Road trip bbq with a sid.., p.1
Road Trip: BBQ With A Side of No Apologies, page 1
part #21 of The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Series
Road Trip: BBQ With A Side of No Apologies
The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone™ Book Twenty-One
Michael Anderle
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 © 2020 Michael Anderle
Cover by Andrew Dobell, www.creativeedgestudios.co.uk
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
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, February 2020
ebook ISBN: 978-1-64202-742-6
Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-743-3
The Oriceran Universe (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2017-20 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
Author Notes
Other series in the Oriceran Universe:
Books by Michael Anderle
Connect with Michael Anderle
Road Trip: BBQ With A Side of No Apologies Team
Special Thanks
to Mike Ross
for BBQ Consulting
Jessie Rae’s BBQ - Las Vegas, NV
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Dave Hicks
Diane L. Smith
John Ashmore
Nicole Emens
Deb Mader
Dorothy Lloyd
Paul Westman
Peter Manis
Shari Regan
Jeff Eaton
Kathleen Fettig
James Caplan
Jeff Goode
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.
Chapter One
The young blonde witch’s wand dangled from her fingers, and she had a playful smile on her face as she circled Thomas in the backyard. The heels of her calf-height boots sank into the dirt, which had been moistened by a recent rainfall. A stray wind blew her light jacket up, revealing the dark shoulder holster that held her Glock. She might be able to kill a man with her wand, but James appreciated her having backup. Any person, man or woman, who was responsible for watching his son needed to be able to protect his boy. He might have put the fear of Brownstone into the local underworld, but there was always some idiot convinced he was going to be the one to finally take James down.
Thomas sat on his rear, clapping in time to the colorful images of animals circling him and singing. A soft ethereal melody played, the notes flowing in time with the movement of the animals. James shook his head, a little chuckle escaping his lips as a dark but humorous thought bubbled up from the hidden depths of his mind.
The witch looked at him. “Is there something amusing, Mr. Brownstone?” A light French accent colored her words.
Shit. Shay warned me about this kind of thing. It’ll be hard to find someone as qualified as Pauline if I run her off, but someone with her background can’t be that sensitive. She’s killed people.
Maybe she killed people for making stupid jokes?
“It’s gonna sound stupid,” James admitted with a light shrug.
He shouldn’t have laughed to begin with, and now he was going to look like a dumbass in front of the nanny. Alison had gone out of her way to find Pauline, based on a recommendation from her personal assistant Ava—a woman who had proven again and again to be both competent and deadly. She’d been a perfect choice with Shay’s maternity leave ending.
James and Shay couldn’t risk sticking their child in a normal daycare or even with a capable relative of an agency employee, so they’d settled on a different plan. They would take turns keeping Thomas at home or have him spend time at their respective workplaces, care being supplemented with Pauline when they were otherwise busy. That way, Thomas could spend more time around his parents, both for safety and family bonding.
Alison’s assistant might have been the one to recommend Pauline, but James and Shay didn’t hire her without doing their own research. Every infomancer and hacker tangentially connected to the Brownstone family had deeply probed the witch’s background with every trick at their disposal. Everything they found confirmed what Alison’s assistant had passed along. After a couple of years in French intelligence, the DGSE specifically, the young witch had worked as a nanny and bodyguard for the Swedish royal family before being approached on the Brownstones’ behalf. From what Davion and Tahir had managed to find out, Pauline had scored the job with the royal family after saving a young Swedish princess during an otherwise unrelated mission involving magical terrorists.
James still thought it was odd she’d ended up being a nanny, but Shay wasn’t surprised. She’d ended up being a college professor after a short, dangerous career involving violence, and James had ended up a pitmaster. Was it really so strange for Pauline to end up as a super-nanny?
The Swedish royal family’s loss was the Brownstones’ gain. Besides being a witch, Pauline was proficient in hand-to-hand combat and firearms and could fly helicopters and small planes. Even if Shay or James were somehow disabled, she could protect Thomas against most deadly threats.
Pauline stared at James, her blue-eyed gaze piercing. She wasn’t going to let his laugh go without an explanation. She was still learning her way around her new family and doing that sometimes required uncomfortable questions.
It didn’t matter. Running wasn’t James’ style, either from a fight or embarrassment. If he could face everything from aliens to three-headed dragons, he could handle the new nanny thinking he was a rude dumbass.
