“That all you got?” James rumbled, and squared his shoulders.
The tomb raider laughed. “Oh, so we go from all your complaints to you talking shit?” She set the .22 down and picked up a .357. “I guess I better up my game, Mr. Brownstone.”
James moved his head back and forth and cracked his knuckles. The amulet’s eagerness might have been infectious, or maybe he liked the idea of impressing his woman.
He nodded. “Do it.”
The handgun spat out a bullet. It stung more than last time but didn’t pierce the skin. Shay set the gun down, walked over to the bullets, and knelt.
“Huh,” she murmured.
James glanced down at the two new holes in his pants, then at Shay. “What?”
She held up one of the bullets. “It’s crushed like it hit a wall.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Look, we don’t know the exact mechanics of how all this shit works.” Shay shook her head. “Alien or magical stuff might work in ways we can’t even begin to understand, but this shows that the actual force of the bullet isn’t shunted off to some weird other place. Otherwise, this wouldn’t be messed up.”
James shrugged. “Good to know, I guess.”
Shay rolled her eyes. “A little curiosity never killed anyone.”
“What about the cat?”
“The cat should have had better skills.” Shay gestured toward the pistol table. “Maybe if it did, it wouldn’t have ended up dead.” She moved to the next table and picked up a 9mm submachine gun. She flipped the safety off and aimed at the same leg. “Has it even hurt you?”
“Stings a little, but nothing bad.” James patted his leg where the bullets had struck. “Doesn’t even hurt now.”
Shay nodded. “Gonna use a burst.”
“Fine by me.”
The gunfire echoed in the cavernous warehouse. The bounty hunter grunted from the three quick spikes of pain. The bullets had managed a slight scrape, but no blood.
She set down the submachine gun. “I wonder what would happen with good stuff.”
“Good stuff?” James furrowed his brow.
Shay nodded. “Yeah, like a healing potion.”
“Don’t have one on me, but I’ve used healing potions with the amulet on before. It didn’t block the effects.” James shrugged. “Also didn’t seem like the healing was faster, but it wasn’t like I was timing it or anything. Maybe the potions worked better than they would have otherwise.”
The amulet whispered something. It sounded irritated.
What? Don’t like it when I use magic? Hurt your little alien ego? Fuck you. If you’re so good, you should be healing me, asshole.
The amulet grew silent. James wasn’t sure if it was chance or reaction.
Shay set down the gun and moved to a table far down the line. She picked up a familiar sword, the Masamune tachi.
The amulet shouted in James’ mind, eager and annoyed.
James grunted. “Yeah, this ought to be fun.”
Shay gripped the hilt of the sword tightly. “You’ve already been hit so your amulet should have already adapted, right?”
The bounty hunter shrugged and lifted an arm to the side. “I’d rather lose an arm than a leg if we’re wrong.”
His sword-wielding girlfriend advanced with too broad a smile on her face, raising the sword. “Ready?”
James nodded. “Do it. Make it quick. No one likes a lazy hack job.”
Shay brought the sword down, but it bounced off. It left a slight scratch with a thin trail of blood, and the amulet did its best mental imitation of something James thought was supposed to be laughter.
Oh, you think you’re big shit now? It would have helped when the fucker stabbed me the first time.
Shay returned the sword to the table and picked up a stun gun. “Ever been hit with a stun gun or a Taser?”
“Yeah, tons of times. Low-level bounties use them all the time.” He shrugged. “The first guy who tried got away. After that, it’s been fun to see the looks on their faces.”
“I’d use a Taser, but I don’t think the probes will even work.” Shay advanced on James, the stun gun crackling. “This will let us test electricity. Until we work up to lightning, at least.”
“Yeah, whatever.” James grunted. “Go ahead.”
Shay jammed the stun gun into his side. A slight tingle traveled through James, but his muscles didn’t contract and no pain shot through him.
“Tickles.” James smirked.
