When Angels Cry_An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure

by Michael Anderle

“Oh, wow,” the wife commented as the report ended. “I didn’t realize you were a famous bounty hunter, too. Do you do that in-between the barbeque competitions?”

  He laughed.

  Charlyce stared at the row of televisions behind the shop window, all of them set to the interview. She blinked several times as the well-dressed bounty hunter discussed his recent bounty and defended his boss James Brownstone.

  “That can’t be him.” She shook her head. “But it ain’t like there’s that many Trey Garfields in LA who look like that. He’s got the same face, even if he’s a man now.” She turned from the window and made her way up the street.

  It’d been years since she’d last talked to her nephew. She didn’t deserve to talk to him; not really.

  But I need your help, Trey. I need you to get me to James Brownstone.

  He was the only man who could help her little angel now.

  7

  Trey had just pulled his F-350 into the parking lot of his nana’s house when his phone rang.

  “Another of my adoring public.”

  It felt like every random woman he’d ever dated or man he’d talked to for five minutes in his entire life had called him since the interview had played. Everyone wanted a piece of Trey Garfield now, or at least a loan from him.

  “Not like I’m rich, you leeches,” he mumbled to himself as he raised the phone.

  Trey frowned. The caller ID didn’t reveal anything other than the origination city: Las Vegas, Nevada. He didn’t know anyone in Las Vegas. He’d never left California in his entire life. The phone continued to ring as he debated answering it.

  “Whatever. Probably just some bookie looking to score off me like Tyler does off James.” He lifted the phone to his face. “This is Trey. What do you got for me?”

  A surprised gasp came over the line.

  “Who is this?” he pressed.

  “I… It’s been in a while, Trey.”

  He narrowed his eyes. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  A long sigh followed. “Aunt Charlyce.”

  “What the fuck? Auntie Charlyce? You…” He pulled the phone back to stare at it as if he could see her on the other end. He didn’t want to believe it, but it did sound like the woman he remembered. “Nana told me you disappeared. I figured she was just being nice and didn’t want to tell me you drank yourself to death.”

  “I ain’t proud of who I was, and I ain’t proud of who I fell in with. Not only the booze took me. The Devil’s needle also took me for a while, and I lost myself. I don’t blame anyone but myself for that. I wasn’t strong enough, and I hurt you and everyone.”

  “Whatever. At least you ain’t my mother. She took off, and she didn’t have an excuse.”

  “That’s all in the past. We can move forward now.”

  Trey snorted. “So my junkie auntie is calling me up now? What, you need some money so you can score some drugs? I ain’t playing that shit. You want to shoot up or snort dust, you scrounge your own fucking money.”

  “No, it ain’t like that. I found forgiveness. I found Jesus, and I quit the drugs and the booze. I’m clean and sober, I swear.”

  “Clean and sober for how long? Since you saw me on TV last night?”

  The woman sighed over the line. “A month. I’m saving up money, trying to get back on my feet—I swear to the Lord in heaven. I’m not proud of what I’ve become, but I know now that part of helping myself means helping others. When I ran to drugs, it was because I didn’t care about no one but myself. Now I have a chance to really help someone else.”

  “So you want money from me after all? So you can help some other junkies?” Trey scoffed. “Everyone wants a piece of me now, but they didn’t give a shit when I was trying to push my way out of the ghetto. The only people who ever really gave a shit were Nana and James Brownstone. So, no, you can’t have my money. I don’t care if you’re blood.”

  “It ain’t like that. I don’t want money.”

  “Then why the fuck are you calling me after seven years?” Trey barked.

  “You just said it yourself…James Brownstone. I’ve read about him. He’s a good man. Blessed by God.”

  “Blessed by God? He is a badass, so I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “I read about how he’s a religious man. He goes to church.”

  Trey sighed. “So, what, it ain’t enough for you to try and get money from me? You going straight to the big man? Is that it? Mr. Brownstone don’t put up with motherfucking disrespect.”

