The Unbelievable Mr Brownstone Omnibus 3

by Michael Anderle

  “Okay, that’s logical.” Shay tapped her lips. “But where?”

  “Maybe the Salton Sea. There won’t be any collateral damage, and I’ve fought different people out there.”

  “You love that place so much, you should build a cabin out there.” Shay snorted.

  James shrugged. “It’s remote, and there’s not a lot of people there anymore. It’s good for ass-kicking, and it’s perfect for this kind of situation.”

  Shay sighed. “It’s also pointless. Everything we’ve found suggests she’s got good land mobility, but no teleporting and no flying. Not only that, she’s concerned about being spotted, or she wouldn’t bother with jamming and shit like that. There’s no way we can guarantee she’d be willing to go all the way out to a place like the Salton Sea.” She shook her head. “We need somewhere in the LA or Vegas metro areas, places within easy reach of where she’s already been spotted. We could clear out a park or something. The police were the ones who came sniffing for you. They’ll agree to help.”

  James grunted. “I don’t want any more cops involved. She’s already proven she doesn’t give a shit about hurting cops, and if they aren’t AET, they might end up getting killed. I’ve got every reason to believe it’s that alien bitch, which means this isn’t just a bounty, it’s personal. I don’t need to drag the police into my personal shit any more than they already have been. Fuck this alien bitch, and fuck the Vax.”

  “That pushes us back to our same basic question. Where, then?”

  “Maybe Chino Hills?” James worked his jaw as he thought over the possibilities. “If I go at night, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Shay shook her head. “There have been no Silver Ghost sightings in that area or other areas like that. It’s probably still too remote. She’s sticking to the city for a reason, even if it’s just mobility and hiding, so it’s going to need to be in the city proper.”

  James grunted. “Plenty of abandoned buildings around town. From what we’ve heard about her abilities, it’s not like she’s going to blow up a city block.”

  Shay stared at him. “You might, if you get pissed enough.”

  “Need to make sure there’s enough old shit around to blow up, then.” James picked up his phone. “I only give a shit about her killing people, not property damage. I can always pay for it.” He tapped in a search.

  Abandoned locations in metro Los Angeles.

  Shay peered at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking shit up on the internet.” James shrugged. “Who knows, maybe they have a good suggestion? Lot of bored people sit around figuring shit like this out.”

  Shay snickered. “Seriously? You’ve got two crack hackers, a brilliant girlfriend—if I do say so myself—access to informant networks, police records, and elves, and you’re doing an internet search?”

  “Despite what you think, sometimes the simplest method is the best.” James shrugged. “I found Jessie Rae’s from an internet search, and that’s one of the best things that has ever happened to me.”

  “James Brownstone, going through life off what search engines give him.” Shay grinned. “That explains so much about you.”

  He brought up the first link, read through it, and grunted. “Lots of tunnels, but some of those aren’t abandoned. Shit, Harry and Lily and all of them were living in that nuclear tunnel. Plus, too many tunnels run under places with lots of people. Plus, I don’t want to take her on in some fucking maze where she might escape when I start winning.”

  A quick tap took him to the next link. More tunnels.

  After that, the problem was the definition used by the sites of the word “abandoned” seemed stretched beyond usefulness, including calling locations abandoned that had been left by their original owners and then turned into tourist attractions. Tourists might be annoying, but they didn’t deserve to die in an alien-on-alien crossfire.

  After a few minutes, James stopped and narrowed his eyes at a link. He tapped it and quickly read the description. “I think I’ve got a place.”

  Shay smiled. “All hail the internet. What place is that?”

  “Northwest Pacific Hospital. It’s been abandoned for years, it’s in the general metro area, and people avoid it. Even the homeless, according to this site, because ghosts and other magic shit show up there from time to time. Apparently, people have been riding the politicians to have PDA show up and do something about it, but they say there’s no significant threat to the public, so it’s not a good use of resources.” James grunted.

  “Ghosts can be annoying.” Shay shrugged. “But they also have the advantage of being dead already, so it’s not like you’ll hurt them more if you end up having to blow up the building or some shit. Sounds like a good choice, and there might not even be any ghosts there.”

  “Now I just have to get her there.” James furrowed his brow. “Heather and Peyton can probably do that with the stuff they found.”

  “If you have them push it too hard, it might bring other people looking to take a shot at you. Just keep that in mind. You don’t want a repeat of your pay-per-view surprise.”

  “I’ll go in ready and bonded, and I’ve got much better control of Whispy now.” James snorted. “If anyone else wants to get in the way, I’ll fucking knock them to the side. If they’re in LA and they haven’t bought a fucking clue by now, there isn’t anything anyone can do for them.” He nodded. “Yeah, time to have Heather and Peyton start pushing.”

  James stared down at the image of the dilapidated hospital, windows cracked and trash strewn outside. It made him think of the cops still in the hospital after their encounter with the Ghost, and he let out a low growl.

  Time to clean up my mess.

