The Unbelievable Mr Brownstone Omnibus

by Michael Anderle

  Community member after community member rose to offer their condolences and thoughts. All gave variations on what Nana Garfield had offered. They’d thought he was shifty and useless, but he’d turned his life around, and they couldn’t be prouder of the fact that he had died to help take down evil people.

  Trey stood to offer his piece. “Y’all can keep calling him Theo, but he’ll always be Shorty to me. I’ve known him for a long time. When we were no-good thugs, sometimes we ran together, sometimes we didn’t. I was worried for a while we were going end up in wrong…groups together, if you know what I’m saying.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “I didn’t know what was gonna happen when he tried to join the Brownstone Agency. I thought, ‘You didn’t want to run with my boys before, but now you do?’” He blinked his eyes, a few tears leaking out. “We was just talking, not all that long ago, about the future, you know? About how he used to think there was no future for him, but everything changed because his life had turned around.” He took a deep breath and looked up at a cross on the wall. “I’m not one to question the Ultimate Big Man, and y’all are right. Shorty might have died too soon, but he died stopping terrible, terrible people and saving my life. I hope everyone in this neighborhood understands what Shorty represents: redemption and second chances, you know what I’m saying?”

  Everyone nodded, with more than a few “uh huhs” coming out of the crowd.

  “We all make mistakes. We all march the wrong path on some days. We all let ourselves think the Devil’s got a better benefits package sometimes, and it tempts us, but as long as we remember that there’s always hope, we can turn it around and become something better than we have been.” Trey pulled a handkerchief out of his suit to wipe his eyes and sat. “I miss you already, brother. I’ll make sure there’s a good future for everyone, so it wasn’t a waste.”

  Several people patted him on the shoulder.

  Charlyce stood, tears streaming down her face. She opened her mouth in song.

  “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.”

  Everyone joined in the next line. James remained silent.

  “That saved a wretch like me.

  I once was lost, but now am found,

  Was blind, but now I see.

  Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

  And grace my fears relieved.

  Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

  And grace my fears relieved,

  How precious did that grace appear

  The hour I first believed!

  Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.

  This time James joined in, his voice low and rumbling.

  That saved a wretch like me.

  I once was lost, but now am found,

  Was blind, but now I see.”

  James sat under a tree, his hands behind his head as he watched everyone chat at the post-funeral barbeque. Despite the dark clothes and somber occasion, people smiled, trading their stories of the man Shorty had become, not the man he’d once been.

  As for Shorty’s boss, he just needed a little quiet. He’d even asked Shay to leave him alone with his thoughts for a few minutes.

  Shit’s different now. It’s not just Leeroy and me. I’ve built something, and I have responsibilities to not just my men, but to the community.

  He looked up at the sky.

  Have I done the right thing? I’m not gonna pretend I’m a good man, but I’m trying to do well by those around me.

  James took a deep breath and nodded. Part of love is the pain of loss. He’d known that from a young age. He’d lost his parents and his foster father. The super-despair bugs—or whatever the hell those things in Wyoming had been—had tried to play on that.

  No. Never again. I opened up a little bit, and it’s turning me into a better man. I could have been giving to the community for years, helping people do something better, instead of lying to myself that ignoring everyone else was for the best.

  An earlier conversation with Lachlan floated up.

  Just saying, big man, that you could have been one of those high-level guys you hunt. You could have busted up banks like King Pyro or killed like that crazy bitch at the farmer’s market. But you ain’t doing that shit, even though everyone knows you’re the baddest motherfucker in America.”

  James grunted. He wasn’t a piece of trash only because of the people around him who had cared. Now it was time to do what he could to pay those people back by helping others.

  Shorty had decent savings. No one even knew where his deadbeat parents were, so on Trey’s advice, James had had his lawyer prepare paperwork to make sure Shorty’s savings would go to his two teenage cousins who still lived in the neighborhood.

  One of them, Jerome, walked toward James after finishing a plate of ribs. The bounty hunter stood and offered the boy a polite nod.

  Jerome grinned.

  “What’s so funny?” James rumbled.

  “It’s just you. You’re a livin’ legend. I ain’t see Shorty much after he started workin’ for you, but every time I did see him, he was less trashy.” He shrugged.

  James shook his head. “He was never trash. He just needed someone to give him a real chance.”

  The boy looked down for a moment before looking up and nodding. “When I graduate, I’m joining the Army. I want to help defend the country like Shorty did. Gonna train up and do my time, and after that, maybe I’ll be good enough to join the Brownstone Agency.”

  James smiled. “Yeah, kid, maybe you will. See you in a few years, then.”

  “See you, Mr. Brownstone.” The boy waved and walked off.

  James sat again, and his thoughts drifted for a few minutes.

  Father McCartney, who had been chatting with the pastor, looked James’ way. The priest murmured something to the other man and rose to make his way over to James’ not-so-hidden spot.

  “Care for a little confessional outside the box?” the priest asked.

  James shrugged. “Ashes to ashes and all that. Death just makes a man think.”