  “You don’t understand!” Charlyce hissed. “Something evil’s walking in Las Vegas,” she whispered. “Not natural. Not even Oriceran. I read on the internet about how Mr. Brownstone has stopped not just evil men, but evil monsters. That’s what I need—a man blessed by God to help fight the evil.”

  “Listen to this cracked-out bullshit! You expect me to believe any of this?” Trey all but shouted. “How do I know you ain’t high right now?”

  “You can read about it in the news, about the little girl who lost her father. How his head was cut off and his body cut up. It’s evil. A demon, I tell you. We got that hole in the worlds now. The Oricerans can come through it, but who’s to say that Satan’s minions can’t, too? It’s a dark time, which is why we need men like Mr. Brownstone and men like you. The police can’t cope, not by themselves.”

  Trey blew out a breath as he thought over everything she was saying. He barely paid attention to anything that happened outside of Los Angeles County. If some magical creature was wandering around Las Vegas, it could easily be a level-four or five bounty and the big man might be interested.

  Hell, the big man might be needed.

  “Fine,” Trey muttered. “I’m gonna double-check your story, and to do that I’ll need to meet with you in Vegas.”

  “I know both your mother and me done you wrong, and I’m glad Mama steered you right.”

  “I ain’t so much as looking at the big man’s number until I’ve met you and double-checked your story. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  “Bless you, Trey,” the woman replied, her voice wavering. “Bless you.”

  He ended the call and stared the phone for a long while before shaking his head. “This shit is dumb. I’m getting hustled by my own flesh and blood.”

  Trey shook his head and texted James. He didn’t need to bother the big man with his aunt’s bullshit yet, but the man was still his boss and needed to know where he was.

  I have to go to Vegas for a day or two. No bounties from the 5-0 in the pipe.

  He started up his truck and pulled on the street. Minutes later, his phone chimed with a text.

  Vegas? You should stop by Jessie Rae’s and get some barbeque then.

  Trey chuckled. “Always with the motherfucking barbeque. I wonder what’s he up to right now. Probably chilling in his new house, thinking about how badass he is.”

  Charlyce passed through the alley, nodding to a few of the other regulars. “Hey, Mildred. Hey, Bobby.”

  “Hey, Charlyce,” Bobby replied with a wave.

  Mildred finished tying up a plastic bag in her shopping cart. “I haven’t seen you around here much lately.”

  “Been hitting cans in different territory. Trying to save up some money, you know. I was wondering, though, if you could help me out.”

  “I ain’t got any money. If I did I wouldn’t live on the street now, would I?”

  Bobby and Mildred both laughed.

  Charlyce shook her head. “I don’t want no money from you, but I was just trying to figure out a good place to get a shower and some clothes.”

  “Shower and some clothes?” Bobby eyed her. “You looking to get a job? Don’t bother. They ask you for a permanent address, and if you give ‘em a homeless shelter’s they won’t hire you. It’s why I gave up even looking.”

  “Not a job. Not yet, anyway.” Charlyce sighed. “My nephew is coming to meet me. I haven’t seen him
in seven years. Last he saw me I wasn’t…a good woman, so he ain’t expecting much from me.”

  Bobby and Mildred both gave sage nods.

  “Maybe you should sell that phone,” Bobby offered.

  Charlyce shook her head. “Priorities. This phone is what’s gonna let me get a job and get back into regular society. You ain’t nothing without the internet. I need this phone for my future.”

  “They have a shower down at the rescue mission,” Mildred suggested. “They might have some clothes you could have, too. If you got any money at all, you could try St. Vincent’s. They sell stuff real cheap there.”

  “Thanks. I’ll check them out.” Charlyce shook her head. “I gotta do this, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I ain’t scared.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

  “You ever meet any of your family?”

  Bobby shrugged.

