War Of The Four Worlds Read online

  James’ phone rang. He pulled it out and frowned at the caller ID.

  UNKNOWN NUMBER. CALLER BLOCKED.

  “Who the fuck is this?” James answered. “If you’re trying to sell me shit or scam me, it’s not the fucking day, asshole. If you’re a politician, I’ll pay you money not to run.”

  A man cleared his throat on the other end. “I am very sorry for your annoyance, Mr. Brownstone. I suspect it’s partially my fault.”

  “Is this Mario-fucking-Dragna?” James growled.

  “No, Mr. Brownstone. My name is Frank Altieri, and we have some things to discuss.”

  Chapter Two

  “Frank Altieri?” James rumbled. “You’ve got some balls calling me.”

  “Yeah, that I do.” Altieri chuckled quietly. “I’d like to meet with you at Francesco’s. It’s my place. It’s at—"

  James interrupted with the address.

  “You do your homework, Mr. Brownstone,” the mob boss replied. “Not that I’m surprised.”

  “And why do you want to talk to me? You gonna threaten me?” James grinned at his phone, wanting the bastard to egg him on.

  “Nah. I’m sorry. The problem is that I don’t have certain conversations over the phone. You never know who might be listening. Even worse these days, with all this hocus-pocus bullshit. You come to Francesco’s, and I’m sure it’ll be worth your while.”

  James scoffed. “Maybe. Fine. I was planning to come anyway. At least if you’re inviting me, I know you’re not gonna fucking run away.”

  “You were planning on coming?” Altieri sighed. “Yeah, I figured. That’s the problem.”

  “Let me make a couple of things very, very fucking clear.” James’ grip tightened on the phone. “I’m in a very bad mood. I’m gonna come over there to talk to you, but if this is some sort of lame-ass attempt at an ambush, you’re going to fail. And after you fail, I’m going to be even more pissed. I think you know what happens when I’m pissed. Do we understand each other?”

  Altieri laughed. “Yeah, you’re not known for your restraint, Mr. Brownstone. I know there are a few dumbasses out there who think they have a chance, but I pride myself on my clear understanding of my limits.”

  James grabbed another grenade from an open container and clipped it to his vest before closing the container, which clicked locked. “This isn’t just about taking a fucking shot at me. You scratch my truck, I’m gonna be pissed, too.”

  “Everyone’s heard about what happened to the Eyes by now. Just come over here. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. I promise.”

  James grabbed one of his ugly gray coats from a rack of ten. He tried getting Shay to call them tactical coats, but she still insisted on referring to them as “ugly-ass eyesores.”

  “You better hope so,” James replied. “Otherwise, you’ll be joining the Harriken in hell.”

  “I understand. See you soon.” Altieri hung up.

  James pulled into the parking lot of Francesco’s. His ancient F-350, as well-maintained as it was, was out of place in a parking lot half-filled mostly with electric luxury and sports cars. There was a heavy concentration of Lexus and Maserati vehicles.

  Compensating much, assholes?

  James finished parking and stepped out of his vehicle. His long coat concealed his holster and vest. Any day he could go to sleep without having to kill people was a good one, but James wasn’t always the one who made that choice. Today, the Mob was going to make it.

  Altieri called me, which means this shit is even more annoying than I thought. Dragna was acting like he didn’t know I was helping that orphanage, but they must have known. They’re thinking I can’t protect everyone and everything.

  Maybe they even think they can point me at someone for them.

  James’ glower grew as he stomped toward the entrance. He wondered if he should bond Whispy, but decided against it. He had healing potions if he took a serious hit, and these days, with the passive regeneration Whispy did even without full bonding, the symbiont wasn’t necessary for a basic low-level ass-kicking.

  The tuxedoed maître d’ who stood behind the dark wooden podium offered James a smile as the bounty hunter opened the tinted glass door and entered.