James took a deep breath. “It’s just…”
“Yes?”
A tiny glowing elephant with wings circled Thomas. The boy grabbed at it, and the magical illusion changed colors.
“When I was growing up,” James began, “I read fairy tales about witches and shit.”
Pauline shook her finger and clucked her tongue over his profanity. James shrugged. She was trying to get him to cuss less around Thomas.
“The point is,” James continued, “those stories were always about witches luring kids into ovens with candy houses and stuff like that, and I was just thinking about how I have a witch watching my kid. You’ve got the kid, and you didn’t even need a candy house.”
Pauline smirked and muttered something in French. “I can’t say I’ve ever known witches who like to eat children. Not anymore. Bad flavor compared to the alternatives.”
“Huh?” James blinked.
She pointed her wand at the door. “Shouldn’t you be going, Mr. Brownstone? You’ll be late. Besides, I need to get him ready to take him to the college and visit his mother.”
She’s just fucking with me. I need to get used to that weird sense of humor of hers.
James walked over and ruffled his son’s hair.
“Dada, meat-meat,” Thomas commented. He pantomimed flipping over a steak on a grill before sucking on his thumb. James only knew the motion because he’d seen Thomas make it the previous weekend during a trip to the restaurant.
James took for granted how well his son was talking and walking despite his young age, but every once in a while, it struck him.
Was I talking when I was that young? Is it a Vax thing?
“Cook first, then eat,” James replied with a smile. “You be a good boy for Pauline and your mother.”
“Mama and Pau-Pau!” Thomas squealed in delight.
James always had trouble telling Papa apart from Pau-Pau, but Shay and Pauline didn’t. Thomas preferred Dada, which simplified matters.
He waved. “See you later.”
“Bye-bye, Dada.”
Chapter Two
James inhaled deeply, the glorious scent of pork filling his nostrils. There was always something cooking in the kitchen of his restaurant, a slice of heaven away from home. Some barbeque could be prepared quickly, but the best meat needed time. Low and slow pleased the tongue. That cooking style helped assure the hunger-inducing smells would never be absent from his kitchen for long.
My daughter’s doing great. My son’s doing great. My wife’s doing great, and my barbeque’s doing great. My nanny can kill ten men without breaking a sweat. Nothing to complain about.
James lifted one of the grill lids, and strong notes of cardamom wafted out. He might have gone overboard with the experimental recipe, but if the last couple of years had reinforced one thing in his mind, it was that even though he was leaving his old life behind for barbeque, he couldn’t let himself grow too satisfied with his pitmaster progress. Tradition was good, but that didn’t excuse stagnation.
He turned his attention to another grill emanating a strong floral scent intermixed with chicken. He wasn’t ready to dive fully into Oriceran proteins, but being a little more aggressive with Oriceran-sourced seasonings was a reasonable first step. He would never be Nadina, but he didn’t need to be. That wasn’t his goal.
The door to the dining room swung open, and his cashier Renee stepped in. An uneasy expression covered her face, and she glanced over her shoulder several times.
James grunted. It’d been a while since anyone’d had the balls to try to bait him into hurting them for an insurance payout or blackmail money. He glanced at Renee and then the door.
No, not that. She doesn’t look annoyed, she looks scared. Fuck. I should have known something would come up. Everything’s been too quiet. At least Shay, Alison, and Thomas will be fine. Glad I didn’t pick today to bring Thomas here.
“What’s wrong?” he rumbled, praying it was nothing more than a petty scammer.
Renee took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “There’s someone here to see you, James. I wasn’t sure what to tell him, and I didn’t want to piss him off.”
“Who is it? I hope he understands that he shouldn’t piss me off.” James kept his tone controlled. He needed Renee to understand he wasn’t mad at her, just the interloper.
“William Altieri.” Renee rubbed her wrist.
The Mafia? What the fuck? I haven’t heard anything about Old Man Altieri’s son goin’ back to the old ways. William couldn’t be such a dumb fuck that he’d try to threaten my people.
“When he came in, did he specifically ask for me?” James inquired. “Or did it seem like he was just trying to see if I wasn’t here?”
