The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series

by Craig Halloran

  “You seem like someone who has it all together.” Smiling at her, he glanced at the card. It read Cheryl Case, Attorney at Law. It had numbers, a business address, and a tag line: “Let Case Take Your Case.” He stuffed it in his pocket. “Nice meeting you, Cheri.”

  “Nice meeting you too.” Searching inside her purse, she said, “Oh, didn’t you need some change?”

  Walking away and not turning to look back, he waved her off. “No. I got it.”

  Weary limbed, he made his way over to a pay phone in front of the convenience store. People were bustling in and out, but no one aside from Cheryl paid him any mind. He picked up the receiver and pressed a combination of numbers that instructions on the phone said would make a collect call.

  The operator spoke with an Indian accent. “What number would you like to place a collect call to?”

  Smoke recited the number.

  “And who is calling?”

  “Smoke.”

  The digital tones followed, and after two rings someone picked up on the other side. It was a man.

  “Hello?”

  “Sir, I have a collect call from Mister Smoke. Do you accept the charges?”

  There was a pause and a slight gasp of surprise on the other side of the line.

  “Sir, do you accept the charges?”

  “Sure.”

  Before he hung up, the operator replied, “Thank you for using C&P-Verizon-Frontier-Bell Atlantic.”

  “Enjoying your breakfast, Reggie?” Smoke said.

  “Why John, what an early surprise it is to hear from you.”

  With a growl in his voice, Smoke said, “I survived that death trap you sent me into, toadstool. I bet you weren’t expecting that.”

  Reginald spoke after another brief pause. “As a matter of fact, I wasn’t. Kudos to you. Can I assume that you completed my mission?”

  “Find out for yourself. I want my money. I want my visit with Sid. Get it together.”

  “I’m a man of my word,” Reginald said.

  “You’re not a man. You’re a gutless turd. Why don’t you go down to The Guillotine and get reacquainted with filth like yourself?”

  “I may do just that. Mister Smoke, do you think you can fill me in on some of the details so I might know what to expect?”

  “I met your rival Vormus and staked a claim.”

  “You’re telling me he’s dead? Actually dead?”

  “He wasn’t moving when I left. The others are probably still twitching. You might want to go and see what’s left of them, unless the sun turned them to ashes.”

  Reginald chuckled. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Click.

  CHAPTER 12

  Smoke climbed out of the hyperbaric tube feeling like he could run a hundred miles. It had given him only a fraction of the energy the super vitamin did, but it was still good. Wearing only a pair of dark-blue boxer shorts and patched and stitched all over, he took a seat on a nearby padded stool.

  “How are you feeling, big man?” asked Asia, Mal Gunderson’s wife. She wore a unique terrycloth lab coat that could pass for a bathrobe. “You look a few shades better. Acupuncture now?”

  He held up his hand. “I’ll pass. I’ve had enough needles stuck in me lately.”

  He was inside a new estate Mal Gunderson had set up, a colonial in a gated suburban neighborhood on the waterfront. It was two stories high with vaulted ceilings and a full unfinished basement. Down there along with the hyperbaric tube were some bookshelves, a huge computer desk, and several monitors. The cooling fans of a server big enough to run a state department whirred nearby.

  Sam came down the steps wearing jeans and a hot-pink tank top with some glitter patterns on it. She had a tray full of sandwiches and two big shakes in tall glasses. She set it all down on the bar where Smoke sat. “I imagine you’re hungry.”

  Smoke grabbed a Dagwood sandwich and bit into it. “I am. Mmm, I like that mustard. You remembered.”

  She rubbed his head, which was the only unscathed part of him. “I’m just glad you’re still around for me to make it for you, stupid.”

  Two days had passed since Smoke got off the phone with Reginald. Samantha had finally quit grilling him for the details of his fight with the vampires. Since he arrived at Mal’s place, he’d spent a lot of time resting and taking moments in the hyperbaric tube while everyone else was doing research on Guermo and all the goons he’d fought.

  Asia reached for the other sandwich, and Samantha slapped her hand.

  “Hey!” Asia said. “I thought one was for me, you amazon.”

