Eye For An Eye: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 3)

by Michael Anderle

  Esteban smiled at his phone. Everything was going even better than he could have possibly imagined.

  “Soon, Isabella, soon.”

  He’d watched from afar as Brownstone engaged the hapless trio of fools. They hadn’t managed to put up much of a fight, and he was a little disappointed that Brownstone had not finished off the woman. The weak needed to be culled, not shown mercy. If it hadn’t been for the gaggle of police he would have done the deed himself.

  Something more useful came of the fight though: opportunity. With all the damage to Brownstone’s vehicle the bounty hunter wouldn’t spot the tracker Esteban had fired into it until it was too late. Even through the storm’s interference, the hitman could pick up the strong signal.

  Pay for the best and you got the best.

  Now all Esteban had to do was wait for his opportunity to finish off James Brownstone.

  Dark clouds covered the entire sky, and sheets of rain fell relentlessly. Lightning flashed, and thunder pealed in the distance.

  “Oh, now the storm comes,” James muttered as the wipers worked in vain to keep his windshield clear. Water infiltrated the back through the broken windshield, but he’d long since given up on the idea that he’d get his deposit back. He only hoped that the insurance he’d opted for would keep him from having to replace the entire vehicle.

  Strong winds buffeted the car, and he kept a tight grip on the wheel.

  It’d be pretty damn funny if he ended up getting taken out by a traffic accident rather than a hitman.

  A certain female’s voice entered his thoughts. Dumbass! And where does that leave Alison?

  The bounty hunter hadn’t spotted any tails for a while, or drones for that matter. The weather was more than enough to keep the technological spies-in-the-sky off him, and from what he’d heard on the radio there was more than a little magical energy in the storm. He could only hope that might keep any magical spying off his ass as well.

  “I need a fucking break,” James griped. He wanted to eat a little more barbecue.

  He’d worried that the hitmen might have shot up his Igloo, but there was no bullet damage to the cooler or its precious barbeque cargo. At least one thing had gone his way.

  The storm provided the cover he needed. The lack of surveillance meant he had a chance to find a place to rest for the night while he recovered from his fight with Dmitri and figured out the next part of his plan.

  The quality of the killers had gone up only slightly and the numbers were only a bit higher. He needed to find some way to get them to come at him all at once so he could finish off the Harriken’s Rent-an-Army and then go handle the gangsters directly without having to watch his back.

  James squinted into the rain. Visibility was almost non-existent, but he did spot an exit sign that said gas and lodging coming up.

  “Time to rest.”

  14

  Thank God for underground parking, James thought as the elevator dinged and he pulled his suitcase filled with gear from the car. The Igloo rested precariously on top.

  His room wasn’t that far from the elevator, so he managed to get everything to the room without incident. The last thing he needed was to spill any of his food.

  “Next time I’ll ask to borrow a cooler with wheels,” James muttered as he slid his keycard into the lock. The door clicked and he pulled everything inside.

  Getting a room at the hotel had required some quick thinking on James’ part. The best lies always contained a core of truth, so he’d explained the obvious damage to his vehicle by discussing how some ruthless criminals had tried to pull him over on the highway, which he attributed to an attempted carjacking. He claimed he’d fled and lost them, but now was too afraid to go back home.

  The shocked and gullible front desk clerk had called the police; specifically Sergeant Mack, at James’ suggestion. After a quick conversation with James, the sergeant had promptly told the clerk to not worry about the situation and that the police were aware of what had happened.

  With that taken care of, the bounty hunter finished registering for a room under the fake name of Thomas McCartney and parked the Humvee in the hotel’s underground parking garage. It would keep his vehicle out of sight of any drones or satellites even if the weather cleared.

  James still wasn’t sure if or how much the storm would protect him from magical detection, but he’d already taken on an elf and a human using an artifact and survived, so he was worried less about that issue than his building or vehicle being blown up by a rocket launcher.

