Hail To The King

by Michael Anderle

  Trey kept smiling. “We’re not thugs, ma’am. We’re with the Brownstone Agency. We just want to talk with William, and we’ve been informed he’s staying here.” He shrugged. “He’s got a bounty on him, ma’am. If he comes with us nice and quiet-like, we guarantee we won’t harm a hair on his head. But you should know that the word’s out that he’s in town, and some much less nice men might show up. It’s a win-win for him to come with us.”

  The old woman snorted. “The word’s old.” She nodded toward the house. “Go ahead and check if you want. He ain’t here anymore.”

  Trey chuckled. “You expect me to believe that?”

  She gestured toward her open front door. “Like I said, go ahead and check. Not saying he was never here. He was staying with me, but then he heard that Brownstone’s thugs were in town so he ran. Little chickenshit. I raised him to be tougher than that. I almost hope you catch his ass now and beat him down. It’d serve him right for being a pussy.”

  “Seriously?” Trey glanced at the other bounty hunters. They all shrugged.

  He locked eyes with the defiant old woman. Her story rang true. She wasn’t sweating, fidgeting, or averting her gaze.

  “Damn it,” Trey muttered. “You got any idea where your boy ran off to?”

  “Nope.” The woman shook her head. “If I knew, I’d tell you. Now, you gonna ransack my house, or are you gonna leave me alone? Don’t have time for this thug crap. I was in the middle of watching CSI: Oriceran.”

  Trey gave her a polite nod. “Nah, we got no reason to mess with you over a level one. Enjoy your show.” He gestured toward the car. “Come on, boys. It’s a bust.”

  The others fell in behind him, a few muttering under their breaths. Soon they were back on the road.

  Shorty sighed from the back seat. “That was bullshit. Total fucking bullshit.”

  Trey glanced up at his rearview mirror. Shorty’s face was pressed into a tight frown.

  “You think we should have busted up her house?” Trey asked. “The big man wouldn’t like us doing that kind of shit, especially over a level one.”

  Shorty shook his head. “That ain’t what I’m saying. She called us thugs. We got suits and licenses. We’ve been trained by a Marine. We ain’t thugs.”

  Every man in the SUV wore a mask of annoyance or concern.

  Carl ran his hand along his tie. “Hell, we were thugs, but we ain’t thugs now. We’re on the side of the law, so how can that bitch say that? This is some messed-up shit.”

  “Bounties’ families ain’t gonna like us,” Trey announced as he pulled to a stop at a red light. “But it didn’t bother y’all before when we actually were thugs. So why the fuck do you care now what some old woman who ain’t your nana says?”

  “Before we were thugs.” Shorty shrugged. “Now we ain’t. It’s supposed to be different. People supposed to treat us different. With respect, you know what I’m saying?”

  Manuel let out a long sigh. “I think I need to drown my ego in about a gallon of God Sauce.”

  The light turned green and Trey accelerated. “Maybe they’ll give us a thug discount on top of our Brownstone discount.”

  Tyler paced back and forth in his office, every muscle tense with excitement. His fight-promotion career was actually taking off.

  I can make piles of money off this if I work this right—and if Brownstone can manage not to die. It’s like I can’t lose lately.

  He dialed Brownstone.

  “Yeah?” the bounty hunter rumbled by way of answering.

  Tyler stopped pacing. “I’ve got a guy. A level five. Lars Hansen. He’s willing to do it, but he gets to call the date and time.”

  The silence stretched on, and Tyler’s jaw tightened and he started pacing again.

  “Okay,” Brownstone finally answered. “But I still want to do the Salton Sea. Not going somewhere if the fucker gets to pick the place.”

  “That’s fine.” Tyler laughed. “You sure about this, Brownstone? This guy’s a level five. This isn’t going to be one of your show-up-and-throw-a-punch deals. The guy is probably as strong as you, and can basically turn his skin to stone.”

  Brownstone grunted. “I’d end up going after him anyway. This just saves me the trouble of tracking his ass down.

  “Glad you see it that way.”

  “I assume you’re gonna be setting up bets?”

