“Like I said, don’t feel bad. The thing is, I killed him, but I don’t know how. That’s not sitting well with me.”
“You don’t remember?”
James sighed. “I remember. I just don’t understand it. I was neck-deep in zombies, and he snuck up on me. He has some sort of death touch–at least that’s what they told me—but when he touched me, he just fell to the ground with his eyes glowing, twitched, and died.” He ran a hand over his head. “Magic. Can’t trust it, I guess. Crazy sh— Crazy stuff.”
“Hmmm. You sound as if you don’t believe it.”
“I believe it. I was there. It’s… I don’t know.”
“Just try and explain slowly what’s going through your head,” Father McCartney requested.
“What kind of monster am I, that a necromancer dies when he touches me?” James asked.
“You’re not a monster.”
James looked at the grate; the priest was barely discernible on the other side. “Then how do you explain it?”
“Do you know how many saints have faced demons or deadly animals and survived? Do you know how many faithful have called upon their intercession to survive evil?” Excitement filtered into the priest’s voice, heightening his Jersey accent. “What you’re describing, James, isn’t being a monster. It’s divine intervention. It’s a miracle.”
James barked out a laugh. “A miracle?”
“This isn’t like before Oriceran. Science can’t claim a monopoly on knowledge and truth. Magic is real, so there’s no reason to doubt the power of divine miracles. This necromancer, this dark servant of Satan, found that his dark power had limits when challenging a servant of the Lord. Whatever troubles you about your work, you shouldn’t worry that an evil man has been sent to enjoy his time with his master.”
James grunted. “What if it’s just some weird magic backfire?”
“A miracle of timing is still a miracle. You lived. He died. There’s nothing to be concerned over.”
James pondered that for a few moments. He wasn’t convinced, but he couldn’t dismiss the explanation out of hand. Father McCartney was right about how miracles weren’t so easy to ignore in an age of open magic.
The priest was one of the few men James dared showed weakness in front of, so he decided to unload all his concerns.
“I got kind of freaked out by the whole thing. I ended up using my health potion. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought I’d die right after or something. Right then and there, it was hard to believe.”
James had made a point of not telling Shay that little detail. Even though they’d grown closer, he still didn’t think she needed to know everything that had happened—especially when he didn’t understand the events himself.
“It doesn’t hurt to be safe,” Father McCartney assured him.
“Yeah, but now that I used that potion, I’m gonna have to go back to Zoe and get a new one.”
The priest chuckled. They’d discussed the lush witch on more than a few occasions.
“I’ll pray for your willpower,” Father McCartney told him. “Oh, and the confessional isn’t always the best place to talk about this sort of thing, but I know you find it more comfortable than my office. There’s something I needed to tell you.”
James’ stomach tightened. “What?”
“I sold that stock you gave me. I don’t know what happened; the price kept increasing and increasing until it more than doubled. I didn’t want to be greedy, so I sold it.”
James grinned, happy to have it verified that the ten-thousand-share movement was from Father McCartney.
“Maybe it’s another miracle,” the bounty hunter suggested.
“You think you’re being funny, but you may be right. Both the church and the orphanage are in good shape for at least six months, and that includes many upgrades to the facilities. Your tithe has saved that orphanage.”
James nodded to himself, all his concern about Sombra’s death vanishing. He still didn’t buy into the idea that a miracle had saved him from the necromancer, but for that brief moment, happiness consumed all the heaviness weighing down his soul.
22
Four hours for some barbecue might seem extreme to a lot of people, but James knew his little jaunt to Las Vegas would be worth it. The drive from Los Angeles to Las Vegas had gone smoothly enough, and it’d given him an excuse to take the F-350 to his mechanic for some overdue maintenance. A little loving care for his truck, and it’d continue to serve him well.
James pulled his Ford into the small parking lot outside Jessie Rae’s. One wouldn’t discern the meaty treasure within from the unassuming exterior. Even the landscaping was low-key; a few small palm trees here and there, none of the gaudy flair you saw elsewhere in Vegas.
The typical ignorant tourist would hit up a place like the nearby Mandalay Bay, not realizing how close the fancy building was to a place that offered pure barbecue perfection.
The most glorious sign James had seen in the last few weeks sat in the window: YES, WE’RE OPEN.
A few steps through the parking lot brought James into the restaurant and its small two-room dining area. It had only eight tables, four in each room. From what Mike Ross had told him, the majority of his business came from pick-up and delivery.
There was a modestly-sized TV in the corner and the menu was on the wall, its content detailing mouth-watering barbeque and sides.
The simplicity of the restaurant stood as a testament to the fundamental quality of the product. Jessie Rae’s didn’t do well because of some fake-ass ambience, or by filling the walls with a bunch of random pictures and knick-knacks.
Instead, it ruled Las Vegas barbeque by providing a delicious and unbeatable product.
Near the cups and the drink machine, trophies and plaques stood on shelves connected to the walls. An inspection would reveal all the barbecue contests won by the small restaurant. One of the earliest dated back to 2015, and the place had upheld its success in contests in the following years. James wouldn’t be surprised if that streak kept up for as long as the place continued to exist.
