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

by Michael Anderle

  “Good, my plan worked then. Dead bad guys, no dead innocent people, and the only property damage is my place.” James shrugged. “Well, and one sad rental Humvee.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two rings, one polished onyx and the other a gold band with silver inlays. He slid them over to the Professor.

  Smite-Williams slipped the rings into a jacket pocket with a smile. “Since you’re not dead and the Marines caught all your new fans, it seems like these worked well for you. I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t think your plan was all that great, but you pulled it off.”

  “Yep, worked perfectly. Slipped on the invisibility ring and then the floating one to pass right over the bastards.” James chuckled. “You should have seen their faces when those Marines popped up. I could see the ‘Oh, fuck, what the hell just happened?’ in their eyes. That shit was funny as hell.”

  The Professor nodded slowly, smiling wryly. He picked up his beer and took a sip.

  “Something wrong, Professor?”

  “No, just… It’s rare that you manage to surprise me. I know a lot about you, lad, and I didn’t know that you had enough clout with the Marines Corps to get them to help you on this. It’s not like the military ever supports a bounty hunter who asks for help. I don’t think even I could have pulled that off on such short notice.”

  James grinned. “What can I say? I’m a people person.”

  The older man laughed at that. “I know many people who might disagree with that statement.”

  “Yeah, okay, so I’m also a big asshole. Anyway, the truth is that anytime I’m in a bar I buy guys in uniform a beer if I can. You know, to show my respect, just like the donuts with the cops. I’ve been through San Diego a lot in the last couple of years. I ran into a Marine gunny there last winter and we hit it off, and he introduced me to some other people. He’d heard of me, and liked that I had taken down a few righteous assholes.”

  The Professor finished his beer and lowered his glass to the table. “It still strikes me as insanity that they agreed to your plan, but I’m glad it worked out. What now, then?”

  “Tonight I’m planning on getting a good night’s rest and a decent shower in a hotel. Tomorrow morning, I’m chowing down on some hot barbeque, and then I’ll head to my house to see if anything survived the explosions and fire.”

  The Professor’s smile faltered for a second. “It’s not over, you know, even if you’ve frightened off the freelancers. The Harriken just used them to soften you up. They’ve brought in reinforcements.”

  James grunted. “I give exactly zero fucks. I figure I’ve bought enough time to relax for the night, but it doesn’t matter. This ends sooner rather than later. I know where to go and what I need to do. I just had to make sure I didn’t need to watch my back when I kicked in their front door.”

  “I almost feel sorry for the Harriken.”

  James snorted. “You should. They’re all about to die.”

  After a night at a hotel, again under the name Thomas McCartney, James hit Phillips again to buy more ribs and offer the owner twice the cost of the Igloo by way of apology. His conscience taken care of, he headed toward where everything had all started: the blasted remains of his house.

  His stomach knotted as he turned down his street. He wasn’t worried about anyone attacking him there. If they were dumb enough to come after him he’d kill them, but facing the destruction of what little permanence he’d had in life was going to be difficult.

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—especially when a rocket launcher was involved.

  He sighed. It wasn’t that long ago that I had a simple life, a nice house, and a loyal dog. Now my dog’s dead. My house is gone, and I don’t even have my signed recipe books anymore.

  It didn’t have to go down this way. All I wanted to do was help out a girl who helped me find my dog, but you fuckers had to push me back.

  All you had to do was not kill Leeroy.

  James parked the Humvee on the street and hopped out. He stared at the rental vehicle for a moment and rubbed his chin.

  When he went after the Harriken he’d make sure to keep this truck way back. Didn’t want to have to pay for two Humvees.

  The bounty hunter’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the remains of his house. While the destruction had been near total, the wood fragments had been gathered into several neatly stacked piles. The yard and driveway were both free of debris, and even the scorched sidewalk in front had been swept clean.

  James stepped toward what had once been his home. The top levels were more of a bare outline than a structure, and the darkened and scorched remains of half his house provided evidence of the destruction from the secondary explosion.

