Michelle couldn’t do any more at Little-T’s; she pulled away from the house. It was time to reach out for help. She called Trevon.
Trevon Moore was Michelle’s occasional lover. He was also a practicing attorney in Long Beach, California—and much more . . .
Trevon and Michelle had a short, but extremely eventful history. Trevon had been in the drug business for almost fifteen years. Up until recently he ran the corners in Long Beach just south of Anglewatts. Now, largely due to the consequences of Michelle’s actions, he was busy solidifying his position as the top man running drugs throughout Anglewatts.
His current position would not have happened if Michelle hadn’t plowed the fields. Intentional or not, she opened the doors for his move into the top power and money spot in the city. Along the way, she also happened to save his life. He owed her.
“Moore and McCabe, Law offices. How may I direct your call?” the secretary at Trevon’s office answered.
“Hi, Natalie, this is Michelle, I need to find Trevon and his phone is turned off.”
“Hey, Michelle. He’s in court this morning. He always turns his phone completely off in the courtroom. Judges hate when attorneys check their texts.”
“What court is he in?”
“Long Beach Superior.”
“This is real important, not a crisis, but important. The court house is too far away. I can’t possibly make it in less than two or three hours. Is there anyway can you have a message handed to him?”
“Sure we have a way to do it with the clerk’s office. Give me your message. I’ll see he gets it.”
“Thanks, here it is. “Death in the family. Police are stonewalling us. Call me. Michelle Angelique.” Got that?”
“Yup. Got it. It usually only takes a few minutes, but sometimes a little longer. I can follow up after I leave the message, but you’ll most likely know before I do because Trevon will probably call or text you as soon as they break. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Thanks Natalie. This is a big help. No, there’s no need for you to do more. He’ll get back to me when he can. I appreciate it.”
Three: Bad Viewing
MICHELLE WALKED INTO the empty foyer at Taylor and Son’s Funeral Home. The soft colors of the room matched the muted, not quite identifiable, but obvious odors. A large vase full of red roses stood on a table set back in an alcove directly across from the front double doors. An overhead light drew attention to the flowers.
She was early and hadn’t expected anyone to greet her. It wasn’t a problem. She knew her way around.
A plump, dark-skinned man in his early thirties wearing a dark suit, walked up. “Can I help you?”
“Little-T?”
“Miss Veronica is in the main viewing room. Would you like me to show you the way?”
“No, I’ve been here before.” Michelle stood still.
The young man waited quietly for a moment then asked, “May I ask how you know Taylor and Son’s?”
“Umm, yes. I grew up here, so have come to a number of funerals.” She continued to stand still. After a brief pause, she focused on him. “You probably deal with this a lot. Where people know what to do but aren’t ready to go inside.”
“Sometimes it is good to stay here in the foyer a few minutes,” he said. “Did you know Grandpa Taylor was the first to open a Black-run mortuary in Anglewatts back in the 30s?”
Michelle nodded. “I did know that. Are you one of the grandsons?”
“Cousin. Still in the family and proud to be a part of the Taylor’s heritage here.”
“So you’re a Taylor?”
“Brian Taylor, at your service.”
“Funny how names go, Michelle said. “Taylor and Son’s is the best choice for us and Washington & Jackson is where the rich White folks go. Why do you think that is?”
“We try to understand the community’s needs,” he said.
“That’s one way to put it. We want a home-going and we want to look good on the way. You guys understand that. They can be pretty stuffy over at Washington and Jackson’s. You know I once heard that if you don’t already have a stick up your ass, they’ll loan you one at the door.”
A big smile creased Brian’s face. “Is that so?”
“That’s what I heard. If it’s true, I certainly hope they don’t recycle.”
“Good Lord, that’s a terrible thought!” he said.
“An even worse image,” she said.
Both Michelle and Brian laughed.
“Thank you Brian. Thanks for standing with me here for a moment. I appreciate your being willing to give me this time. I’m ready to go now.”
Little-T’s viewing was in the main room at Taylor’s. Honey-colored wainscoting lined the lower third of the walls. On both sides of the room, four stained-glass windows with scenes of nature that hinted at, but were just short of a religious statement let in cool filtered light. A dais filled most of the end of the room. A wide center aisle separated honey-colored wooden pews. Little-T, in an open casket surrounded by flowers and wreaths, sat between the front pews and the dais.
As she stepped through the heavy wood double doors, she saw the back of a man in light green slacks and cream silk shirt, step quickly through the back door off to the side of the dais. In the small flash she saw of him, she noticed a piece of silk cloth that looked like a woman’s scarf in his hand.
What the fuck?
“Sonuvabitch!”
Michelle kicked off her heels and ran out after him, down the hall and out the exit into the back parking lot. Nothing. Skirt pulled up to her crotch, she tore around the building at a full sprint to the side lot to see a black Lincoln sedan speed away.
“Fuck! Sonuvabitch!”
Back inside she asked several people if they had seen the man. The first people she spoke to had been somewhere else in the past few minutes. Eventually she talked to a woman in the front office who saw him on the way in.
