“It’s nice. He picked out the tank and stand by himself, didn’t he?”
“How could you tell?” Sugar asked.
“The stand. It doesn’t match shit in here. The rest of your stuff is black leather, chrome, and glass. No way you’d buy a heavy‑looking, honey‑colored wood stand.”
“He probably asked for the most expensive one in the store. I sure as hell can’t return it. He’d blow a fucking gasket, saying how I don’t appreciate everything he does for me.”
“Well, that’s some big‑ass tank, all right. But you didn’t ask me to come over to look at your new fish. What’s up?”
Dontrice and Sugar had been friends for a long time. In the early days, they’d dress up and sneak into bars, where they’d do a little prostitution on the side. The extra cash was good, but it was mostly for fun, just seeing if they could get guys to pay them. When Sugar hooked up with D’andre, Dontrice was the first woman to work with her.
“Yeah, D’andre and me got something we’re building up,” Sugar said, “and I need your help. But everything’s got to be on the low‑low.”
“You never have a problem asking me for help; we’re dogs.”
“I’m serious. I need you to keep this quiet.”
Dontrice frowned. “What’s going on, Sugar? You’ve never been careful and double‑oh‑seven‑like before.”
“Well, keeping it on the down‑low is critical; we’re messing with a big deal.”
“Damn, girl, now I’m all curious. I’m for sure in.”
“You remember that creep, Jerome? The one who had his ball shot off by Michelle and her friends?”
“I loved that!”
“We’re gonna use him to do a job, and you can help set him up with the right crew. Two guys is enough.”
“I don’t understand. You want to help some asshole who goes around jacking women?”
“D’andre’s making a run at Bam to take over Lewis’ territory. We’ve got some big, out‑of‑state backing for supply from back East. We need to pull off some of BamBam’s crew, get them busy with something else for a hot minute.”
“How do I fit in?”
“I’m thinking you and Blondell can get close to a couple of them, and then piss them off. You know, sweet‑talk them, then roofie them and jack them for their money. Get them pissed at women so there’s a reason to join Jerome.”
“That sounds like some dangerous shit.”
“We can fix it with them later; give them the cash back and some free blow jobs or pussy, and make up some crap about how they were part of a joke on somebody else. In the meantime, D’andre and me, we got your back. You know we always do. We won’t let anybody hurt you.”
“So what’s in it for me and Blondell? We’re taking all the chances. If this blows back on us, we’ll be in the shit, real deep.”
“Do this thing right,” Sugar said, “and I’ll give you each two hundred, cash.”
“Yeah, the two hundred’s good. But it doesn’t cover the danger. Not really.”
“Look, this is important. This goes right, we’ll own the hood. Won’t be anybody can move in on us.”
“No disrespect, Sugar, but . . . this action might be good for you, but it doesn’t mean much for me and Blondell. None of this helps us. We’re still working the street, same as always.”
“When we take over, D’andre will push out Jimmy, too, and I’ll move you guys into his high‑money spots over on Western.”
“When do we get those spots?”
“Soon as BamBam’s out, we’ll move on Jimmy.”
“And the two hundred?”
“Now.”
“All right, I’m in. I’m sure as long as we do it together, Blondell will go along with me. Who do you think’s good for this?”
“D’andre said he wanted you to take out Darius and Cheese.”
“Darius and Cheese?” Dontrice winkled her nose. “Those two won’t never work. Darius is married and doesn’t mess with us, and Cheese is too mean. I don’t want him pissed at me. No way.”
“Who do you suggest?” Sugar asked.
“What about Terrance and Willie? We can wind them up pretty easy, and they’re okay, not real assholes like Cheese. For sure, they’re the two to get.”
“All right, get them. I need them set up tonight.”
“Sure, no problem. Remember, you gotta have our backs in case any shit happens behind this bidness.”
“My word on it.”
“I’ll send a text when we’re done,” Dontrice said.
“Thanks, girl, I knew I could count on you.” Sugar handed Dontrice four one‑hundred dollar bills. “You’ll see, this will be good for all of us.”
