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

by Michael Anderle

  What the fuck is going on? Maybe he knows I’m supposed to be at the grand opening but doesn’t realize I’m not supposed to be at whatever this thing is?

  James passed the barricade and walked toward the edge of the crowd. Many in the crowd automatically parted for him and allowed him easy passage toward the front. He wasn’t sure if their reaction was because they recognized him or they were afraid of him.

  He wasn’t that far into the crowd when he was able to understand the speaker, and more importantly, he could read the text of the huge white banner held by two men.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  PROTECT OUR HUMAN VALUES. PROTECT OUR HUMAN LANDS. PROTECT OUR HUMAN CULTURE. JOIN THE HUMANITY DEFENSE LEAGUE.

  Two other men held a smaller banner off to the side that said KEEP BARBEQUE HUMAN! ELVES SHOULD STICK TO ELF FOOD.

  James scrubbed a hand over his face. Why couldn’t the assholes just stay on the internet rather than screwing with a barbeque restaurant?

  A half-dozen other HDL members in suits and white HDL armbands stood to either side of the speaker, solemn expressions on their face, their arms at their sides.

  James grunted.

  Oh, those stupid fucks.

  The speaker, a bespectacled man with a pinched face, shook a fist in the air. “It’s like I was just saying. Too many people concentrate on flashy magic. They believe that’s the problem, but they’re tragically missing the point.” He snorted and shook his head. “We of the HDL aren’t crazed terrorists like the New Veil. We don’t want to hurt anyone, human or otherwise. We just want to protect humanity, and we realize things like magic aren’t the problem.” He pointed to his chest. “Humanity has its own magic, and we continue to develop that to better protect the planet against all non-human species that would seek to take it from us. Is that so wrong?”

  A few people in the crowd exchanged nervous glances, but a few shouts of “No!” also emerged from the crowd.

  None of this shit has anything to do with barbeque.

  The HDL speaker pointed to the restaurant. “Spice and Spell. It sounds innocuous, doesn’t it? You think it’s just a restaurant?”

  “It is just a restaurant, asshole!” someone shouted from the crowd. “Go back to where you came from. You people aren’t even from Denver.”

  The man chuckled. “See? You understand. You have the right instincts. You want to protect your culture. So do I. I just understand that humanity has a cultural tapestry made up of unique threads of everything from barbeque to teppanyaki.”

  James moved closer. Two cops stood off to the side, frowning.

  “I didn’t want to be here today,” muttered one of the cops. “I was supposed to be at my kid’s Little League game. You sure all their permits are in order? Remember last month with those other protesters? They’d screwed the paperwork up.”

  The first cop nodded. “Yeah. There’s nothing we can do unless they start something.”

  “He says they aren’t terrorists, but there are HDL terrorists.” The cop snorted. “I don’t care what someone’s politics are. I don’t want any terrorist sympathizers in my town.”

  The cops’ gazes drifted to James. The first cop leaned toward the second to whisper something, still looking at James, and the other nodded. Visible relief passed over their faces as both returned their focus to the speaker.

  James chuckled.

  The bespectacled man adjusted his tie. “And it’s ‘just a restaurant?’ That’s true, but that’s what makes it even more pernicious.” He flung his hand behind him. “Don’t you see? Conquering a world is difficult. No, conquering a species is difficult, especially a species that has its own magic and advanced technology, including nuclear weapons.” He gestured toward the crowd. “If the Oricerans had shown up and started destroying our cities like in War of the Worlds or Magic Apocalypse, we would have taken them out with ease. Also let me make it clear: the Oricerans aren’t evil. We of the HDL don’t believe they are boogeymen. We understand they are from a planet with many different species, but those species aren’t human, even if they look like us.” He laughed. “And I can understand why you’re all puzzled. A beautiful woman wants to open a barbeque restaurant? Where’s the harm, right?”

  Waves of shouted agreement and irritation swept through the crowd.