  “Make your own, Asia.”

  Asia glided in front of Smoke and batted her eyelashes. “Smoke, will you share your sandwiches with me?” She rubbed her belly. “So hungry.”

  With a mouthful of food and sucking on the milkshake straw, he said, “No.”

  “Why do you always tell me no? I take good care of you.”

  “If you want Sam to make you a sandwich, why don’t you just ask her?”

  Turning around to face the much taller Sam, Asia looked up. “Will you make me a sandwich?”

  “I thought you said my sandwiches were—as you so often put things—shitty.”

  “They are shitty. I just like watching big white woman make it for me.”

  Drawing back her fist, Sam said with a snarl, “I’m going to crush you like a fortune cookie.”

  Asia trotted away laughing. She headed up the steps, stopped and turned, and said, “Here is a fortune, Amazon. The giraffes miss you riding them. Go back to the circus.” She vanished upstairs.

  “I hate her,” Sam said.

  “No you don’t. You love her like a twisted sister, and you know it.”

  She shoved Smoke in the head. “Shut up.”

  He plucked the straw out and started gulping the strawberry shake down, then wiped off his mouth. “Good stuff, Sam. Thanks. Have you dug anything else up on Guermo?”

  “Mal’s coming. He’s going to brief you.”

  Smoke cocked an eyebrow. “Really? So you’ve heard something? Fill me in.”

  “No. He started hollering that he found something about ten minutes after you went in the tube, but then rushed upstairs, saying he’d be back after you got out.” She made her way over to an end table, picked up a paper, and handed it to Smoke. It was an issue of Nightfall DC. “Check it out.”

  The headline read, Club Guillotine Decapitates Self.

  There was a picture of the warehouse waterfront facility on the front page. The parking lot was filled with Federal law enforcement officials. Smoke opened up the paper and read the article written by Russ Davenport. It mentioned that several dead were found inside and how none of this story was in the local news. He quoted an FBI Agent named Cyrus Tweel, who had said to Russ, “Get the hell out of here or get arrested.” It said Russ had overheard another agent, later identified as Rebecca Lang, who was inspecting the body bags say, “They have teeth like vampires.” It said she had threatened to shoot Russ Davenport, and that he’d been roughly escorted from the premises.

  “Hmmm,” Smoke said, “seems those FBI guys are staying up on things. I can’t help but think Reginald must have tipped them off. It only figures The Drake has people inside the FBI who are checking my story out. Don’t you agree?”

  “I’m all about conspiracies. You know that.”

  Smoke was too, and the more he learned, the deeper it seemed they ran. And he was still bothered by a few other things. The Drake had been quiet. The freak shifter sightings weren’t even showing up in Russ Davenport’s paper. It bothered him. They had tried to take him out again. Perhaps something was coming after all, and they needed him out of the picture. He tossed the paper aside. “No word from Reginald, I take it.”

  “No.”

  Mal came down the steps. The scholarly olive-skinned man wore a dark-green dress shirt and brown slacks. His sleeves were rolled up, but he was tidy. “Well, look who’s out of the tube. Feeling even better, I take it.”
>
  “I’m ready to go, but I wouldn’t mind some more of those vitamins.”

  “Please, you need to be more self-reliant. Besides, I’m all out.”

  “Sure you are,” Smoke said.

  “No, really. You need to remember I’m no longer funded by those deep-pocketed Federal officials. Nope, cut off like a spoiled child from his trust fund, so you’d better be more careful.”

  “I’m always careful.”

  Sam handed Smoke a pair of jeans and a shirt that were folded up in nice pressed squares. “Asia. She’s good for some things.”

  Smoke started slipping on his clothes and said to Mal, who had sat down in front of the computer monitors, “So, you have some news on Guermo?”

  Tapping away at the keyboard, Mal said, “I do. I contacted a friend in Denmark. I’d almost forgotten about her because it had been so long and she put a curse on me when I broke up with her in favor of her sister who subsequently left me for a higher-ranking government official of the Monte Carlo regime, who coincidentally disappeared on their wedding night, which she was framed for, exonerated, and ended up marrying his brother. They’re doing quite well and have three children with alarming similarities to her sister’s husband that my friend from Denmark divorced. She says she’s doing quite well now.” He spun around in his chair and faced Smoke and Sam. “What was the question?”

