One Bad Decision Read online

  One Bad Decision

  The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book Ten

  Michael Anderle

  One Bad Decision (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 [email protected]. 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, September 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

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Other Revelation of Oriceran Universe Books

  Books by Michael Anderle

  Connect with Michael Anderle

  The One Bad Decision Team

  Special Thanks

  to Mike Ross

  for BBQ Consulting

  Jessie Rae’s BBQ - Las Vegas, NV

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  Mary Morris

  John Ashmore

  James Caplan

  Thomas Ogden

  Kelly O’Donnell

  Peter Manis

  Paul Westman

  Daniel Weigert

  Micky Cocker

  Larry Omans

  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

  Debbie wrinkled her nose as an acrid odor escaped the wide-bottomed bottle sitting on the counter in front of her. She sighed and lifted a beaker filled with glowing azure liquid and poured it into the frothy mixture in the bottle. The stench grew stronger, forcing her to back up.

  She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. “Damn, this crap smells bad. Hope my neighbors just assume I’m smoking pot again.”

  There’d been far too many close calls with the police lately. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay in the apartment, as much as she enjoyed the location.

  The doorbell rang, and a soft knock followed.

  Debbie rolled her eyes. “I hate it when clients show up early. Late I understand, but early? You’ll mess up my spells. If you’re paying for quality, you have to give me the time for quality, idiots.”

  She wanted to give them a piece of her mind, but her clients weren’t the kind of men you risked casually insulting.

  The witch made her way to the door after another soft knock. She reached over and pulled the door open, fully expecting a few not-so-fine gentlemen from the local Russian Mafia.

  Nope. Not her clients, but a broad-shouldered well-muscled black man in a suit and sunglasses. A platinum-blonde teenage girl watched from several yards back.

  Debbie tilted her head. It was almost as if the girl’s hair wasn’t blonde, but white, with the black at the roots. Months overdue for a new dye job, apparently.

  The witch narrowed her eyes. She shouldn’t be worrying about the hair color of some random girl. She needed to figure out who these people were and get rid of them before her clients showed up. The combination of the man in a suit and the girl suggested religious proselytizers.

  She needed many things in life. Religion wasn’t one of them.

  The man cleared his throat. “You Debbie?”

  The witch frowned. Maybe not religious nuts after all, or maybe knowing her name was part of their conversion strategy.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. “I’m very busy right now, so I don’t have time to buy whatever it is that you’re selling or take whatever pamphlets you’re offering. I also don’t vote, and I don’t sign petitions.”

  The man laughed. “You’re just a real pillar of the community, ain’t you, Debbie?”

  “Go away. Now.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am. I’m Shorty. I’m with the Brownstone Agency.” He reached up to adjust his tie. “You have a level two bounty on you for illegal distribution of controlled substances, including dust.” He smiled. “Come along quietly, and we can go down to the station all nice and peaceful like. I don’t like getting rough with ladies, even when they are criminals, so be nice, okay?”

  Debbie scoffed. A bounty hunter. An idiot bounty hunter who had underestimated her at that. She didn’t share his concerns about hurting people, man or woman. Her hand drifted toward her pocket.

  “Shorty, be careful, I can see magi—” the girl behind him called.

  The witch ripped a small glass vial out of her pocket and threw it at Shorty. The bounty hunter leapt to the side. The vial smashed against the cement right behind him, a thick cloud of green smoke billowing out. Debbie slammed and locked the door.

  “What the fuck is that smell?” Shorty yelled from the other side. Thick smoke infiltrated the apartment underneath the door. “Shit.” He coughed.

  “He needs help,” the girl yelled.

  She shouldn’t have come along with bounty hunters if she didn’t want to see anyone get hurt. Stupid little blonde chick.

  The witch dashed into her bedroom and then her walk-in closet. She grabbed a large satchel out of her closet, her running-away bag. She hated to leave all her reagents and other supplies behind, but bounty hunters were a lot like ants or roaches; when you saw one, several others were always near.

  The witch sprinted toward the back door and threw it open. There was no way she was letting Shorty and his little friend take her anywhere, and she wasn’t waiting for his friends to show up.

  She jerked to a stop, almost falling over.

  Another bounty hunter stood on her back porch in a nearly matching suit and glasses. That was annoying enough, but he was a minor concern at that moment. Her gaze locked on the man several yards behind him, the real threat.

  Mottled face. Ridiculous muscles that strained his shirt. Tattoo-covered arms.