  Mildred shook her head. “I haven’t seen any of them for twenty years. Seven years ain’t so bad.” She smiled. “Good luck. If you can kick the needle and the bottle, you can handle a little meeting with your family.”

  Bobby nodded his agreement.

  Charlyce offered them both a smile. She could never have a future if she didn’t face her past, and her angel needed the help. She might not be strong enough to face down the kind of evil that now stalked Las Vegas, but at least she could find the man who could.

  Detective Lafayette stared at the report on the computer and shook his head. Their killer was stepping up his game—three murders in less than a week. They’d thought they had the beginning of a pattern, only male adult victims in the presence of children. The most recent murder victims broke part of the pattern with both a mother and a father targeted, but it didn’t change the fact their suspect appeared to be targeting parents.

  He leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh. “How reliable is the witness testimony of a traumatized four-year-old, a seven-year-old, and a five-year-old?”

  His partner Detective West shrugged. “Look, we’ve got three deaths now, similar MO—decapitation and mutilation. Two in alleys and one in a parking lot. It’s not like those little girls impaled and sliced up their parents.”

  “Yeah, I’m not saying that, but the other shit?”

  “They’ve all said the same thing—some weird shadow shit with red glowing eyes. Even if the last two kids heard about the mutilation on TV, we haven’t released anything to the public about the red glowing eyes. You telling me three little kids came up with the same details?” Detective West snorted. “And all three of those kids mentioned the killer talking about them being angels. Tell me they all made that up! It’s amazing they are still fucking sane after what they saw.”

  Detective Lafayette ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck. You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. We can’t deny it now. It’s magical shit. If we can find the suspect, we can point AET at him and let them do their thing, but the fucker’s not exactly easy to pin down. And for all we know, he could be teleporting around.”

  Detective West glanced at a map hanging on the wall. They’d placed pins marking the murder sites. They didn’t cluster in a single area; they were several miles apart each. It was too damned large an area to canvass even if they grabbed every last officer in the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.

  “We’ve got another option,” Detective Lafayette suggested.

  “What, wait until this fucker kills half the parents in Vegas? Or until he decides he wants to follow-up on the kids, too? He only didn’t kill the first one because he couldn’t get to her. He’s left the last couple alone, but how long is that going to last?”

  “We’ve got an MO, and we’ve got a rough description.”

  His partner laughed. “Shadow monster with a transforming bone arm, tentacles, and red glowing eyes? We’re not going to get within the same time zone as a search warrant with something like that, and that’s if we even knew where to search.”

  “Yeah, but it’s enough to get a bounty going.”

  Detective West shook his head. “With what money? Our budget’s tighter than ever, and we’ve just started investigating. The city won’t even begin to touch reserve funds until everything’s more solid, and the feds are still pissed at us about the last incident. We’re not going to get any decent bounty hunters with piddly cash.”

  Detective Lafayette nodded. “Look, I say we hit up the Nevada Resort Association. The first kill was close to the Strip. The last thing any casino owner wants around here is people spooked about a serial killer. I say we go so far as to tell ‘em we’re going to aggressively talk about it in the news if they don’t cough up some cash.”

  “You want to extort money out of casino and resort owners?”

  “It’s not extortion. It’s protection, and for their own good.” Detective Lafayette shrugged.

  Detective West laughed. “That’s what the mobsters always say.”

  8

  James stifled a yawn as he pulled into the hotel parking lot. He’d been planning to head back to LA, but the text from Trey had changed his mind. The junior bounty hunter had never left California as far as James knew, and out of nowhere he was suddenly going to Vegas? Something smelled off, and Trey might need a little back-up. Trusting a man and ignoring that he might need help were two separate things.

  Not hitting the road for another long stretch wasn’t such a bad thing either. As glorious as Jessie Rae’s barbeque was, it didn’t stop James from needing rest.

  He stepped out of his truck and headed toward the hotel lobby.

  I need to play this shit right. I don’t want Trey thinking I don’t trust him. This might have nothing to do with the job, but I still want to be here if he needs a little extra muscle.