  “Just think of it as slow colonization under the guise of assimilation,” the speaker continued. “They’ll come, take what’s ours, change it until it's theirs, and then claim it. It’ll put us off-guard, make us think they’re adapting to our ways, but they’re actually taking over our culture, until the next thing we know, everything important in our world is run by Oricerans and humans are second-class citizens on their own planet. In a way, this restaurant is worse than a straightforward attack. At least an attack is honest.”

  James pushed forward. He’d had enough of this crap, and he hadn’t driven all the way up from LA so a bunch of loud-mouthed idiots could interfere with his ability to taste some quality barbeque.

  A hush fell over the crowd. The other HDL members narrowed their eyes.

  The speaker stared at James for a few seconds, something approaching satisfaction on this face. “You’re James Brownstone, right?”

  “Yeah,” James rumbled.

  “You’re a bounty hunter who has fought many dangerous non-human creatures.” The speaker gave him a warm smile. “I have to personally thank you. You and your men saved a cousin of mine from a Council attack. Amusement park trip from hell. You, better than anyone, understand that Oricerans can be dangerous even if they look us.”

  “Sure,” James responded. “I guess that’s true.”

  Gasps erupted from the crowd. James looked their way. There were no obvious Oricerans present. That was probably for the best. The HDL might have tried to start something if there were.

  James turned back toward the speaker. “But big fucking deal. Plenty of humans are dangerous too, and I’ve taken out way more of them than Oricerans. Being a bounty hunter is about dangerous assholes, not just dangerous Oriceran assholes.”

  The speaker chuckled nervously, his expression turning uncertain. “Sure, but you’re also famous as a barbeque lover. I’m sure you could give us all insight into how this elf woman has perverted something so human at its core. Cooking is the soul of a culture, and an outsider, a non-human, can never capture that. At best, it’ll be a hollow imitation, a mockery.”

  James reached up and scratched his cheek, then took a deep breath and shook his head. “Cooking is the soul of the culture. I agree with that.”

  The speaker nodded. “Right? There you have it, my friends. Even James Brownst—”

  “I’m not done talking,” James rumbled, his voice coming out close to a growl.

  “Of course. Feel free to continue.”

  James pointed at the HDL speaker. “You’re no pitmaster, and you and your friends are a bunch of dipshits who don’t know anything about me, and certainly don’t know shit about the true soul of barbeque.” He raised his voice until it was a booming shout. “You’re all a bunch of weak-ass bitches with weak-ass whiny signs who probably couldn’t tell North Carolina from Texas-style if you had a fucking wand pointed at your head.”

  Silence choked the area. The HDL speaker stared at James, his eyes bulging.

  “If you want to show Nadina up when it comes to barbeque,” James shouted, “you should beat her in a competition, not by protesting.”

  The HDL speaker sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. “This isn’t about barbeque,” he replied. “I don’t even like barbeque. This is about protecting what is human. Can’t you understand that?”

  James scoffed and pointed up the street away from the crowd. “You don’t like barbeque? Then get the fuck out of here. This is a barbeque restaurant, not fucking Congress.”

  The other man rubbed his temples, exasperation spreading over his face. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Mr. Brownstone. You might use magic armor, but you’re sti
ll human. Why are you sticking up for an elf?”

  Yeah, if anything, Nadina’s probably closer to a human than I am, but good thing the average dipshit still thinks Whispy is just magic armor.

  James snorted. “And I thought everyone knew everything about me. My daughter’s a half-elf, you stupid motherfucker, but that doesn’t even matter.”

  The HDL speaker glared at James. “And why is that?”

  “Because I might defend the Devil if he opened a nice barbeque joint.”

  A few people in the crowd laughed.

  James curled a hand into a fist and raised it. “So get the fuck out of here, and I better not see your ugly-ass faces or signs back here.”

  “We have a legal right to be here,” the speaker shouted.