“Yes, he asked about Miss Veronica,” the woman said. “He said he was a cousin from out of town. He told me they grew up together. Said he wanted a quiet moment with her before he went to see his auntie. That sort of thing happens pretty often so I didn’t think anything about it. I directed him to the main room.”
“What did he look like?”
“Average size. Not big, not small. Under six feet, but not short. Like you said, light mint green slacks, cream silk shirt. Clean fade that showed he had several scars on his head. Why do men do that? They know their scars look bad, why not grow their hair out?”
Michelle wanted to scream at the woman who cares why men wear short hair and show their ugly heads. But she held back. “That’s good, the fade and scars will help me know him when I see him. What was his complexion?”
“Dark. He was dark.”
“You’re pretty good at noticing things.” Michelle complimented the woman. “How dark? Real dark or normal?”
The woman smiled at Michelle’s compliment. “You know, not tar-baby but regular dark. He smiled when he talked like he was used to smiling to get his way. He had a ruby or garnet, probably garnet, in a front tooth. Oh yeah, he had a serious heavy gold bracelet on one hand and an even bigger gold watch on the other hand. Both were that lumpy nugget kind you don’t see much anymore. The younger guys go more for the heavy chain.”
Michelle checked the name tag on the desk and asked, “Are you Deloris?”
“Yes, at your service. Been here at Taylor’s for nine years.”
“Well they got a good one when they hired you,” Michelle said. “How old was he?”
“Probably close to 50. He had a kind of a worn, street look that made him seem older, but still not more than 50.”
“Thank you so much Deloris. You’ve been a huge help.”
“Do you think he had anything to do with, you know, what happened? It was so horrible.”
“Yeah, it is horrible. That shouldn’t happen to anybody. Yes I do. In fact, I think that sick sonuvabitc
h is probably the one who did it. Now, someone needs to go in and fix her clothes. Can you take care of that?”
“What?” Deloris’ eyes widened. “Is there something wrong with how she looks?” She stood up behind her desk. “I’m the one who usually does the last check on the clothes and makes sure everything is perfect.”
“He took the scarf off her neck that covered where she was cut.”
“Oh Jesus.” Deloris headed for the door. “I’ll go fix that right now.”
Michelle tapped Nikky’s number. “Sup, girl, I’m at Taylor’s. I need you to bring me some pantyhose when you come.”
Over the next hour a few people dribbled in, then like someone opened the flood gates the foyer became jammed as more and more people lingered after signing in the register next to the vase of red roses.
The viewing room, foyer and front porch area was packed with family, blood and street. Often the hookers acted like family taking care of each other on the street. For many, it was the only functioning family they had. Little-T had been one who, more than most, watched out for the other girls. Her murder had hit the community hard.
Michelle walked around the room. She heard two women, standing off to the side, talking. They were dressed in almost modest, form fitting clothes, punctuated by stiletto heels. Her girls.
“Did you know her name was Veronica?” one asked the other.
“Yeah, but that was back in elementary school. Everyone started calling her Little-T in high school.”
“Why’d they call her Little-T?”
“She had little tits. Always did, even when she was pregnant.”
“What about Baby-T? She has big tits.”
“Her name is Timecca.”
Michelle’s three years of hardcore assassin training in Asia taught her how to wear a mask hiding her emotions. Showing emotions at the wrong time could, probably would, get her arrested if not killed. The trick was to find a real emotion and focus on it. While this situation didn’t carry the threat of arrest or danger, she relied on her training to show the mask. At the moment she was livid about what happened with the man earlier. Everyone only saw her real concern.
With a small smile on her face, Michelle walked up to the two women. “Hey Bunny. It’s Cherry, right?” She hugged Bunny and held her hand out to Cherry.
Shaking hands, Cherry said, “That’s right, it’s Cherry.”
“I’m so sorry you joined us only a few days ago and this happened. Thank you for coming. Did you know Little-T?”
“Not really, I grew up in Compton so don’t know most of the girls,” Cherry said. “Bunny is the only person I really know. I’m her cousin. But I did meet Little-T and I liked her.”
“We all did. She’ll be missed a lot,” Michelle said. “You stick close to Bunny; she knows everyone and will take good care of you today. Bunny and I go back to our freshman year in high school. She’s good people.”
“I forgot about that,” Bunny said. “Yeah, we had a few classes together.”
“It was nice seeing you again Cherry. After all of this is settled down, I’d like to spend some time to get to know you a little better. Maybe you and Bunny can meet me for lunch in a few days.” Michelle shook hands again with Cherry, hugged Bunny, and walked away to another group of women.
Michelle wanted, needed, to be on the street looking for that bastard. But for now, her place was here, with her girls, mourning the one they’d lost, so she stayed. She moved around the room, talking and giving comfort where she could. Nobody saw the storm exploding inside her.
Four: Church Funeral
SOUTH CENTRAL BAPTIST was the biggest and richest church in a thirty mile radius. Growing up Michelle had been to the church many times for special occasions such as when her mother’s church visited South Central for a church anniversary. And of course for other funerals. It was also the church Little-T grew up in.
The church members were used to hosting big functions and especially funerals. They did a fantastic job of helping their members and the people of the community be able to focus on sending their loved one home and not worry about the details of how to feed as many as two thousand hungry souls.
