Manuel slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned.
The bounty hunters hopped out of the SUV and hurried over to the pair.
“I—” Shorty began.
Trey held up a hand. “Don’t say shit. You got conned, Shorty. I know, because this bitch just tried to con me, and I know there’s no way she’d be sneaking out the back unless she went out front and ran into you.”
Shorty shrugged and averted his gaze.
Trey chuckled and shook his head. “My bad, Shorty. I should have briefed you better. She ain’t got a level two for losing any dust. She got a level two for all her con-woman shit.” He shoved her toward the Expedition. “Nice try, but no one can con a Garfield without some magic, bitch.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “I was this close to getting away.” She batted her eyelashes. “I can still make it worth your while if you let me go.”
“Please.” Trey snorted. “The money they’re gonna pay out for your bounty will make it worthwhile.” He pushed her forward and glared at Shorty and Manuel.
Both men got into the back of the car, avoiding looking at Trey or the bounty.
Shorty sighed.
Fuck. Can’t believe I got played like that.
Tyler leaned back in his chair and put his feet on his desk. Several rings sounded before the call connected.
“Who the fuck is this?” rumbled a voice over the line.
“Tyler, owner of the Black Sun. You heard of me?”
“Yeah. I know who you are. Why the fuck are you calling me?”
Tyler grinned. Time to make some money.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve heard some shit that I’d thought I pass along to all the level fours and higher. People who are ass-kickers like yourself, Patrick.”
“I’m listening.”
Tyler dropped his feet and sat up. “James Brownstone’s throwing down the gauntlet. Told me he’s willing to take people on. It’ll be one-on-one. No AET. No other bullshit. They beat his ass or kill him. They don’t have to look over their shoulder.”
Patrick snorted. “Fuck that noise. You expect me to seriously agree to walk up to Brownstone?”
“You scared, Patrick?”
“Fuck it. I’ve got a great rep without taking on Brownstone. If I try and go after him, there’s no fucking upside for me.”
Tyler smiled. “First of all, there’d be some extra money in it for you, courtesy of me. Also, you wouldn’t have to worry about when he’s coming because—”
Patrick hung up.
The informer broker frowned. There weren’t a large number of level fours and fives in the area. Brownstone’s presence in LA had seemed to scare them away in recent months, but Tyler didn’t want his career as a fight promoter to be over as soon as it started. He had to try harder.
Okay, whatever. Patrick’s just one guy. I’ll call the next guy. Not everyone is a pussy afraid of Brownstone.
Tyler stared at his phone for a moment before nodding. The plan wasn’t dead.
Two hours later, Tyler had contacted five more candidates with no more success than the first. Three men were briefly willing to consider the idea before deciding, much like Patrick, that it wasn’t worth the risk to their reputations or freedom. Two others talked a lot of trash but still said no in the end.
Tyler slumped over his desk, resting his head in the palm of his free hand as he made his pitch to candidate number six.
“There’d be money for you showing up, and you’d know exactly when Brownstone would be coming and where. With that kind of information, a witch like you could take him down easily. I mean, shit…you’ve got a level-five bounty. And like I said, there will be no AET. This is fucking silver-platter material here.”
“Are you fucking out of your mind?” the witch yelled. “You think I’m an idiot? Brownstone wouldn’t even care that I’m a woman. I heard what he did to the Collector in Japan. Don’t call me again.” She hung up.
Tyler scrubbed a hand over his face. Why weren’t people greedier? Half these people could destroy a city block by themselves, but were wetting their pants because he suggested they take on James Brownstone in a deserted area.
Sure, the guy kicks a lot of ass, but he’s just a man in the end. He’s not a freaking god. Maybe I need to spin that he won’t kill them if he can avoid it.
The info broker dropped his head to his desk. Guaranteeing they wouldn’t die would only scare people off. Where was an arrogant fuck like King Pyro when he needed him?
Thirty minutes later Tyler pulled his phone back to stare at it, convinced he hadn’t heard right.
He put the phone back to his ear. “What did you just say?”
“I’ll do it,” rumbled Lars on the other end. “But I get to pick the place, date, and time. That way I know there’ll be no Brownstone bullshit tricks.”
Tyler thrust his fist into the air in triumph. Lars might have been his last hope, but the man was a level five. The info broker could make a lot of money off this fight if he set things up right.
“Brownstone wants to pick the place. I know where he’s going do it. It’s fucking far away from anywhere in LA. He wants to make sure no random people are hurt, and I can guarantee there will be no AET.”
Lars grunted. “Fine. Don’t give a fuck, then. If we fight in the city, those AET assholes will show to spoil all the fun. Make sure you pass that along to that fucker Brownstone, and we’ll talk soon about when I’m gonna end his ass. You better not be shitting about the money. You fuck with me, I don’t give a shit about your place’s neutrality. I’ll walk into that bar and flatten it, AET guarantees or not.”
Don’t fucking threaten me, asshole. I hope Brownstone knocks you around a lot.
Tyler shook his head instinctively, despite being on the phone. “Nope. You’ll get a flat fee plus a percentage of the gross receipts from the bets. Not only that, you’ll go down as the man who took down James Brownstone.”
“Damn right. Now I got shit to do.” Lars ended the call.
Tyler set his phone down and rubbed his hands together. No matter how this ended, he would make sure he made money.
I’m so damned brilliant.
14
Carl yawned from the middle seat of the Expedition. “I thought you said Holmes was the last one tonight. We’re kicking ass, Trey. Not like we need to kick all the ass, though.”
Trey forced himself not to yawn, even if fatigue tugged at his eyes and muscles.
He shook his head as he pulled the SUV in front of a modest home. “I thought about that, but then I got a tip that this asshole was staying here. Only a level one, so I figured, why not just drop by and pick up some free cash? Ignoring it would be like ignoring a Hamilton on the sidewalk.”
Several of the other bounty hunters grumbled but stopped once Trey shot them a glare. This had always been a problem with his boys in their gang days. They were brave and tough but could be lazy if he let them.
“Don’t be pussies. It’s like the staff sergeant told you. When it’s time to play you do what you need to do, but when it’s time to work you deliver the goods, even if you’re tired as fuck.”
Carl shrugged. “We ain’t Marines, Trey.”
“Nah, we’re just bounty hunters working for James Brownstone, so we should be trying to be more badass than Marines.” Trey threw open the door. “Now surround the fucking house, so the bounty don’t get away. Or you can stay here and suck your thumbs.”
The front door of the home opened before all the men exited the vehicle. Trey grabbed for his gun, but the emergence of an old woman in a robe, her hair up in curlers, had him dropping his hand a second later.
Hope that nana ain’t no witch.
“You Mafia?” the woman called. She frowned and looked at each of the men. “Or work for them?”
Trey straightened his tie and gave her a winning smile. Time for Smooth Trey. “No, ma’am. We don’t associate with such disreputable people. We’re firmly on the side of the law, you see.”
The woman frowned, her eyes darting back and forth. “Then why you here? Don’t try to feed me a line and tell me you’re here to sell me religion. I don’t need religion, and I know thugs when I see them.”
Several of the men frowned. Manuel winced.
Thugs? Bitch, please. I’m trying to be nice here.
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.
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“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.
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