“He said he needed to talk to you about something and asked to see you directly. He seemed to know you were here. I tried to politely suggest he call you, but he made it clear he wasn’t leaving without talking to you.”
James nodded slowly. No wonder Renee was worried. He might not be in danger if mobsters shot the place up, but his employees only had the shield of his intimidation, not his regeneration ability or his symbiont to protect them. Alison and her husband had warded the restaurant to protect against some kinds of magic, but it wasn’t like anyone could fortify a barbeque place to the point it was completely safe without risking turning away customers.
Damn.
James had communicated his policy to the underworld, so they knew to steer clear of four things or risk a Brownstone beatdown or worse: his family, his friends, his church, and his restaurant. Being retired meant not working as a full-time bounty hunter. It didn’t mean letting assholes push him around.
“One more question.” James grabbed a hand towel hanging from a metal rack and wiped his hands. “Did he threaten you? I don’t even care if he just implied a damned threat.” He slapped the towel back on the rack. “I need to know.” The last word came out as a low growl.
Renee shook her head. “No, he was very polite. He introduced himself, ordered some brisket to go, and asked if you were in because he needed to speak to you. He was very polite the whole time about wanting to talk to you, but he wouldn’t tell me why and insisted he needed to talk to you alone. He apologized for the inconvenience, but he made it clear it had to be face to face.”
At least he understands respect. That saves his bones and my windows for today, as long as he keeps it up.
James gestured for her to let him into the kitchen. “Go back to the front. I’ll handle him. Don’t come in here or call anyone no matter what you hear. I’m hoping this isn’t anything bad, but if it turns into something messy, I want to have time to figure out how to handle it before the cops show up.”
“Yes, James.” Renee scurried back to the main room, her eyes wide.
She shouldn’t worry so much. It’s been a long time since I kicked anyone’s ass at the restaurant.
A few seconds later, the door opened, and a broad-shouldered man with perfect black hair in an immaculately tailored blue suit stepped into the kitchen. He closed the door behind him and walked forward, each step oozing confidence.
James didn’t move. Unless William decapitated him in one hit, he couldn’t win, and at this point, James wasn’t sure that would be enough, even without being bonded to Whispy. His regeneration without the symbiont was far slower, but he’d never put it to a true test. Whispy didn’t seem worried about him dying. That had to mean something.
William extended his hand smoothly. “It’s been a long time since we last talked, Mr. Brownstone. Not since my dad’s funeral, if I recall. Thank you for your appearance and respect at that time. Everyone in the family appreciated it, and my father had nothing but the utmost respect for you.”
James gave William’s hand a firm shake. “Yeah. I’m glad he did, but I’m wondering if you do.”
“Why do you say that?” William sounded surprised.
“I don’t like you showing up like this.” James inclined his head toward the door. “It makes my employees and customers nervous. Your kind is supposed to know to steer clear of my place. If you want to talk to me, you can give me a call, not show up here.”
William sighed. “Ouch, Mr. Brownstone. ‘My kind?’ I thought you understood my family has gone legit.” He shrugged. “Okay, mostly legit, but these things take time. The Altieris fought hard to get a foothold in LA, and it’s been a difficult transition.”
“You want a cookie for trying not to be criminals? I don’t give a fuck as long as you stay out of my way.” James would have slammed his fist into something for emphasis, but a real pitmaster didn’t take out his anger on his equipment.
This fucker better get to the point before I toss him into the dumpster out back or feed him to Pauline.
“That’s just it.” William motioned to James. “You’re one of the main reasons we’ve shifted our attention to more, let’s say, legal opportunities. My dad firmly believed in adapting to the reality on the ground, and with you and your boys locking down LA, our choices were to go legit or move. Leaving would disrespect the men in the family we lost throughout the years. You might not like us, but I think you of all people can appreciate that sentiment.”
James nodded, trying to let the scent of spices and meat overwhelm him. A future feast was a good way to fight anger, and William was right. James could understand not spitting on the memory of the fallen.
“No one has mentioned you or your people causing trouble for me and mine,” James offered, his voice low and laden with implicit threat. “And that’s a good thing. If you have been causing trouble and you’re here to apologize, I’m gonna tell you I don’t want your fucking apologies. I want you to stop doing whatever bullshit it is before I get pissed off and am forced to do something about it. You know how I solve problems.”