  “You’re damned right I’m going to be setting up bets. There’s no way I’m going to pass up the opportunity to make money.” Tyler blinked, and he frowned. “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  Tyler groaned. “I have to bet on you, don’t I?” He sighed and dropped into his chair.

  Brownstone chuckled. “You don’t have to.”

  “I’ll fucking lose money if I don’t. Whatever. If you want to bet, though, you need to come down to the Black Sun to place them in person.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want that money in case you get killed, and it’ll help people see I’m in control.” Tyler grinned, his earlier concern over having to bet on his nemesis swallowed by the joy of control.

  “Fine,” Brownstone answered. “I’ll be there soon.”

  A murmur swept over the Black Sun as Tyler filled in the boxes he’d set up on the old dusty chalkboard that served him so well during the last few betting pools. It was time to define the possible bets and get the money flowing in.

  “What’s going on?” a man called from the bar. “You gonna be taking bets again? On Brownstone, or something else?”

  Tyler looked over his shoulder. “You’re damned right I’m gonna be taking bets. And, yeah, James Brownstone’s gonna be taking on Lars Hansen. This is going to be a match for the ages.”

  “Shit. The level five? Last I heard, he was in Wyoming.”

  “Nope.” Tyler scribbled BROWNSTONE VS. HANSEN across the top of the chalkboard. “He’s in LA, and Brownstone and him are going to fight. Hansen’s a nasty customer. Probably as strong as Brownstone, and just as tough. He demolished an Atlanta AET team a couple of years back all by himself, you know.”

  A huge biker at a table set his beer down. “Shit. That was him?”

  Tyler grinned. “Yep. Lars has made it clear he’s not afraid of Brownstone, and given his history, this is the first time in a long time that I think we’ve got a serious chance of the Granite Ghost being taken down.”

  Fuck. If Brownstone was gone I’d be a lot happier, but without him, I’ll be losing out on a lot of opportunities to make cash. Why does it have to be this way?

  The bar owner continued scribbling on the odds board. Different results, different odds. Surrender. Death. Maiming. Various categories for battle lengths. This elaboration continued for a couple of minutes until he realized silence had swept the room.

  “Someone’s here to see you, Tyler,” Kathy called from the bar.

  The info broker swallowed and slowly turned around. Brownstone stood behind him.

  The bartender nodded to the bounty hunter, his tension melting. “Hey, Brownstone.”

  Everyone started murmuring and whispering at their tables. More than a few looked shocked at the casual exchange.

  Brownstone stared at the chalkboard. “This your latest odds board?”

  “Yeah.”

  The bounty hunter reached into his jacket and Tyler’s stomach tightened. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe the bounty hunter’d had enough of the info broker’s shit and changed this mind.

  Brownstone pulled out a wad of cash and tossed it to Tyler.

  “What the fuck?” shouted the biker. He jumped to his feet. “Brownstone’s in on it?”

  He sat once the bounty hunter glared at him.

  “I’m not betting on any shit other than I win.”

  Tyler pocketed the cash. “Fair enough, but I have to let you know you’re missing a lot of nice hedge and bonus opportunities.” He tapped a few of the length and injury categories with a piece of chalk.

  Brownstone snorted. “Don’t give
a shit. This asshole’s going down. I already checked his bounty. He’s a dead-or-alive, so I’m not gonna hold back.”

  “Not my problem if you do.” Tyler shrugged. “Just make sure you’re at the right place at the right time.”

  The bounty hunter turned and stomped toward the door.

  The biker glanced at Tyler and Brownstone. “I can’t fucking believe this. I expected them to yell at each other, or at least some ass-kicking, but they’re working together now.”

  Tyler gave him a smug smile. “The Black Sun isn’t what it once was. I’m not what I once was.”

  Nah, Brownstone. You can’t die yet. You need to live until I’ve made every last penny I possibly can off you.”

  James turned the corner in his F-350. He needed some barbeque to wash the stink of the Black Sun off him.

  What the fuck am I doing partnering with Tyler?

