Bring The Pain_An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure

by Michael Anderle

  I win, Tyler. I fucking win.

  James chuckled. “It wasn’t easy. I had to call a lot of people and ask them not so politely to get to you. Hey, you might have heard of me! I’m James Brownstone. I hear they’re calling me ‘the Scourge of the Harriken’ now.”

  “Oh, fuck. Seriously? This is Brownstone?”

  “Yes, seriously.”

  “W-why are you after me? I’ve read about you. You don’t bother with gutter trash like me. I’m only a level-one bounty, dude.” Desperation tinged the man’s voice.

  “Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

  “I’m not worth your time. I’m sure there’s some other dude you could take out and make a lot more money.”

  James resisted the urge to laugh. “Yeah, I know I could, but here’s how we’re gonna play this. We can do this the easy way, or the fucking annoying way. And trust me, the fucking annoying way would hurt you way more than me.”

  Stevens swallowed audibly. “And what’s the easy way?”

  “You’re gonna march down to the nearest police station and turn yourself in. If you do that, you don’t have to deal with me smashing down your door. Sounds good, right? Everyone’s a winner.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. Just need two hours.”

  “Two hours?” James growled. “Why the fuck do you need two hours, asshole? Why not thirty minutes?”

  “My dad,” Stevens stammered. “I need to visit my dad. He’s in the hospital at Cedars-Sinai. He just got out of surgery. I just want to tell him goodbye.”

  “Name?”

  “Xander Stevens, dude.”

  “No, your dad’s name, idiot.”

  “Paul Stevens.”

  The bounty hunter grunted. “Let’s just say I value family, even when it involves assholes. Don’t try and run, Stevens. You won’t like it if I get angry. I’ll know if you try to run, then I’ll show you what it means to be the Scourge of the Harriken.”

  “Oh fuck, no. I get it. Can I go now, sir?”

  “Sure.”

  Stevens hung up, and James burst out laughing.

  Sir?

  James gave himself a couple minutes to calm down and called the hospital.

  “Cedars-Sinai Medical Center,” answered a chipper receptionist.

  “Yeah, just trying to send some flowers to my uncle. His name is Paul Stevens. Just wanted to know his room number.”

  “One moment, sir.” A few seconds later the woman came back on the line. “Sir, I can confirm that Mr. Stevens is here, but HIPAA regulations prevent me from giving out his room number over the phone. If you just address the flowers to him, once they arrive we will make sure they get to him.”

  “That’s fine. Thanks for the help.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, that’s it. Thanks.”

  James hung up and cracked his neck back and forth. “Guess it’s time to visit the hospital.”

  James lingered in the hospital parking lot a few rows down from the main entrance, waiting for Stevens to leave. The man had seemed scared enough that he shouldn’t be a problem, but scared rabbits could pull off impressive escapes.

  The bounty hunter glanced at the clock in his dash—only a couple of minutes until the two-hour limit was up.

  James grunted, wondering what he’d do if the bounty didn’t come out. It wasn’t like he could storm a hospital filled with sick and injured people.

  The door opened, and Stevens stepped out, rushing into the parking lot. James chuckled and waited until the man piled into an Escalade and pulled out of the parking lot.

  The bounty hunter followed the bounty a few car-lengths back, not wanting to freak him to the point he would cause an accident. A couple of miles later Stevens pulled into the parking lot of a police station. He hopped out of his vehicle and started toward the front door.

  Good boy.

  James parked across the street and pulled out his phone to dial the man.

  “I’m at the police station, Brownstone,” Stevens answered, all but yelling. “You have to believe me!”

  “Yeah, I know. Turn around and look for the black Ford truck.”

  The man slowly turned around. James couldn’t see his expression from this far away, but his spin and sprint into the police station told the bounty hunter all he needed about Stevens’ state of mind.

  James pulled out his phone to skim some barbecue blogs while he waited. Stevens might have run inside and found some sort of side exit to use to escape.