  The priest sat beside him. “About what?”

  “If a man’s leaving a good mark on the world.”

  Father McCartney smiled. “And what do you think?”

  James sighed. “I think I’m beginning to get there, but I have a long way to go. Maybe won’t even get there before I die, but I still want to walk the road.”

  The priest chuckled. “It heartens me to hear you say that. It means you must have at least been paying a little attention during my sermons.”

  “I always pay attention. Paying attention and understanding are two separate things.”

  Father McCartney stared at him for a moment. “You’re a good man, James Brownstone. Yes, we’re all sinners, but we can still be good men and women. That’s what His sacrifice was all about.”

  James rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll try and keep that in mind.”

  The priest stood and pulled on the bottom of his shirt to straighten it. “If you ever need me, you know where to find me.” He turned to leave, then stopped. Without turning back around, he smiled. “By the way, the next time you decide to send an anonymous donation, just give it straight to me. I’ll never refuse you again.”

  Father McCartney walked off.

  James watched the priest make his way back to the tables.

  He isn’t just saying something to me to make me feel better. If he’s willing to accept my money no matter what, he really does feel I’m a good man.

  James nodded. It was a small triumph, but enough to make him feel good about his profession, pain and all.

  Epilogue

  Senator Johnston sipped his coffee. Galahad sat across from him with a frown on his face.

  “Oh, don’t look so sour, son. The good guys won this time.” The senator shrugged. “Even if we didn’t get the last bastard, his organization’s done, and we recovered all the artifacts. The Council is as dead as disco.”

  Galahad shrugged. “I’m less
worried about that than the hackers I leaked the information to.”

  “Why is that? I wanted them to have the information.”

  “Because I can’t figure out how they did it. The whole point of how I set it up was to make sure I could tag them at the end. They got into the system somehow, but I couldn’t tag them.” Galahad shook his head. “No one’s that good.”

  Senator Johnston smiled. “Apparently, someone is. Don’t worry. This situation’s under control from several angles.”

  Galahad’s watch buzzed, and he stood. “I need to go.”

  The senator smiled and lifted his coffee cup. “Thanks again for all your help, son.”

  The hacker hurried out and Senator Johnston relaxed, taking the time to enjoy his coffee.

  About five minutes later, he threw a few bills on the table and made his way outside to a large waiting SUV.

  A suited man opened the door from the inside, and the senator took a seat.

  “Everything okay, sir?” the man asked.

  Senator Johnston nodded. “Fine, son. Just someone who doesn’t like to be beaten.” He chuckled. “Poor boy can’t figure out how they did it.”

  “Well, sir, neither can we.”

  The older man grinned. “Still a few mysteries in life, huh?”

  The younger man sighed. “There was definitely magic involved, but the only thing the investigators found was a hole that was no more than a few inches high. Not large enough for even a decent microdrone to fit through.” He frowned. “And there’s one more strange thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  The other man glanced to the side, an embarrassed look on his face. “They found little orange circles on the ceiling and tested them. A lot of the results were inconclusive, but they identified several substances, including a dye, that are ingredients in a food product.”

  Senator Johnston arched a brow. “A food product?”

  “Again, some inconclusive results, but most of the substances we could identify are found in Cheetos.”

  The senator laughed. “Cheetos?” He slapped a hand on his knee and shook his head. “Collect the evidence you have. I want to send it to some people I know.”

  Maybe if I push you a little, you’ll reveal your little trick. Galahad’s right. You’re on our side for now, but we can’t be sure you will be forever.

  FINIS

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  September 6, 2018

  Before I explain what is going on, let me say THANK YOU for not only reading this book but these Author Notes as well!

  Today is Sunday, and I’m working out of a new Mexican restaurant (Chavela’s) in Henderson, NV (If you look east from the strip towards the mountains, I’m over there.)

  LMBPN has set this BHAG (big hairy audacious goal) of releasing four hundred titles next year. To make this happen, we had to get cracking and bang a few brain cells together to figure out how to streamline our process.

  Which, you know, was probably said last year, but I didn’t FEEL like being responsible last year. As the owner of this company, I didn’t want to be told when I had to have stories in. The whole concept made the obstinate part of my personality stand up and try to figure out who to flip off. (Editor’s note: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Serves you right.)

  In the end, I had to give myself the finger.

  Way to fuck yourself over, Michael.

  Why? Because it’s one thing to have two or three (at most) books coming out in a week. But, when we started doing full weeks of books (well, five days, not weekends) the challenges exposed themselves.

  One of the issues is fan pricing. How do we continue the pricing while reducing the effort? With four hundred books we have a LOT more to do, and emails are a serious time and effort suck. We already send too many.

  FAN PRICING ON SATURDAYS

  We are moving to releasing our books at $3.99 (a $1.00 less than regular price) during the week, then on Saturdays pricing all new releases (except box sets) at $0.99 for that day only. On Sunday, they go up to regular price. This way you always know what day to look, and we are able to send two emails during the week focused on book releases. One on Sunday / Monday that announces what books are coming out (and when) for those who (for whatever reason) care, and then again on Saturday with the books and the links to the Amazon website (we don’t always have these a week before.)