*
About an hour after Dontrice left, D’andre meandered into the apartment, dropping clothes and shoes, phones and keys on his way to the bathroom like autumn leaves in a windstorm. In less than a half‑minute, the living room filled up with his discards.
He returned, buckling his belt, and sprawled out on the couch, propping his stocking feet up on the coffee table and his gun on the cushion next to him. He clicked on the TV. “Sugar, bring me some tea. Lots of ice. It’s hotter than a mutherfucker out there. Get me some aspirin, too. I’ve got a headache.”
Sugar brought in a large thermal glass full of iced tea and handed it to him over the back of the couch.
“Didn’t you hear me?” He half‑twisted toward her. “I want some aspirin.”
“It’s in the bathroom,” she said. “You were just there.”
“I didn’t ask where the mutherfucking aspirin is. I told you to get me some. Now do like I said, and bring me the goddamned aspirin.”
“Christ, no wonder you got a headache. You’re sure in a shitty mood,” Sugar grumbled while she brought him the aspirin bottle.
Without looking, he reached back for her to put the bottle into his hand. “Did you talk to Dontrice?”
“Yeah, we’re good to go.” Sugar walked around the couch to hook a leg over the arm of a large, overstuffed chair like she was riding a pony. “Blondell and Dontrice are hooking up with Terrance and Willie tonight.”
“Shit, woman, that’s not what I said! I want Darius and Cheese out of the mix. They’re the ones who can handle themselves in a fight, and they’re the ones I want. Those others got no juice. Goddamned women can’t do nothing right.”
“I know, D, but they’re afraid of Cheese, and Darius is married, so he don’t play. They picked two guys they’re sure they can pull off the street for you. They’re scared of getting hurt, so I promised we’d watch out for them.”
“I’m not spending no time on a couple a’ hos who can’t even do what I say.”
“D, they’re helping us. You gotta protect them.”
“I don’t gotta do shit. Don’t you start thinking you can give me orders about how to run my bidness.”
“I’m sorry, D, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m worried about my girls, is all.”
“Look, you’re not thinking this shit through. When this whole thing happens the right way, you’ll be running a bunch of White women from Russia. You’re not gonna need no street hos from the hood. Think smart, and start looking at the big picture.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Sugar agreed. “I should be thinking about myself. I need to figure out how I can build a high‑class bidness with those Russian women.”
Four: Tailor‑Made
MICHELLE KNOCKED ON the white metal door. Somehow, the fake woodgrain surface made it seem less cheap. Without waiting, she knocked a second time, then stepped back a half‑step. She leaned forward to knock a third time, when the peephole darkened. Michelle smiled a big, cheesy smile. The lightweight door amplified the deadbolt click, the chain lock rattle, and the pop‑thunk of the push lock snapping open when the doorknob turned.
“Hey, girl, come on in,” Nikky said. “Damn, you said you’d be here at nine thirty, and it’s not eve
n twenty after yet. Don’t you keep CP time anymore?”
“I haven’t heard ‘Colored People’s time’ in a while,” Michelle said. “I completely forgot about that old saying. Yeah, I keep CP time, but showing up early and messing with my girl is more fun.”
“Want some coffee? I made a fresh pot.”
“Hey, Nikky, where’s some lotion? My skin is all ash—” Omar stopped mid‑stride when he saw Michelle, having just stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam and with a towel on his head. “Oh, hey, Michelle.” Cool, calm, and naked, he turned and walked toward the bedroom, towel still on his head. A fresh‑scrubbed musk scent followed him.
“Wow, now there’s a brother who’s comfortable in his own skin!” Michelle said.
“Not much rattles him,” Nikky agreed.
“So, you and Omar now?”
Nikky smiled with small shrug. “Girl needs to get her swerve on. How about some coffee?”