  “Brownstone,” Debbie hissed.

  She didn’t understand why he was there. Her bounty was far too low for the Granite Ghost to care. Everyone said he didn’t get out of bed for less than a level three anymore, and most of the time even those weren’t enough for him.

  The first bounty hunter had mentioned a Brownstone Agency. What was that? Some sort of franchise?

  The w
itch took a few steps back as the first bounty hunter grinned at her.

  “Don’t worry about Brownstone. He’s just here as kind of an observer. I’m your problem. My name is Trey Garfield, and I’m taking you in. Turn around and put your hands behind your back, and this won’t be a big deal at all. I figure, you don’t start anything, I’m not gonna start anything. Fair is fair, you know what I’m saying?”

  The witch lurched to the side and pulled out another vial. She threw it at Trey’s feet and ran. The man grunted and jumped back, a small explosion shredding the front of his suit jacket and the rocks in the yard doing a number on his pants as he landed and rolled.

  “I just bought this suit, you bitch,” he shouted. He patted the burning fabric of his jacket.

  The witch rushed back toward the front of her apartment. The noxious fumes from the earlier vial should have already sunken to the ground, and Shorty wouldn’t be in any position to stop her. She unlocked and pulled open the door, expecting to see a choking and coughing bounty hunter.

  The man was sitting on the ground several yards away, leaning against a Ford F-350 parked on the street. Hacking coughs erupted from him, but he was still conscious enough to glare at her. He was doing better than she’d expected. She’d grant him a small smidgen of respect for that. Not that she regretted poisoning him. He shouldn’t have come after her.

  The platinum blonde girl from before stood right in front of Debbie’s door, her hands on her hips, her face contorted in rage.

  “You hurt Shorty,” the girl barked. “How dare you?”

  Debbie sneered. “Scram, tiny meat. I don’t want to hurt some kid, but I will if you try to be a big girl and get in my way. Learn from your friend’s mistake.”

  The girl lifted both of her hands and opened her palms. Orbs of purple light sprang into existence. “Well, that’s nice. I’m Alison Brownstone, and I don’t have any problem hurting someone who hurt my friend.”

  Debbie gritted her teeth. A witch, or something else? The bounty hunters weren’t the only ones who had misjudged their opponent.

  The witch charged the girl, hoping to take her off-guard. Alison flicked her wrists with a smirk.

  A massive flash blinded Debbie and she stumbled back, her hands shooting to her eyes. She dropped her satchel.

  “You little bitch,” she hissed. “Do you have any idea who I am? Do you have any idea of my power?” She flailed blindly. “You’ll pay for this.”

  Alison slammed a hard fist into the witch’s stomach and followed up with a few quick head-punches.

  The witch cried out and dropped to the ground, this time clutching her stomach with one hand and her head with the other. Her eyes were still trying to readjust after the magical flare, but everything remained an indistinct blur.

  The girl laughed. “My Aunt Shay taught me that combo. I’ve been working all summer on strength training, you know. Probably couldn’t have taken out Shorty with it, but it worked well enough on you.” She leaned closer. “My dad and aunt are always telling me, ‘Alison, don’t always rely on magic. You never know when it won’t work for you.’ That’s your problem. If you’d hit the gym or taken a few self-defense courses you might not be in this position.”

  Debbie moaned. “I will fucking kill you. I don’t care if you’re a Brownstone.”

  Trey rushed around the corner, a frown on his face, and a gun out. He pointed it at the witch. “Don’t even think about moving. You owe me a new suit.” Crimson stains spread over his white shirt, but he didn’t grimace.

  Brownstone stepped around the corner, his face locked in a grim frown, and his gun also out.

  Two other bounty hunters came running around the opposite end, guns out. They were also in suits. Were all bounty hunters so fashionable?

  Debbie sighed as her vision cleared. She looked at all the men and finally back at the smirking girl. She’d been taken down by some kid. Talk about embarrassing.

  “I’ll get you someday for this, Alison Brownstone.”

  The girl rolled her eyes. “I’ve dealt with much scarier people than you.” She nodded toward Brownstone. “My dad, for one.”

  Trey moved over to Debbie and roughly pulled her hands behind her back. He cuffed her, patted her down, and pulled out all the vials in her pockets.

  “Lachlan, Russell, take this bitch to the station.” He fished his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Russell.

  “Where you going?” the other bounty hunter asked.

  Trey pointed to the hacking Shorty. “We need to get his ass to a hospital. That don’t take a whole team, though.”