A woman finished paying for a large bag of ribs and eyed James with suspicion as she stepped past him. The bounty hunter didn’t do anything more than offer her a tight smile. The last thing he’d ever do was stir up trouble in Jessie Rae’s.
“Well, here’s a man I haven’t seen in a while,” called a man standing near the cash register. It was Michael, the owner.
James shrugged. “What can I say? I got a hankering for ribs, so I hopped in the truck and drove to Vegas.”
“From Los Angeles?” Mike asked.
James shrugged. “Yeah. Not like I had anything better to do today.”
Michael chuckled and pointed to a table. “Take a seat. I’ll bring out some food. Lucky you. You missed the lunch rush.”
Fifteen minutes later the two men sat across from each other devouring the best damn barbecue on the planet. The glorious flavors played across James’ tongue, and the tender ribs melted in his mouth.
Father McCartney had spoken of miracles and divine intervention. As far as James was concerned, the existence of the restaurant proved there was a loving God. There was even a God Sauce at Jessie Rae’s.
The bounty hunter chuckled at the thought as he took another bite.
“Did you watch Barbecue Wars: New Generation this season?” Michael asked.
James swallowed before answering. “Yeah. I just watched the final episode the other day. I was out of the country for a few days, so I missed it on the first run.” He shook his head. “It’s... Damn! I never saw that coming.”
Michael chuckled. “Freaked out that an elf won?”
“Not freaked out. I just didn’t know if they were being easy on her because they wanted an elf for the ratings. Then she won it. I mean, those guys have their reputations, so I don’t think they’d give her the win unless that shit tasted great.”
“Yeah. Times are changing, man. That’s not always a bad thing.”
<
br /> James finished off his rib and picked up a new one. “Not saying it is. It’s just, I like things simple, and it’s hard wrapping my mind around an elf winning a barbecue competition. I mean, yeah, all this magic and shit’s been around for a while, but before it was like us and them. Things were separate. Now we got Oriceran barbecue, and humans are running around tossing magic all over the place.”
“It’s more than that.” Michael shot him a grin. “It’s not even Oriceran barbecue, you know.”
“Huh?”
“Nadina’s style; think about it. It’s Oriceran-Carolina fusion, you know? And it’s not like there’s such a thing as even just American barbecue. That elf brought her game from her home, but think about all the different regions. Think about all the intelligent critters they have over there. Some talking elk-man might be making your barbecue in the future.” He shrugged. “Elves are going to seem pretty freaking normal by then.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?” James grabbed one of the waffle fries with the white sauce and tossed it in his mouth. “All the change?”
“Whole world’s changed in a lot bigger ways than just barbecue. Just got to go with the flow.”
James grunted. “Don’t I know it, but maybe some things shouldn’t change.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Got to think long-term.” Michael swallowed a bite of his food. “I’ve got my preferences, but barbecue’s always grown. Every once in a while I get some dumbass who comes in here and says some garbage about how my Las Vegas Style is crap, and only there’s only one real style, which is whatever random thing they grew up with. Small minds. Small taste buds.”
James gestured to one of the larger trophies. “I think that proves whose style is crap and whose is good.”
“Yeah, everything’s been going great, but I don’t do this for the trophies.” A broad grin broke out on his face. “But the trophies don’t hurt.”
The men shared a laugh.
Michael slapped a hand on a table. “You know what, James? I don’t know a man who isn’t in the industry who is as much into barbecue as you. You should come to a competition sometime. You should try out. Got several coming up soon. You’d love it.”
“Nah. I’m happy being a civilian in the barbecue war. I figure I’ll leave it to the experts.”
“You are an expert, James. Even if you don’t want to cook, you can still come and taste. Even if a bunch of Mr. Memphises and Mrs. Lexingtons are talking trash, that doesn’t change the fact there’ll be a lot of quality flavors from all over. And now with that elf girl having won that show, you’re going to see a lot more experimentation with the Oriceran stuff, too. Brave new world. Try it out. You might like it.”
James stared at the trophies and plaques. “Maybe I will come. Might even have someone join me. Someone I’m trying to get to understand barbecue more.”
The other man shook his head, his eyes wide like he’d seen a ghost. “Oh? Someone else, as in a woman?”
“Maybe. Everyone should love barbecue, man or woman.”
Michael gave a rueful chuckle. “Never thought you would succumb, man. There’s nothing more complicated than a woman, and I know how much you like the simple life. You think Oriceran barbecue is going to blow your mind? Just wait until you’re trying to keep a woman happy. That’s the single most complicated thing a man can do.”
James was spared having to immediately respond by the timely arrival of another tray. Little meat remained on the massacred remnants of the original one. He’d devoured the majority of it himself, only barely aware of how much he was eating.
Not that he was satisfied. Not yet.
As James ripped into some brisket, he thought about why he’d even hinted at bringing Shay to a competition. They weren’t together; not in that way. He didn’t even know how he really felt about her, other than the fact that he trusted her. His response to Michael had almost been reflex, which maybe spoke to a hidden truth he wasn’t ready to face.