Shay rolled her eyes. “Very funny.” She moved back to the table. She set the stun gun down before picking up a small silver egg with a button on the side.
James eyed the egg. “Sonic grenade?”
“Yep. Been hit with one of these before?”
“Once, a few years back.” He let out a low growl. “Fucker got away.”
The amulet muttered something. Sympathy, perhaps.
“Were you wearing the amulet at the time?” Shay bounced the sonic grenade in her hand.
James nodded. “Yeah. He was a level four. Nasty piece of work. Later got blown up by some other asshole when he was in a helicopter, so I figured that was my revenge.”
“Let’s see it how it goes.” Shay pulled something that looked like heavy duty headphones over her ears, then pressed the button and tossed the grenade.
James gritted his teeth as the skin of the grenade slid back and a high-pitched whine filled the air. The grenade clattered against the floor, leaving his ears ringing but nothing more. No nausea, no rebellious stomach.
Shay pulled off the headphone looking things and tossed them on a shelf. “You okay?” She tilted her head to the side, curiosity on her face.
James nodded and shrugged. “Yeah. Barely felt it.”
“That’s very interesting.” Shay lowered her gaze and stared directly at his chest. “That means that whatever the Whispering Amulet of Doom is doing, it’s not just hardening your skin.”
“When I put it on, it hurts like hell. It’s like it’s going everywhere in my body.”
The amulet whispered low and sporadically in his mind.
Shay ran her tongue inside her cheek, her brow furrowed in deep thought. “Wonder if it’d work against mental attacks?”
James grunted. “Don’t know. The despair bug got into my head, but it’s not like I run into that kind of crap a lot.”
“Good thing, then.”
Shay moved to the last table, which contained a wooden rack holding stoppered bottles. “Time for acids and a few other nasties.” She grinned.
“Remember, I don’t have a healing potion. Don’t hurt me too badly.”
“Oh, I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe.” Shay winked.
Gonna be a long afternoon.
4
Royce eyed the bounty hunters and trainees as they completed another set of fifty burpees. At this point, most of the men might have had stood a good chance of making it through Marine Corps Recruit Training.
Maybe James could spare a few of these guys for the Corps.
He chuckled and shook his head. Once a Marine always a Marine.
“Forty-eight…forty-nine…fifty,” he called off as he completed each motion of the exercise. “And stop.”
The assembled men grumbled. Several wiped sweat from their heads, but at least none of them fell or vomited. When he’d started training them, several of them couldn’t handle one solid session of PT. Their tough gang lifestyles might have instilled bravery in them, but it hadn’t given them shit in terms of discipline or endurance. Trey was one of the few who hadn’t needed to be completely remade.
A gang member might be ready to do violence, but he’s not a warrior. Trey’s got a warrior spirit, which was probably why he was leading these guys.
“The team heading to Vegas should go clean up. Trey texted me earlier to say he was on his way. That means you, Manuel, Travis, Deshawn, Carl, and Shorty. Trey and Charlyce don’t need to smell your stinky asses for the entire trip.”
The men laughed and broke formation to head inside and get changed.
Royce lingered outside the building double-checking his messages. A couple of minutes passed before a huge new-model black Ford Expedition rolled into the Brownstone Building’s parking lot. The drill instructor marched over toward the vehicle.
The SUV’s window rolled down to reveal a frowning Trey.
“Problem?” Royce called.
Trey shook his head. “Nah, no problem. Just don’t like the fact that I can’t use my truck.”
“Even in your big-ass truck there isn’t enough room for a full team and equipment.”
“But the F-350 is fucking badass.”
Royce resisted a chuckle. Trey might have purchased the truck to emulate his hero, but he didn’t need the vehicle to live up to Brownstone. The more he operated without the truck, the more he’d internalize that truth.
“You’re catching bounties, not starring in some reboot of the Fast and Furious.” He nodded at the SUV. “This is pretty good as far as civilian vehicles go. Doubt even Brownstone would want you rolling around in an APC or something. Now that would be badass.”
