She Is The Widow Maker_An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure

by Michael Anderle

  James hadn’t read anything to suggest she’d come through Tumwater, Washington on any of her tours.

  The owner nodded. “She came here a few years back. Talked about wanting to sample all the best barbeque in each state. We don’t get a lot of Oricerans in here.” A warm smile spread across her face. “I knew even then that she’d do something special.”

  James sat and grabbed a menu off the table. “Give me five pounds of the House Special ribs.”

  “Sure thing, hon.” After taking a few steps toward the back door, the woman spun and stared at James.

  He shifted in his seat under her attention. “What?”

  “You’re James Brownstone. The James Brownstone.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “I like barbeque.”

  The woman clapped. “This is perfect. With Nadina, she wasn’t a celebrity yet, but you’re already a celebrity. Can I take a picture of you for our wall?”

  James grunted. “Sure, but I’m not a celebrity.”

  “You’ve been on TV more than I have.” The woman laughed. “So, you ordered the House Special ribs. Is Memphis style your favorite?”

  James shrugged. “I don’t know. I used to say Carolina styles, but now I don’t know. I’ve always loved all types of barbeque.”

  “Oh? Something change your mind about the Carolinas?”

  “All this Nadina stuff and a recent trip to Japan has got me thinking I shouldn’t limit myself that way. It’s like every time we taste barbeque, we’re tasting one tiny piece of the ultimate barbeque flavor but missing so much. Only by trying all possible barbeque can we approach knowing what the essence of true barbeque is.” James sighed. “Does that make sense?”

  The woman nodded slowly. “Oh, hon, it makes perfect sense.”

  “Joe!” the woman shouted. “Get out here. We’ve got a celebrity and he’s a true barbeque lover, not some faker.”

  An old man emerged from the door leading to the kitchen. “Damn.” His eyes widened. “James Brownstone.” He leaned forward, looking the bounty hunter up and down. “Those muscles are even bigger than they look on television. You could carry my entire grill with one of those arms.”

  James chuckled.

  “Get the phone and let’s take some pictures,” the old woman ordered. “We’re going to put his picture right next to Nadina’s.”

  James finished off another rib as he continued listening to Mary, the owner, explain the twenty-year history of her restaurant.

  “So that’s how we ended up going more with a Memphis style after focusing on Texas style for so many years. Sorry, we don’t really do any Carolina stuff here.”

  “Not a big deal. Like I said, I love it all.”

  “How about you, James? What got you started on your love of barbeque?”

  James blinked. He’d not thought a lot about that through the years. Very few people had ever bothered to ask him—not that anyone would have bothered until recently. No one had gotten that close.

  “I was raised in a Catholic orphanage,” he explained. “There was a priest who was like a second father to me. Father Thomas.”

  James almost snorted. He’d let his memories of the priest be tainted by pain for so many years, a weakness the despair bug had attempted to exploit in Japan, but all lives had both pain and joy. He needed to remember the latter and not always focus on the former.

  “This priest was into barbeque?” Mary asked.

  “Yeah. Now that I think of it, all my earliest barbeque memories involve him. He liked Carolina styles, so I guess that’s why I’ve preferred them. I still remember the first time I smelled that delicious meat on the grill. My mouth watered and I wanted to run down there right away, but Father Thomas wouldn’t let us eat until everything was ready and we’d said grace.” James picked up a rib and stared at it, pleasant memories from long ago flooding into him. “It’s not like the orphanage could afford to do that sort of thing a lot, so it became a special-occasion event. It taught me that barbeque meant warmth and family, even when you didn’t have any.” He shook his head. “Sorry. Shit, didn’t mean to get all weird.”

  “No,” Mary argued. “That was beautiful. I’ve never met anyone who understands the power of food and barbeque like you, James. You ever consider giving up your dangerous job and opening your own place?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, eventually. Not for a few years yet. I’m still a dabbler, not a real barbeque man.”

  The woman wagged a finger. “You’re more of a real barbeque man than ninety-five percent of the so-called ‘barbeque men’ out there.” Her eyes widened. “Hey, what are you doing in Washington, anyway?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Are there some gangsters you’re going after in Tumwater?”

  James managed to not laugh in her face. “Nope. Just doing a little barbeque road trip.”

  “Just like Nadina!”

  “Yeah, something like that.” James glanced up at a clock. “I better get going. I have a pretty tight schedule. Thanks for the food and conversation.”

  Mary stood. “Let me get you some ribs for the road. It’s on the house.”

  Well, at least no one fucked with me while I was here.

  James yawned as he approached Exit 39 leading to Kelso, Washington. His Tumwater stop for barbeque had taken care of his fuel, but his truck needed gas.

  A red and blue light flashed in his rearview mirror and he glanced in the rearview mirror to see an unmarked Crown Victoria.

  The bounty hunter frowned. He hadn’t been speeding and there wasn’t a single dent on the F-350, let alone a broken taillight. He’d spent enough money repairing the truck after the Harriken bounty to ensure that.

  James grunted, slowed, and pulled to the shoulder, resting his hands on the wheel after rolling his window down. Traffic stops could be tense for cops, given they never knew if they were going to get a soccer mom or a murderer in the front seat. He didn’t want to make any cop’s day tougher.