“No, thanks. I had a cup earlier. I stopped by to make sure you were up. I’ll go pick up Deja and be back here shortly. Give you two a minute.” Michelle wiggled her eyebrows. “Remember, we’re fitting you for a dress, so you’ll be in your panties and bra with a woman measuring you every which way. You don’t want to be smelling like sex.”
“Should I wear anything special?” Nikky asked.
“Something cool; it’s already heating up outside.”
*
The trip to Top Class Tailors on Wilshire Boulevard in Brentwood took only a little over thirty minutes by surface streets, but was a million miles away from the hood where Deja and Nikky lived.
“Hola, Marie!” Michelle called out as she, Nikky, and Deja stepped into the shop crowded with hanging clothes and bolts of fabric.
“Hola, Miss Michelle. I’ll be right out,” a voice replied from the back.
Growing up, Michelle bought her clothes at Target or at the SwapMeet. Expensive designer clothes had been completely out of the question, and alterations didn’t happen, so back then she never knew what a good fit felt like. The idea of tailor‑made clothes had been so far from her reality, it hadn’t even qualified as a daydream.
Now that she had some serious money, custom‑made clothes had become a special part of her life. She absolutely loved everything about it—the coffee or the ice cold A&W Root Beer brought to her while she sifted through the materials; the soft smell of the cloth, its rustle as it slid off the bolt, and the feel of the different textures between her fingers.
“Marie, these are my best friends, Deja and Nikky.”
“So good to meet chew, Miss Deja and Miss Nikky. Oh, Miss Michelle, jour friends are so beautiful. And they both have nice big breasts I can work with. Not a little skinny toothpick with no breasts, like you.”
Marie never seemed to care about being politically correct; she said whatever came to mind, which was fine with Michelle. Living in the hard world of professional assassins, Michelle strongly preferred truth over bullshit.
“Yes, Marie, their breasts are big like most of you Mexican girls. Black women like me have some ass. You flat‑ass Mexicans are jealous of my fine, round butt and you know it.”
“Oh, you are so right. Me and my girls are always stuck with a flat bottom. It’s a Mexican woman’s curse,” Marie said with a deep, throaty laugh, exuding pure joy.
“Who’s first?” Michelle asked.
With happy‑go‑lucky, childlike enthusiasm, Deja jumped up. “I’ll go.”
“Good, not a shy one.” Marie pulled a curtain, closing off the area. “Now, strip off those tight shorts and blouse.”
“Now? Here?”
“Yes, now, and where else? You don’t want to do this outside, do you?” Marie talked and laughed as she showed Deja the small, portable stage. “Here, Miss Deja, you stand here so I can look you over.”
Michelle loved standing on the little stage while Marie measured her, loved how Marie said a piece should be “just so” to show off her figure. She even loved how Marie teased her about her small tits, then made them look perfect in her clothes. Today was even better. Today, she was lucky enough to share this special part of her life with her rows.
Michelle nodded at Deja. “Go on, get out of those clothes and up on the stage. She wants to see how you’re put together. Next, she’ll start figuring out how to make you even more beautiful.”
“Shouldn’t I tell you what clothes I want first?” Deja asked.
“Oh no, Miss Deja. I need a picture of jour shape, skin, and face in my mind. Of course, all the measurements are important, but along with them, and the mental picture, I can make jour new clothes fit exactly right. Miss Nikky, what would you like to drink while jou’re waiting?”
Dressed in her bra and panties, and wearing a big, cheesy grin, Deja hopped up onto the little stage.
“Miss Deja, no, no, no, you can’t do that.” Marie shook her head, pointing at Deja’s bra. “Miss Michelle, please tell her she needs a much better bra. Oh, sorry, what would you know?” She laughed, looking Michelle over. “Miss Deja, jour friend, her breasts are mosquito bites. But you, you have big breasts, and you require a quality‑made bra. Pretty lace is important, but there is much more to make a good bra. You must always wear a quality bra to show off jour wonderful breasts in my clothes.”
Three hours later, they had the promise of two outfits each—one for day, and one for clubbing.
“Bye, Marie. It was great fun meeting you.” Nikky held out her hand to shake.