  A few minutes later James was in the middle of reading an article called Nadina’s Secrets of Oriceran Herbs when his phone rang. The caller ID indicated it was Mack.

  “Hey, Mack,” the bounty hunter answered.

  “I just got a call from the Hollywood station. They say Xander Stevens turned himself in and is practically wetting himself.”

  James snorted. “Pussy. All I did was make a few calls and drive by him.”

  “That’s the power of a rep, Brownstone. Anyway, they’re getting protective custody set up for him. Thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem, Mack. Talk to you later.”

  Well, that shit’s handled. I guess I better start getting ready for the arrival of my new friends.

  An hour later James pushed his way into the Leanan Sídhe. People filled the pub as usual, their chatter fueling the happy chaos.

  After a few steps, people parted and a path opened up between the front of the bar and a booth in back where James’ favorite white-haired drunken fixer sat. The bounty hunter hurried toward the man, worried the Professor had already given way to Father O’Banion given how he swayed in his seat mumbling to himself. Two full mugs of beer sat in front of him.

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet me,” James said, sitting down across from the Professor.

  The older man shot him a toothy grin. Given how red-faced he was, he probably had more alcohol than blood in his veins by that point.

  “Ah, lad, good to see you. You said you had a proposal for me?” The Professor chuckled. “More little trinkets for the girl?”

  “Nah. Not like that. Look, I don’t want to spend a lot of time fucking around with this. The Harriken aren’t done with me, so I need to get ready to deal with their shit.”

  “So I heard. Some rather high-end contractors are on their way to repair the group’s reputation.”

  James narrowed his eyes. “You knew?”

  “I hear a lot of things, lad. It helps when you’re involved in the kinds of jobs I am.” The Professor picked up a mug and took a sip. “What in particular do you need?”

  “Useful artifacts for the fights I’m about to deal with. Maybe something protective.”

  “Not like you to worry about that kind of thing for yourself.”

  “Well, I’m trying to be careful for once.” James shrugged. “Shay might need some protection too.”

  “Charity is a wonderful idea, but in the end, it’s best if everyone has skin in the game. Don’t you agree?”

  James shrugged. “I guess. What are you getting at?”

  “I have a few things that might be helpful—even better than protection artifacts.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, you’ll see, but if I get them for you, what do I get out of it?”

  “Free muscle?”

  The Professor gulped down more beer, his gaze unfocused. No, the Professor was gone. Only Father O’Banion remained. James could see the shift, see the mischief in the other man’s eyes.

  The bounty hunter’s stomach tightened. Something bad was coming soon; he could feel it.

  “’Free muscle?’” Father O’Banion echoed. “Oh, that’s boring. It’s easy enough to find a bounty to bribe you for an artifact job, lad.”

  “You want money? Jewels? What?”

  Father O’Banion shook his head. “Boring. I have plenty of that sort of thing.” He leaned forward to stare at James, or least try to stare with his unfocused bloodshot eyes. A huge grin broke out on his face. “I
’ve got a much better idea. So much better.”

  James’ blood ran cold at the hungry look in the other man’s eyes. “What?”

  “I’ve never seen you participate in the Bard of Filth Competition.” Father O’Banion laughed. “And that would be a sight for anyone, I think. To see the James Brownstone singing lewd verses.”

  The bounty hunter snorted. He could tell the other man was pushing him on purpose, testing his need for the artifacts.

  You like fucking with me, Smite-Williams? You’re one of the few that I’d let get away with this shit. I hope you know that.

  James grunted. “So I sing some dirty shit and you’ll give me the artifacts?”

  “Yes. Pretty fair, I think.” Father O’Banion punctuated his sentence with another huge gulp of beer.

  “Okay.”

  The older man put down his mug in surprise. “Okay?”

  “Okay, even though it’s total fucking bullshit and you know it, and only under some conditions.”

  “What conditions?”

  “No recordings. No video, no audio; none of that bullshit.”