  We are HOPING to put more content on the LMBPN Publishing website about interesting stuff that might apply to you (including games, Anime, backstory on stories and authors, etc.) When we get this working, we will start releasing a special Wednesday email to highlight our blog posts.

  [Note from Steve: We’re starting to post new content already. If you haven’t checked out the site, please do so, www.lmbpn.com]

  Soon, I will be reducing my Author Notes in the back of collaboration books. There is no freaking way I can put out five-hundred-word (or more) Author Notes in the back of four hundred books. So, my plan is to do a Mad-Libs sort of deal where the core is consistent, and I can add in one or two unique items and see how that goes.

  Making 2019 happen at four hundred books is a mountain-type goal for me. I suspect in 2020 we will reduce the number of books released as we use what we learned in 2019 to cut the chaff.

  However, for those who follow us, we appreciate your shouts of encouragement as we try to accomplish something (to my knowledge) NO Indie Publishing Company is doing.

  Bring it on, 2019, bring it on!

  Ad Aeternitatem,

  Michael Anderle

  P.S. – We are planning for The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone to go to eighteen books at this time, and Alison Brownstone, Inc. will be starting Winter 2018. Her stories will include her Dad of course, and her Mom (grin) from time to time—but SHE is the focus. What will the criminals think when Alison, straight out of college, decides to take up the family business?

  —

  The man struggled. The rocks from the alley’s cement ground into his side as the magical ropes circled around him. Every time he moved the ropes tightened, and it was starting to hamper his breathing. He stopped wriggling and looked up at the young woman who could not be more than twenty-two, yet had white hair. “Who ARE you?” he sputtered. The woman smirked and knelt, patting him on the head before she spoke.

  “I’m Alison Brownstone, bitch!”

  Karma Is A Bitch

  The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 12

  1

  The chaos entity who went by He Who Hunts floated in a darkened chamber surrounded by glowing windows in the air, each a magical screen relaying images and sensations from the Brownstone team’s assault on the Council base. He watched as summoned monsters and wizards fell to bullets, grenades, rockets, and even swords.

  The sight of so much death and havoc filled him with something humans might refer to as joy. Maybe satisfaction.

  The foolish government wizards and witches of the Paranormal Defense Agency believed they had shielded the entire facility, but his magic could pierce their feeble attempts. He was beyond them. He was beyond even the other members of the Council. Even so, scrying into the past was draining him, but it was useful to evaluate the people who had defeated his allies.

  In truth, He Who Hunts could have drawn off the dark power of other dimensions to open a portal and reinforce the Council as Brownstone and his allies slaughtered them, but he didn’t care. The Council had served its purpose. He had used them to gather the key artifacts needed to pierce reality and delve deeper into darker and more chaotic realms. With a few more years of effort, he’d be able to connect them directly to Earth and Oriceran. A wonderful age would await.

  Earth would come first. Understanding of magic remained shallower in the Earth nations and societies. His plan could proceed before they could reverse it. Once Earth fell, repeating the process on Oriceran would be trivial despite their greater capability for sorcery.

  He Who Hunts flicked a tendril of red mist against one of the magical screens, which shimm
ered and changed. An armored Brownstone battled soul-drinkers, the battle ending with the bounty hunter blasting green beams that blew holes through the monsters with ease.

  The limitations of his scrying magic summoned the first few sparks of frustration in He Who Hunts. When the Council had checked into Brownstone, they’d heard little of him using abilities such as the ones displayed in these images, which meant the bounty hunter had been holding back for some reason. The reasons for that would be critical to evaluating how to deal with the man.

  Considering the level of injury and death the Council had wreaked upon the military and other bounty hunters, Brownstone would probably have thought it necessary to use his true abilities. If anything, it made less sense for him to do that given that he’d brought along so many weaker men than himself. Even if they had been well-equipped and trained, they’d been seriously injured. One of his men had even been killed.

  No. Brownstone wouldn’t hold back out of contempt for the Council’s power. Something else had to be motivating him.

  Fear. That was the most likely explanation. Brownstone feared his true abilities, which meant they relied on a source he couldn’t control or they required a cost he didn’t want to pay. There were countless types of dangerous and yet powerful magics that could be behind the bounty hunter’s power.

  He Who Hunts didn’t care about the source. He only cared about gaining a new and powerful tool.

  The magical screens vanished and He Who Hunts floated toward the door, passing over piles of dead bodies lying on the ground. Most lacked their heads, and their bodies were withered and cracked. Several had holes in their hearts surrounded by blackened flesh. All had fed him.

  The creature glided over to a small glass case, and with a flick of his mist tendril, the lid flipped open. A glowing red crystal lay inside, one of the few artifacts that had survived the attention of both the government forces and Brownstone. Most of the other artifacts he’d already fed on, using their energy to strengthen himself even at the cost of their destruction.