by Martha Carr
“Basics first, Johnny.” She grinned at him and pulled up a records search for her fake name—Stephanie Wyndom.
He squinted at the screen, then leaned forward to get a better look when she turned it on her lap to face him. “Did you steal someone’s identity, darlin’?”
“Yep. I do it all the time.”
He looked sharply at her and she burst out laughing.
“No, Johnny. Stephanie Wyndom isn’t real and she never has been.”
“That’s a hell of a rap sheet for someone who don’t exist.”
“That’s the point.” Lisa scrolled through the hits her alias had pulled up—full name, birth date, and a photo of her nonexistent Florida driver’s license. After that came multiple arrest records and case reports from Johnny bringing her in as a bounty.
“Well, look at that.” He sniggered. “Public intoxication, grand theft auto, and arson. She sure is a mixed bag, ain’t she?”
She nudged him with her elbow and took another sip of wine. “It’s all part of the story. Stephanie had a substance abuse problem and cut a path of minor chaos across a few southern states in order to keep the habit going. And because she liked having nice things along the way.”
“You just come up with that too?”
“No, but I like to think Stephanie thought she was classy.” They both chuckled. “So here’s the deal. Those old bounties of yours are getting together the night after tomorrow to brainstorm how to get some closure on all the grudges they hold against you. If I want in on that meeting, I have to send all this information to whoever sent me that link. And when they look up Stephanie Wyndom—because they will—they’ll find this.”
Johnny raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “It looks legit to me.”
“Well, as far as the rest of the world and anyone on the Internet can tell, it is legit. We had one of the best teams put the background info together, enter it in all possible databases, and voila. She’s a real half-Light Elf who had her joyrides and fleeting highs snatched out from under her by Johnny Walker.”
“Twenty-four years ago, huh?”
“Well, it had to be before Dwarf the Bounty Hunter. Otherwise, she’d have her own episode to reference.”
“And there ain’t none.”
“The Bureau’s team is good, Johnny, but they’re not that good.” She scrolled through the rest of the documentation pulled up for Stephanie Wyndom and shrugged. “Whoever messaged me gave me five days to prove I’m legit. This’ll get it done. And if the Red Boar and any of those other scheming thugs haven’t heard about the show and the fact that you’re in Baltimore for this next bounty, I’ll make sure they hear about it at the meeting. Hell, maybe that alone will get the Red Boar to come out of hiding.”
“Uh-huh.” He scowled as something occurred to him. “And what are you gonna tell ʼem when they see that redhead’s face they’ve been watchin’ on YouTube for days sittin’ in front of ʼem?”
“I’ll think of something.” Lisa downed the rest of her wine and grinned. “That’s another thing we have in common, you know?”
“What’s that?”
“Doing our best work on the fly.”
The dwarf snorted. “Sure. Only I do it with my fists. Or guns. Or explosives. And you…make up stories.”
“It sounds like the perfect team to me.”
Chapter Nine
The next morning, Johnny and Lisa agreed to order room service separately to avoid a run-in with Phil and the film crew at the start of their day.
The last thing I need is to have my damn breakfast plastered all over the Internet with who knows what that idiot tries to pull outta anything I say. If I can’t start the day right, the rest is a wash.
Lisa texted him a little after 9:00 am to ask if he was ready.
“Time to get on, boys. We have a Kilomea to bring in this mornin’.”
“The big, hairy two-legs, Johnny?”
“Those guys stink. Kinda like Luther after he rolls in some other animal’s shit.”
“Hey, don’t try to pretend I’m the only one.”
“Yeah, but you do it way more.”
“That’s enough.” With a grunt, the bounty hunter hauled his utility belt studded with exploding disks out of his duffel bag and strapped it on. “And yeah, it’s the Kilomea. He’s a low-level thug, so it shouldn’t be anywhere near the hardest thing we’ve done. But make sure you stay sharp anyhow, understand?”
“Got it, Johnny.”
“Any hairy bastard we see is an automatic suspect.”
“No. Only the one we’re goin’ after.”
“Right, right.”