  The bounty hunter shook his head. Tyler’s original pitch had made sense. Taking down a level five well away from the city would earn James a pile of money, and help him remove a dangerous man from circulation. Letting the information broker facilitate matters didn’t change the overall situation.

  James’ hand drifted to the amulet. It currently was separated from his chest with a metal spacer. Hours and hours of wearing the thing had worn him down, and it was getting harder to ignore the whispers, especially the more he thought he understood.

  I don’t think Alison meant I should stay bonded with the thing all the time. At least I don’t think so. Until she shows up I’ll mix it up, and she can chew me out when she gets here.

  His phone rang with a call from Shay, and he winced before answering in it on speakerphone.

  Shit. If I tell her what’s going on she’ll freak out.

  “Hey,” James rumbled.

  Shay yawned on the other end. “You know what I realized today?”

  “What?” He did a quick check of his mirrors for tails. Showing up at the Black Sun and placing a bet might have given some idiots ideas about taking him on. He didn’t spot anyone, though.

  “I learned why I’m a tomb raider and not an archaeologist. I don’t mean a field archaeologist, I mean the real-deal kind I tell all my friends I am.”

  James changed lanes. He had only a few more blocks until the barbeque place. “What do you mean?”

  “Real archaeology is a lot of research, which I do already, but it’s also a lot of digging in the dirt. More shovels than magic, and that shit is tiring.”

  He chuckled. “Your current job not exciting enough?”

  “Something like that.” Shay sighed. “But enough about me. I want to talk about you.”

  “What about me?”

  Movement caught James attention, but it was just a man in a Statue of Liberty costume spinning a large arrow sign declaring a liquidation sale at a furniture store.

  “You having any trouble with the Harriken?” Shay inquired.

  James grunted. “No Harriken left.”

  “Gangs? Mafia? Drow? Experimental dark mutants?”

  He was closer now. He could practically smell the barbeque. “Nope, nope, nope, and nope.”

  Yeah, Lars Hansen isn’t any of those things, so it’s not like I’m lying.

  Shay let out a sigh of relief. “Glad to hear you’re not gonna try to get yourself killed when I’m gone. I can’t always trust you to not do that.”

  James slowed to turn into the parking lot of the barbeque place, Jose’s Grill. “I never ‘try to get myself killed,’ and I haven’t been killed yet. Hell, I’ve died fewer times than you.”

  The tomb raider snorted. “Very funny. Okay, sounds good. If anything happens, let me know.”

  “Will do.”

  “I love you, you know.”

  James grunted. “Same here.” He parked the F-350 and killed the engine.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. Shay can never know about this Bounty Hunter Beat-Down Challenge.

  15

  James eyed the tied-up plastic bag containing his extra order of ribs as he started the F-350 and prepared to pull out of the parking lot. Jose’s ribs had satisfied him enough that he wanted to relive the meal the next morning, or maybe even later that night.

  For all I know, I might have to go kick that bounty’s ass tonight. Nice to have a little pre-game meal.

  His phone rang, and he frowned when the caller ID showed Zoe’s name.

  James picked up the phone. “Hey, Zoe.”

  “It’s my favorite flame,” the witch purred. She giggled. “Sorry. I was doing some rather potent magic earlier. I’m a bit drunk even by my standards.”

  James lowered the phone and turned on speakerphone. He could drive and talk well enough at the same time.

  “What’s going on, Zoe?”

  “Recipe tweaking.”

  James backed his truck out of the parking space and turned to exit the lot. “What do you mean?”

  “For your potions, silly. You see, the problem is that there’s something special about you. That’s always made preparing potions for you more complicated than normal.”

  You don’t know the half of it.

  James turned onto the street. “Yeah, so? You’ve told me that before. I’ve never had any problems with your potions. Why did you need to tweak them?”

  “Oh, I get that, but I’ve been thinking I can make them even better, and now I have. You could probably lose an arm and reconnect it with the help of one of them now. I’m rather good at what I do, if I do say so myself.”

  James snorted and joined the flow of street traffic. “Let’s just say I’m not gonna try that shit anytime soon, and I’m still not sure if you tweaking the formula is a good thing or a bad thing.”

