Eye For An Eye_An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure

  Eye For An Eye

  The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book Three

  Michael Anderle

  EYE FOR AN EYE (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2018 Michael Anderle

  Cover by Andrew Dobell, www.creativeedgestudios.co.uk

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, May 2018

  The Oriceran Universe (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2017-18 by Martha Carr and LMBPN Publishing.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Other Revelation of Oriceran Universe Books

  Books by Michael Anderle

  Connect with Michael Anderle

  Eye For An Eye Team

  Special Thanks

  to Mike Ross

  for BBQ Consulting

  Jessie Rae’s BBQ - Las Vegas, NV

  Thanks to our Beta Reader

  Natalie Roberts

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  James Caplan

  John Ashmore

  Sarah Weir

  Kelly O’Donnell

  Joshua Ahles

  Larry Omans

  Paul Westman

  Peter Manis

  Micky Cocker

  If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!

  Editor

  Lynne Stiegler

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  to Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  to Live the Life We Are

  Called.

  1

  A man never disrespected another man in his home. A church was God’s house, so James wouldn’t disrespect the Big Man by losing his temper and cursing—despite the little punk who had just run into him for the fourth time.

  “Watch it, kid,” James growled.

  The little punk stuck out his tongue and ran from the sanctuary toward the hallway. It led to a small room where some of the kids from the orphanage were helping sort donations.

  “This is a church,” James called after him, shaking a fist. “Show some fuc— Show some respect.”

  A quiet chuckle came from behind him, and the bounty hunter turned, a frown on his face. He didn’t have time to deal with idiots who didn’t like his attitude toward little ankle-biters.

  Father McCartney stood there with a box of books in his arms. He lowered it to a pew and turned to Brownstone.

  James sighed, not willing to chew out his confessor.

  “He’s just a child,” the priest reminded him. “Please be mindful of that.”

  “I know, but still...” James grunted. “I just don’t like kids.”

  “You helped Alison, and she’s a child.”

  James shook his head. “She’s a teenager. They can be irritating, too, but at least they’re almost adults. They can be reasoned with. Kids are just...annoying. Like puppies, but not as cute. And puppies are easier to train.”

  “We were all children once, and I don’t just mean in the spiritual sense.” A faint smile appeared on Father McCartney’s face. “Reasoning with children, hmm? I remember when you first came to the attention of the orphanage. We couldn’t even communicate with you.”

  James grimaced. Low blow, talking about his childhood.

  “That was a long time ago,” he mumbled.

  “True enough. Best we could tell, you were probably around three when they found you with nothing but the clothes on your back and a small box. Just some trinkets...and, well, that necklace.”

  James stared at a statue of Jesus. “I don’t remember anything from then.”

  “I remember it clearly. You weren’t the first abandoned child we’d dealt with, of course, but even then I knew you were special.” The priest laughed. “You jabbered away in some strange language. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard.” For a moment his dignified manner slipped, and his working-class Jersey accent grew stronger. “We sent samples to forty different translators, but no one had a clue. They said it didn’t even sound like anything they knew. A few professors at one of the colleges said it had some basic similarities to Xhosa in some of the clicking sounds, but not in the structure or anything else.”

  James shrugged. He didn’t see why the priest suddenly wanted to take a trip down memory lane.

  Part of keeping his life simple meant looking forward and not back, especially to a period he couldn’t even remember. That hole in his early life bothered him even more because of his otherwise solid memory.

  For the most part, he had a photographic memory.

  Father McCartney frowned. “We even wondered if you were speaking in tongues, but after consulting with the bishop we all agreed that was not what we were dealing with.”

  James stared at the priest for a moment. “Did you guys ever think I was possessed?” He’d always wondered, but hadn’t dared voice the question before.

  “Never for a second. Demonic possession involves evil behavior, not strange behavior.”

  The bounty hunter still wondered if his necklace had been touched by a demon. It would explain a lot.

  “Okay, okay.” James shrugged. “I get it. I was a little weird-looking freak who didn’t speak normally. What’s your point? Why are we talking about it now?”

  Father McCartney sat down in the pew next to the box of books and shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. It’s still a mystery, James. We don’t know what happened to your parents, but a few years later—once the truth about Oriceran came out—we were convinced that you were from there. It made such perfect sense, but then...all the tests, blood and otherwise, confirmed you weren’t.”