  CHAPTER 13

  “The Many. Guermo. Who and what are they?” Smoke said.

  “Yes, sorry.” Mal spun back around in his seat. “I just started reminiscing about my time spent with those twins. You know, one of them had a sixth finger on each hand. Incredible typist.” He brought some images up on the screens. A castle in deep green hills appeared on one, the pictures of the members of Guermo on another. The many eyes and tentacles symbol was on another. “Turns out they’re a rival force of The Drake. As a matter of fact, according to Darlene from Denmark, The Drake split off from The Many, centuries ago. It was believed they’d been vanquished.”

  “So are they vampires, or what?” Smoke asked.

  “As I was told, they are shifters that reinvented themselves as vampires about a century ago. They aren’t the typical blood suckers you see in the movies. More or less a hack job of them. Well, sort of. They have supernatural powers akin to what they want to be like, just like all of the other shifters. Werewolves. Harpies. Minotaurs. Vampire’s the form they chose.”

  Sam shivered. “That Vormus sure seemed like a vampire to me.”

  “Based off what?” Mal said. “Have you ever really met a vampire?”

  Mal’s point made Smoke’s skin crawl. Perhaps Smoke’s stake to the heart hadn’t killed Vormus after all. He recalled the giants, Thorgrim and Rexor. He’d thought he’d wiped them out too, yet both had gotten up and walked away.

  “He landed on the car, Mal. Dropped right from the sky and stuck to the hood.” Sam shoved the scientist in the shoulder. “That’s a vampire, and he had hypnotic eyes, too. Not to mention his image didn’t show up in the picture. How do you explain that? Huh? Huh? He was a vampire!”

  Mal flipped his hands out. “Fine, he’s a vampire. It doesn’t really make any difference. The powerful shifters can be whatever they want to be. So if Vormus wants to be a vampire, then he is. And if you want him to be a vampire, Sam, then I guess he is too. Does that make you feel better?”

  “No.” She shifted toward Smoke. “You’re sure you killed him, right?”

  “I thought so. When I noticed there wasn’t a stitch of wood in that building, I started putting things together. I thought the axe handle was an oversight on their part.” He drank some more of the strawberry shake. “Figuring Vormus was a vampire, I took a stab at it. No pun intended.”

  “Did he dissolve?” Sam asked.

  “He was intact when I left.”

  Mal cut in. “Again, these aren’t movie monsters. The legends aren’t scientific fact. They are what they are: shifters, and with that come certain weaknesses. Perhaps wood does kill them. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they have it? That said, it seems that Smoke may have crushed their nest. There aren’t any other signs of The Many that I could find. In my opinion, The Drake should be happy.”

  Smoke didn’t hide his frown. If his mission wasn’t completed, then he might not see Sid. Also, it wouldn’t surprise him one bit if Reginald was jerking him around. He needed to see Sid, though. He was worried. The longer they had her, the more likely things could change. She was strong, but how strong could she be surrounded by such evil beings?

  She’d die before she gave in, wouldn’t she.

  He didn’t want her to die though. He couldn’t bear the thought. He slipped a black shirt over his shoulders that read, “Fight or Die.”

  “Maybe you should call Reginald again,” Sam said. “I wouldn’t wait around on that guy. Just bug him.”

  Smoke squeezed her shoulder. “I’m heading home. If you hear anything, let me know.”

  “Stay here, John. With us. Relax,” she said.

  “Just give me a couple days. I’ll be back.” Still filled with energy, he jogged in place. “I’m still pumped with energy from the tube. I need to do something.”

  Without getting out of his seat or looking Smoke’s way, Mal said, “Up in the coat closet is a case. Take it with you. Don’t go on any more adventures without the sweetheart suit.”

  “There’s a new one? I thought your organization was destitute?”

  “You’d be amazed what these crowdfunding campaigns can do. Stay in touch.” Mal flicked a pill bottle over his head. “And don’t forget to take your vitamins.”