  Shit. I wonder if tweaking the formula’s gonna mess anything up with the amulet. Hell of a time to find out.

  “It’s an excellent thing, I assure you.” Zoe let out a merry laugh. “I’m eager for you to try them out soon. Not that I want you to hurt yourself, but I’m curious.”

  James grunted. “I’ve got…something coming up anyway. How about I stop by tomorrow morning to pick up a six-pack?”

  Zoe gasped. “Six? Are you planning to destroy a city, James?”

  “Nah. If everything goes right, I won’t be anywhere near a city. Just got a nasty bounty to take out, and everyone keeps telling me to be careful and prepared and shit. I’m trying to take that advice to heart.”

  The loud sound of the witch clapping came over the line. “Okay. I’ve only got a few ready, so I’ll have to spend some time tonight working. But I’m more than happy to do it. Talk to you later.”

  “Hey, you don’t—”

  The potions witch hung up before James could finish the sentence.

  He shrugged and accelerated. As long as the bounty didn’t call him out tonight, he’d be fine.

  James scrubbed at his teeth with his toothbrush. The amulet sat on the side of his sink, still attached to the metal spacer. He stared at it, half-expecting an eye to open on it.

  Fuck. It’ll be kind of creepy sleeping next to this thing. I wonder if I should give it a name other than Whispering Amulet of Doom.

  James finished brushing his teeth and rinsed. He’d made a promise to Alison, but that didn’t mean he was ready to accept the amulet as part of his daily routine. He could keep it with him, though.

  He snatched up the amulet and headed toward his bed.

  House feels empty without Shay and Alison here. Then again, don’t know what Shay would say about the amulet. Probably tell me to call it Whispy Doom or something.

  He chuckled and slid the amulet underneath his pillow.

  “Don’t fuck up my dreams, asshole. I need to concentrate for the next few days.”

  As if responding to his words, his phone rang. James reached over to the nightstand, expecting Shay. The call was from a blocked number.

  He glared at the pillow. “You better not be fucking calling me to whisper at me.” He tapped the phone to answer. “Who the fuc
k is this?”

  A feminine snort sounded on the other end. “You’re an asshole half the time I call, Mr. Brownstone,” Heather responded. “Just thought I’d point that out.”

  James grunted. “Oh, well, give me a head’s up that it’s you rather than this blocked-number shit. It’s not like you’re the only one who calls me and hides their number.”

  “Oh, know some other hackers?”

  “Yeah, but it’s more like bounties and criminals who like to threaten me.” James sat on the edge of the bed. “Shit gets annoying.”

  “Brave souls.”

  “Stupid fuckers, but it’s all perspective.” James shifted the phone. “It’s kind of late. I haven’t gotten any more Parkour Penny alerts, so what’s this about?”

  Heather sighed.

  James hadn’t expected any more videos of Parkour Penny given that Shay was out of town, but maybe the hacker had turned up something new she hadn’t found before.

  “I’m in a little bind,” she explained after another sigh. “And I think I need help. Your kind of help.”

  “We don’t know each other well enough to work on favors, so unless this involves a bounty, I don’t know that I’m interested.” James frowned and flipped up his pillow. The amulet still sat there. It hadn’t crawled away.

  Heather let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, well, that’s not a problem. Because that’s exactly what I have after me—a lovely bounty you could smack around and take into a local police department for a fine monetary reward.”

  The bounty hunter dropped the pillow. “Okay, I’m listening. What happened?”

  James figured the bounty couldn’t be anything high-level. Probably a one, maybe a three if he were connected to organized crime or a terrorist group.

  “When I was poking into the systems of that crazy guy in San Gabriel Valley, someone else was poking around, too. I thought they were amateurs, but they were better than I expected and I tipped them off that someone else was there.”

  “And they’re after you?” James frowned.

  “They’re poking around. They haven’t found me yet. I did a little digging and found that the hacker’s associated with a team of artifact thieves. He’s a merc, but he’s a good merc. I guess that explains why they were looking into Schwartz. I also know that the head guy of the group has been asking around on forums about Schwartz and hacking. I figure if the head guy goes down, the merc hacker will wander off.”