Trey laughed. “Brownstone Agency rolling around with military vehicles. That’d show the bastards.”
A blue Currus came up the street.
“Looks like your aunt is here. Be careful with this new batch.”
Trey waved a hand. “It’ll be all right. Even if the other fools can’t catch a cold, I’ve still got Shorty.”
“I don’t have any problems with any of the men, but one thing you learn in the Corps early on is that training can help, but some men can’t handle it when push comes to shove.”
Trey’s smile vanished. “Yeah, I get that, but these ain’t just some random bitches off the street, you know what I’m saying’? They’ve all been hardened, and they’ve all seen action. Now, don’t get me wrong, Staff Sergeant. You’ve given them discipline and knowledge and wisdom and all that shit. They’re better than they were before, but I know none of them bitches will break and run in a fight.”
“Sometimes it’s not about that. Sometimes it’s about a man knowing when not to fire or start a fight.”
“Yeah, I hear you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The Currus pulled into the parking lot, and Royce resisted a frown. His time in the service had left him with a bad taste for autonomous machines. The military talked a good game about saving men’s lives, but trusting machines overmuch had led to good Marines dying when they shouldn’t have.
He didn’t give a shit if the Currus included magic instead of being purely technological. A human should always be in control. Tools existed to serve humanity, and when they gave up control, it’d only hurt them in the end.
Some genies you should keep in the damned bottle.
“Problem, Staff Sergeant?”
“Nah. Just lost up my own ass.” Royce gave Trey a nod. “Good luck, Trey, and good hunting.”
Trey stifled a yawn as everyone scurried around the Vegas loft’s kitchen helping to put up the groceries they’d just purchased.
“We got to do something about Brownstone,” Shorty growled.
Trey spun on the man, his face hardening. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“He made us look like bitches in that mud pit. I’m saying we need some sort of strategy. Not gonna beat him on strength, so we need to apply all that Marcus Aurelius-Sun Tzu-Clausewitz shit the staff sergeant’s been teaching us.”
Trey’s muscles loosened. “Oh, yeah. We just have to take him by surprise. The big man is strong, but it’s not like he weighs a ton.”
“Ouch,” Manuel shrieked. “What the fuck?”
What now?
Trey rounded on the man. Manuel was frowning at Aunt Charlyce and holding his hand. She held up a rolling pin like some enchanted blade of yore.
She nodded at a bag of chips. “You don’t need to be getting into that bag, boy. I’m gonna make some food here, and I’m not cooking for an hour to hear you say you have no appetite.”
“Didn’t have to hit me,” Manuel muttered.
Trey laughed and shook his head. He turned to leave.
She’s acting just like Nana. We’re lucky she can still walk without a cane. Otherwise, she’d always be ready to beat our asses down.
The bounty hunter made his escape to the balcony and pulled out his phone. He enjoyed the crisp Vegas night air and the bright lights of the city as he reviewed bounties.
After a few minutes, Manuel and Shorty sauntered onto the balcony.
“What are you doing out here, Trey?” Manuel asked.
“Looking up bounties.”
“Why here, though?”
Trey laughed. “Because I know it’s safer to be finding and catching bounties than being in a kitchen where a Garfield woman’s cooking.” He glanced down at his phone. “Yeah. I found a quick one we can go pick up in under an hour.”
Shorty frowned. “How are we supposed to find an asshole in under an hour?”
“Because the big man has been letting me splash around cash, and now I can fucking go online and ask about low-level bitches to find out if anyone has seen them. Makes level ones easy.” He pocketed his phone. “Let’s go make some money before dinner.”
Trey stepped out of the Expedition, and Shorty and Manuel jumped out after him. The rest of the team had remained at the loft with Charlyce. Two level ones weren’t worth the entire team.
The men fell in behind him as he strode up the path to the front door. The ramshackle house lacked a lawn. Instead, it was covered from street to porch with small pebbles. A few small shrubs broke the rocky monotony, but their gnarled and overlapping branches suggested a lack of regular pruning. The closed blinds shielded the bounty hunter’s approach, and there was no sign of cameras or drones.
