Road Trip: BBQ And A Brawl (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 19)

by Michael Anderle

  Alison groaned. “’Practice kid?’ Dad, don’t go seeing babies everywhere just because you have one coming. I’m so not ready for a kid. You know, other than Sonya, and Tahir and Hana are doing all the heavy lifting with her anyway.”

  “I wasn’t ready for a kid either, but I did okay, and you turned out great.”

  “It’s not the same thing, Dad. My life is complicated right now.”

  James laughed. “You’re seriously trying that line on me?”

  “It’s true,” Alison replied, irritation in her voice. “Just because we solved Izzie’s problem doesn’t mean everything else has gone away. There’s all the Drow stuff to worry about. I mean, not right now, but eventually.”

  James took a deep breath and slowly let it out, his gaze fixing on the horizon for a moment. “Time for a little life lesson, Alison.”

  “Why am I already terrified?”

  James could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

  “When I met you and your mom, my whole philosophy of life was about keeping shit simple.”

  “I know. You only said it, like, every other second. The only thing you talked about more was barbeque.” Alison scoffed.

  James grunted. “The point is, I know a little about things being complicated, but you know what else I learned from all that?”

  “Blow up major international criminal rings before they send assassins after you?” Alison suggested.

  “Nah. I learned that no matter how much you want to keep shit simple, it’s always complicated. That’s life. Even if I wasn’t a bounty hunter and I had just been running my restaurant back then, I would have had other complicated shit to worry about. If you’re waiting to take the next step because you want life to get less complicated, you’ll be waiting until King Oriceran dies of old age. I don’t know if either of us will live that long.”

  Alison fell silent for so long that James began to wonder if the line had gone dead.

  “Thanks,” she finally whispered. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, and you’re right. I’m going to try to trust my feelings more. I’m not saying that means anything other than the move, but I’m glad I have your support.”

  “You’ve always had it, and you always will,” James intoned. “You need any right now? If you’ve got Drow breathing down your neck, maybe they need a little visit from the man who took down Laena.”

  Alison chuckled. “Nope. Like I said, it’s all under control for now. They might be pulling a few schemes, but this isn’t like before. I don’t think anyone’s going to send crazed assassins or try to summon strange monsters to get at me.”

  “Just saying, I could change directions and head up to Seattle.”

  “No, seriously, it’s fine, Dad. I’m fine, and you’ve seen my friends in action, and we didn’t even have my entire team from the company. You should just relax and enjoy your barbeque.” Alison let out a contented sigh. “A baby, huh? I’ll admit I would kind of prefer a younger brother.”

  “A younger brother?” James replied. “Why?”

  “I’ve got the big sister/little sister thing going on with Sonya, so it’d be nice to mix it up. What about you?”

  James furrowed his brow. “Either is fine.” He frowned. There had been a noticeable absence of one sensitive topic in the conversation. “You really sure everything else is all right?”

  “Yes,” Alison replied quietly. “If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, then, yeah. I’m dealing with it, and Mason and Hana and the others are helping me. Losing people is hard, but it’s not like I haven’t dealt with it before. In this case, though, I’m trying to make sure I’m living up to the sacrifice.”

  James scoffed. “Living up to it? You’ve been living up to it for years. No matter what happens, I want you to know how proud I am. Your sibling will have one hell of a sister to live up to.”

  “Ahh. Thanks, Dad.”

  “I’m gonna let you go for now. I’m sure you have better things to do than talk to me on the phone. I love you, and give me a call if you need anything.”

  “I love you, too. Talk to you soon.”

  James reached over to his phone to end the call.

  Hell, no matter what happens, at least I’m one for two when it comes to kids.

  Chapter Eleven

  James leaned back in his chair, a pile of clean ribs sitting on the plate in front of him as he finished up his meal at the Spitfire Smokehouse in Moab, Utah. This was the kind of experience he wanted, traveling the road and finding out-of-the-way barbeque joints and experiencing their flavor profiles, not taking on mercs in power armor and drug-enhanced wizards.