  James shrugged. “I have a right to spout off too. That’s what’s so great about America, asshole. If you want me out of here, then drag my ass out.” He offered them a hungry grin. “I’d love to see you try.”

  The HDL members exchanged glances before the speaker grabbed the microphone stand and nodded to toward the rest of their equipment. A couple other men picked up the speakers and fell in behind the retreating HDL members.

  A few people in the crowd clapped, but most looked confused.

  The two closest police officers made their way over to James.

  “Thanks, Mr. Brownstone,” one of them offered. “I hate those pricks, but there’s nothing we can do.”

  “No reason to thank me.” James shrugged. “I was just defending barbeque.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, James again walked down the street toward Nadina’s restaurant. Though no police barricades or cars blocked the street, he wasn’t able to find any parking close to the building.

  A line of private security in black uniforms stood in front of Spice and Spell. A pack of reporters, cameramen, and hovering camera drones lingered in the area, but no protesters—or if they were protesters, they were extremely well-dressed. He spotted a single police car parked down the block with no officers inside. All the tension from the previous day was gone.

  A small crowd of people in tuxedos and cocktail dresses lingered near the entrance, chatting quietly as they filtered in and out of the packed restaurant.

  Who the hell wears a tuxedo to a barbeque place? Are all of Nadina’s openings like this? Good thing I have avoided them so far. James frowned and looked down at his jeans and t-shirt. He shook his head. There had been far fewer reporters when his restaurant opened, which made it a far less annoying event, but his antipathy for people sticking cameras in his face was well known.

  As if sensing his discomfort, a dark-haired reporter spun and all but charged him, a camera drone keeping station a few yards behind and above him. Everybody might know what he didn’t like, but that didn’t mean they were always smart about it.

  The reporter smiled. “Now, this is unusual. James Brownstone. I knew you were invited, but you never come to things like this. A once-in-a-lifetime event!”

  James grunted. “I don’t think me showing up at a barbeque place is all that weird. I like barbeque. That’s not a secret. Who the hell are you, anyway?””

  “I’m Kyle Killoughby. I’m with the Food Fusion channel.” The reporter extended his microphone. “Would you be willing to answer a few questions for our viewers?”

  A few other hungry reporters glanced his way. They looked so desperate to pounce on him that James was surprised they didn’t lick their lips and start drooling.

  Alison had suggested to him that her recent experiences proved cultivating a good media image with a few select organizations could be helpful. That might be true, but he didn’t have the patience for it. He didn’t need the media, and they didn’t care about him, other than how he could help them. Accordingly, politeness was something he didn’t bother with when it came to reporters.

  “Questions?” James muttered. “Depends on the questions.”

  “Would you care to comment on reports that you dispersed an angry anti-Oriceran mob that was about to set fire to the restaurant?” Kyle asked. “Initial reports suggest you almost attacked an HDL protest.”

  “That’s kind of overblown. We just had a loud discussion.”

  The reporter raised an incredulous eyebrow. “’A loud discussion?’ That’s what you’re calling it?”

  “The cops were there. Ask them.” James snorted. “Hey, we live?”

  I know one way to end this shit.

  Kyle bobbed his head. “Yes, Mr. Brownstone. We’re being streamed live.”

  James grinned. “Then I’ll make it clear to your audience. I didn’t do much. All I did was run off some stupid motherfuckers who don’t understand barbeque. Those dipshits were more concerned about something other than the food, which is the only thing anyone should care about at a motherfucking restaurant.” With a grunt, he pushed past the blinking reporter.

  “There you have it,” Kyle stammered. “James Brownstone offering colorful commentary on local anti-Oriceran protests at Nadina’s new restaurant.”

  James glared at the other reporters, and they all found somewhere else to look, all the eagerness from before left their faces. The security guards glanced his way, but no one challenged him or asked him for an invitation.

  Sometimes fame had its advantages. The HDL showdown the day before had left him annoyed, and today he just wanted to sit down and dig into some good barbeque.