“Hey, Johnny.” Luther stuck his snout against the underside of the door and sniffed deeply. “Didn’t we already order room service?”
The dwarf snorted and marched toward the door. “Don’t tell me y’all’s memories keep gettin’ shorter by the day.”
“I’m not. I’m wondering why it smells like food and shoes and—”
“It’s the TV people, Johnny.” Rex yipped and sat to wait for his master to catch up.
With a growl, Johnny rolled his eyes. “Get on out the way, boys. Pretend they ain’t even there. They want a shot of the real thing, let ʼem have it.”
“Wait, you mean like rip their arms off?”
“No, I think means don’t rip their arms off this time.”
Luther scuttled away from the door. “Weird. Doesn’t usually mean that. You sure, Johnny?”
“Uh-huh.” The bounty hunter opened the door, and both hounds raced into the hall and darted around crewmembers’ legs and beneath equipment bags slung over shoulders.
“Take your shot, TV guys!” Rex shouted and pranced in a wide circle. “You might not get another chance.”
“Hey, hey.” Luther sniffed Cody’s pockets. “If you share what you’ve got in there, I might be willing to do a private interview for ya. You know, only me. I could tell you things that’d make your pathetic excuse for hair stand on—whoa, whoa. Hey. Are those mints?”
“Morning, Johnny.” Phil grinned as Johnny stepped out of his hotel room and closed the door behind him. “Are you ready to head out on this next—”
“To me, boys.” He ignored the man altogether and headed across the hall and two doors down to Lisa’s room. He knocked quickly on the door. “Time to go, darlin’. Your escort’s here.” He gave the film crew a begrudgingly accepting glance and muttered, “And the fellas with the cameras.”
Her door whipped open to reveal Stephanie, her strawberry-blonde curls tied in a loose ponytail. “Good morning, Johnny. I’m ready when you are.”
“Yep.” He turned and stalked down the hall, followed closely by the fictional Stephanie, both hounds, and the filming crew. Clearing his throat, he leaned toward her and muttered, “Is Stephanie Wyndom carryin’ this mornin’?”
The agent smirked and stared straight ahead at the elevators at the end of the hall. “Absolutely. She has no permit, though.”
“She doesn’t?”
“It doesn’t fit the profile, Johnny. Why?”
“I’m makin’ sure that if we find ourselves in a position that needs shootin’, my redhead assistant has her ducks in a row.” They reached the elevators, and he punched the call button before he glared over his shoulder at the film crew. “You know, ready for any situation.”
“I won’t draw a weapon on the film crew.”
The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside with a shrug. “You never know what might happen.”
Howie was already in the lobby waiting for them when they arrived. With a wrinkled grin, he pushed up out of the armchair and thumped his cane down with both hands. “There he is.”
“Have you been waitin’ down here long?”
“Only as long as it took your team to get up to the fourth floor and wait for you to come out of hiding.” The old man chuckled. “Did they get anything good?”
“Only the cold shoulder.”
“Well, let’s hope headi
ng off after this Kilomea gives them a little something else to focus on, huh?”
“I’m countin’ on it, Howie.”
The Kilomea’s name was Yarren Brork, according to the case file. Johnny slid behind the wheel of their rental—this one a black truck reminiscent of his four-by-four at home—with “Stephanie” up front, Howie in the back of the cab, and the two hounds in the bed.
The second Johnny peeled away from the curb of the Sagamore, the film crew scrambled to get situated in their rented vans to follow without losing sight of him.
He took a deep breath and draped his arm through the open driver-side window as he drove through downtown. “That’s a breath of fresh air.”
“Smells more like fish,” Luther said from the truck bed. He poked his head through the open back window of the cab and sniffed in Howie’s hair. “Or maybe that’s this guy.”
The old man laughed and ducked away from the hound’s snout as he batted Luther’s head aside. “What are you doing, huh? I may be old but I’m not senile. And no, you can’t eat me.”
Johnny whistled sharply and gave the hound a warning glance through the rearview mirror. “Where’s the first stop again?”
