“How’s that?”
“He says they used to be regulars on the same barbecue forum. He knew her from before she was on the show.”
James laughed. He doubted the championship-winning elf would be eager to stop by a local place because a local pit-master asked, even for a place as good as Phillips.
“You really want an elf to stop by your place and be on your wall?” the bounty hunter asked. “You don’t worry that she represents something way different for the future of barbecue? Might scare off customers who are traditionalists.”
The man shrugged. “What the hell do I care if an elf is cooking barbecue? It’s changed a lot over the years, even on Earth. If we can’t agree on what true barbecue is even in this country, we don’t have a right to say that some elf can’t do true barbecue. For all we know, they are closer to the true spirit of barbecue.”
James shrugged. “You think? Humans at least share a history and shit. Our differences aren’t really that big of a deal, compared to the stuff they’ve got going on over there.”
“It’s not like Oriceran is new. From what I’ve heard it’s been in contact with Earth in different ways for thousands of years, so it’s really just about uncovered history and stuff. They’ve influenced stuff in the past, so who is to say what is from Earth or Oriceran?”
“How do you figure?”
“You ever watch that web show Ancient Oriceran History Secrets?”
“The one with the guy with the funny hair?” James asked.
“Yeah.”
“Not everything he says is true just because he claims it is.”
The employee looked around before leaning in. “Just saying he’s probably more right than he’s wrong. What we believe about the past and shared tradition might not be all that.” He tapped his head. “Everyone should be thinking that now.”
Brownstone shrugged. “Guess I just never thought of it that way.”
James fished some cash out of his wallet. A quick stop at an ATM had netted him a lot of petty cash. With all the bad guys after him he couldn’t be sure hackers weren’t tracing his bank accounts, so a little physical money might help him stay ahead of his enemies. The ATM hadn’t attacked him, so he’d consider the plan a win so far.
“Keep the change,” he told the man, giving him some bills. He waved and rolled up his window, wondering if some ancient Oriceran had secretly created the first barbecue recipe.
The guy gave him a hearty wave and headed back into the restaurant.
James kept one hand on the wheel while he munched on a rib. He wasn’t ready to risk stopping or going to the warehouse or the apartment until he could be sure that no one had eyes on him. The Professor probably wouldn’t appreciate his apartment getting blown up.
At this point, the bounty hunter had decided that even the Professor’s place might be compromised. The best strategy would be to not stay in a steady place. Hotels with parking garages that would keep his vehicle out of satellite, drone, or easy magical detection range might be a good bet.
Fuck. I was supposed to be relaxing these last couple days. He changed lanes. At least these ribs are good.
The bounty hunter wiped his hand on a napkin next to his seat and put the bone into an empty plastic bag.
Small-fry losers on motorcycles were easy enough to handle, but it was only a matter of time before some asshole with an artifact or a gunship showed up to take him out. James would make sure that he’d at least take a few bastards with him if he could, but he wouldn’t put it past someone to hit him with a missile or a bomb.
The bounty hunter didn’t fear death. He only feared his death not mattering. It was one of the reasons he was so good at his job. Before it hadn’t mattered, but now he had responsibilities, and something approaching fear crept into his mind. Fear for Alison.
James dialed Shay and activated the speakerphone.
One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four rings.
“Your call has reached an automated voice mail system. Please leave your message at the beep.”
An annoying beep followed.
James sighed. “Hey, Shay, it’s me. You know me…I hate to ask anyone for a favor, but I’m trying to be real about how shit might end up in the next few days.” He took a deep breath. “Look, don’t know if you’re really coming back, but if you are, don’t come to LA. I’d rather you stayed with Alison until I figure out how to take care of the Harriken and get this hit taken care of. The Harriken know about her, even if they don’t know where she is. For all I know, they might still think they can weasel her mother’s inheritance out of her.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. She’s in a magic school surrounded by a bunch of Wizards and Witches who could turn their asses into toads or whatever. I thought she’d be safe there, but now I’m not sure. Maybe it’s like in Raiders of the Lost Ark where the guy has the sword and Indy just pulls out the gun. You know, like don’t bring a magic wand to a gunfight. How many of these magical asshole professors have ever been in a fight? How do I know they don’t have some stupid rules about killing bastards who come for them?”
“Anyway, I’d appreciate it if you make sure Alison is okay.” James took a deep breath. “And thank you. You make a hell of an aunt.”
He’d have to trust that Alison would be taken care of between Shay and the instructors, but he could protect the girl from any harm if he could stop the Harriken himself.
Just had to be smart about this. He could take down the Harriken, even if they took him down with them.
9
“So this is what it feels like to be Oscar the Grouch,” James mumbled to himself.
He leaned against a brick wall in an alley as he ate barbecue ribs out of a plastic bag he’d set atop a closed garbage can. “Bet he liked barbecue. Can probably cook up some nice-ass ribs. Wonder what his favorite style is? Kansas City, maybe? He seems like a KC type.”
The bounty hunter wasn’t certain why he was worrying about the barbecue preferences of Muppets, other than the fact that Sesame Street was one of the few shows he’d been allowed to watch at the orphanage; that and old Fifties Lone Ranger episodes on DVD.