  Most of the men filling the darkened restaurant wore nice suits. More than a few bore scars or displayed obvious bulges under their jackets like they weren’t even trying to conceal the fact they were armed. Women in elegant dresses sat at many of the tables, and they cast appreciative looks James’ way. The sounds of light opera filled the air—Italian, of course.

  Several men glanced his way. Some looked impressed, others worried, a few angry.

  James swept the dining room with a cool gaze. He couldn’t start a major gunfight inside with so many non-mobsters around.

  Is this Altieri’s plan? Is he gonna ambush me here because he thinks I won’t shoot back? I’ll just go outside and wait for them to come to me.

  The maître d’ smiled and gestured inside. “Mr. Altieri is waiting for you in a back room, sir.”

  “Fine,” James rumbled. “Show me.”

  The other man spun and maneuvered between the rows of tables, and James followed him closely. No one made any sudden movements. There were no flashes of metal out of the corner of his eye. If the mobsters were going to shoot him, it would probably be wherever he was being led. His hand twitched as he prepared to go for his gun.

  The maître d’ stopped in a hallway in the back in front of a door marked Private. He knocked a few times.

  “Yeah?” Altieri called from inside.

  “Mr. Altieri, your guest is here,” the maître d’ explained.

  “Thanks. You go back up front.”

  “Yes, sir.” The maître d’ offered a polite nod to James before walking away.

  The door opened a moment later. James' hand shot up, but he stopped before pulling out his gun. The scene in the room confused him.

  A man was on his knees in front of a huge wooden desk, his hands tied behind his back. His face was bruised and battered, and one of his eyes was swollen shut.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark suit with salt-and-pepper hair stood over the man, his knuckles bloody and bruised. Frank Altieri.

  Another mobster stood beside the door, his expression blank, no weapon in his hands. James doubted the mobsters were going to try to win against him in hand-to-hand. Everyone had seen enough videos of him kicking people into walls to know why that was beyond a terrible idea.

  James stepped inside, and the closest mobster closed the door behind him before crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

  Altieri grabbed the kneeling man’s hair and yanked his head up. “Do you got something to say, Mario?” He pointed to James. “To that man who went to all the trouble of coming over here and took time out of his busy day?”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Mario sputtered out, blood dripping from his mouth.

  James frowned. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  Altieri released Mario, and the man slumped forward. “I’m sorry for making you come down here, Mr. Brownstone, but I couldn’t talk about any shit the feds might overhear. At least here, we can talk in private. Even got some nice anti-magic shit set up.” He gestured toward Mario. “I want to make something clear. Mario was not authorized for the money-making opportunity he pursued. Even if that orphanage wasn’t associated with you, that shit’s not allowed.”

  James grunted and nodded, confusion still weighing on his mind. He’d been so convinced it had been a high-level mob plot against him that hearing the opposite left him confused and a little unmoored. A man didn’t grab a half-dozen grenades and just not use them.

  “So, what…random guys working for your crew just go and fuck orphanages up?” James asked.

  Altieri clucked his tongue and peered down at Mario with a mixture of contempt and irritation. “Here’s the thing: I do encourage the guys to show, you know, initiative in terms of their revenue collection skills. Mario her
e, he’s new. He came from a different…organization. I don’t think he realized how things work out here.” The mobster gestured with his hands. “First of all, I’m a man who still goes to Church, so I would never allow someone to mess with a Church-run orphanage. Second, I don’t believe in screwing with kids. That’s just a personal thing. It’s what separates us from savages.”

  James narrowed his eyes. “According to my witness, your guy Mario here seemed convinced there was some sort of money-laundering going on.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard, and as I explained to Mario, that doesn’t mean shit in terms of how we deal with kids and Church orphanages.” Altieri shook out his bruised hand. “That’s the real problem here—sloppy employees. I’ll admit it reflects poorly on my leadership.”

  James grunted. “That reminds me, the woman your man insulted wasn’t just some volunteer. She’s one of my employees.”