  Now safely in a room for the night, James had to decide on his next move. The key to finishing the manhunt would be to pick off as many hitmen as he could using a few flashy displays of ultraviolence, but that would require somewhere he could really let loose. Maybe even cause a few explosions of his own.

  He pulled up a map of Southern California on his phone to try to plot out his driving route and possible locations for the showdown.

  James caught sight a possibility. “Coto de Caza.”

  It was a good start. The security associated with the private gated community had increased in recent decades, and James could pass through there to get to private land where a few explosions wouldn’t hurt—with appropriate compensation provided afterward.

  Their security wouldn’t stop any halfway-decent professional killer, but it’d assure that no random fools would continue following him. Once the big fish had been taken out, the losers—like the first two men who had gone after him that day—would give up and then he could take it to the Harriken.

  James scrolled a bit farther down the map and nodded as a plan crystallized. “Yeah, this could work. This could work really well. Just need a few things to make it happen.”

  James swiped to his contacts list and placed a call to the Professor.

  “Hello, lad,” the older man answered. “You’re still breathing. I’m proud of you. Many good men would already be dead by now.”

  The bounty hunter chuckled. “I’m trying.”

  “I also appreciate that my little loan didn’t backfire horribly on me.”

  “What, you were expecting someone to blow your apartment up with a rocket launcher?”

  The Professor laughed. “Yes, actually. You do have a way of attracting trouble.”

  “Well, since that went so well I’m gonna need another favor. Two, actually. I need to ask you about some things.”

  Esteban adjusted his binoculars. Despite the poor visibility due to the weather, he was sure no vehicles had left the parking garage since Brownstone’s Humvee had entered.

  The bounty hunter had obviously holed up for the night. Esteban doubted anyone else even knew the man was there. It could be an excellent opportunity to take him out.

  The hitman sucked in a breath and slowly let it out. The tactical situation favored Brownstone. Even if the man thought he was somewhat safe, he probably still had numerous weapons with him and might be half-expecting a raid on his room. And getting the location of the room might not be easy either, depending on the systems and staff.

  The hitman might have put a tracker on the vehicle, but he had no way of knowing where in the hotel his quarry was. Esteban still had surprise on his side, but that could be lost if he bumbled around seeking Brownstone.

  The narrow hallways and small rooms favored the bounty hunter, and the hitman did want to give Isabella her chance to taste blood again. It was only fair, since it’d been a while.

  Esteban shook his head. No. Taking on Brownstone tonight played to the thug’s strength, not his. More importantly, Brownstone hadn’t ditched the Humvee, which meant it’d be trivial to pick up his trail the next day.

  Tomorrow the hitman would end it. He rubbed his chin, falling even deeper into thought as he turned away.

  I might need to remove the head for easier transport. I should go buy a cleaver and a cooler.

  Shay stared down at the sleeping Alison. The field archaeologist knew she should get some rest herself, but she was sti
ll wired from the change of travel plans, worry over Brownstone, and the two hours of chattering about the school.

  Shay now knew far too much about the various social cliques at the school.

  She chuckled quietly. It might have been a school where kids were learning to harness powerful magic, but in the end they were still kids and more obsessed with the here and now than their post-education future.

  Good. The future wasn’t always pleasant.

  Alison’s phone rang and Shay rushed over to grab it. She hurried into the bathroom, closed the door, and answered the call.

  “Alison, I hope it’s not too late,” Brownstone’s deep voice began. “I figured I’d call as soon as I got a chance, and it’s just...been a busy day.”

  “It’s me,” Shay told him. “Alison’s asleep.”

  “Shay? You’re there already?”

  “Been here for a while. Spent hours talking about...a lot of stuff.” Shay chuckled. “When she spent time around me before she wasn’t as comfortable with me, but now that I’m ‘Aunt Shay’ it’s nonstop. I had no idea teenage girls talked so much.”