Father Thomas’d had a soft spot for the show, but mostly he said television was a vast wasteland for the soul.
As an adult, James didn’t disagree. He watched barbecue and cooking shows, but not much else. He was mostly busy taking down scum anyway.
What would you really think, Father Thomas? What about me having to run like a dog because I’ve stirred the damn hornet’s nest? Would you be proud of or disgusted with the man I’ve become? Do you regret giving your life to save my sorry ass?
James grunted, wondering what other paths he could have taken in life. It was easy to convince himself his strength wasn’t a big deal, that it didn’t mean anything, but then there was the telekinesis—and that was much harder to explain away.
He didn’t use it much. It was weak and almost worthless when he wasn’t bonded to his amulet, but even when he used the artifact and his power was strong he didn’t like it.
Maybe it was all a way of convincing himself he wasn’t a cursed monster carrying Oriceran demon blood in his veins. Being a little tougher or stronger than a normal person was one thing, but moving things with his mind?
That was clearly unnatural.
A gun and a good knife worked so he worked with those, but he’d gotten so accustomed to not using his other ability that he rarely even thought of it during major fights. Much like the necklace, James told himself; the less he used the ability, the longer he’d maintain his humanity.
The countdown toward damnation or whatever awaited him ticked faster each day.
“I should have been a priest,” he muttered as he nibbled on another rib. “Or a monk. The Trappists specialize in beer. Maybe I could have specialized in barbecue. Started a new order.” His eyes darted around, making sure he knew what was going on near him.
Father McCartney always insisted the Lord had granted him his ph
ysical gifts to aid in the fight against evil, but James didn’t know. The Devil could give people powers too. Cheap price too: just your eternal soul.
Maybe if Father Thomas hadn’t been killed and the bounty hunter hadn’t grown up watching the Lone Ranger fighting bad guys he might have enjoyed a quieter, more spiritual life. He listened to what the priests told him, but it was hard to know what anyone really wanted from him.
Live by the sword, die by the sword. And now there were a damned lot of swords chasing after him.
For now, though, James only wanted a few minutes to enjoy his food without having to sit in a cramped seat or being charged extra for a barbeque sauce stain on the upholstery.
He pushed his concerns about his past out of his mind. Enjoying his food should take precedence.
The covered alley he’d found would protect him from satellites, and he’d managed to find a tiny slice of town that didn’t have any drones in the sky. Damn rare anymore.
“Pretty good,” James mumbled, taking another bite and pondering his next move.
He already knew the location of the Harriken building, but charging right at them would result in every asshole killer in the state converging on him—especially with so many drones looking for him.
Then he would be dealing with both the gangsters and their backups in an area where the risk of collateral damage would be too high.
An explosion in the middle of a major city would guarantee that innocent people died. Father McCartney might talk about forgiveness for any and all sins, but that didn’t mean James was going to risk people getting hurt just to save his skin.
Fucking Harriken. If the bastards wanted him so badly, they could have just invited him to show up, and they all could have seen who was left standing at the end. Instead, they had to be chickenshits all the way to the end. Those damn swords were just for show.
James finished the rib and threw the plastic bag in the trash. After quickly wiping his hands with one of the scented wet napkins in the bag, he headed back to his rental Humvee.
He needed to thin the hunting pack, either through attrition or fear.
Maybe if he headed down the 5 to southern Orange County he could lure some hitmen to an area where there would be less risk of collateral damage. Picking off the singletons or small groups would add up, and maybe most of the hitmen would give up. Then he could take the pain directly to the Harriken and finish the crap once and for all.
He also needed more time to think.
The bounty hunter started the Humvee and pulled away out of the alley. He spotted a drone in the distance but didn’t know if it was after him.
“Let’s see how long it takes for the bastards to find me,” he muttered aloud.
Ten minutes. That was all it took for him to spot a tail; some guy in a flashy red late-model Chevy Silverado.
He snorted. Subtle, asshole.
A couple more minutes netted him a suspicious drone he was sure was following him. Despite the UPS markings it didn’t carry any packages, and it’d been following him for several blocks.
James grunted. “Better to have them all come at me at one time anyway.”
Detective Delroy Washington stood in the AET command center looking at the various drone feeds on the screen. He had to constantly beg for drone time and resources, and AET had a whole freaking fleet of the damn things.
He resisted glaring at Lieutenant Hall. There were a lot more gang members in LA than enhanced threats.
They were both on the same side, at least temporarily. Delroy had anti-gang informants working the streets to try to discourage anyone from going after Brownstone and identify those who might let their greed exceed their common sense.
“Hey,” he called, “put Brownstone’s vehicle on the center screen. I want to see something better.”
Sergeant Weber complied.
“Shit,” Delroy mumbled. “Yeah, looks like he’s heading to OC. We should send a warning to them that he’s coming, but somehow not tip off the fuckers who are trying to kill him. He’s not my favorite guy, but all the assholes trying to kill him are legitimate criminals.”