  A plainclothes cop with a crew-cut and a brown leather jacket emerged from the car and walked toward the F-350.

  James kept his hands atop of the wheel. “How can I help you, officer?”

  “Got a call over the radio about a vehicle matching your description with some drugs. I’m going to need to ask you to get out of your car, sir.”

  “Don’t you need my license and registration first?” James chuckled. “Or do you already know who I am?”

  The cop’s hand jerked up. His coat swished, revealing a shoulder holster. “You need to slowly get out of the car. I don’t have any idea who you are, asshole. I just know there’s a report about drugs in your car. So get the fuck out and don’t make any sudden movements.”

  James didn’t dare blink. “I’d like to see your badge and police ID card, please, Officer.”

  “Fuck this.” The man reached into his jacket.

  James slammed his door into the man and he went down with a grunt. The bounty hunter was on him in seconds, throwing him onto his stomach and pinning his arms behind him.

  “You’re attacking a police officer, asshole,” the man snarled. “You better get the fuck off me if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Nah, I think you’re a piece of shit who is impersonating a police officer. I’m gonna call the cops right now, then we’ll see what’s what.”

  The man squirmed but didn’t accomplish much other than annoying James.

  A loud siren cried from down the road, red-and-blue lights flashing. A highway patrol call screeched to a halt about ten seconds later and the wide-brimmed state trooper stepped out of his car, his gun already out.

  This time the marked car and uniform convinced James of the identity of the new arrival. He rose slowly, his hands up.

  James nodded toward the man on the ground. “This guy’s impersonating a cop.”

  “You’re going to jail, asshole.” The man on the ground hopped to his feet. “This Brownstone douchebag has about a good thirty kilos of dust in this truck. Cuff his ass.”

&n
bsp; “Huh.” James chuckled. “Before you said you didn’t know who I am.”

  The state trooper kept his gun up. “I think I need both of you to turn around and put your hands on your heads while I sort this out. Don’t make any sudden movements.”

  The other man sneered and turned away from James, and the movement lifted his coat again, revealing a second holster—not for a gun, but for a thin wooden wand.

  Shit.

  The wizard snatched his wand and pointed it at the cop. “Magna ig—”

  James’ right hook smashed into the wizard’s head and the man spun like a top, his wand sailing into the road. A passing car ran over it, snapping it in half.

  The trooper glanced at James and the fallen wizard, his gun still out.

  The bounty hunter raised his hands again and laced them behind his head. His amulet might be on his chest, but it was still separated from contact. He was still tough without it, but he wasn’t bulletproof.

  “Damn, was that what I thought it was?” the trooper asked.

  “Yeah. Wand.”

  “I think the nearest AET team is in Portland.”

  James grunted. “A guy like that can’t channel power without a wand.” He nodded toward the fragments of the wand. “He’s just another douchebag for now.”

  “Hey, wait.” The trooper holstered his firearm. “You’re James Brownstone.”

  “Yeah, I am. And I’m guessing there’s no report out there with a vehicle matching my description carrying drugs?”

  The trooper shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Can I put my hands down now?”

  “Yeah, go ahead.” The trooper knelt to cuff the unconscious wizard. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “My kid would love it if I could get an autograph from you. He’s always complaining about how I don’t have any funny celebrity stories.”

  James grunted. “I’m not a celebrity.”

  “But you’ve been on—”

  “Television more than you have.” James sighed. “Sure. Mind if I sign a business card?”

  “Bounty hunters have business cards?”

  “It’s for my agency—the Brownstone Agency.”

  “Oh. That sounds great.”

  Someone whispered near the Crown Victoria, but James didn’t see anyone. He leapt forward, tackling the very surprised trooper. Two bolts of lightning blasted through the air, one where James had been standing a second before and the other right over the downed bounty hunter and trooper.

  James rolled off the trooper and scrambled toward the cop’s car. The trooper rushed after him and they both made it to cover as another blast of lightning zapped the car. Sparks shot from it, and the vehicle died, along with the lights.

  “You okay?” The bounty hunter whipped out his .45. “Sorry, I know I hit hard.”

  “Fuck, you just saved my life.”

  James peered around the front of the car. The air shimmered near the Crown Victoria. He squeezed off several rounds, but he didn’t hear any screams of pain.

  “Several more units on the way already from when I first stopped,” the trooper said. “But they are about ten minutes out still.”

  “I’m gonna run for my car and draw his attention. You shoot at where the lightning’s coming from.”

  “That’s an insane plan.”

  James shrugged. “That’s how the Brownstone Agency rolls. Okay, on one…two…three.”

  He sprinted toward his truck and another blast of lightning zipped by him, the heat warming the back of his neck. He leapt behind his F-350 as the trooper opened up with his sidearm.

  Shit. I didn’t think this through. What if the bastard nukes my truck?

  James ran around the other side of his vehicle and shot toward the shimmer. No new blasts of concentrated electricity followed, and several bright flashes signaled he was hitting something.