  Silence choked the line for a second before Brownstone replied, “I guess we both had rough childhoods in our own ways. I don’t always think about that with you.”

  Shay sighed. “Don’t get all weepy on me now; it’s not very attractive. Yeah, my teenage life was different and difficult, but it’s not something I normally spend a lot of time worrying about. And hell…Alison’s dad sold her mom to gangsters and tried to sell her too, so it hadn’t all been peaches and cream for her. As for me, mostly I just try and ignore my past.”

  “Probably a good idea, if you say so.”

  “I do say so.”

  Brownstone grunted. “Anyway, how is Alison doing?”

  “She’s fine. The headmistress all but laughed at me over the idea of Alison being in danger here, but they are still letting me stay. I’ve...kind of tried to downplay what’s going on in LA, but it doesn’t help that the kid can go on the net and read the news claiming a major gang war is going on, and your name keeps popping up in association with it.”

  “Gang war? They’re all coming after me, but it’s not really a war.” Brownstone chuckled. “More like a scrimmage. What about you? I hope you didn’t run away from something too important.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal. I was on the job in Japan. There was supposed to be an artifact at an abandoned shrine in Hokkaido: an Ainu sacred carving.”

  “Ainu?”

  “Indigenous people in Hokkaido. Anyway, when I got there the site was pretty much a crater, but I do have a good lead on where to find it after I’m done with the babysitting gig.”

  Brownstone grunted. “Sounds more interesting than my last few days of people trying to kill me.”

  “Anyone hurt you? Even you get banged up.”

  “Not much. Just scratched up a little.” Shay could practically hear the shrug.

  She frowned into the mirror as if Brownstone could see her expression somehow. “Do you have any sort of plan for ending this?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got something in the works. It’ll at least get the freelancers off my ass, and then I’ll figure out how to deal with the people writing the checks.” Brownstone cleared his throat. “Look, Shay…um, I just wanted to say thanks for coming back early, and thanks for going to Virginia. Knowing you’re there watching out for Alison lets me feel a lot better about everything that’s going on, and I’m happy to pay you back with towel-wearing waiters and all that.”

  Shay blinked at her phone and bit down on a laugh. His idea was close enough to what she wanted, and she saw no reason to spin up an already stressed-out man by correcting him. “You’re welcome, Brownstone.”

  The rustle of Alison shifting in bed caught Shay’s attention.

  “Okay, I think I better go. Stay alive.”

  “I’m trying. Talk to you later.” Brownstone hung up.

  Shay shook her head, thinking about the towel-wearing-waiter thing.

  “You’re the real deal when it comes to raw material,” she muttered. “Grade-A material, but it’s still damn raw.”

  Shay glanced down at Alison, who’d shifted under her blankets.

  So this is what it means to care. It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.

  Tyler went over to the chalkboard, carefully navigating through the throng of people choking his bar. He had a hard time remembering a time when his place had been as busy. Between the drinks and the bets, he was making a killing. It almost made him want to give up the information-broker business.

  He picked up a piece of chalk and the riotous din quieted.

  “Now, not sure how many of you know this, but three more people went after Brownstone today. My contacts just let me know that two of them were killed; an elf and a human who was using a magical artifact. On top of it, Kayla Malone was injured and arrested.” Tyler erased a few numbers on the board and started writing in new odds. “So, with the action today, we can definitely see the odds of magic being used for the final kill going up. And too bad for the suckers who bet that Brownstone would make it through the day, let alone the whole hunt, without killing anyone.”

  The crowd erupted in laughter and a few men jumped out of their seats and pushed their way toward the exits. Tyler didn’t care. He had their money and more than enough other customers.

  The bartender tapped the chalk against the top of the board. “But for you people who laid down bets on whether Brownstone would die on the first day of betting, don’t worry; we still have several more hours today, and just so you know, if that little bitch runs to a different time zone we’re still using local time. If you want to make any more bets, I’ll be at the bar.”

