Hard Win: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #3 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series)

by Jason Stanley

  Nikky and Deja and sometimes Michelle, had become breakfast regulars. Normally, only one came in at a time. At least one of them often worked late into the night. Every night there were always hundreds of details handling the ladies of the night of Anglewatts, California. They may not have planned on it, but running the city’s prostitutes was their life now and they loved it.

  Running street prostitutes came as sort of an inheritance when Sugar, the largest madam in the city, met an untimely end.

  The women who worked the streets for Sugar wound up adrift without protection or organization. Michelle felt it was her fault they were essentially vulnerable orphans ripe for misuse. Their options were generally dismal. Not willing to let them be sucked into an ongoing abusive situation, she took matters into her own hands. With Deja’s and Nikky’s support, and Michelle as their leader, the friends became accidental madams.

  Two hookers advertising their figures in short skirts and long stiletto heels came into Blanche’s. While not a single female eyebrow rose, over a dozen sets of male eyes tracked their every step.

  Talk to men, and they’ll say they are an ass man or a tit man. A few will lie and say they look at a woman’s face. But their eyes tell the truth. Michelle had watched the same scene play out hundreds of times. Not once had she seen a man’s eyes follow a hooker’s face or hair as she walked across the room. This morning’s group was mostly ass men. But that might have been because both of the ladies seriously had it going on in the ass department.

  On the way to their table, both women dropped off envelopes to Nikky.

  Business was good.

  Two: Dirty Business

  POP, PA-POP-POP, whish, pa-pop . . . the pattern of hit, hit-hit, duck, two fast hits into the boxing focus mitts echoed around the room. Michelle worked up a good sweat building her rhythm and in the early morning workout.

  Her mittwork trainer stepped back and held up his mitts over his head, showing he wanted to halt. She danced back, did a quick three punch shuffle into the air, and asked, “What?”

  “Over here Michelle.” Mr. Kobayashi, the owner of the gym and her sensei, stepped up to the ring and handed her a phone.

  Michelle held the phone awkwardly in her Muai Thai boxing gloves. “This is Michelle.”

  “Hey, Michelle, this is Nikky. We’ve got a bad problem. Little-T got killed last night.”

  “Oh Jesus, no.” The news hit her harder than any punch or kick Michelle had ever taken fighting in the ring or on the streets. She took it personally. Her job was to protect the women, but she had failed. Little-T was more than an employee, she was a friend, a long-time friend. “What happened?”

  “Someone cut her throat.”

  “Oh God.”

  Silence.

  The probability of danger for hookers always lurked in the near background. No matter how good their protection, things happened. It was worse for street girls. Once they closed the door behind them in a john’s car, he was in control. Customers beat up the girls, ripped them off, and though less than TV or the movies made out, sometimes killed them.

  The pimp needed to make a show of force. But, often it came after the fact. If a john wanted to hurt a girl, he did. He would have to pay, and usually pay big in both pain and money, when the pimp caught up to him, but the woman had already been hurt.

  “Hello, are you there?” Nikky asked into the silent phone.

  “I’m here.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  The question jarred Michelle into action. The sick feeling spread out from her stomach into her chest and arms and legs. It would have to wait. “Where are you?” She motioned for the coach to help her out of her gloves and head gear.

  “Home. I just got a call from one of the cops where they found her. I called you first thing,” Nikky said.

  “Does little Briana stay at the center?”

  “No, she stays home with her grams.”

  “Where did it happen?” Michelle had her safety gear off and had run to the locker room.

  “An alley a few blocks off Western and 92nd.”

  “How are you doing with this?” Michelle asked.

  “Shook up, and at the same time, a little numb. I’m kind of overwhelmed. You know, being her boss and all.”

  Little-T’s death crossed all the lines for Michelle. “We lost a friend in about the nastiest way possible,” she said. “It’s gonna be a bitch getting through this . . . damn.”

  Michelle paused, letting her thoughts drift. “Okay, I’m on my way. Call Deja and both of you meet me where it happened.” Michelle hung up and handed the phone to Jenny. She headed toward the door and, hopping on one foot, she pulled on sweatpants while racing to the door.

  * * *

  In the fast lane, Michelle’s silver convertible Chrysler Crossfire slowed to a crawl and the middle lane moved forward. Lost in thought and memories, she didn’t notice the traffic moving in the lane beside her.

  Little-T had come to her on Michelle’s first day as an official madam. Michelle remembered it vividly.