  The bounty hunter barreled forward and dropkicked the empty space. His boots connected with something solid and a loud groan filled the air. A dent appeared in the Crown Victoria.

  James pushed himself off the ground as soon as he landed and pummeled the air, his fists thudding against an invisible body. After the fifth new dent appeared, the shimmering air solidified to a bloodied and unconscious wizard, his wand still in his hand.

  “Fuck, that’s annoying.” James tossed the wizard to the ground and returned to the F-350 for a quick inspection.

  Relief flooded him. No bullet holes or magic-induced scorch marks.

  Several sirens sang in the distance. Reinforcements.

  James took a deep breath. “You okay?”

  The cop nodded. “Yeah. Fuck. That’s the first time I’ve had to deal with this kind of shit on the job. Pulled over a speeding gnome once, but the only magic he displayed was the magic of being a smug prick.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  The whole wizard incident ended up only costing James an hour’s delay once the other cops arrived. The state trooper thanked him for his assistance and sent him on his way after the bounty hunter gave him an autograph.

  The enemy had obviously upped their game, but James’ only real worry was that they might damage his truck or hurt an innocent bystander. Even though it’d increase his travel time, he decided to move off I-5 at least part of the time to follow some of the less trafficked roads. According to his phone, it’d add a decent number of hours and have him in LA next evening instead of the afternoon.

  Shouldn’t be a big deal, and less chance of some random fifty-car pile-up once someone decides to drop a bomb on me.

  Hours later, as he closed in on Eugene, Oregon and his next major barbeque stop, The Spice Vortex, the incident still lingered in his mind.

  The people hunting him, whether a group or several groups, couldn’t be dismissed. If the guy had managed a better impersonation of a cop, they might have been able to take him by surprise and blast his non-amulet-fused ass with lightning.

  In every situation where he’d relied on the amulet he’d known he’d be facing danger, and the length of time he used it was limited. If he waited during his trip, someone might get a major shot off when he was vulnerable, but the idea of wearing the thing for an entire day of travel and dealing with its mind-whispers didn’t sit well with him.

  You know what? Fuck it. I’ve managed to get halfway into Oregon without using the amulet. I think I can get all the way back to LA without it.

  He rubbed the amulet through his shirt, both comforted and disgusted by its presence.

  Just because I might be an alien doesn’t mean I have to go full-freak all the time. Probably don’t appreciate barbeque wherever the fuck I’m from. Martian-style barbeque? Fuck that shit.

  16

  Fatigue had long since set, along with the sun, but James wanted to make it to a rest area close to Sacramento. Then it’d be just one more day of travel to get back to LA, and he wondered if it’d be as hectic. Or if it’d at least involve fewer attempts on his life.

  In addition to the knife boys and the wizard patrol, James had been attacked by a half-dozen other assholes on his way through Oregon and northern California. Several others had been more creative, such as a man faking a car wreck and trying to steal his truck.

  James’ plan to avoid I-5 had worked to reduce the number of people around him, but there’d still been a few close calls in addition to the state trooper who’d almost gotten fried.

  The bounty hunter glanced at the briefcase in the passenger seat, the cause of all his trouble.

  Fucking assholes would probably just end up blowing themselves up if they got what they wanted.

  James needed a little sleep, but first he had some prep work to do.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed Peyton, wondering if the man was still awake.

  “Ah, good evening, Mr. Brownstone. What can I do for you?”

  “You found something out easy enough, but I’m wondering if you could put something out there just as easily?”

/>   “What do you mean?”

  “Do you know where I am right now?”

  The researcher didn’t answer for several seconds. “On your way back from Seattle, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. I need the people who are snooping around to think I’m heading to a certain place.”

  “What place?”

  James grinned to himself. “The Black Sun in LA. Can you make sure people hear that?”

  “Sure, for a fee. All that electricity isn’t free.”

  The bounty hunter snorted. “Fine, I’ll pay a thousand. This shit can’t be as hard as research.”

  “You have a deal. I’ll spread the word. Hope you survive whatever crazy shit you’re doing.”

  “Thanks.”

  Peyton hung up and James smirked. Enjoying messing with scumbags wasn’t a crime. Maybe a sin, but not a crime.

  That little hint would take care of the end of his trip, but right now he needed to handle the immediate threat.

  He glanced in his rearview mirror; there were still a few familiar cars behind him. If he hadn’t been paying close attention he might have just thought they were going the same way, but the coincidence of them pulling off for gas at the same time and following him onto and off state highways had focused his attention.

  The only question he couldn’t answer was why they hadn’t tried to attack or trick him yet.

  These assholes are waiting for reinforcements. The question is where? Sacramento? Or are they just waiting for me to go to asleep?

  His phone rang, cutting through the droning hum of the highway. Unknown number.

  He answered it on speakerphone.

  “What?” James barked.

  “I presume I’m speaking with Mr. James Brownstone?” The voice was deep, masculine, and accented, but he couldn’t quite place the accent.

  “Yeah. Who the fuck is this?”

  “Just think of me as a party interested in cutting you a deal.”

  James checked around to see if any of his tails were driving suspiciously, but they were all keeping their distance.

  “What deal?”