  The hotel doors slid open, and James made his way to the front desk. The faded carpets and cracked paint proved the place wasn’t a five-star resort, but there were no junkies shooting up outside or gunfire in the background. James just needed a place to sleep where no one would try to mug him in the middle of the night.

  The manager stepped out of a back office and looked James up and down as he ran a hand through his too-slick hair. “You need a room?”

  “Yeah,” James rumbled.

  “How long, big man? We don’t do day-to-day here.”

  The bounty hunter frowned, unsure how long Trey might need him. “About a week?”

  The manager chuckled. “Don’t sound so sure. Okay, I’ll check you in, but you’ve got to give your cancellation notice within forty-eight hours. Otherwise, we’re still charging you for the day.”

  “That’s fine.”

  It wasn’t like the price of this hotel was going to make or break James. He probably spent more money on supplies for his average firefight than he’d spend paying for a week at the hotel. He fiddled around in his wallet for a credit card.

  The manager nodded to himself as if he’d just made a decision. “Hey, you looking for a free week?”

  James looked up. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m looking for some new security. You’re a big piece of meat, fella, and you would scare away the riffraff. You sign up, I’ll comp you for the week, and then we can hit hourly after that. Plus, you get a free continental breakfast.”

  The bounty hunter chuckled. “Sorry, pal. I’ve already got a job.”

  Disappointment showed on the man’s face. “Fair enough. Just keep it in mind.”

  Ten minutes later James sat on the bed in Room 202, wondering what the hell he’d even do if Trey didn’t call for help. He’d need to stay a day or two just in case, but it wasn’t like he could spend all day eating at Jessie Rae’s, and he had even less to do in Las Vegas than he did in Los Angeles.

  Maybe I should go on a road trip for a few days and clear out my head.

  James leaned over and picked up a few fliers from the nightstand. Las Vegas wasn’t some tiny village. There had to be something intere
sting to do that didn’t involve kicking ass or barbeque.

  “True passion comes with music,” he read, staring at a picture of a woman in a sequined gown being twirled by a suited man. “Learn how to dance.” He set the flier down.

  Does Shay like that kind of thing? Sometimes she likes fancy and sometimes she doesn’t. Maybe I’ll ask her when she gets back.

  James tossed the flier back on the nightstand and sighed. He’d never, ever worried about learning how to dance before. He didn’t regret starting something with Shay, but it was occasionally hard not to lament the loss of his simpler existence.

  “They could change my nickname to the Dancing Ghost.” He chuckled.

  His stomach rumbled, and he thumbed through some of the other fliers, looking for somewhere decent to eat. He stopped on a picture of a huge juicy burger. An In-N-Out burger was only a mile away, all but begging for a walking excursion.

  A little exercise and a snack sounded perfect. He eyed his phone again, wondering if he should contact Trey and ask him what was going on before shaking his head.

  “Burger first, worry later.”

  Detective Lafayette moved the mouse and clicked on several of the drop-down boxes to examine the options. He shook his head.

  “Damn, this is complicated. Have you ever set one of these up before, West?”

  The other detective nodded. “Yeah, a few times before I was transferred to homicide. Why?”

  “Look at some of these options.” Detective Lafayette pointed to the screen. “Option 2B: Please define if the bounty can be classified as living or dead. What the fuck does that mean? Who puts a bounty on a dead guy?” He shook his head. “Guess that brings new meaning to a dead-or-alive bounty.”

  “Don’t you remember that zombie dude they had to put down a few years back? I mean, technically he was dead, even if he kept moving until they blew him up. It’s supposed to be about setting expectations.”

  The other detective sighed. “Fucking Oriceran. Someone should figure out how to slam the gates closed and get rid of magic again.” His attention flicked to a line near the top of the screen: PROJECTED BOUNTY: LEVEL ONE. “We need serious help, and that’s going to be at least level three or higher.”