  There was no separation anymore between the basement and the ground floor. The explosions, or perhaps whoever had cleaned up, had removed the few remaining parts of the basement ceiling. What was left resembled a partially-excavated ash-filled pit more than anything else.

  Nothing remained of the stairs, but James spotted several ladders. The bounty hunter narrowed his eyes as he looked around. Melted metal and burned wood still lay in the ashes, but he didn’t spot any of the fireproof strongboxes or safes that had held valuables and equipment.

  “Fuck,” James muttered. “Of course some fuckers looted my place. Probably those Harriken bastards, to really make a point. Well, I’m gonna make my own point, assholes.”

  He shook his head and turned back toward the Humvee. At least the looters had cleaned everything else up. He didn’t know if he would keep the land. It’d make more sense to buy a new house…and maybe it was time to leave the neighborhood. He wasn’t sure.

  “I’ll cut you a break, you looter assholes,” the bounty hunter muttered. “I won’t track your asses down and kill every last one of you until I’ve finished off the Harriken, assuming you aren’t them. That should give you enough time to run away. Enjoy my shit.”

  The roar of an engine and the heavy thump of bass reached his ears as a red Ford pickup took a hard turn around the corner and sped toward James.

  “I tried to give you a break,” James growled. “But you just have to keep pushing and pushing and fucking pushing.”

  James gritted his teeth and yanked out a .45. The truck closed, and he grunted, ready to lay out anyone who was still stupid enough at this point to attack him.

  Anger coursed through him as he saw the kind of truck they were driving.

  Those fuckers have the balls to come after me in an F-350? I will fucking end them!

  The F-350 screeched to a halt and James raised his gun, and the tinted window rolled down to reveal not an assassin but Trey with his hands up.

  “Woah,” the gang leader exclaimed. “Don’t shoot just because you’re jealous of my sweet-ass new ride, motherfucker. That’s some petty-ass bullshit, Mr. Brownstone.”

  James snorted and holstered his weapon. “Since when do you drive a truck, let alone an old truck like this, Trey?”

  The bounty hunter shook his head. He had to admit that it was in fact a sweet-ass ride.

  Trey stepped out of the vehicle. “I’ve been looking for one for a while. I’ve always been jealous of yours.” The gang leader slammed the door and shook his head as he surveyed the property. “We tried to clean up here best we could. Only so much we could do, though. Sorry, motherfucker.”

  James looked over his shoulder. “That explains some of this, then.”

  The gang leader looked down, frowning “We fucking let you down, Mr. Brownstone. We let those bitches roll right up and blow your motherfucking house up like it weren’t nothing. That’s a bitch-slap against you and a bitch-slap against me and my boys.” He looked up, his expression fierce. “If you know who they are and they still breathin’, you just point and me and my boys will roll over there and fuck ‘em up. We’ll make ‘em sorry they ever dared fuck with our hood and the mighty motherfucking Mr. James Brownstone.”

  James pursed his lips, eyeing the gang leader. “I don’t know the exact peo
ple who did it, but it doesn’t matter. The Harriken started it, so I’m going to just go have a loud, violent, and one-way discussion with them, now that I’ve handled some of the other people.”

  “I heard you got them shot up by motherfucking Marines. Like you Chesty Puller and shit.”

  “They only killed one guy. I killed more than that over the last couple of days.”

  Trey laughed. “Never doubted it. Stupid motherfuckers shouldn’ta come after you.”

  “As for everything else, it wasn’t your fault. It was a fast and professional hit.” James stared at the ruins of his house. “Even I was surprised. Do you know why I’m not dead?”

  Trey pumped a fist in the air. “Because you’re motherfucking James Brownstone and you could kick the Devil’s ass. One of my boys saw you storm out of the burning house like it weren’t no thing.”