  “Earth has produced plenty of freaks even without Oriceran magic. Big deal.”

  James gritted his teeth. The more they discussed his past, the more he would be forced to confront memories he’d tried to avoid. The fate of his parents remained shrouded, but that didn’t mean other bits of darkness didn’t lie in wait in his soul.

  Father McCartney looked at the statue of Jesus and then at James again. “I think he would have been proud of you.”

  James burst out laughing, but quickly stopped himself.

  Respect G
od’s house. “I think Jesus might have issues with my methods. He was a real turn-the-other-cheek kind of guy. I’m a little more Old-Testament.”

  The priest chuckled. “That might be true, but I wasn’t talking about Jesus.”

  The bounty hunter’s stomach knotted as the past bore down on him. He had a good idea who Father McCartney was talking about, but had hoped to steer the conversation in a different direction.

  “Who then?” James sighed.

  “Father Thomas, of course.”

  James turned away from the man. “He died young, protecting me. I think both Jesus and he would regret that, considering what a wretched sinner I’ve become.”

  Memories flooded in. Father Thomas throwing him a ball, reading to him, giving a stern lecture to some kids who had mocked his odd face. I grew up around a bunch of men I called “Father,” but I had only one father I can remember—and he died too young.

  Father McCartney stood and placed a hand on the bounty hunter’s shoulder. “Mankind is fallen. We’re all sinners.” He nodded toward the statue. “His sacrifice wouldn’t have been necessary otherwise. I knew Father Thomas well, and I know he wouldn’t regret anything that had to do with you.”

  James’ phone screeched, as did the priest’s.

  “What the hel— What’s that?” The bounty hunter pulled the phone out of his pocket.

  LOS ANGELES COUNTY EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM: EXTREME THUNDERSTORM ALERT. NOAA TRACKING INDICATES HEAVY STORM ACTIVITY UNTIL MONDAY WITH STORMFALL EXPECTED BY LATE EVENING. ALL RESIDENTS ARE ADVISED TO MINIMIZE NONESSENTIAL TRAVEL.

  James grunted. “A storm? Well, at least the rain will help with all those fires we’ve been having.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I should get going. There are a few things I need to check on.”

  Father McCartney picked up the box of books and nodded. “Thanks for helping today, and thank you for all the money you’ve provided to assist the church and the orphanage.”

  “Just doing my part.”

  The priest shook his head. “We both know you’re doing the parts of ten.”

  Dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon like some evil Atlantean forces planning an invasion.

  James didn’t care. He barreled along the highway in his Ford F-350, more than confident in his vehicle and his ability to handle a little rain. He chuckled as he thought about how everyone insisted that self-driving cars would be the future when he was growing up, but presently the roads still mostly belonged to human—or at least humanoid—drivers.

  Was it keeping it simple or making it more complicated to let some gadget drive itself?

  Maybe in the end, despite all the fancy technology and blather about the future, at some level society knew that James’ philosophy of keeping it simple was the best plan for long-term stability. Or maybe once people had realized that magic was real, trying to build paradise using technology suddenly seemed like unnecessarily hard work.

  He grunted. Talk about wanting to do things the easy way: the Harriken had imprisoned and tortured Alison’s mother because they wanted to acquire her wish, which would be the ultimate in cutting corners. All their power and money and they still craved more.

  The bounty hunter’s phone rang, snapping him out of his critique of modern society. He pressed a button on his steering wheel to accept the call in speaker mode.

  “Yeah?”

  “Brownstone,” came a familiar woman’s voice.

  At least, he was almost certain it was her. The call quality was somewhere between crap and shit.

  “Shay?” James asked.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” Her voice went in and out, but he understood what she was saying.

  “I can barely hear you. You sound like you’re calling from a wind tunnel on Mars.”

  “Look, I’m on a job and in the field away from anything you might call civilization, and I’m not talking about Sacramento. Quality isn’t always that great, even with my new fancy satellite phone. Anyway, stop worrying about my shitty phone and more about yourself.”

  James chuckled. “What do I have to worry about? No one’s tried anything stupid around me in...uh,” he tried to remember, “days.”

  “I was checking some of my back messages before I headed toward my main site, and I found something you should be aware of. There’s a big hit out on you. Looks like half a million, maybe even a million.”

  “Why would that be in your messages?”