  Russell frowned. “You don’t look so good yourself.”

  Trey frowned and looked down at the bloodstains. “Yeah, bulletproof vests ain’t shit against shrapnel. Whatever. I’m fine.”

  Shorty hacked and wheezed again.

  “It’s okay, brother. We’ll get you to a doctor.”

  Debbie laughed. “Doctor? They won’t be able to help him. You shouldn’t have come for me. I still win. If you let me go, I’ll give you a potion that will counter the effects.”

  Brownstone stepped forward and shook his head. “Don’t worry, Trey. I know someone.” He nodded to Trey. “You come with me. Alison, you go with the others, but make sure she’s out first. She might have some tricks still up her sleeve. Oh, and don’t tell Shay about this shit.”

  Alison nodded and glared down at Debbie. She knelt by the woman and placed a hand close to her face.

  “What are you doing?” Debbie asked.

  The girl offered her a cold smile as her hand started glowing. “Just making you a little sleepy. It won’t hurt. Unfortunately.”

  “What the hell are you?” Debbie whispered, then gave in to the darkness.

  James frowned as he paced Zoe’s living room, his arms crossed.

  Fucking sloppy. Too fucking sloppy. Only lucky neither of the guys is dead. I should have ended that bitch, but I couldn’t do that in front of Alison.

  The potions witch clucked her tongue as she handed a green potion to the coughing and wheezing Shorty. “Drink this.”

  She also handed a healing potion to Trey.

  Both bounty hunters swallowed the potions in one quick gulp. Shorty immediately stopped coughing, and Trey closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. It’d been a while since anyone in the Brownstone Agency had come that close to serious injury.

  James frowned. He should have just kicked in the door and taken the witch out himself.

  “I don’t mean to tell you your business, James, but I’m a bit surprised.” Zoe arched a brow at him. “You’ve purchased quite a few potions from me for your team. Why didn’t you have one on you? It was a good thing you brought the poisoned man to me since the regular potions wouldn’t have worked, but your other man would have been fine with a normal potion, and he wouldn’t have had to suffer on his way here.”

  The bounty hunter grunted. “Didn’t have any with us. Weren’t expecting a level-two bounty to be a potions witch.”

  Zoe smirked. “Well, the fact that I was able to help your man there so easily shows she wasn’t much of one compared to me. Knowing that really makes my day.”

  I wonder if I should have used Whispy Doom? Damn it, there was just no way to know a level two was gonna go that way.

  James had his amulet with him, not that he wanted to tell Zoe that. Even his men didn’t know about it yet.

  He’d promised Alison that he would always wear it, even though he only bonded with it in emergencies. Good old Whispy Doom had been getting more and more talkative in his mind. James was no longer disturbed by it, but the damned amulet could be distracting.

  It was easier to ignore the amulet when it only managed unintelligible whispers. The bloodthirsty thing seemed obsessed with convincing him to kill every bounty he encountered or foe he battled.

  James turned away from Zoe and frowned. Alison had done well, but if he’d known their target was a witch, he wouldn’t have risked bringing the girl
along. His daughter might be learning at school, and he knew she was capable of more than she’d told him, but having her tag along against a few minor criminals was different than taking on rogue witches or dark wizards.

  I should ask her school if they have some sort of magical self-defense class. Don’t they have to teach that kind of thing at magic school?

  Yeah, fucking father of the year. I only want my daughter around normal-ass criminals.

  Trey shook his head and ran his hands over his torn suit. “I’ve had worse. The real sacrifice here were these fine threads. Got a potion that can fix my suit?” He smirked. “Or would something that be more expensive than just buying a new suit?”

  Zoe tilted her head to offer Trey a seductive smile, her dark hair framing her face. “Sorry, sweetie, but I specialize mostly in living things.” She ran a hand over her hip, drawing attention to her tight miniskirt, as she licked her lips. “I wish I could help you. I really do.”

  James resisted a snort.

  I’m too dangerous to hit on, but the guys aren’t? Maybe I should have warned them before bringing them here. It’s like bringing sheep directly to the wolf.

  Trey smirked and adjusted his tie. He clearly liked what he saw in the witch.

  James cleared his throat. He wasn’t there to hook Zoe and Trey up.

  Shorty took a few deep breaths. His coughing had completely subsided. “That was some bullshit, yo. I thought we was gonna walk into an easy level two, not get all mustard gas shit in my face like it’s the fucking Battle of Ypres.”