  Father O’Banion shook his head so hard his quaking body made his beer slosh over the rim of his mug. “We always record the Bard of Filth Competition. That’s part of the fun, lad.”

  James gritted his teeth. “Then you can not fucking record it when I’m up.”

  The other man stared at him for a moment with a faint smirk on his face. He was enjoying the whole thing far too much.

  “Are you going to actually try?” Father O’Banion asked. “It’ll be no fun if you just mutter and grunt.”

  James shrugged. “I guess. What the fuck do I know about being a Bard of Filth?”

  “It’s easy, lad. Just sing a few dirty limericks. That’s usually how I win.”

  “Dirty limericks?”

  “Aye. Easy. It’s just about a certain rhythm. Let me give you an example.

  “There once was a man from Nantucket

  “Whose dick was so long he could suck it

  “He said with a grin

  “While wiping his chin

  “If my ear were a hole, I could fuck it.”

  James snorted. “This is the shit you use to win? You’re fucking kidding me!”

  Father O’Banion shrugged. “It’s the Bard of Filth Competition, lad, not the Bard of Piety Competition. If you didn’t like that one, how about this one?

  “There was an old mayor of Bombay,

  “Who fell asleep in his office one Sunday,

  “He awoke with a scream,

  "’What, another wet dream?

  “This comes of not fucking since Monday."

  James groaned. “Shit. This is probably the kind of thing the Harriken use to torture people.”

  Father O’Banion winked. “You better get to practicing your torture then. In the meantime, though, I’ll see what I can scrounge up for you and Miss Carson.”

  The bounty hunter shot out of his seat.

  “Leaving so soon?” Father O’Banion asked.

  “Yeah, need to get out of here before you toss more limericks at me.”

  James left to the sound of the old man’s laughter.

  James groaned to himself as he pulled up to Zoe’s house. After what he’d just gone through an hour earlier with the Professor, he wasn’t sure he could handle any more intense sexual bullshit that day. The potions witch had sounded normal enough on the phone, but he could never be sure how she would behave.

  After mustering his courage, James stepped out of his truck and headed toward her door. The front door opened before he even arrived. Zoe stood there in a white silk robe with a small paper bag in hand. “I’ve already got everything ready for you, James.”

  James stopped and eyed her. “You don’t want me to come in?”

  Zoe shook her head, a distant look in her gray eyes. “I think that’s probably for the best.”

  James grunted. “Talk about a change.”

  The potions witch held out the bag with a slender hand. “Healing and energy for you as requested, blue and red bottles, and healing and energy potions for your friend as requested, green and orange.” She stared at James. “This friend of yours—he’s a normal human?”

  James nodded and took the bag. “Yeah. Normal.”

  “I don’t just mean not a warlock or anything. I mean not like you.”

  “Yeah, my friend is definitely not like me.”

  James saw no reason to clarify that he’d asked for the additional potions for Shay. Not everyone needed to know his business, and he was worried that mentioning another woman might set the normally flirtatious witch on edge.

  “Feel free to deliver me a diamond in the future,” Zoe said. “For now, though, it might best if you got going.”

  James frowned. “Something wrong, Zoe? You normally aren’t in such a hurry to get away from me.”

  The witch laughed, a throaty sound. “You miss my attention?”

  James shook his head. “I just want to make sure you’re not in any trouble.”

  “No, no. No trouble.” Zoe placed a hand on her chest and sighed, a faint smile on her face. “To be honest, I’ve been watching the news, James. I hate to say this, but I think you might be too much man for me.” Her smile disappeared. “I’m interested in life, James, not death. You’re surrounded by blood and violence. A woman who would want to be with you would, I think, need to be far more comfortable with death and killing than I am. I want to grow things too much to be around you.”

  James’ face twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

  Zoe extended her hand. “I’ll gladly be your friend and help you with your potions. Provided you continue to pay me, of course.” She winked.