Maria spoke up from behind him. “Brownstone’s committed plenty of crimes. Keep that in mind. Don’t go fanboying too much over that guy.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. And I’m on your side. I know the guy’s trouble. I’m just saying he doesn’t kill whoever gets in front of him like some of these assholes.”
Maria nodded. “Anyway, I figured out where he was going, and I’ve already called the locals and told them to not risk engagement. We’ll wait for our chance to take Brownstone down, assuming he doesn’t blow up half the county first.” She frowned. “That storm’s approaching. At least it’ll clear out the streets somewhat.”
Delroy chuckled. “So now we’re depending on the weather to do our jobs?”
“Brownstone’s practically a force of nature himself, so use fire to fight fire and all that.”
“He hasn’t done too much damage so far,” Delroy reminded her. “At least, not as much as I would have predicted. We’ve got to give him credit for doing his best to draw his attackers away from civilians.”
Maria snorted. “I don’t have to give him any credit. If he wasn’t so flashy and arrogant we wouldn’t have this problem now.”
The AET commander glared at the anti-gang task force detective. Delroy just shrugged and looked back at the screen.
He could understand where she was coming from.
Like Maria Hall, he didn’t like Brownstone. The man was nothing but trouble, but he appreciated that Brownstone hadn’t capped his ass when he’d had the chance. And any honest police officer had to accept that the bounty hunter had helped take down some seriously dangerous men and women who would have otherwise killed cops. Maybe even AET team members.
Back when Delroy first joined the force, the world had been a different place. The worst threats were terrorists and powerful gangs like MS-13, not dangerous wizards or strange monsters. The problem was, a lot of people didn’t want to accept how much the world had changed. He wasn’t sure if the lieutenant was one of those people, despite her assignment.
Maria sighed. “As for damage, it’s because only dumbasses have hit him so far. What happens when the next fool shows up with a rocket launcher? They aren’t going to care about innocent people when half a million is on the line.” She frowned. “What if a bunch of enhanced criminals show up? Imagine what a couple of King Pyros might do in a fight with Brownstone! I’m half-afraid a bunch of guys are going to start trouble because they think he’s too busy to stop them.”
“Then AET can take them down. Isn’t that what you do?”
“Yeah, assuming we’re not busy dealing with Brownstone at the time.”
“Wait, something’s not right.” Delroy squinted and leaned forward. “What the hell is he driving?”
“A late-model Humvee,” Sergeant Weber said. “What’s the big deal?”
“Since when does he drive one of those? That guy is practically married to that ancient Ford. When we started our tail I dug deep into vehicles and aliases and crap, and everyone associated him with that truck.”
“It got damaged when his house was destroyed,” Maria told him. “It’s in the shop. The Humvee’s a rental.”
“A rental?” Delroy whistled. “And he’s already banged it up? Hope to fuck he bought some insurance. Sucks to be the insurance company that’s gonna have to pay out for that vehicle.”
James glanced at the driver’s door as he drove, glad he’d purchased the extra insurance. It wasn’t like he’d planned to take down a biker with his door, but the guy had left a pretty big dent outside and now he had cracks and tears on the inside as well. It’d easily cost more than his deductible to fix.
“They should charge the douchebag who was trying to kill me. Wouldn’t’ve had damage to the door if he hadn’t pulled a gun.”
James chuckled about how expensive people trying to kill you could get. He usually didn’t worry m
uch about money, but he didn’t like the idea of having to pay out extra because of a bunch of greedy idiots.
His gaze dipped to the gas gauge, which indicated that the tank was almost empty. He grunted. Every little fucking thing in life right now was conspiring to annoy him.
“Should have let them fill it up after all,” James mumbled. Seemed like I had enough at the time. Guess that’s what I get for driving a gas-guzzler, but what was I supposed to do—run away in some tiny glorified-moped electric?
It’d be fucking hard to lose his tail if he ran out of gas. He could hear what Shay would say if he stopped at a gas station and parked on top of a huge tank of highly flammable liquid.
Didn’t that strike you as a dumbass thing to do, dumbass?
Every gas station in the county was a fireball waiting to happen right now.
He accelerated, seeing his chance coming up. Traffic was light on the opposite side past a deep median. James gripped the wheel tightly, waiting for his opportunity.
Several cars zoomed by, then there wasn’t one for about a hundred feet. He yanked hard on the wheel, sending his vehicle across the median and the opposing lanes. Horns shrieked and the vehicle shook as he passed over rough terrain on his way off the freeway.
He glanced in his rearview mirror. A huge line of cars had trapped the Chevy in the median, but there hadn’t been an accident.
Grass and dirt gave way to an actual road, and James turned at the first intersection. After about thirty seconds he yanked a drone jammer out of his pocket. If the stupid storm would just come he wouldn’t have to rely on technology. The last couple of days were turning into the most complicated of his life.
James laughed at the absurdity of wanting a huge storm to smack into the area. “Well, everyone will be fine as long as they stay inside.”
A quick check out the window revealed several drones in the nearby area, but he only spotted one following him.
“Sorry if anyone’s got packages being delivered,” James muttered as he activated the drone jammer.
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