They covered all the details. The women’s ministry donated the food, the cooking and even the serving. Other ministries in the church took care of the setup, clean up and traffic control. The only thing the church would take was a donation to the general fund. Michelle, Nikky and Deja made sure the donation would make a difference, even to a wealthy church like South Central Baptist.
Before the funeral service started the hookers freely mixed with the regular church members and Little-T’s family. While genuinely friendly and open, it was a different scene than the typical funeral at South Central Baptist. None of the hookers came to the funeral wearing their working clothes, but that didn’t matter. The late great Ray Charles could have seen who was a regular church goer and who was a sister in arms with Little-T.
Everyone knew at least a few people. Michelle heard hellos and consoling words everywhere she went. She also heard another type of conversation almost as frequently.
A well-dressed woman, in her early forties, grabbed her husband’s elbow and pulled him in close as they approached the steps of the church. She whispered loudly into his ear, “Marshall! Put your eyes back in your head.”
“Lordy, Ruth. You’re asking me to not see the bounty right before my eyes.”
“Well, at least wipe that goofy grin off your face. The rest of the women will think I don’t never give you any.” She shook her head in playful disgust, tsked at him, and continued into the sanctuary.
Marshall cocked an eyebrow and followed quickly behind his wife. A devilish smile lit up his whole face. “Ruthie, I’m going to hold you to that later.”
She gently shoved him away, continuing to shake her head.
Inside the large foyer Michelle saw a young mother poke her husband in the ribs. “Mister Man, you best put it in check,” the woman said. “It ain’t like you’ve never seen a woman’s butt before.”
“Dawn, you know none of these women have it over you. You’ve got the best ass in the whole city.”
“Good try, but that doesn’t fix it. You’re still in trouble. And don’t say ‘ass’ in the church.”
“Girl, what’re you fretting on? I’m only looking. Here, turn around, let me look at the best ass in the city.”
She poked him again in the side. “You’re hopeless.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Now, stop saying ‘ass’ in church. People will think I’m married to some trifling no-count with no manners.”
Eventually, everyone found seats in the large sanctuary.
Pastor Joseph spoke from the podium, “We are gathered here for the home-going of our own Little-T, who grew up in this church. Many here at South Central Baptist knew her first as Veronica, then later as Little-T. I remember the little girl running in the halls looking for her momma, excited about her last discovery. We are here to remember Little-T for the woman she was, the heart she gave so freely . . .” the pastor paused, pulled his glasses down low and looked over the top of them, pointedly focusing on several of the members of his church, “we are here to celebrate how through hardship and difficulties Little-T kept the Lord our Savior Jesus, in her heart. Let us remember how she took good care of her daughter and mother, who we see here most every Sunday . . .”
After Pastor Joseph’s moving ceremony, the choir director, Sister Dorrough, stood, turned to face the sanctuary, and stepped forward, “Sister Tompkins will sing His Eye is on the Sparrow.”
Sister Tompkins stood, her head bowed, silent, then lifted her head and voice. At the end of her song there were very few dry eyes in the room.
Again Sister Dorrough addressed the packed sanctuary. “With joy in our open hearts it is time for us to sing and dance our sister home.”
The sixty-seven member choir stood up. Sister Dorrough walked back, raised her arms high, counted off, and started the final song, I need you, Lor
d Jesus.
The choir danced in their pews and sang with pure love and celebration in their hearts. Of the many funerals South Central Baptist had seen, it was one of the best home-going celebrations in recent memory. Halfway through their song, the whole church was on their feet singing, swaying, handkerchiefs and tissues held high. The congregation danced both to the beat of the music, and even more to the overwhelming emotion of love and release as they let go and sent their sister, Little-T, home.
After the church service everyone piled into cars to go to the gravesite ceremony. Michelle arranged to ride in the last limousine. While waiting for everyone to get in the car, she saw Cherry looking a little lost, but in all the confusion a lot of people were a bit lost or looking for their ride and Michelle didn’t think much of it.
Again, at the gravesite Michelle noticed Cherry standing off to one side of the covered chairs with a few of the other women, but not with Bunny. With all the other important things happening, Michelle didn’t pay it much attention.
After the minister spoke and consoled the family members in the front row people started drifting back to their cars. On the way to the limo, Cherry touched Michelle on the arm. “Have you seen Bunny?” she asked.
“No,” Michelle answered. “Not since we talked at the viewing yesterday. Why?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
“What do you mean you haven’t seen her? Since when?”
“Not since the funeral parlor yesterday. After the service, she went outside for a cigarette and I got in line at the ladies room. It took a while, then when I went outside, I couldn’t find her. Sometimes she takes off like that, so I didn’t think much of it and caught a ride home. But this morning she hasn’t answered her phone. That’s not like her.”
Michelle’s stomach dropped as a wave of sick energy coursed through her entire body. Pressure hit the top of her head and threatened to push through her skull. “Who are you with?” Michelle asked.
Cherry pointed to three women still standing in the shade of the cover by the gravesite. “Do you think something could have happened to Bunny?”
Hard Betrayal (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series 2) Page 23