  James stepped inside and waited at the podium. There was no one there, which was unsurprising given how busy everything was.

  Unlike the modest and small dining room at James’ place, Nadina’s restaurant was huge. Dark tables filled the cavernous dining room. A huge bar ruled the center, multiple bartenders smiling as they set bottles and glasses in front of customers. Dark-clad waiters and waitresses flitted from table to table, many holding massive silver trays filled with not only with the expected foods such as ribs and brisket, but also sauced and grilled vegetables.

  All these places, and she doesn’t even use magic for decoration. Would people accept her if she did? Most of the crowd didn’t seem like it was on the HDL’s side, but maybe people in Denver really like fancy restaurants, even if they are barbeque.

  The chaotic din of excited chatter filled the air. No one looked James’ way. A small number of reporters with cameramen wandered the dining room, but most people appeared to be happy customers, including a few other pitmasters James recognized from the competition scene.

  The rest of the crowd, judging by their too-perfect faces, bodies, and smiles, were celebrities, actors, and musicians. He recognized Jericho Cartwright, a pretty-boy action star, if only because he’d watched one of the man’s movies after Alison had mentioned meeting him and being unimpressed. The movie had sucked, but James didn’t care for most movies, so he might be judging it too harshly.

  James surveyed the room for a long moment before grunting. Nadina was conspicuously absent from the crowd.

  She must be in the back, supervising the food.

  A smiling redhead stepped out of a back door and was hurrying toward the podium when she spotted James. “I’m sorry for the wait, Mr. Brownstone. We’ve been expecting you.”

  James shrugged. “Doesn’t look like there is anywhere for me to sit anyway. I’ll just wait.”

  The woman shook her head, her smile never leaving her face. “We have a table reserved for you.” She gestured into the dining room after pulling a menu off the podium. “If you would follow me?”

  James chuckled as the woman led him through the crowded dining room. Everyone looked ridiculous, trying to eat barbeque in their tuxedoes and expensive dresses. He winced as he saw someone cut into a slab of sauced tofu, part of Nadina’s well-promoted “vegetarian” barbeque. He might not be a purist, but he felt that barbeque should, by definition, include meat.

  Well, not everything she does has to be good, and maybe if the vegetarians are around enough people eating normal barbeque, they’ll switch sides, or at lea
st they’ll try real barbeque when they’re in a barbeque place.

  The woman led James around a corner to an empty table he hadn’t been able to see. A few people glanced his way before returning to their meals and conversation.

  James took a seat and accepted a menu from the smiling woman.

  “Your server will be with you in a moment,” she explained before retreating toward the front of the restaurant.

  James flipped open the menu. It presented a complicated puzzle of meat and sauce choices, more a book than a simple guide to available meals. It was the antithesis of the KISS philosophy, but he wasn’t surprised. Many of Nadina’s places had complicated menus, and although there were some mainstays on her menu, every restaurant was unique in its own way, from décor to food choices

  Maybe she does use magic if she’s making all of this stuff. Shit, just ingredient-sourcing has to be a pain in the ass.

  The initial section of the Spice and Spell’s menu focused on protein selection, followed by sauces and then sides. Mainstays like chicken, pork, and beef were available, along with more exotic choices including buffalo and emu, and even one of the few Oriceran meats approved for wide distribution, aquaboar. He hadn’t seen it at any of Nadina’s other places he’d eaten at.

  James had tried it once and hadn’t been overly impressed, more because of the odd tangy aftertaste than the high price. He figured most barbeque fans preferred good old-fashioned pig, but since Nadina’s restaurants varied in their target audiences, it wasn’t a bad move to include it.

  He’d visited one of her places in Texas long after the opening. It served almost entirely standard Texas barbeque with a little Carolina on the side, even if it still managed to have an overly complicated menu. The Spice and Spell seemed to be trying to hit a different crowd.

  Is there really a bunch of rich hipsters interested in barbeque? I shouldn’t complain. The more people who like barbeque, the better.