“Yeah, me too,” Deja said.
“It has all been my pleasure,” Marie said. “Don’t forget, I need the three of you here in the shop one week from today for jour first fitting, and a second fitting the following Friday.”
“There’s about a snowball’s chance in hell we won’t be here.” Deja cocked her hip and mugged, striking a Vogue pose. “The hard part will be not coming in every day to check on how it’s going, cuz I’m gonna be so fine.”
Nikky grinned. “I’m so excited! I can hardly wait for my new clothes. How can you wait so long?”
“I know, huh?” Michelle said. “I hate to wait, too, but there’s no choice. Buy something not tailor‑made now, or wait. It’s a dilemma.”
“Dilemma?” Nikky said. “Damn, girl, ever since you started seeing that lawyer, you’re talking stranger and stranger.”
“Not his fault. Remember Miss Carver in high school gym class? ‘Dilemma’ was her word. Remember how we hated getting sweaty, but didn’t want the F if we hung out being cute and not doing anything? She’d come by and say we had ‘a dilemma.’”
“Sure, I remember her.” Nikky nodded. “She was cool for a dyke.”
“So we’re in a dilemma. We want our new clothes now and they won’t be ready for almost two weeks.”
“I didn’t like our dilemma back then, and I don’t like this one, either,” Deja said.
“Well,” said Michelle, “I have a solution I think we’ll all like.”
“We’re all ears,” Nikky said. “Spill it.”
“Let’s go down to Rodeo Drive and buy ourselves a designer outfit.”
“Oh, girl,” Deja cried out, “you’re the best!”
Five: Partners In Crime
JEROME SAT ON the chipped, worn wooden bench, resting back against the matching picnic table beneath the shade of a faded green patio umbrella. With Harry’s convenience store BBQ trailer behind him, he faced the mostly empty parking lot, barbecue‑scented smoke pouring from the trailer’s rear stovepipe.
A breeze caught a few napkins next to the paper plate by Jerome’s elbow and they flipped past, one landing on the bench beside him, a couple on the ground by his foot. Jerome kept his eyes glued on Sugar.
Sugar climbed out of her SUV and walked over. “Hey, Jerome, what’s up? You got a minute to holla with me?”
Jerome cut his eyes up to hers. “Yeah,” he said, slowly drawing out the word.
“Don’t go getting para
noid,” Sugar said. “There’s a rumor you’ve got a beef with some of the hos in the hood.”
“Who told you that? What’d they say?”
“They said you’re seriously pissed and probably gonna get back at them for what they done.”
“They’re right about that shit,” he said. “I’ll jack them bitches, big time.”
“Can’t say I blame you. Word is, a couple women pulled guns on you and shot you in the balls.”
“Why do you care?”
“You got any ideas about how you’re gettin’ back at them?”
Brows compressed, Jerome glanced sideways through slitted eyes. “Why’re you all up in my bidness? And how do I know you ain’t with those hos that jacked me?”
“You’re right. You’re too smart to tell me what your plan is, just because I ask. I’m asking because I need your help with a little something I got going on. Well, actually, it’s not me. It’s D’andre. He said he wants to discuss a deal with you.”
“What kind of deal?” Jerome asked.
“That’s between you and him. He doesn’t tell me the important stuff. What do you say, you coming or not?”
“I don’t care what you say. Nothing personal, but I don’t trust you. I’ll follow you in my car.”
“That was my plan all along,” Sugar said, and she walked off toward her SUV.
*
Thirty minutes later, Jerome parked behind Sugar in front of her apartment building, then quick‑stepped to catch up with her. “This where you and D’andre live?”
“Yeah.” A small smile quirked one corner of her mouth.
A few more steps brought them to an arched gate leading into an open courtyard in the middle of the apartment complex. A short, stocky man stood by the entrance. The man nodded to Sugar. She nodded back and kept walking.
Get Even: A Michelle Angelique Urban Action Adventure Thriller Series Book #2 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin) Page 3