Get Even: A Michelle Angelique Urban Action Adventure Thriller Series Book #2 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin)
Page 14
“Really? How’s that?”
“The bitch who shot you pulled a bunch of women together to protect each other. Like they really can do something. Stupid bitches won’t do nothing but talk shit. If we’re smart, we can use it to help us.”
“You’re telling me them bitches Michelle and Nikky have a crew?” Jerome asked.
“No, not a crew,” Sugar said. “They’re just some women getting together. There’s a couple, like T‑Dog and me, with crews; us, and a few other solo women. We agreed to cover each others backs. Supposed to be in case they run into trouble. That’s bullshit; it’s all about you. They’re worried about you being pissed because you been shot. Michelle and her friends didn’t put nothing together; they don’t have the juice to call a big meeting. Miss Betty got all the women to come.”
Jerome smirked. “They should be worried. I’m gonna jack them bad, soon as the opportunity pops.”
“Well, here’s your chance,” D’andre told Jerome. “I need you and your crew to make a run on Michelle and Nikky. They’ll be at a gathering of the Pussy Squad tomorrow afternoon.”
“You know I’m down; I’m happy to take them bitches out. Especially that cunt, Michelle. She needs to be capped bad, and I wanna take her out myself. What about the rest of them? Who else will be at this meeting? Will they be strapped?”
“You’re not afraid of some civilian bitches that don’t know nothing about being in the life or on the street, are you?” D’andre asked.
“Fuck that; I ain’t afraid of no one,” Jerome said. “I need to know how to plan, so I can tell my crew.”
D’andre held up his hands. “Relax, man, I’m jus’ messing with you. It won’t be no problem. They’re meeting at an old woman’s apartment. Old Miss Betty and maybe a couple of other women not in the life will be hanging out. Those women don’t know their asses from nothing. We’re not concerned with the others, only Michelle and Nikky.”
“All right, all right, that’s good. Long as I get a straight‑up shot at those ho bitches, Nikky and Michelle.”
“Good,” D’andre said. “That’s exactly what I need. I knew I could count on you for this.”
After Jerome had passed through the gate on his way out, Sugar asked, “What do you think, D? Can he do this thing right?”
“Don’t matter. It’s not about some bitches; it’s about Trevon. Miss Betty’s tight with him. Back in the day, he was connected to Big John.”
“So?”
“See, that’s why I’ll be on top of this city. You don’t pay no attention to the important shit. Big John was married to Miss Betty before Lewis killed him. Trevon will come up, acting like a superhero to protect his old friend. You do your part; you get word back to Betty about the problem. Make her believe her friends are in danger, and she’ll reach out. Her call for help is a guarantee Trevon and his faggot buddy, Brandon, will show up.”
“I’ll call Miss Betty now.”
Nineteen: Cover Job
WHEN MICHELLE RETURNED from three years in Asia, she decided to create a real cover life. Most of the people in the business tried to live under the radar; they kept a low profile so others wouldn’t notice them. That meant no job or taxes. They hid behind fake passports and driver’s licenses. Basically, they had no official fingerprint, at all.
Michelle remembered her Skype conversation with her uncle before she returned home. “Did you read that book about John Rain, the assassin?” she’d asked him.
“Yes,” he replied. “I enjoyed it so much I even read a couple more in the series. I also checked out those Jason Bourne movies, and I see exactly what you were talking about with how they lived differently.”
“Right. John Rain lives off of his own money in a secret life, and all the assassins in the Bourne movies work at day jobs, so they hide by looking like regular people.”
“And you wanted me to look at them to help you decide what you’ll do when you come home. It’s always your decision, of course, but the way I see it, I think you’d be better off if you did like Jason Bourne. Do your best to look like you’re a regular person with a normal life. That way, you can come back into the hood where people will recognize you. I think a cover story out in the open will work best for you and what we’re going to do when you come back.”
“Thanks, Unc. I agree. Unfortunately, the government won’t pay me to live in a beautiful apartment like Jason Bourne did in the movie.”
