hurt, but he was still able to think.

  That shit should have knocked my ass clean out. Gonna need a little potion if I don’t want stitches, but I’m still in the fight. These gloves are working out nicely.

  Trey hopped to his feet and glared at the shaven-headed man who’d hit him—another of the level threes, Calloway.

  The man frowned, his hands tightening on the tire iron. “You’ve got a thick skull, bounty hunter.”

  “Nah, that ain’t it.” Trey grinned despite the pain in the side of the head. “I just know how to please a woman in bed.”

  Calloway’s face scrunched. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Trey lifted his gloved hands and smiled. “Fuck those Kilomea. Lachlan should’ve bet on my ass.”

  Kevin ran into the room.

  “You take the other guy down?” Trey called.

  Kevin frowned and nodded. He pointed his rifle at Calloway. “Just this asshole left.”

  Trey shook his head. “I need to test this shit, Kevin, so I’m gonna offer Calloway a little deal.”

  The criminal gritted his teeth and looked at Kevin and Trey.

  “You ain’t escaping right now, bitch.” Trey flexed his fingers. “I’ve got one of my boys in the front and one in the back, even beyond Kevin there.”

  The other bounty hunter nodded.

  “I can fucking kill you,” Calloway growled.

  “Yeah, that’s it. That’s what I’m talking about.” Trey slid the strap of his rifle off his shoulder and tossed the weapon behind him. “Maria’s always talking about getting tactical experience in all situations. Staff Sergeant says the same shit, and of course, our ancient Chinese brother says, ‘If in training soldiers’ commands are habitually enforced, the army will be well-disciplined.’ He was talking more about formations and shit, but I think it applies to direct fighting experience, too.”

  The bounty stared at Trey. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who the fuck is Maria? What do the… What the fuck in general?”

  Trey shook his head and clucked his tongue. “You should work on getting an education and a few ex-AET to help you. I’ll l
ay it out for you, Calloway. I need to test something, and you are as good as anyone to help me.” He patted the side of his head and hissed at the pain. “And you already proved you like to get up close and personal. I’m gonna take you on, you with your tire iron and just me with nothing but these gloves. If you beat me down, you can leave.”

  “Woah, Trey, what the fuck you talking about?” Kevin shouted.

  “It’s all right. Even if this fucker gets away tonight, we can track his ass down later. He ain’t getting away.” Trey grinned at the bounty. “So, how about it, Calloway? You got nothing to lose. Yo, Kevin, put down your rifle.”

  “Seriously, Trey?” Kevin shook his head. “This is dumb.”

  “Want to give him a chance to get away if he wins.” Trey shrugged.

  “I can see that he beat your ass already from over here. You got brain damage.”

  Trey flipped Kevin off. “I’ll show you some brain damage, motherfucker.” He turned back toward Calloway. “You ready, bitch?”

  The criminal snorted. “You’re fucking lucky you ain’t dead already. I don’t give a shit about your friends, I’m gonna wipe that fucking cocky-ass smile off your face, bounty hunter.”

  He charged and swung the tire iron. Trey jumped back, the tool missing by inches.

  Shit. To test this thing, gonna have to get hit on purpose. Glad I got an extra couple of potions from Zoe because this shit’s gonna hurt.

  Calloway growled and rushed forward, launching another attack. Trey threw up his left arm to block. The tire iron connected, and he grunted as pain radiated from his arm.

  The bounty hunter stumbled back and shook out his left arm. It had a dull throbbing ache, but his full range of motion had been preserved.

  “That shit would have normally broken my arm, I think,” Trey announced.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Lachlan called from behind him.

  “You supposed to be watching DeBois,” Trey shouted. He kept his attention on the criminal in front of him. “Don’t worry about me. Just testing my little present from my woman.”

  “You think because you went and bought yourself a truck you’re motherfucking James Brownstone? You ain’t no Brownstone, bitch.” Lachlan snorted.

  Calloway waved his tire iron. “What the fuck? Is this how you do all your bounties? Fuck you all. I ain’t no punk-ass bitch. You have any idea how many people I’ve killed?”

  He growled and charged Trey. He took another huge swing and connected with Trey’s left arm again. The bounty hunter stumbled, and Calloway smashed the arm again with a two-handed overhead swing. Pain exploded through Trey’s left arm, and it jerked, now swinging freely.

  Trey sprang up and slammed a fist squarely into the bounty’s chest. The blow landed with a loud crunch, and Calloway wheezed. He sailed backward and slammed into the wall, his eyes rolling up in the back of his head before closing as he slid down it.

  Shit. Not the distance I’ve seen the big man get, but not bad at all.

  His breathing ragged, Trey reached into his pocket with his non-broken arm to pull out a healing potion. He pulled out the stopper with his teeth, spat it out, and downed the potion in one gulp.

  Kevin hurried over to Calloway and knelt. He put his fingers to the man’s throat to take his pulse.

  “Shit,” Trey muttered as the pain began to fade. “Didn’t mean to kill the motherfucker.”

  “Did you mean to sit there and take that beating? I know you can fight better than that.” Kevin shook his head. “That shit is crazy. You trust your girlfriend that much?”

  Trey blinked a few times and rotated his now-healed left arm. “Guess I do.”

  Kevin rolled Calloway over and handcuffed him. “He’s still alive. Next time don’t take the beating first, Brownstone Junior.”