“The house first, right?” Lisa asked.
“Sure. It might be a long shot on a Wednesday mornin’, but I’m feelin’ optimistic.”
She laughed softly and pulled Yarren Brork’s home address up on her phone’s GPS app. “Do you want me to turn the navigation up?”
His gaze flicked to her and returned to the road. “I never liked the sound of that robot lady’s voice, to tell ya the truth. You could do a better job of it anyhow. If that suits ya.”
Lisa leaned away from him in surprise, unable to hide a smile. “Because you’d rather hear my voice telling you how many miles until the next turn?”
He shrugged. “Howie ain’t much of a co-pilot. So yeah. I suppose I would.”
“Johnny. Hey, Johnny.” Rex thrust his head over the side of the truck bed. The wind whipped through his floppy ears and made his lolling tongue push across the side of his face. “The vans are catching up.”
“Ooh, are you gonna try to race them again?” Luther asked.
“Everyone hang tight.” The dwarf glanced in the rearview mirror at the hounds enjoying their windswept ride, then met Howie’s gaze briefly through the reflection. Racin’ was for the back roads in the middle of nowhere. I gotta keep it legit in the city.
They reached Yarren’s neighborhood in Dundalk fifteen minutes later, and he parked the truck along the curb on the opposite side of the street a block before the Kilomea’s house. The film crew’s vans followed suit, and Phil hopped out of the first one with a huge, energetic grin.
“Here we go. Are you ready to see some action, people?”
Johnny grimaced at the man. “Y’all aren’t seein’ any of that personally. You hear me? The action’s mine.”
“Yes, and our job is to—” Phil jolted and stepped away when Rex snapped his jaws and uttered a low growl.
“You must have a death wish, two-legs.”
“We can help you with that,” Luther added and stared at the man over his shoulder as he and his brother followed their master down the street.
“Our job,” Howie said and clapped a hand on the startled director’s shoulder, “is to stay out of the damn way and catch what we can on camera.”
“D-don’t…tell me how to do my job.” The director fixed the old man with a scathing glance.
“Of course not. I’m merely reminding you of a few key details. Why don’t you sit back and watch a vet on this show working in his element, huh?”
“But I—”
“Let’s move!” Howie uttered a piercing whistle and waved his cane in the air to get the film crew’s attention. “I want mics and cameras no closer than fifteen feet from him at all times, got it? Dwarf can move if he has to, but only if he has the space.”
“What about Stephanie?” someone asked.
“Sure, get in close as long as you keep to those fifteen feet.” He chuckled and hobbled after Johnny, Lisa, and the hounds. “It’s a good contrast to have an easy face next to all that hairy red scowling.”
The Kilomea’s house was exactly like every other smaller, older home in the most run-down neighborhood. A crooked fence bordering on rot, peeled and chipped paint on the siding, and the end of the gutter at the corner of the roof had twisted and now dangled a few inches below where it ought to have been attached. When they reached the front porch, Johnny rested a hand on the hilt of the utility knife at his belt and glanced at Lisa. “It’s an easy bag.”
“Nothing to be nervous about.”
“I ain’t nervous, darlin’. Only hopin’ this Yarren ain’t got some of the usual tricks and traps up his hairy-ass sleeve.”
She stepped away from the door and nodded. “You do your thing, Johnny. I’ve got your back. It merely won’t be with a badge.”
“I’ve done most of my work without a fed and a badge so that’s fine.”
Luther stuck his nose against the bottom of the front door and sniffed. “Definitely Kilomea in there, Johnny.”
“We could smell him from twenty feet away,” Rex added.
The dwarf nodded and knocked three times—hard enough to show the occupant he meant business. “Yarren Brork. Open up.”
When there was no reply or sound of movement from inside, the first thing he wanted to do was use a handful of his explosive beads to blow the doorknob and the lock off the door. And then we get the whole damn world watchin’ me breakin’ and enterin’. Shit.
Instead, he knocked again and shouted, “I only wanna…talk.”
Luther cocked his head at the door. “Awful quiet in there, Johnny.”