  “I keep an ear to the ground so I don’t end up dead.”

  “Well, fucking great,” he rumbled. “Should have expected that. Okay, so someone wants me dead. That’s not new, and I’ve made a lot of new friends lately by killing so many people. Hell, you in trouble, too? Don’t tell me they have a higher price on you.”

  James didn’t want to be a target, but the price on his head proved how deeply local criminals had grown to fear him.

  Shay laughed. “No hit on me, Brownstone. Just you. I don’t go out of my way to inform my victims about how I’m the oncoming storm of doom or some shit.”

  “Good for you, but having a certain reputation makes my life easier. It’s why I do it.”

  “Having a half-million-plus bounty on you is making your life easier?” Shay asked.

  He backpedaled just a bit. “Well, it makes my life easier most of the time.”

  At least that was the theory. He’d worked hard to grow his reputation. Some feared him as the Granite Ghost, others as regular old James Brownstone. Terror was supposed to keep the criminals in check, but this time it’d backfired to the tune of a half million. Or maybe a million.

  Shay snorted. “Yeah, yeah. I know this is all some male-ego shit, but whatever. Anyway, arm up, dumbass. This information was fresh, and it sounds like whatever’s gonna happen, it’s gonna be soon.”

  “You’re sure about this?” James asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Thanks, Shay.”

  “Assuming you don’t die, I’ll talk to you later.” The field archaeologist hung up.

  James heaved a great sigh and shook his head. Part of not getting killed in a dangerous profession was taking warnings seriously.

  The bounty hunter had a bounty on him, huh? He should have seen that coming.

  James changed lanes. Now he couldn’t go straight home. He’d need to stop by his warehouse to pick up a few things in case someone dangerous decided they wanted a quick half-million.

  The truth was, until he verified who was after him, he couldn’t solve the problem by killing them. Being a bounty hunter hadn’t exactly made him a lot of friends in the local underworld—or in North America.

  If he didn’t hate flying so much, he might have managed to offend thugs on every continent.

  Despite all that, James wasn’t worried. Shay was out of the country, and Alison was safe in a government-approved magic school filled with witches, wizards, and strange creatures. This wasn’t like with Leeroy. The only person he needed to worry about was himself.

  “Bring it, fuckers,” James muttered under his breath. “I’m feeling pissy, and I’m bored.”

  About an hour later, the bounty hunter rolled into his driveway. He’d picked up his amulet from the warehouse, but he hadn’t bonded with it yet. The little trick he’d discovered using a piece of metal affixed to the back had worked out well the last few times, so he’d repeated it. Now he would have quick access to the amulet if he needed it.

  James took stock of his current loadout, using both a visual inspection and a quick pat-down. His new gray coat did an even better job of concealing his holsters and tactical webbing than the dusters he’d favored before. Not only that, he was certain he looked less threatening in the gray coat—which could help him avoid unnecessary attention until the last moment.

  The bounty hunter smirked, remembering Shay’s bitching when she’d seen a picture of it.

  That looks just like that shit you wore in Mexico, Brownstone. Just because it doesn’t have holes doesn’t mean it’s not shit and ugl
y as hell. Have some damn pride, man!

  Fuck fashion.

  James verified the presence of multiple pistols, magazines, knives for stabbing, knives for throwing, potions, his amulet necklace, and even a few jammers in case drones showed up. James was geared up to clear out a Harriken warehouse, kill a necromancer, or humble a top-hat-wearing ferret or two.

  A go-case sat in the back seat of his truck, containing even more weapons and fun treats for dishing out death and destruction.

  He hoped he wouldn’t end up explaining it all to the LAPD. After his recent near-showdown with an LAPD Anti-Enhanced-Threat team, he’d become more aware than ever that some of the local authorities viewed him as more of a threat than an ally.

  That worry could wait until later. Right now, the LAPD had to get in line behind the criminals.

  The bounty hunter grunted, satisfied. Unless the entirety of the Los Angeles underworld showed up he’d have the advantage, even without using the amulet.

  Assuming no one tried to kill him in the next couple of hours, he could even get in an episode of the newly-premiered Barbecue Wars: All-Stars.

  The buzz around the show had been somewhat overshadowed by the win of Nadina, an elf, in the recently-concluded season of Barbecue Wars: The Next Generation, but James could appreciate a show focused on good old-fashioned human pitmasters.