  Looking like any young mother, Little-T wore loose fitting jeans, a green striped sailor shirt and low top classic black converse sneakers. She had a bright-eyed girl about seven years old with her. “Hey, Michelle, it’s good to see you back in the hood. I’m glad you and Nikky are taking over the streets. Sugar was alright, better than those other guys, but it was still tough.”

  “Thanks, Little-T. I plan on making life better for you ladies. Speaking of ladies, who is this beautiful young lady?”

  “This is Briana. My pride and joy.” She turned to the child. “Say hello to Michelle, sweetie.”

  Briana let go of her mother’s hand, took a step forward, looked Michelle in the eye, held out her hand, and with a delightful smile of half-grown front teeth, said, “Hello, Miss Michelle.”

  Michelle kneeled on one knee, bringing her to eye level with the girl and shook the offered hand. “I am delighted to meet you as the fine young lady you have become.” They spoke a moment about school and front teeth. Hugely impressed with Briana’s good manners and confident style, Michelle stood up. “She’s beautiful. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

  “Isn’t she wonderful? I can’t take the credit though. It’s mostly my mom’s doing and her own personality. You remember my mom?”

  “Yes, how is she?” Michelle asked.

  “Okay, good days and bad days, like always.”

  “You know we’ll have the childcare center open in another week or so. Will you put Briana in the center?” Michelle asked.

  “No. With her growing up, she’s a big help in the evening, keeping Mom company when I’m at work.”

  “How is work for you? Is there anything you need from us?” Michelle asked.

  “Just what you’re already doing with the money. I’m hooking up with Nikky on alla that stuff now. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Is your spot working for you?”

  “It’s okay. People know me. I’ve built up some regular work, so yeah, I’m okay for now.”

  That was it. Little-T hadn’t asked for special favors. She had simply welcomed Michelle back home, wished her well, and was grateful for what had been promised. Michelle teared up remembering Little-T as a kid and her life packed in hardships. Yet with all of her troubles, she had always remained a cheerful, generous person who Michelle thought deserved more.

  Traffic cleared, bringing Michelle’s attention back to the moment and the horrible reason she had been reminiscing. She wiped away her tears and changed lanes.

  Sorrow, determination, and dread shared space in her heart.

  * * *

  A couple hours later at Blanche’s, Michelle watched Deja push her plate away. “Deja, sweetie, you have to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I know. Me either. But that’s not the point. It’s only been a few hours since we found out. We have a long ass day in front of us. Of the three things we need to do, eating even thoug
h you aren’t hungry is the easiest. In the next few minutes, we need to map out our steps and, as much as possible, figure out what the hell happened. Then we need get over to Little-T’s and see what we can do to help over there. Trust me, this is hard now, but the day will only be harder as it goes.”

  With red-rimmed eyes Deja looked up from staring at the empty spot where her plate sat a moment earlier. “How can it be any harder than Little-T’s murder? It’s not right. Every bad break that could possibly happen, happened to her. Remember when we were kids and her pops got killed in prison? We all wondered if she would have to stay home from school to take care of her mom on account of her being so sick with sickle cell. One didn’t have anything to do with the other, but we didn’t understand.”

  “Yeah,” Nikky said, “After that, she was like everyone’s little sister they watched out for. I remember my mom saying Little-T was real smart and would be something someday. Then she got pregnant in her first year in high school. She never went back to school and didn’t leave the hood.”

  “Everyone liked her, so this will hit the community hard,” Michelle said. “That’s part of what’ll make this day even worse. Her being killed won’t go away. We need to help the others, especially those who knew her, make it through the same horrible news. Also, we have to find out how and why this happened.”

  The news was only a few hours old, and already more problems had stacked up.

  “Let’s go over what we know,” Michelle said.

  “The only thing we know for sure is she got into a big, black, late model car driven by a White woman with blond hair,” Nikky said. “Baby-T was on the corner with her and saw the pick up. She said she thought there might’ve been a Black man in the back. That’s all we have.”

  “Who’s selling drugs on the corner?” Michelle asked.

  “Labios is Trevon’s guy on that block. I already talked to him. He wasn’t any help. He saw the car and driver, but nothing else.

  “What about the car?” Michelle asked. “Didn’t he know what kind it was?”