“Nobody does,” G‑Baby said. Not in real life anyway.
Michelle wanted a regular life—well, as normal as life could be for an assassin—so she decided to follow her uncle’s advice and build a life as a citizen. Basically, hide in plain sight.
Her cover included her regular job, paying taxes, and things every day citizens did; she wanted to establish a regular life first, before people she had a history with started to show up dead. Her freelance script‑development‑and‑research assistant job for the movie industry met her needs.
She worked at Moving On Studios, a modestly successful, mid‑level production company that supported made‑for‑television films, and some straight‑to‑DVD movies. The job gave her a visible income, total flexibility, and a built‑in excuse to travel anywhere in the world. Nobody hovered over her shoulder, either, or asked questions when she was around or gone.
Keisha ran the production development office, giving out assignments to freelancers like Michelle. She was a down‑home sister—big ass, big tits, big Angela Davis hair, big attitude. When on assignment, Michelle answered to the director or the producer of the movie or TV program, and Keisha, more like a dispatcher than a manager, was her contact when not out on a job. Keisha called earlier that morning, asking Michelle to come in to discuss an assignment.
Michelle parked across the street from the studio, in the side lot of a building that housed some type of small manufacturing where multiple empty spaces were often found. The studio’s front lot was always either full or reserved. Some months ago Michelle learned, the fun way, that parking in one of the VIP spaces was cause for some serious drama.
Every time she met with Keisha, Michelle debated whether she should mess with the receptionist and a couple of self‑important jerks by straddling the line between two reserved spaces. Usually, though, today included, she decided the fun of screwing with those assholes wasn’t worth the trouble it would bring Keisha. They weren’t friends, but Keisha was okay, and Michelle liked her.
After stepping between the large pampas grass bushes along the front of the parking lot, Michelle crossed the street and went into the lobby. A short minute later, she found her way back to Keisha’s office.
“Hey, Michelle, thanks for coming in,” Keisha said. “How’ve you been?”
“All good in the hood,” Michelle replied. “I’ve been getting my propers and keeping life real.”
“Good, that’s good. I like to hear my girl’s been doing good.”
“So, what’s up?” Michelle asked.
“The producer of the cowboy movie you worked on a while back loved those guys you found. What did you call them?”
“Cracker brothers, on account they’re Black and doing a bunch of cowboy‑and‑horse stuff. But the way they talked is what started me calling them ‘crackers.’ Both of them sounded like they were sitting in the Cosby kitchen, having breakfast with Clair and Rudy. Being at the Cosby’s, they were real proper and didn’t want to say shit. I thought Charlie was Black when I talked to him on the phone, but wasn’t sure until I met him. He and his kid seem like good people. Polite and nice all the time.”
“Yeah, cracker brothers.” Keisha chuckled. “Cracked me up when I heard that. Well, they’re doing great. They deal well with the stars, which is an important talent. The studio loves them, the producer loves them, and the director loves them.
“Anyway, now the producer wants you to help with more of the script research. He asked for you, personally, and said not to take no for an answer.”
“Texas Rangers.”
“The Dallas Rangers?”
“No. Not the baseball guys. The real Texas Rangers, the cowboys.”
“Dallas Cowboys?”
“Funny. Not football. Old‑fashioned cowboys with horses and big hats. Apparently, back in the day, the Rangers were the baddest cops around. There’s a museum dedicated to them, and he wants you to go do some research with the people there.”
“Let me guess. This museum is in Texas?”
“Uh‑huh. And you’ll need a cowboy hat, because you’re going to Waco, Texas,” Keisha said.
“Waco. Isn’t that where they stormed that cult and killed those people?”
“Yup. You know I only send you to the finest places in the world. I googled it, and oh boy, Waco’s not much of anything. The biggest thing going is a famous Baptist university called Baylor. Ever hear of them?”