Trey fluffed his suit jacket. “Rare to get street-dealer bounties. I don’t know if these guys are stupid or just greedy, dealing close to schools so many times.” He nodded to Manuel. “You take the back.”
“You got it, Trey.” The bounty hunter jogged around the side of the house.
“You want to take a shot at knocking, Shorty?”
“Damned right, I do. I don’t have to be smooth and shit like you though, do I? I don’t want to do this shit Trey-style.”
Trey laughed. “You do what you do best, brother. We ain’t all gonna have the same style.”
In his years running the gang Trey had become used to micromanaging everything, but the Brownstone Agency couldn’t be run the same way. His boys would need to learn to start thinking for themselves, especially if things kept growing.
Shorty glanced down at his suit. “Still not sure about this look, but whatever. I look good in whatever I wear.”
Trey grinned and followed the other man to the front door. Shorty knocked loudly.
“Yo, open up. Need to chat with you.”
They waited for the sounds of the back door closing or any shouts from the back of the house. Instead, after a moment the door swung open, and a huge man with a scarred face glared at them.
“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” the man rumbled.
Shorty glanced at Trey, who nodded back.
“We’re with the Brownstone Agency,” Shorty explained, his low voice full of implied menace. “We’re here for you and your buddy. Come along nicely, and we won’t have any trouble.”
The man’s hand dropped to his back. Shorty and Trey whipped out their guns before the bounty had even touched the grip of his gun.
“Don’t do it, bitch,” Shorty growled. “You ain’t worth nothing to us dead. Put your hands on your head, turn around, and get on your knees. Or die. I don’t give a fuck which, but it’ll mean we wasted gas money.”
The bounty frowned and turned around. “Fuck you, assholes.”
There was a shout from the back, and then a loud moan.
Trey nodded to the bounty. “You take care of him. I’m gonna go check on Manuel.”
&nbs
p; Shorty nodded. He already had his cuffs ready.
Trey sprinted around the corner, his gun out. A body lay on the ground, Manuel kneeling on his back.
“You okay, Manuel?”
The other man grinned. “Yeah. Don’t worry, Trey, I didn’t kill this bitch. I just knocked his ass out.”
“Makes him easy to handle.” Trey chuckled. “Let’s take these asses to the 5-0 and go get some food.”
Aunt Charlyce glared at Trey as he stepped into the room. “I thought you said you’d be right back, but it’s been two hours, boy.”
“I thought it’d only take an hour, but Sergeant Choi wasn’t in. It was some other bi…some other cop who didn’t even know how to work the damned computer. Sorry.”
“Go heat up your food in the microwave. And I’m still holding you responsible, Trey.”
“I’ll do all the cleanup. That make up for it?”
She narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. “For now.” She stormed off.
Shorty laughed. “Next time we should just throw your aunt at the bounty.”
“Nah.” Trey stared down the hallway. “You don’t use a nuclear weapon for low-level bounties.”
Tyler stepped into the Seven Hills, thankful that he’d chosen a nice suit. Everything he’d heard about the Seven Hills suggested a swanky place, but you could never tell in Southern California. Sometimes the most elite restaurants maintained a casual atmosphere.
At least this place also has a reputation for being discreet and exclusive. It might be a nice place to do high-end business, but I’d need some serious customers to justify the prices.
He stepped up to the maître d’ and cleared his throat. “I’m here with Lieutenant Maria Hall.”
The plastic-looking maître d’ gave him a cool smile and motioned behind him. “Right this way, sir.”
Tyler fell in behind the man as they stepped into the darkened main dining room. Light chatter filled the room along with the faintest hint of classical music.
As he was led to a table he spotted a familiar face, the starring actress from the Oriceran Dark Avenger franchise and her long-time but allegedly currently ex-boyfriend.
Hail To The King: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 8) Page 4