  He shook his head. “I’m still alive because I was in the basement when they attacked, Trey. If I’d been upstairs I’d have been dead.” He locked eyes with the gang leader. “Keep that in mind. I’m not gonna lie and pretend I can’t and haven’t beat down a lot of tough assholes, but the truth is, sometimes it’s just about luck. Right place. Right time. You could be the toughest fucker in the world, but then you turn your back and someone sneaks up on you.”

  “My nana always says we make our luck, and she’s fucking ninety-two and could still beat down half my boys with her cane. I figure she’s on to something.”

  “Probably.” James looked over his shoulder at the ruins. “I do have a favor to ask.”

  “Whatever you ask, Mr. Brownstone, me and my boys will deliver. Even if you say it ain’t our fault, it’s the least we can do for letting these fuckers diss you like that. That offer is up to and including wasting their motherfucking asses.”

  “I don’t need you to kill anyone. I know not everything will have survived, but I had some lockboxes and safes that held valuables and some equipment in the basement. It looks like someone looted it. I need you to ask around. I don’t need the guys dead. If they’re willing to give it back, I’ll let it go for now.”

  A huge grin split Trey’s face, and he walked to the back of the truck and slapped the side. “Look inside, motherfucker. That’s why I’m here. When one of my boys called and said he saw you in the hood, I decided it was time for me to become motherfucking UPS.”

  James stepped over to look into the truck bed. Scorched lockboxes and safes filled the back.

  “I wanted to make sure no bitches jacked your shit while you were off handling your business,” Trey told him, his arms crossed and a smug smile on his face. “I did have to beat down one of my boys for trying to steal from you. I ain’t killed him or nothing, but he learned his lesson about respect and not being a whiny-ass bitch.”

  James picked up a strongbox and then set it down on the sidewalk.

  Trey’s eyebrows lifted. “Not that I’d be all objecting if you wanted to donate your treasure to me and my boys, but you don’t need that shit. Ain’t that why you asked?”

  “Since you already found my stuff, I have another favor to ask.”

  “What?”

  “Hold onto it for a couple more days.” James patted one of the containers. “I’ll pay you a finder’s and storage fee. I still have some ass to kick, and I don’t want this shit getting blown up during that.”

  Trey gave James a little salute. “I like the sound of a finder’s fee.”

  James headed toward the Humvee. “Your grandmother’s partially right, you know.”

  “About the luck shit?”

  “Yeah. We do make our own luck.” The bounty hunter gave Trey a feral grin. “But we can also make other people’s luck.”

  “No shit?”

  James nodded. “Yeah, and the Harriken’s luck just ran out.”

  20

  Between the end of the hitman hunt and Trey’s gang returning all of his strongboxes and safes, James allowed a bit of satisfaction to settle in.

  The enemy’s forces had been weakened, and it was time to go straight for the enemy stronghold and finish off the bastards who seemed incapable of learning their damned lesson.

  It’s pretty damned simple, assholes: don’t fuck with me and you’ll continue breathing.

  The bounty hunter pulled into a parking lot next to a shady-looking laundromat. It’d been a while since he checked his messages, and he needed to make sure he could launch the final assault with no other concerns.

  A message from Shay informed him that Alison was still doing okay and there were no signs of anyone coming after her.

  James nodded to himself. I’m glad Shay decided to go to Virginia. This shit would have been hard if I had to worry about Alison. Definitely have to take Shay to her fancy restaurant after this is all over.

  Most of his other messages related to barbeque podcasts and barbeque-site updates, but one FROM line with an unusual source caught his eye: Sergeant Jackson Mack, LAPD.

  James opened the email and frowned, confused by its brevity.

  Check out the recent bounties, Brownstone.

  The bounty hunter stared at the message, wondering if Mack had forgotten to send the rest. The cop had to know that James still needed to deal with the Harriken and didn’t have time to go after any bounties, even major ones. Maybe it was proof of his faith in the bounty hunter’s ability to finish off the gangsters and live.

  James pulled up the LAPD Bounty Hunter Outreach Department app and looked in the ‘Hot New Bounties’ Section just to be sure he wasn’t missing out on something obvious—and that King Pyro or Sombra hadn’t returned from the dead. He wouldn’t put it past the latter.