  Shay was right. I needed this shit. I just need to stop getting dragged into bounties.

  It was easy to find criminals to beat down, but finding quality barbeque could be a challenge. This wasn’t his first barbeque road trip, but it’d been a few years since the last.

  Huh. And that shit still ended with me having to beat someone down. Well, at least I got it out of the way this time. I’m sure when I get to Denver, I won’t have any problems at all.

  The restaurant’s owner cleared his throat from behind the counter. “We don’t get a lot of celebrities in here, let alone celebrities who know about barbeque. I’m almost afraid to ask, but how was everything?”

  James nodded to the man. “It was great. I’ve got no complaints.” He gestured at his plate.

  The owner pulled out his phone with a nervous smile on his face. “I’m sure you get asked all the time, but could I get a picture with you? It might help business if people knew James Brownstone had eaten here.”

  James stood and headed over toward a wall that had a laminated menu hanging on it. “Sure.”

  The owner scurried over beside James and held out the phone for a selfie. He took a few pictures with a huge smile on his face. “Thank you, Mr. Brownstone. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” James extended his hand. “And call me James.”

  The owner gave his hand a firm shake. “Sure thing, James.”

  “One thing before I head out.” James turned and frowned out the window. “Does this town actually have a gas station?”

  The other man nodded. “It’s right before you get back on the highway. It’s the only one we have left, but you can’t miss it.”

  Before James headed toward the door, he fished out a few large bills and tossed them on the table. The man deserved a big tip for maintaining such quality in a small town.

  The owner had no international fame, and no movies had been made about him or his daughter. He just had good-tasting food. In a sense, his barbeque was purer than James’ or Nadina’s.

  James pushed out of the restaurant, thinking about the gas station. While LA didn’t present much of a problem, he had found that with each passing year, it was growing harder to find gas stations. With electric vehicles now the strong majority, even his stubborn attachment to his decades-old truck couldn’t stave off the inevitable. The reality was, at some point, he wouldn’t be able to drive a gas-powered truck anymore. It might take ten or twenty more years, but the day was coming.

  Shit. What do I do? Put an electric engine in it? My F-350 wouldn’t be the same with an electric, and even Alison’s driving an electric Fiat. Trey traded in his truck when he had the kid.

  The future wasn’t always kind to people and their tastes.

  James grunted as he headed toward the parked Ford. There had to be some other possibility. Maybe he could split the difference for a while with some sort of hybrid system, or even track down a wizard to create some sort of ever-full gas can. There had to be something like that. What was the point of magic if it wouldn’t help a man keep his beloved truck?

  I’ve repaired that thing so many times. I’ve put enough money into it that I could have bought several new trucks, but maybe even a machine has to die eventually.

  Sighing wearily, James threw open the door and climbed inside. It was time to fuel up and continue toward Denv
er. He would enjoy his truck while he could.

  I wish they would just come over and ask for the fucking autograph already, James thought, shaking his head as he continued pumping gas.

  Two men had been lingering against the wall of the closed convenience store. Apparently, no one needed any snacks in the early evening in the town.

  The men murmured to each other as they took sips of their beer, occasionally spilling some on their torn jeans and their Atlantis and Doom t-shirts. Judging by the font, Atlantis and Doom was sort of metal band, but James paid about as much attention to music as he did anything else non-barbeque or family-related, which was not at all. You couldn’t eat music.

  When James had driven up, they’d both glanced his way and fallen into hurried whispers, pointing at him a few times.

  James had ignored them as he finished filling his tank. He put the nozzle back on its rest and replaced his gas cap.

  The men shared a look before nodding to each other. They tossed their beer bottles into a nearby garbage can and walked toward James, their hands in their pockets.

  “Can I help you?” James rumbled.

  One of the men scratched his cheek. “That’s a sweet-ass truck you got. An actual F-350, right? I’ve got an eye for classic trucks. My dad was a mechanic. Died fixing a Chevy, actually. Funny story.” He grinned. “Well, it’s kind of one of those ‘you had to be there at the time’ things.”