  A huge bear of a man sitting at a table waved at Tyler. “I’ll put down a hundred that he’ll get axed tonight. I like the long odds. Great payoff.” He reached into his wallet to pull out the bills and handed them to the bartender. He glanced at the board. “You’re making a lot of money, Tyler.”

  “Hey, what can I say? It pays to be the house.”

  “What are you going to do with all the money?” asked another lowlife.

  “Who the fuck knows? Maybe I’ll use it to renovate a bit. That would be the ultimate irony. I’ll use the money from Brownstone’s hit to make this place nicer.”

  The huge man laughed. “Yeah, that would be funny.” He slapped a hand down on the table. “Maybe get some tables that don’t look like some shit you picked up at a half-price sale.”

  Another man gestured to a cracked wall. “It’s called ‘paint,’ Tyler. They invented it even before the Oriceran shit happened.”

  A woman at the bar giggled. “Your bathroom is so disgusting that I’m wondering if it’s haunted.”

  Tyler let out a strained laugh. “Yeah, lots of work to do.”

  He managed not to curl his hands into fists as he headed back to the bar, despite how hot his face was. All these maggots had freely come to his place. They didn’t have the right to criticize his bar and act like it was trashy.

  It wasn’t like he wanted it to be. The whole point was to maintain a certain comfort level for the regular clientele, who happened to be bottom-feeding criminals.

  Maybe if I made this place nicer I wouldn’t have to cater to lowlifes.

  “Give me another beer, Tyler,” a man with bloodshot eyes ordered. He was sitting at the bar. He laughed. “You know, there is one nice thing in the bar. Really nice.”

  Tyler started pouring the man’s beer. “What’s that?”

  The man pointed toward the door. “That new door Brownstone bought after destroying the last one.” He burst into laughter and half the bar joined him.

  15

  James pulled the Humvee up to the security gate in Coto de Caza with a forced smile on his face. The security guard in the gatehouse eyed him with suspicion and opened his window, one hand resting on his gun.

  What? Is it my shabby gray coat? My bullet-riddled vehicle? Co
me on, just because you can judge this book by its cover doesn’t mean you should. Or at least I need you not to today.

  He resisted the urge to snort at the man’s ready posture. He doubted the guard had ever had to deal with a serious threat. A hitman would have shot him already.

  “Are you sure you’re in the right place, sir?” the guard asked. “This is a very exclusive community, and no solicitation is permitted.”

  “Yes,” James replied. “Unfortunately I ran into some people who thought they could use the cover of the storm to try and take my vehicle. You know, kids these days. I blame all those Oricerans.”

  “Okay...and you decided to come to Coto instead of going to the police because…”

  “Major business meetings can’t be rescheduled that easily,” James informed him, the lie coming almost effortlessly—even though he was annoyed at having to lie. “I’ve been trying to get this meeting to happen for months, and my business contact isn’t a man I can easily schedule time with.”

  James resisted the urge to glare or grunt. Even if he didn’t look the part of a rich business jerk, he knew confidence could bluff him through the gates. Hell, this was Southern California, not New York. A billionaire might be in a hoody and a t-shirt with a video-game character on it.

  The other man’s gaze traveled from James to the back window before returning to the bounty hunter. “I...see.”

  James shook his head. “Anyway, I’m here to meet with Professor Smite-Williams at the golf club for the aforementioned business meeting. I’m Thomas McCartney. I can give you a number to call if you need to verify the meeting.”

  I hope you set this shit up beforehand, Professor. I don’t want to have to knock out some innocent security jerk to make this happen.

  “If he’s registered for the meeting, that shouldn’t be necessary.” The guard glanced down at his computer, tapped away for a few moments, then looked back at James with disapproval on his face. “Yes, Professor Smite-Williams did let us know you’d be coming, Mr. McCartney.” The guard reached into a drawer and pulled out a guest pass. “Have you contacted the police about your vehicle, sir?”