  Altieri laughed and shook his head. “Mario, you complete and utter fucking dumbshit. No wonder you had to leave New York.” He looked at the other silent mobster in the room. “What am I always saying about opportunities?”

  The other man snorted. “Do your due diligence.”

  “That’s right.” Altieri clucked his tongue again. “Due diligence saves us from shit like James Brownstone coming at us because…” He stomped toward Mario, his eyes blazing with rage. “…some piece of shit threatened his orphanage and disrespected his employee!” he screamed.

  James frowned. He almost felt a little bad for Mario at this point.

  Altieri took a step back and adjusted his tie, his slight smile and calm expression returning. “I’m assuming that since you came in that less-than-fashionable long coat, you’re probably packing, right, Brownstone?”

  “I wouldn’t walk into a mob restaurant unarmed. That’s just stupid.”

  “Not that you need that shit. I know all about your magic armor. I’ve seen video of it.” Altieri pointed at Mario. “I understand respect, Mr. Brownstone. We Family men live and die by it, and Mario has disrespected you and yours. So I offer his life to you.”

  James glanced at them. Ironically, he’d been prepared to gun down a dozen people, but the idea of killing some poor bastard who was already half-beaten to death whimpering on the floor held no appeal.

  James shook his head. “Just put him on a plane out of town. If he ends up dead here, it’ll probably cause trouble for both of us in the long run. The main reason I came here was to protect the orphanage.” He glowered at Mario. “But don’t ever even think about coming back to LA.”

  Mario nodded quickly.

  Altieri nodded at the other mobster. “Take his ass out back. Get him some tickets, and put him in a Currus out of state. I hear Maine’s pretty this time of year.”

  The thug opened the door, marched to the cringing Mario, and yanked him up by his collar. He shoved the thug through the door and closed it behind them.

  Altieri sucked in a breath and took a seat behind his desk. “You run a business. You ever have any trouble with problem employees?”

  “A few.” James shrugged. “I’ve got a retired Marine who whips them into shape.”

  “I should get me one of those.” Altieri flexed his bruised hand a few times. “I still feel bad about this, so I want to make further amends. You don’t want blood. That’s fine. You’re right. Fucking feds are always up my ass, and bodies lead to trouble.” He frowned. “No one has any respect anymore. My grandpa used to talk about the old days. Being a Family man meant something back then. Now everyone’s just a half-assed thug in a suit.”

  James grunted. “I don’t really want anything from you. I don’t need mob favors.”

  “Sure, sure. I get that you’re the Granite Ghost, and you’ve got to maintain a certain distance from me and mine.” Altieri snapped his fingers. “But it’s the orphanage that was threatened, not you directly, so maybe I’ll make a donation to the orphanage.”

  James shook his head. “Father McCartney won’t accept blood money. It took him a long time to even accept my donations because they were from bounty hunting.”

  “I could do something indirectly.”

  James’ mouth twitched. “Are you trying to do what Mario thought was going on? Don’t.”

  Altieri waved his hands placatingly. “Whoa, calm down there, Mr. Brownstone. I’m not trying to do anything. No one’s attempting to manipulate you. I heard you walked right up to some asshole who could control people’s minds and still put his ass down.” He laughed. “To be honest, I’m not sure how much longer we can even run a true underground business in this town with you and your boys and girls breathing down our necks. I’ve even been thinking about going legit.”

  “I don’t give a shit. Keep your guys from having bounties, and you won’t have to deal with my people or me. You care so much, then donate to some other charity that helps orphans.” James turned around and headed toward the door. He stopped when his hand touched the handle and looked over his shoulder. “I’ve got something you can do if you really feel bad.”

  “Sure, anything.”

  “I want to invite you and your top guys to our wedding. Pick like the top eight or something.” James shrugged. “I don’t give a shit about your organization, so I don’t care. Just make sure you’re there too.”

  “What?” A mask of confusion took over Altieri’s face. “Your wedding?”