  James nodded slowly. “Yeah, sounds hilarious.” He frowned.

  Both men kept a hand in a pocket. Obvious tension tightened their necks and shoulders. The other man’s eyes kept darting back and forth as if looking for something or something.

  Don’t do anything stupid, idiots.

  “So, uh,” the first man continued. He sighed. “I’m gonna have to ask you to hand over your keys.”

  James stared at him. “Say that again?”

  The man pulled out a switchblade and pressed the button. The blade extended with a click. “Your keys, bro. I know some guys who will pay a shit-ton of cash for a classic truck in that good of condition. Nothing personal. You hand over the keys and your phone, and we don’t have trouble. It’s not that long of a walk to a place where you can call someone, but it’ll be long enough that we can get the hell out of here.”

  The thug’s friend pulled out his own switchblade, unease on his features.

  James laughed. What kind of criminal tried to rob a large tattooed man in a big truck, armed with only a knife? For that matter, what kind of criminal tried to rob James Brownstone with a knife?

  “Do you seriously not know who I am?” James frowned.

  “You a cop?” the first thug asked, squinting.

  “No, I’m not a cop,” James growled.

  The second thug’s eyes widened and he slowly backed away. “No, no, no. It can’t be. Oh, shit. This is bad. This is very bad.”

  His friend kept his attention on James as he spoke. “What? He some fucking MMA bitch or something? That don’t make him immune to getting stabbed, especially if we both take him on.”

  “No, you dumbshit,” his friend shouted. “That’s James Brownstone.”

  “I thought he was dead or some shit.” The first thug narrowed his eyes.

  “I’m not dead, moron,” James rumbled. “I just don’t do many bounties anymore.”

  “You’re not James Brownstone.” The man shook his head. “This is bullshit. You’re just some fucker who looks like him. What are the chances that James Brownstone would be in Moab?” He waved the knife. “And Brownstone has, like, magic armor and shit, so give me the keys or I start getting stabby, bro.”

  His friend tossed his knife on the ground and raised his hands. He slowly backed away. “I don’t want any part of this. This is suicidal.”

  “You cowardly little bitch.” The first thug spat on the ground. “When I sell this thing, you don’t get shit, you hear me? Not shit, and I’m gonna tell everyone how you were such a pussy.”

  James raised his hand and gestured for the man to come at him. “Okay, let’s get this over with. An asshole trying to take me down with a knife? I can’t even be angry about this shit, it’s so ridiculous. At least if it was a magic knife, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “Just give up!” the other thug yelled. “He’s gonna kick you through a window.”

  James shook his head. “Nope. I don’t want to cause trouble for whoever who owns this place.”

  The knife-wielding thug grinned. “Yeah, I thought so. You’re not Brownstone. Make up whatever story you want, but I’m still taking your truck.

  “No, I am.” James cracked his knuckles. “I just want to make sure I’m delivering the pain only to whoever deserves it. I don’t like to cause trouble for people who don’t have it coming. So, fucking come on already before I die of old age, or turn your ass around and get the fuck out of here.”

  “You dumb piece of shit,” the thug growled. “I’m gonna stick you but good, and you’re gonna bleed out here.”

  “The last people who messed with my truck ended up dead,” James snarled. “Want to join them?”

  The thug thrust the knife, and James threw up his uncovered arm to block. He didn’t want to ruin another shirt.

  The blade penetrated deep into James’ arm. Pain spiked from the wound, but it was easy to ignore. He’d felt far, far worse. Bonding with Whispy hurt more.

  “See, you stupid bitch?” the thug yelled. “Now you’ve gone and done it.”

  James jerked his arm back and the thug’s eyes widened as he lost his grip on the knife. He tripped, falling to the ground.