  Senator Johnston rested comfortably in his chair, a leather-bound copy of A Tale of Two Cities in hand. He had reread the book each year since he’d first read it as a boy. It always reminded him of both the suffering of the people when their leaders became indulgent and corrupt, and how that suffering could metastasize into something just as corrupt and terrible when left unaddressed. It was a lesson that any professional politician should keep in mind.

  His secure phone chimed from atop a stand near his chair. He reached over and picked it up.

  “Always some crisis. Let’s see the damage today.” The senator chuckled and looked at his text log. He frowned as he saw that the last one was from an unknown number.

  FENRIR WAKES. LOOKS LIKE HE WANTS AN EAGLE FOR DINNER.

  The senator let out a long sigh. “Damn, and I was having such a good day.”

  He brought up his contracts list and scrolled down until he arrived at “Aunt Matilda.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a portable DNA and retinal scanner, which he connected to his phone. He dialed the number.

  Four melodic notes played when it answered.

  “Johnston, Angus,” he intoned. He placed his thumb on the silver pad and grimaced at the burn before placing his eye over the retinal scanner.

  Four different melodic notes played.

  It was time for the passphrase.

  The senator inhaled deeply and quoted Tom Sawyer. “Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it—namely, that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain.”

  Wonder what Sam Clemens would think of our modern world? Same corruption, but now with magic. Talk about interesting times to be alive.

  “Receipt of your call has been acknowledged and recorded,” a man replied. “Please note that Protocol 2038 is now active per existing procedures, and will stay active until explicitly countermanded by the President.”

  “Duly noted, son.” The senator took a deep breath. The next few days might amount to nothing more than rumors on the internet for the bulk of humanity, or they might change everything the same way Oriceran had, but if he and the rest of the government in the know about extraterrestrial life we
re doing their damned jobs, it’d be the former.

  Never liked Project Ragnarok, Fortis, or any of the other bastards who were supposed to be protecting us. Asking a soldier to lay down his life in defense of his country and planet is one thing. At least he knows the deal. But what good is a government that sacrifices its citizens without asking because they aren’t confident they can protect them?

  Johnston snorted. Just call him Theseus. No more innocent sacrifices. He might not make all the calls, but for this first play, he was the quarterback.

  “Pursuant to the protocol, I need alpha-class heavy strike teams with air support, both tactical and strategic level. I want coverage of about three hundred miles per team with rapid response capabilities, up to and including dedicated PDA support. Have them all on combat standby. Please pass up a potential Cleansing Fire solution to the President with a recommendation of ‘unnecessary at this time.’ He’ll have to be the one to authorize it.”

  The man on the other end audibly swallowed. “Yes, sir. Noted, sir.”

  Good, son. Always be afraid of nukes, even when they’re ours.

  “I also want dedicated 24/7 recon on James Brownstone. We need to know where he is at all times until Protocol 2038 is canceled.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

  The senator frowned. “Nothing more. Say a few extra prayers over the next few days, son.”

  “Sir?”

  “God helps those who help themselves.” The senator ended the call and sighed.

  18

  Trey yawned and patted his mouth with his hand. “Damn, is this shit boring! I’ve got a new respect for cops having to sit around on stake-outs and shit. We don’t even have donuts and coffee.”

  Trey’s F-350 sat in a crowded parking lot across from a busy bar. They were so close they didn’t even need binoculars to see most people’s faces through the side windows.

  Victoria idly examined her nails, which were painted bright red. “Are you sure about being this close? We can see everything, but we’re in a huge-ass truck, and everyone can see us. Someone might not like the fact that bounty hunters are sitting here watching a Mafia bar.”

  “Maybe they can’t see us. We’re not the ones sitting in a lit-up bar.”

  “They can probably see this big-ass truck.”

  “Big fucking deal. They can handle it. We’ve made it fucking clear around town that we’re not interested in trash right now. Those fuckers just have to listen.” Trey shrugged. “And they don’t want to get in our way until we’ve snagged the Ghost. If I was these Mafia guys, maybe I’d be going to town and having a great time for the next few days or however long it takes us to find the Ghost.”

  “It’s funny when you think about it.” Victoria sighed. “The low-level guys are easy to track down because they don’t have the muscle and resources to hide themselves, and the high-level guys are easy because they’re usually too arrogant to completely hide, but this Silver Ghost is really doing a good job of keeping herself scarce. I wasn’t certain about your false level five theory, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. If she’s half as powerful as everyone keeps saying, she’d be pulling a Brownstone and issuing public challenges to criminals. I just wish she’d crawl up from the sewer already. And I agree with you—stake-outs are boring.”

  “Don’t matter much. The entire Brownstone Agency is looking for the bitch, and the cops, too. If she pops up in LA or Vegas again, we’re gonna nail her.” Trey grinned. “I went ahead and told the other teams that if they spot her to let me know, but not to engage. They ain’t you or me. They’ll get fucked up if they try.”

  “You’ve been getting a lot of texts. No sightings?” Victoria frowned.