  ***

  Smoke drove his Camaro to the Reflecting Pool, parked, changed clothes, and went for a long run. The hyperbaric tube had given him a ton of energy, but after an hour dripping in sweat, he decided to call it a day. He sat down on one of the benches in the shade and watched the people walk by. Families. Couples. Friends. Children. They all seemed to move in unison. Herds of people all going in the same direction. Making the same circles. The runners were few and far between. He was hoping one of them would be Sid.

  A warm breeze ripped over the waters of the Reflecting Pool. Sitting in the warm summer air, it wasn’t long before Smoke was dried off. He yawned. It wasn’t something he often did. It was practically foreign to him. He never felt tired. He was always filled with the restless energy of a hyper ten-year-old.

  Blasted vitamins. I love them. I hate them.

  He hated to admit he needed anything to aid him in fighting any man or beast. He prided himself on his own unique abilities. The super vitamin had saved him—and Sid—more than a time or two. It was an equalizer. It gave him an unexpected edge against people with supernatural powers. But it came with a price, drained him for what felt like days.

  Take your vitamins and live. Don’t follow your pride and die.

  He got up, cut underneath the tall green trees, and made his way to the parking lot. His Camaro had company. Cyrus Tweel, dressed in a dark-grey suit, was leaning against the driver’s door. Rebecca Lang, tiny with a blond ponytail, was similarly dressed and sitting on the car hood.

  Not breaking his stride, Smoke said, “Get off my car.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Rebecca slid off the hood. “You call this a car? My Jetta’s faster than this thing.”

  Cyrus chuckled.

  “What do you two space wasters want?” Smoke eyed Rebecca. “And what are you doing out of your bird cage, Tweety? I thought you had bigger responsibilities.”

  “Oh, I’m a senior agent, which means I can pretty much do as I please. So, any news from Sidney?”

  Both FBI agents knew Sid was missing. They’d contacted Smoke looking for her, during the investigation. He hadn’t let it slip, but another one of his gang had told them Sid was last seen leaving with The Drake.

  “No, why?” Smoke said.

  Cyrus and Rebecca looked at each other then back at him. Cyrus spoke next. “Were you at The Guillotine two nights ago?”


  “Why are you asking? What happened?”

  With his hands on his hips, the slender man said, “Don’t be a punk, Smoke. Were you there or not?”

  “Do you have any proof I was there?”

  “Suppose we do,” Cyrus said.

  “Then you don’t need me to answer your question, because you already know.”

  “Okay, let’s cut the bullshit,” Rebecca said as she got closer to Smoke. “We have you on video from their security. You were there and so were your friends, a Mr. Guppy and a Miss Samantha. We have bodies. No witnesses. Don’t jerk us around, Smoke. Just tell us what happened. This is off the record. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I noticed this wasn’t reported in the local news.”

  “The filthy rich know how to cover their tracks.” Cyrus took his wire-rimmed glasses off and cleaned them on his tie. “You know that. What happened in there? Why were you there?”

  “I like to dance. It looked like a place to unwind and have a good time.” Smoke pushed by Cyrus and opened his car door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got places to go.”

  “We could always take you in for questioning, Smoke. Lots of questioning,” Rebecca said.

  “Hours of questioning,” Cyrus added.

  Smoke didn’t care for either one of them. For all he knew, they were vetting him on behalf of The Drake. Especially Rebecca. There was something really strange about her. No one climbed the ladder that fast, at least not without some very deep connections. He decided to play their games a little longer.

  “How many bodies did you find?”

  Cyrus looked at Rebecca, she gave him a nod, and he said, “Five.”

  Crap!

  It sounded like Vormus was still alive, and if that was the case, Smoke wasn’t going to hear from Sid. Expressionless, he asked, “Could you identify them?”

  “They aren’t on the Black Slate, if that’s what you mean. And no, there aren’t any records. Smoke, what were you doing there? It’s not a coincidence that you were there and they are dead. And we can’t charge you for killing men that were already dead. The coroner estimates the time of their deaths to be more than a hundred years ago.” Cyrus chuckled. “It’s a mess. What happened?”