“No. And what did I do to you?” Michelle asked. “You’re sending me off to some shithole small town with a bunch of Southern Baptists. They probably don’t even know how to screw good. Damn, girl, I thought we were friends!”
“Don’t blame me. You brought this on yourself, doing such a good job in finding Charlie. The good news is, you won’t need to stay long, maybe a few days, with a couple of follow‑up trips to other places where the Rangers did stuff. So, will you take the job?”
“Yeah, of course I’ll take it. Work is work, and the bills still need to be paid. So tell me, what’s up with you these days?”
“You remember me talking about Mark?”
“No, which one’s Mark?” Michelle asked.
“The White guy I was seeing.”
“I thought you broke things off with him.”
“I did, but he wouldn’t stay broke. He kept coming back for more, and he wore me down. I’m glad he did. We’re back together, and it’s good.”
Raising one eyebrow, Michelle asked, “How good?”
“You know, real good.”
“Is he the one with the magic tongue?”
“Uh‑huh,” Keisha said. “And don’t go getting ideas. I don’t share.”
“Okay, I can respect that. How about I send some brothers up for lessons? You think he could help a sister out?”
Keisha laughed. “Get out of my office. I won’t even think of how that’s supposed to work. What, you want us to put up a video on YouTube?”
“You do, and every sister around will be watching, big time. You’d be an instant movie star.” Michelle made a rectangle between her thumbs and first fingers, like a movie director framing a shot.
“Yeah, like I need to be a porn star. Not happening. What about you? Still flying free?”
“Mostly. I’ve been trying out a couple guys for GFB, but don’t know if it’ll work or not.”
“My guess is good sex is how that’ll work out,” Keisha said.
“That would be the point.”
“Now, about the job. I’ll tell the producer you’re good to go on the project. He’ll be real happy. Check your box this afternoon for the info you need.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re my best girl,” Keisha said with a wink.
Twenty: In Motion
D’ANDRE’S EXPLORER PULLED UP to the corner, where graffiti‑splattered plywood covered the windows of the empty storefront. Multiple piss stains spread out across the sidewalk away from the small alcove leading to the boarded‑up front door. The odor of ammonia wafted out from the recess used by druggies for a bit of privacy to pee.
The rear side window came down. D’andre sat in the backseat and Willie pushed off the wall to walk over.
“Get in, dog,” D’andre said. “We need to conversate.”
“Yo, T,” Willie called to his friend, “I’m going with D’andre a minute. Cover things here ‘till I get back.” He went around to the other side of the Explorer and climbed in.
“You and Terrance did good working with Jerome, helping him out with that little thing. I can keep you on the crew if you wanna work for me. Bam’s dead, and you need to make a decision.”
“We’re good,” Willie said. “We’ve never had no problem with you. We always worked direct for Lewis before, but he’s gone, so we’re good with you running things.”
“You wanna stay good, step up and show me you’re solid,” D’andre said.
“What do you need?”
“I want you to go with Jerome for an important job. You go with him to do some more of what you guys did before.”
“Man, jacking those bitches was some weak shit. We only did it because we were pissed about what happened before.”
“So you’re saying you won’t do this thing for me?”
“Naw, D’andre, it’s not like that. It’ll just be better if we go after the bitches that jacked us.”
“You’re going after who I tell you to go after. That’s what you’ll do.”
“If you’re sure, it’s good as done.”
“Look, muthafucka, I told you what I want, so that’s it. You in or out?”
“Yeah, sure, we’re in,” Willie said. “Whatever you say, D.”
“You’re goddamned right you’re in.”
D’andre tapped the back of the driver’s seat. “Pull over here.”
They had only gone about five blocks and were still in the same section of the hood. Without a word, the driver pulled over in front of a used car lot with a handful of very used cars. Scraggly weeds grew at the base of the bright orange‑yellow, cement‑filled, three‑ foot‑ high poles buried around the lot’s perimeter.