Shit. Michael’s right. That woman’s making even my barbecue trip complicated. Need to get this conversation away from breasts…chicken, and back to ribs.
“Lot of people on the barbeque podcasts thought the Barbecue War judges were too biased this year,” James offered. “Even ignoring Nadina, there were some weird calls.”
“Hard to say since we weren’t eating it, but I know what you mean. Sometimes the judges totally went against what the diners were saying.” Michael set his rib down and furrowed his brow in concentration. “I don’t know. Can see it both ways, and I think that was more about Cassie. That woman’s way too obsessed with white sauce. She’s the reason they kept pushing Sam through. That guy just didn’t want to leave behind those Alabama roots.”
“Got to be honest. You know I’m not much on the mayonnaise sauces.”
“Lot of people love my Bama Slama. It’s not God Sauce, but it’s at least demigod sauce.”
James snorted. “I want barbecue sauce, not potato salad. That’s why I always order shit like the Pig Sweat or the God Sauce.”
Michael pointed his beer bottle at the other man. “Next you’re going to give me some big speech about the constant superiority of low and slow vs. fast and hot. Got to be flexible and mix techniques, otherwise you’ll miss out on a lot of good stuff.” He tapped his forehead. “I’ve kept an open mind and experimented with my own types of fusion, which is why I’ve been tearing it up for years now.”
“I’m flexible,” James muttered. “I just got my favorites, is all.”
“If I had too many customers who got stuck on only eating one style, I might have some trouble.”
“I just drove four hours to eat some of your damn barbecue. I don’t think I’m too stuck.”
“True enough.” Michael finished his beer. “How long are you in town?”
“Just the day and the night. Wanted to clear my head and get some good barbecue. You should be honored.”
Michael shook his head and pointed at James. “You should be honored to eat my food.”
Both men chuckled.
James thought about his recent travels. He’d had some of the best tacos ever in Cabo, and now he was eating the best barbecue. It’d been a good week for both bounty hunting and eating.
“Heading back home tomorrow morning.” James added, “Though I’m taking five pounds of your ribs with me to the hotel tonight.”
“Keep in mind what I said about the competitions.”
“I’ll think about it, but things have a way of getting complicated when I least expect it so it’s hard for me to plan for that sort of thing.”
“What?” Michael asked. “Like you’re worried some random truck full of guys with guns will show up when you’re on your way to a competition?”
James laughed darkly. “You’d be surprised how often that shit happens to me.”
23
James already missed the distinctive Jessie Rae’s flavor by the time he turned onto his street. He didn’t regret taking the road trip, and speaking with Michael had been relaxing in a way he’d not felt in a long time. The idea of going to a barbecue competition was appealing, even if he didn’t think he could fit it into his lifestyle. And the less he thought about taking Shay to a competition, the simpler his life would be.
Probably a bunch of fucking Harriken would attack me if I went to a competition. People shouldn’t get close to me. It’s a good thing Alison is in Virginia with a bunch of fucking wizards and witches protecting her.
A rough-looking teen waved to him from the street, and James slowed. He didn’t recognize the kid, but he did recognize his colors. He was one of Trey’s boys.
The F-350 pulled to a stop and the bounty hunter rolled down the window. He gave the gangbanger a fist-bump.
“Welcome back, Mr. Brownstone,” the gangbanger said. “Trey be telling us that if we saw weird shit around your house we need be telling you about said weird shit.” He slapped a hand over his chest. “So here I am, ready to deliver the motherfuc
king weird-shit news.”
James grunted. So much for his relaxing mini-vacation. At least he’d gotten his barbecue.
“And what weird shit did you see?”
“Nothin’ until earlier today.” The gangbanger leaned forward and lowered his voice. “That’s when this black SUV with tinted windows rolled into the hood. I ain’t ever seen that piece of shit around here before.” He gestured up the street. “They been three blocks up from your crib since fucking lunch, man.”
A patient enemy was a dangerous enemy. James was getting sick of people fucking with his home or his neighborhood. Trey had a decent point about keeping outside influence on the neighborhood to a minimum.
James could accomplish that through the not-so-careful application of copious amounts of violence, but he needed to know who to beat down first. That would require a little investigation.
“I know you don’t recognize the car,” the bounty hunter began, “but do you have any idea who it is?”
“Nope.” The gang member looked up and down the street. “You think it’s some of them Harriken bitches? Trey says we’re supposed to keep an eye out for those sword bitches, whether they around your crib or not.”
James’ gaze flicked up the street. The car was too far away to see from where he was. “Maybe. They’ve got enough of a beef with me.”
“It’s more like you got a major beef with them. Those bitches have a death wish.” The gangbanger snorted. “Stupid motherfuckers should learn to leave well enough alone.”
James chuckled. He couldn’t disagree with the kid’s evaluation of the Harriken. They were the dictionary definition of stupid motherfuckers.
“You can head on out,” the bounty hunter told him. “I’ll handle whoever it is, and it’s best if they don’t see you around me.”
The gang member turned to leave.
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