  “That surprised me too,” Nikky said. “Most guys know cars. He said he thought it was a Lincoln, but could have been a Caddy or even Chrysler. Said he wasn’t paying attention and barely saw it. Also, none of the clerks at her regular hotels saw her. Nobody knows anything from the time she rode off until they found her in the alley this morning.”

  Turning to Deja, Michelle asked, “How did you do with the cops?”

  “They’re being real tight ass,” Deja replied. “They act like they don’t want us to know what’s happening. What’s real strange is the two cops I can normally talk to don’t have anything to say. They’re friendly and all, but won’t talk about Little-T’s murder. I checked with my cousin who’s a cop. He was on the case, but got moved to another case after only a couple of hours. He said jumping cases was kind of odd, but sometimes happens.”

  “I didn’t learn shit either,” Michelle said. “I went to the station and Sgt. Fillmore, who is always helpful, was off duty. Everybody else gave me the run around. They wouldn’t even tell me if Fillmore would be in later. It seems the street cops we know won’t or can’t give us anything right now. I’ll see if Trevon can help out.”

  “Do you want me to tell the girls to cut those two cops off?” Nikky asked.

  “No, leave it be for now.” Michelle said. “There’s something going on we can’t see. Two guys don’t risk losing free blow jobs for no reason.”

  Michelle shook her head. Corruption in Asia was so easy. Just pay the asshole and move on. Here it needed to be handled carefully. Lots of cops were a little corrupt. They had to be careful. Something as small as a free meal was corruption that would get a guy fired from the force. But a blow job wasn’t corruption, it was a successful date. If a cop dated a hooker, a court of law, or even internal affairs, would rule in his favor. The court of marriage would be different. Most wives didn’t have much generosity about such things.

  “Do you think it could happen again?” Deja asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Another murder . . .”

  “Don’t say anything like that around the girls. They’ll be scared, and need us to be strong. No matter what, we have to help them keep their heads in a good place. We’re the ones that have to straighten out this mess. Trust me, it’ll be a lot harder if everybody freaks out and is stupid with fear. We can’t let that happen,” Michelle said.

  “If you say so,” Deja said. “To tell the truth, I’m pretty shook-up myself.”

  “Of course you are, sweetie,” Michelle said. “We all are, but we can’t show it. We can show love and genuine concern for Little-T’s girl and her mom. Those things are real. So is fear, but if one of us shows any fear, it can grow into a crazy panic. So, will you be able to handle this? If you can’t be tough, that’s alright. The thing is, if you’re not up to it, you need to be somewhere else until we can work through this.”

  “No. It’s okay. I’ll be alright. No, I’ll be better than alright. I’ll stand strong for everyone.” With compressed lips Deja gave one sharp nod of confirmation.

  “How about you? How are you doing?” Michelle asked Nikky.

  “The initial shock has pretty much worn off. Now, I’m mostly mad. I’m sad for her little girl. Good thing she still has her grams.”

  “Good, being mad is good. It’ll help you stay focused. We need to be focused because we have a lot of work to do. We can cry later. I know I will.”

  “Me too,” Nikky said. “In fact when it’s all over, I’m planning on getting serious drunk and have a big old fashioned bawl.”

  “I’m in on that; guaranteed,” Deja said.

  At that, Michelle’s throat tightened and tears threatened. She changed the subject so they wouldn’t make the step from talking about crying, to actually crying. “What matters is she was a friend. I want a big, no, not big, I want a huge funeral. We have to show respect for Little-T and all of our people. I’ll talk to Miss Betty, she knows everyone in the hood and what it takes to make things happen. In the meantime, I need both of you to go out and spend time with all of our girls. Go to their apartments, make sure they know we’re on the streets with them and taking care of things. Ask them if they’ve seen anybody with a new, big black car, driven by a White woman with a Black man in it.”

  “What do you think is going on?” Nikky asked.

  “I don’t know. But if it was a White woman driving a Black man around, there won’t be many people like that. They said the woman had on regular street clothes, not what a limo driver normally would. If anybody’s seen anything like that, we should know about it.” Michelle said. “One more thing everyone should know.”

  “What’s that?” Deja asked.

  “I will find this guy and kill him. He’s a dead man walking. That’s a fact.”

  * * *

  One of Little-T’s mother’s friends brought a sedative. The two women were spending some quiet crying time together. Deja had agreed to stay with Briana, keeping her busy. Little-T’s cousin, a woman in her early thirties with young children, was on the way to pick up Briana. She would stay with her cousins for a few days.

  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 Sons 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.