“Maybe he’s sleeping,” Rex suggested.
The bounty hunter scowled at the hounds. “Y’all said you can smell him.”
“Well yeah. Everyone’s house smells like them.”
Lisa stepped off the front porch. “I’ll see if I can get a look inside.”
“Yeah, okay.” Johnny knocked again. “Yarren!”
Moving across the front yard of mostly dirt scattered with a few patches of dead grass, “Stephanie” smiled at the second cameraman who stepped slowly toward her. “I’m merely trying to see who’s home.”
“Stephanie,” Phil called and pointed at her. “Don’t talk to the camera unless—”
Howie’s cane whacked painfully against the younger director’s shins. “Don’t interrupt. Both of them have more experience in this than you. I can promise you that.”
Fuming, Phil stalked away from the old man and nodded for the second cameraman to follow Stephanie.
As the hounds darted off to investigate the back yard sectioned off by a chain-link fence, Lisa rounded the side of the house and peered through windows either draped with sheer curtains or nothing at all. She doubled back to the front porch and shook her head. “I don’t think he’s home, Johnny. The carport’s empty too.”
“Damn.”
“She’s right,” Luther called from the other side of the house. “And nothing out back but—squirrel! Hey! Rex, get it!”
The chain-link fence jingled as the smaller hound pounced against it and barked furiously.
“Dude, if you can’t tell that’s not a Kilomea, you should’ve stayed home.” Rex trotted back down the side yard and ignored his brother’s manic baying.
Johnny whistled. “That’s enough, boys. We ain’t findin’ him here.”
All Luther’s noise stopped abruptly and he trotted to the front to rejoin his master. “Puffy-tailed bastard’s laughing at me, Johnny.”
Rex snorted. “Probably ’cause you’re not doing your job.”
“What? Hey, our job’s to go after the hairy guy.”
“Not a squirrel.”
The dwarf strode down the narrow, cracked walkway in the center of the dead yard. “Next place to look?”
“Well, it is mid-morning on a Wednesday.” Lisa shrugged
. “We could try his place of employment.”
“Uh-huh. That’ll do.”
When Johnny reached the sidewalk, Phil jumped on the opportunity and practically accosted the bounty hunter. “So the man you’re looking for isn’t home. Is that right, Johnny?”
“If it weren’t, do you think I’d be fixin’ to head out?”
Phil nodded toward Cody who still rolled the camera. “What’s next then? Do you have a plan for—”
“Yeah. It starts with gettin’ that damn camera outta my face.” Johnny thrust a palm against the camera and jerked it down. The cameraman stumbled forward with a grunt.
“Hey!” Phil shouted. “You can’t—”
“I wouldn’t,” Howie warned. “If you don’t want Johnny to do something, don’t tell him he can’t.”
The director scowled at him. “So he gets free rein to do whatever he wants?”
“Essentially, yes. It’s part of what makes him so good at what he does.” The old man smirked and hobbled down the street, his cane clicking on the sidewalk. “There’s a reason I said fifteen feet.”
Cody exhaled an exasperated sigh and turned his camera to check for damage.
“Keep it rolling,” Phil snapped. “And get to the vans.”
Chapter Ten
Yarren Brork worked at Canton Exports & Supplies in the Canton Industrial Area, which meant Johnny’s appearance on the site—cameras or no—had a higher chance of making folks a little uneasy. He parked the truck at the far end of the lot and only waited for Lisa to join him before he stalked through the rows of other parked trucks and old sedans rusted and flaking from the saltwater and years spent driving on salted winter roads.
“What does he do here again?” the bounty hunter muttered and leaned toward Lisa to be sure his voice didn’t carry behind him toward the mics. Those damn cameras have me all jumpy. Who cares what I say?
The agent darted him a sidelong glance but graciously picked up on his hesitation. “He’s a shipment driver and has been at Canton Exports & Supplies for over twenty years.”
“All right. So a few decades of hard labor, livin’ in a fallin’ apart house in Dundalk, and he only now starts pickin’ up blackmail as part of his daily routine?”