  Trey shook his head. “Boring shit. Everyone’s frustrated, because it’s like the minute we stop chasing other bounties, those criminal bastards all start walking in front of us, almost like they’re taunting us and shit, but we can’t do anything because they’re just the bait.” He gestured at the bar. “Just like all those Mafia fucks inside are. From what I’ve heard, that particular family has been pushing themselves into some nasty shit. They sound like the kind of people who’d get a vigilante after them. It’s why I picked this spot for us. Our best bet, assuming the Silver Ghost is even in town. According to some shit Heather passed along, her and Peyton did some computer shit, and their program says the Ghost might have a better chance of being in Vegas right now than LA, and will probably be going after the family we’re watching. Who the fuck knows, though, right?”

  “Speaking of family men, we might have some trouble.” Victoria nodded toward the restaurant.

  Two suited goons in too-tight suits stood in front of the doorway, gesturing in the general direction of the truck.

  “Whatever. Fuckers.” Trey reached into his pocket to slip on his gloves. “They best not be shooting up my baby, or I’m gonna go more Brownstone than Brownstone on them.” He opened the door and stepped out. “You stay here. You don’t have to listen to me, but you might not want to magic up yet. That might set them off.”

  Victoria grinned. “Let’s see how good you are at talking your way out of this situation. Sometimes your mouth can be a weapon.”

  “That it is. That it is.” Trey walked to the front of his truck and leaned against it, his arms crossed, staring at the two goons in open defiance. All negotiations should be started from a position of power, and in this case, he could back things up.

  They frowned. One of the goons leaned in to say something to the other, who nodded. A few seconds later, they walked toward a crosswalk and waited for the walk signal.

  Various cars zoomed by at high speed as the bounty hunter and the mobsters continued to watch each other, neither side betraying emotion.

  Trey looked around and sighed. Lincolns. Lexuses. BMWs. Mercedes. Too many damned fancy expensive cars.

  Don’t be starting shit, you dumb motherfuckers, especially in a parking lot. Only two of you fuckers. You won’t have a chance anyway.

  “Maybe these are all mob fuckers’ cars,” he murmured. “It might be funny to beat them up after all.”

  The walk signal popped on and the mobsters jogged across the street, slowing when they hit the new sidewalk so they could channel more swagger into their strut as they approached the bounty hunter.

  Trey yawned again and lowered his arms but kept his hand out of his jacket. He wasn’t afraid of the mobsters, but he didn’t want to start an unnecessary fight and risk either his truck or the life of any innocent bastard who might be sitting in the mob-controlled bar.

  It made him think of Johnny Lee. From what witnesses had passed on to the police, one of the man’s last decent acts on Earth was to clear out everybody but his boys when he realized trouble was coming. No innocent people got caught in the crossfire.

  Even gangsters have morals. Shit, what am I saying? I used to be a gang member. Maybe if James had gotten his hands on Johnny Lee and his boys, he could have turned them around too.

  Trey clucked his tongue, thinking of one of Nana’s favorite sayings. “There but for the grace of God go I.”

  The men closed to a few yards away, still on the sidewalk, a small chain running through cement posts the only thing separating them from the parking lot.

  “Nice night,” Trey announced, his voice full of cheer. “Don’t you agree, gentlemen?” He inhaled. “Not too cold. Not too hot.” He shrugged. “I’m sure as fine suit-wearers yourselves, you can appreciate the problem of being in a suit in Vegas in the middle of the day in May.” He laughed. “That shit I’m gonna have to get used to. LA people like to think it’s hot, but five degrees here and ten degrees there makes a huge difference. Oh, you should know before you say whatever it is you’re about to say, that I’ll be moving here all permanent-like soon. Keep that in mind. Don’t want to get on my bad side.”

  The two goons exchanged frowns. Trey didn’t recognize them, but that only meant they had no bounties and he hadn’t kicked their asses befo
re. The Brownstone Agency presence in Las Vegas might be spreading, but they still maintained a far lower profile than they did in Los Angeles and probably would for the near future, even with Trey there.

  One of the goons cleared his throat. “You’re Trey Garfield, right?”

  Trey gave them his best smile, the one he normally reserved for his grandmother. “That’s me, yes. Trey Garfield with the Brownstone Agency. At your service and all that shit.” He offered them an exaggerated bow.

  The goon frowned. “What are you doing here?” He nodded toward the bar. “You know who owns that place, right?”

  “Yeah, I know who owns that place.” Trey shrugged and glanced at Victoria, who was watching the confrontation unfold. The tip of her golden wand was barely visible above the dashboard, but the mobsters might not know what they were seeing if they looked that way.

  “That’s the problem, you see?” the goon replied. He flexed his fingers a few times, and his mouth twitched. “We can’t have bounty hunters sitting outside family businesses. It’s not good.”

  Trey snorted. “I ain’t here for any of your family, so why do you care?”

  “It makes us look bad to have a bounty hunter just sitting out here. It makes it look like we can’t guarantee the safety of our customers. That makes us seem weak.” The goon frowned, and his friend nodded in agreement.

  “So, what, you think someone’s gonna take a swing at you because little old Trey and his partner are sitting in a parking lot? Shit, not my fucking problem.”