“Ride’s over,” D’andre said. “On the short walk back, take a minute to figure out what to say to Terrance. I don’t want to hear no shit later.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“That’s right, it’s no problem. Don’t fuck this up. Jerome should be by soon to give you the four‑one‑one on what I want.”
On the way back, Willie stopped at a gas station convenience store and bought a couple of Gatorades, and when he got to his corner gave one to Terrance.
“Did you ever notice how the trashcan by the front door of Pete’s store always stinks like rotten garbage and dead coffee?” Willie asked.
“Not really. So what? This place stinks, too.”
“That’s what I mean. Those asshole druggies piss on the door every night, but we ignore the stink; it’s like we’re used to it. But when I walk past some nasty trashcan, the stink bothers me. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.” Terrance shrugged. “What’s up with these stupid questions? Just tell me what D’andre wanted.”
After Willie explained, Terrance shrugged again. “I don’t know . . . What we did to Lil Taye and JJ wasn’t right. I didn’t think Jerome would grab them. I thought we would take care of those bitches who ripped us off. Them, or the bitch that busted a cap in his ass. I won’t do that shit again; I won’t jack some bitches that didn’t do anything to us.”
“I feel you, dog, but if we don’t do this shit,” Willie said, “D’andre will be real pissed. Things being like they are, he might bust a cap in our ass to show he’s boss. Something’s up with him. He’s being a complete asshole; worse than Lewis ever was.”
“How did that punk, Jerome, come up with so much juice with D’andre?” Terrance asked. “He’s a weak‑ass, rooty‑poot coward that’s always been scared of his own shadow. And now we’re stuck with him in this mess.”
“Yeah, but the timing was good for us. It kept us out of the heat last time between Bam and D’andre. If we hadn’t been with Jerome, we would’ve been right in the middle of that shit at the park. With your no‑shooting butt, we probably both been capped. You hiding, and me trying to save you.”
“Fuck you,” Terrance said. “Like you’re some hot shooter. You have the stones, but can’t shoot for shit. But, yeah . . . you’re right about us maybe
being shot. I still don’t like jacking no bitches that never did nothing to me.”
“What, are you scared or just stupid?”
“Piss off. You know I’m not afraid of nothing. And don’t call me stupid. It pisses me off.”
“Do you think D’andre gives two shits about a bunch of bitches?” Willie asked. “Hell no, he couldn’t care less. This isn’t about some women, or about Jerome. It’s gotta be about something bigger. D’andre moved on Bam and took him out, and our being gone helped him. I don’t give a rat’s ass about Bam; he was a stupid asshole. Still, if we were at the park, everything might be different now. With two more shooters, who knows? Except, we were with Jerome, and that was no accident. No, this is more than us jacking some bitches. Our helping Jerome is part of something D’andre’s planning.”
“Well, I still don’t like it.”
“Man, T, it’s the best place to be! Something big’s happening, and we’ll be off on the side. We’ll be messing with bitches while everyone else is shooting each other’s asses off. Fuck that. I’m glad to be with Jerome where nobody’ll bust a cap in my ass. And if you’re smart, you’ll be with me.”
“Yeah, all right, you’re probably right.”
“Hey, speak of the devil, that’s Jerome’s car coming up.”
Jerome parked, got out, and leaned against the rear fender of his car. “What up, dog?”
“Sup?” Willie replied, and Terrance nodded.
“We’re in‑line for some good shit,” Jerome said. “D’andre is putting some serious shit down and needs us to do an important piece. He wants us to cap them bitches that shot me. They’ll be at an apartment tomorrow afternoon where an old woman lives.”
“All right,” Willie said.
“I’m cool with capping the bitches that deserve it,” Terrance said, “but I don’t want no part in messing with an old woman. I won’t do it.”
“I feel you, dog. It ain’t like that. We hit Michelle and Nikky, that’s all. Nobody else’s gonna be hurt.”
“I got your word on that shit?” Terrance asked.
“One‑hundred percent, T. One‑hundred percent,” Jerome promised.