  Trey raised the gloves and grinned. “Yeah, I think I’ll leave the punching through windows shit to the big man and stick to guns.” He laughed. “Shit might help, but damned if it ain’t still hurt like a motherfucker. Still…” He kissed his fingers and raised his hands. “Thanks, Zoe. This is sweet.”

  5

  James skimmed through the messages on his phone as he leaned back in his recliner, Thomas slumbering beneath the raised footrest. Most messages concerned his barbeque team, but a few were from Trey, Maria, or Royce about agency matters. His people understood he was supposed to be on a vacation of sorts, and they were trying their best not to bother him with petty details.

  It was easy to run a successful bounty hunting agency when everyone who worked for him was so damned good at what they did. Royce and Maria were currently putting a new group of trainees through the wringer—some of the security guards who’d stood their ground against He Who Hunts’ forces at the amusement park. A man willing to face a monster without special training already had what it took to be polished into a badass bounty hunter.

  He stopped and read a text from Trey. Zoe was giving him magical artifacts now. James wasn’t sure if that was dangerous. Then again, the witch had suggested James was the dangerous one.

  Not like she’s wrong.

  His gaze drifted to his chest. His shirt covered the amulet and a spacer separated it from his skin, but when James did wear it, Whispy Doom was bolder. He was becoming more insistent about his mysterious primary directive. The damned amulet would never spell out what that was, other than insisting James keep attacking people and adapting to their attacks.

  Does he just want me to be the strongest motherfucker on the planet? What the fuck happens when I achieve the primary directive? Does he leave?

  James grunted. He’d gone from hating the amulet and never wanting to use it to depending on it as a valuable weapon. As tough as he was, he wouldn’t be able to take on a lot of higher-level bounties without Whispy Doom. That might not be a problem if he retired, but the more he thought about the idea, the less it appealed to him.

  A barbeque place might be nice, but I don’t think I was put on this Earth to cook delicious fucking meat. Plenty of pitmasters out there who can handle that, but not a lot of guys like me.

  He rubbed the amulet through his shirt. He might not know the answers to all the questions concerning his past, but he knew he was an alien—and an especially powerful one with Whispy Doom’s help.

  Maybe I’ve been wrong. The amulet gets off on me kicking ass, but he’s not trying to get me to kill everyone in sight. If I’m supposed to get stronger, there might be a reason. Maybe it’s about becoming the strongest person to protect Earth or some shit?

  James shook his head. He could think about the possibilities all day, but without more information from the damned amulet, it didn’t matter how many guesses he came up with. For all he knew, he was on some intergalactic reality show where aliens tested what would happen if they dropped a kid somewhere with traumatic memories and a bloodthirsty amulet.

  “With my luck, that’s probably the truth.” He snorted and pull up his contacts list. Time to focus on something more positive. He dialed Alison.

  “Hey, Dad,” she answered cheerfully. “Mom told me you kicked a guy through a window?”

  “He threatened Thomas.”

  “Oh,” she replied, her voice cold. “He should be happy he’s not dead.”

  “Exactly.” James grunted. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Just wanted to make sure you were coming home for Christmas Break. If you want to go to one of your friends or some island or something, I’d understand.”

  “Some island?”

  James grunted. “Yeah, you know, like the Caribbean.”

  “I want to see you and Mom,” Alison insisted. “I don’t see either of you enough. And I want to play with Thomas. If you want to go to the Caribbean, though, that’s fine with me. It might be fun.”

  “I don’t really know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been talking to Shay about doing something special, but we’re still figuring out what might work.”

  Alison laughed. “For a man who likes things to be
simple, you sure manage to complicate them, Dad.”

  “Just saying.” James frowned. “If you want to bring someone, you can. If it’s a boy, he has to sleep on the couch where Thomas can watch him.”

  “A boy?” Alison sighed. “Dad, it’ll be a long time before I’ll risk bringing any boy home to meet you.”

  “Why? Anyone you’re interested in has to go through your parents eventually.”

  “Listen to yourself,” Alison replied. “‘Go through?’ It’s not a bounty or a war. The point is, asking a boy to visit you in LA at your house isn’t just brave, it’s suicidal. I think I need to be a hundred percent sure a boy’s the one before I ask someone to risk facing James Brownstone. It’s just not fair otherwise.”

  James snorted. “If they can’t handle me, they don’t deserve you.” He looked over his shoulder to make sure Shay wasn’t around.

  “Maybe.” A few seconds of silence passed. “But if we’re talking about the future, I’m a teen, and you’re the adult.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning it might be nice for Shay to really become my mom,” Alison murmured.

  James frowned. “Oh, you want her to adopt you, too?”

  Alison let out a long sigh. “Um, not exactly. Look, Dad, I have to go. I definitely want to come home for break. I’ll be taking the train, and no, I’m not bringing any boys home. Talk to you later, and love you.”

  He felt like the conversation had slipped out of control somehow, but he didn’t understand why.

  “Okay, I love you too, Alison.”

  James stared at the dial pad, a deep frown on his face. Alison was pissed. That was the only explanation for why she’d rush off the phone.

  Why would she get upset about asking what I did? She’s the one who said she wanted Shay to be her mom.

  He slipped his phone into his pocket. What else could it mean?

  Shit.

  James grunted. If he married Shay, she would become Alison’s stepmother. She actually would become her mom.