  “The one and only chance you might have would be to surprise me and blow me into tiny little chunks,” James rumbled. He reached up and yanked the blade out of his arm with a grunt before tossing the bloodied weapon over his shoulder. His wound throbbed. “Stabbing me with some toothpick?” He chuckled. “You couldn’t win against Trey’s grandma with that knife.”

  “Who the fuck is Trey? And why the fuck should I care about his grandma?”

  “Trey’s ten times the man you could ever hope to be.” James reared back and slammed his foot into the man’s chest.

  The thug flew several yards before landing hard on his arm and screaming. He turned onto his back, his arm flopping. It was bent at an unnatural angle. “You broke my arm, you sonofabitch.”

  “Yeah, because you just stabbed me and wanted to steal my truck.” James shrugged. “What are you bitching about? You’re not even dead. You’re doing a lot better than a lot of the idiots who come after me.”

  James’ arm continued to throb, but the pain already had begun to dull. The wound should easily be healed by the time he arrived at his next stop. His basic level of regeneration, let alone what he could achieve with Whispy, was one of the reasons he’d stopped carrying healing potions years before.

  The second thug pulled out his phone and dialed, staring at James the whole time. “Yeah, it’s not an emergency. I mean, it kind of is. I want to turn myself in for armed robbery. Me and my friend just tried to mug a guy at the gas station. My friend tried to stab the guy, but he got fucked up. No, not the guy, my friend. Yeah. Yeah. I think it’s James Brownstone. No. Yeah. No, seriously. Could you send someone to come and arrest us? Maybe send an ambulance for my friend? I’m pretty sure his arm is broken. No, we’re not going anywhere. Okay.” He stuck his phone in his pocket and shrugged.

  James grunted and nodded to the man. “Smart move. Pick better friends.”

  The thug shrugged and sighed. “So, hey… This is gonna sound weird, but could I get an autograph before I go to jail?”

  His friend lay on the ground, his moans growing louder.

  “Sure,” James rumbled. “Since you weren’t a dipshit.”

  Chapter Twelve

  James glanced around as the F-350 rolled down the streets of Denver. It was a nice day, and a lot of people were out walking.

  He’d had no more trouble on the road between Moab, Utah and his final destination. Aft
er his late arrival, he’d checked in at his hotel, called his wife, taken a quick shower, and gone to sleep, hopeful he could get through another day without any more ass-kicking detours.

  That morning, after a lot of hotel bacon and sausage, James had decided he wanted to go check out the exterior of Nadina’s restaurant even though it wasn’t opening until the next day. Originally, he had hoped to have more time after he arrived, but helping Trey and the agency out had eaten that time.

  No big deal. It’s not like I had any big plans. I’m lucky I didn’t end up having to fight a dragon or some shit when I crossed into Colorado.

  James turned right, and after half a mile, slowed his truck to a halt at a police barricade manned by a bored-looking officer. A decent crowd of people stood in the distance, filling the street. They were arranged in a half-circle around a man in front of a microphone stand and two speakers, surrounded by men holding white banners. They were speaking in front of an otherwise unassuming one-story building with a red-brick façade and a stylized yellow sign reading Spice and Spell.

  That’s Nadina’s place. Shit. Did they open already?

  James pulled his truck off to the side and parked, then retrieved his phone to check the invitation message. The date and time confirmed the grand opening was the following day, but maybe Nadina had arranged some sort of ceremony? She would know James wouldn’t be interested in that kind of thing, so she might have not bothered to tell him to come early.

  Not that different from when I opened my place. All those reporters wanted to show up. I think they were disappointed no one attacked my restaurant.

  James hopped out and headed toward the crowd. Whoever was speaking was shouting and some in the crowd were shouting back, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying at that distance. It didn’t sound like a friendly exchange, though.

  People could be very passionate about barbeque. It was hard to blame them. Everything great in life inspired passion.

  The police officer at the barricade eyed James for a moment, then nodded to another cop standing closer to the restaurant. A small smile broke out on the second cop’s face, and he jerked his head toward the crowd.