  “Yeah, it’s gonna be the last day of July. I’d give you a Save-the-Date, but I didn’t bring any with me. Sorry. If you call the agency and ask, they’ll be able to give you the information and make sure you’re on my guest list. We don’t have the venue selected yet, but I’ll make sure full transportation is provided if it isn’t somewhere you can get to easily.”

  Altieri blinked a few times and tilted his head as he processed the odd turn in the conversation. “You want me and my top eight guys at your wedding? Which, from the sound of it, is going to be in some weird out-of-the-way place?”

  James nodded and grinned. “It would show respect.” His grin vanished. “And not coming after I invited you would be disrespectful.”

  “You got, like a registry, or some shit like that?” Altieri asked, his voice unsteady. “I don’t really know what to buy you as a gift.”

  “Shay and I don’t need shit. We just want people there. And to be clear, I also don’t want any bullshit happening in LA on my wedding day, even if I’m not here.”

  “Bullshit?” Altieri asked.

  James grunted. “Yeah. Bullshit. I’m gonna invite all the top underworld people, and they’re gonna make sure that the day doesn’t end with trouble that’s gonna give the cops a headache. When the cops get a headache, I get a headache, and I don’t want to go on my honeymoon and come back to some mob war shit, understood?”

  Altieri replied with a shallow nod.

  James opened the door. “Good. See you in July. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a formal invitation. Everyone likes weddings, right?”

  “Yeah.” Altieri swallowed, as pale as if he had just been sentenced to death. “Everyone likes weddings.”

  Chapter Three

  Trey sighed and leaned back on his grandmother’s couch. The damned thing was older than he was. Hell, it had a good ten years on him. He kept offering to buy her new furniture, but she refused him every time.

  “Nana, I don’t need you in there getting me anything. I’m a grown man. I can get my own lemonade.”

  The elderly woman snorted from the kitchen, her expression hidden by the wall. “Boy, just because you all fancy now with your magic gloves and suits don’t mean I can’t take care of you. Let your nana feel useful.”

  It’s taking her even longer than normal.

  Trey waited a painfully long time as his grandmother crept around the corner, a glass of lemonade in one hand and a supporting cane in the other. He accepted the glass and let out a sigh of relief once she finally sank into in her recliner and the risk of a fall vanished.

  “I hea
rd that, boy,” Nana Garfield muttered. “You think I’m old and useless. I know you’re thinking it every time you come back to town these days. You done went off to Las Vegas, and you’ve let all that glitz and glamour impress you, even though you’re from LA.”

  Trey shook his head. “I don’t think you’re useless, Nana, but I do think you’ve spent a lifetime looking after worthless ingrates like me, and it’s time for you to take a rest.” He smiled softly. “And I worry about you. Did you think Auntie Charlyce wouldn’t tell me about the fall? I’m a bounty hunter. I sniff out secrets and lies for a living.”

  Nana Garfield scoffed. “That woman—she’s making such a big deal of it. She lived on the streets and she’s seen a lot worse, and she’s acting like I’m going to die just because I took a little fall. People fall all the time. What of it?”

  “You’re lucky she was here, and you’re lucky you didn’t break anything. You don’t always have your phone next to you. If you hurt yourself and no one’s here, what are you going to do then, huh? Even at the agency, we rarely do a job alone for that reason. It wouldn’t be so bad if you at least used a smart speaker or something.”

  Nana Garfield frowned. “I don’t need no robot spy in my living room. I don’t trust no robots, I can tell you that. Humans and Oricerans, they are all parts of God’s creation. Robots are made by people and we’re sinful and fallen, which means what we’ve created is dangerous when it’s not about praising the Lord.”

  Trey groaned and took a deep breath before responding. Yelling at his grandmother wouldn’t accomplish anything. “Nana, I just don’t want you breaking your hip and lying there in pain, especially since Auntie Charlyce and I don’t live with you no more. She also told me, by the way, that she asked to move back in and you told her no. What are you thinking? That would solve everything.”