  The bounty hunter took her hand and gave it a quick shake. “Friend is good enough. Guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Good night, James.” Zoe stepped inside and closed the door.

  James lingered at the door for a moment, the witch’s words running through his head.

  Maybe she’s right. I’m here to get potions because I’m getting ready for more killing. Who could love a man surrounded by so much death?

  11

  The next afternoon James went into the Black Sun. With Mack’s errand finished and the bounty hunter’s anti-assassin supplies either on the way or gathered, he could concentrate on preparing for the upcoming fight. At first hearing that they were coming to LA had worried him, but unlike with the bounty, he knew only a small number of people would be involved. That would make it far easier to handle without running into the wilderness or involving the Marines.

  Those fuckers should have waited. Coming here’s a big mistake.

  Tyler looked up from the table he was clearing and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t give me any shit about the number, Brownstone. I heard that Xander Stevens turned himself in, so you got what you wanted in the end.” He smirked. “Can’t get pissed at me for the simple pleasure I take in fucking with you.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.” James shrugged. “Don’t give a shit about that.”

  “Then why are you ruining my day by bringing your ugly ass into my bar?”

  “You made a lot of money betting on me before.”

  “Yeah, I did. Still sore about that? I don’t fucking regret it.” The bartender gestured to the corners of the room. “Also put in a security system upgrade, so if you try to beat me down I’ll have all the evidence I need to take to the cops.”

  James snorted. “I’m not here to beat your ass, Tyler, even if you deserve it. I’m here to offer you a deal.”

  The bartender narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about, Brownstone?”

  “Before you said you didn’t want to press your luck by starting another betting pool, but what if I told you that I could stack the odds in your favor and help make you a shit-ton of money?”

  Tyler glanced around. Once he had confirmed no one else was in the bar, he moved toward James. “You mean about the kille
rs coming for you?”

  “Let’s just say the repeat of Brownstone Ass-kicking Day is coming real damn soon, but this time I’ve got a better handle on it. A lot less highway shit will be involved.” James grunted. “But all the shitholes who come through here don’t need to know that.”

  “Why?”

  Genuine confusion filled Tyler’s face. James enjoyed seeing the prick off-balance.

  “Why what?” the bounty hunter asked.

  “Why do you want to help me? What’s your angle?”

  James snorted. “I don’t want to help your ass. I want to help my ass. You’re just a tool to help with that. I want twenty-five percent of the house take.”

  “Only twenty-five? Not fifty?”

  “You probably won’t agree if I ask for half.”

  Tyler grinned. “No, because I’m not an idiot.”

  “I’ll also place some bets on myself anonymously. Hell, I’ll put down a lot of money. That’ll really get the pool going, don’t you think? All those little fuckers will want a piece of the action. I’ll send people this way to bet, too.”

  Yeah, you fuckers. You all want me to die? Well, I’m gonna survive, and I’m gonna take your money.

  Tyler looked increasingly interested. “What people?”

  “Lots of people, especially those who might want to bet on me living. We’ll get a lot of nice back-and-forth this time from different sorts of customers, rather than just the normal garbage in this place. You probably won’t get long-odds bets on my survival after last time, but if you can get a lot of people betting you’ll still make a lot of money.”

  “Giving you twenty-five percent of the house and dealing with you winning?” Tyler walked over to the bar to slip behind it. “I don’t know if I could sleep at night knowing I helped you make that much money, even if I make a lot of money too. I really, really fucking hate you, you know.”

  James laughed. “So you expect me to live? Otherwise, it seems like you’ll do fine with making money and me dying.”

  “I think I’m beginning to wonder if betting against you is even smart. Like you said, the odds aren’t going to be as great.”

  “Still all those house fees to be made, and lots of money from idiots placing shitty bets. Be smart about the categories, and you can easily get a lot of people to make stupid bets.” James shrugged and walked over to the bar. “This might be your last chance to make money off someone trying to kill me, you know.”