  What the hell?

  The bounty hunter reread the latest bounty notice three times to make sure he understood what he was seeing. The government had issued a dead-or-alive organizational bounty on the Harriken in LA.

  In the United States, James had mostly seen organizational bounties applied to terrorist groups. From what he could tell from the notice any Harriken who surrendered to the police immediately would be exempt, but otherwise it was open season on the Japanese gangsters if a bounty hunter was brave enough—or dumb enough—to go after an entire vicious gang.

  Too bad they couldn’t have fucking done this before when I laid out tons of those guys. How much money would I have earned?

  James allowed a grin to appear on his face. Now he understood why the Professor had been so surprised.

  The cops had turned the tables on the Harriken.

  Even if people didn’t want to go after the whole organization, individual Harriken on the street could be taken down by other bounty hunters. It wasn’t like a person needed to be a Class-Six bounty hunter to take on an individual Harriken enforcer. From what James had seen they relied on swords and guns, not magic.

  But James didn’t want the gangsters to suffer a death by a thousand cuts. He wanted to smash their fucking faces in and make them pay for the destruction of his home and possessions. Most importantly, the bounty hunter wanted the Harriken to know that James Brownstone was the man delivering their pain.

  “Some of those pit-masters who signed those books aren’t even alive anymore, fuckers,” James rumbled.

  The level of intervention necessary to get an organizational bounty, even one limited to the city level, exceeded the power of someone like Sergeant Mack. Some high-ranking people in the LAPD would have had to push for this type of bounty to be issued, which meant several people had tried to intervene on his behalf, likely from multiple departments.

  I thought half the LAPD hated my ass? He shrugged. Maybe they liked him more than he knew.

  It occurred to James that someone in the LAPD might have seen the opportunity for him to clean house for them. If he died it was as a bounty hunter going after bounties, but if he succeeded he could cripple the Harriken and put an end to their attempt to reestablish themselves in Los Angeles.

  In the end it didn’t matter. He was going after the Harriken anyway, and at lea
st now he’d get paid for it. Even with his savings, valuables, and investments, he’d lost a house, needed to fix his truck, and had to pay for a damaged Humvee.

  That shit added up.

  James closed the app and went back to looking through his email. An odd subject line caught his eye: WHEN YOU ABSOLUTELY MUST KILL JAPANESE SWORDSMEN. The return address was the customer service department at a hospital with no name. A note at the top read, “We share a very attractive mutual friend.”

  Who the fuck were they even talking about? The Professor?

  The bounty hunter grunted and scanned the rest of the mail. The body of the message included several maps detailing the layout of the building the Harriken were using as their temporary headquarters, along with information on their likely defenses including drones and sniper placement. It’d be a much tougher fight than when he’d raided them the last time, and he didn’t have Shay backing him up for this one.

  James grunted. He needed to pick up a few sniper rifles from the warehouse. As much as he hated shooting his opponents from a distance, he needed to be smart about his attack.

  Even if he used the amulet he couldn’t be sure he could take a sniper shot to the head, and he wasn’t eager to test the idea. The simple solution would be to counter-snipe their shooters and then lay waste to the rest of the gangsters.

  He didn’t care who the message had come from. It gave him the information he needed, so now he didn’t have to waste more time scouting the enemy. He was tired of running and wanted to return to what he did best—practicing offense as the best defense. There was no simpler strategy than that.

  By day’s end, he was going to make sure there were no Harriken left in Los Angeles.

  Alison emerged from her late shower in a robe, with her hair up in a towel. “You’d think a magic school wouldn’t have problems with their plumbing.”

  Shay laughed. “Well, they probably don’t want you kids to become dependent on magic for everything. Or maybe the water spirits are hard to control.” She snickered, then sighed. “I should probably talk about getting some other place to stay. Maybe an empty room. Don’t want to annoy your roommate too much.”