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

by Jason Stanley

  “Do you think he’ll talk to you?”

  “He’s been helpful before. But, just in case, you and Nikky go back to where they dumped Bunny. See if you can find anyone who’ll talk to you about it. Check everyone for a couple blocks where they went. With the shots and the car shot up, somebody might have seen something, even got a license plate number.”

  “Got it. I’ll grab Nikky and be right there.”

  “One more thing. Somebody was sure to call the cops. See if anyone remembers the cops’ names who took the reports.”

  A short while later, Michelle pulled into the only visitor’s space not filled by a police cruiser at the Anglewatts Police station. It was shift change time and she waited until officers started filing out toward their cars.

  Michelle walked into the parking lot filled with exhaust from the idling cars. Keys jingled, leather creaked and doors slammed. A few sirens burped and the first couple cars pulled out. She caught sight of Sergeant Fillmore and crossed the lot diagonally to meet him at the back of his car.

  “Hey, Michelle, sorry to hear about your girl Little-T.”

  “Thanks, Sarge. Is there anything you can tell me about her case?”

  “No. I don’t know anything about the case. But I can tell you, it has been pushed over to Captain Baxter’s group, which is strange. His group normally does the special and overflow cases. They’re only assigned homicides when the regular team is overloaded, but that’s not happening right now.”

  “Can you think of any reason for the special treatment?”

  “Not really, but there are a lot of things that go on around here that don’t make any sense to me. Probably why I’m only a sergeant.”

  “I heard there was a car got shot up over on Century earlier this evening,” Michelle said. “You have anything on it?”

  “No. This is the first I heard about a shooting of any kind on Century. What exactly did you hear?”

  “Not much. Apparently a black Lincoln took five or six rounds while headed East on the 3200 block of West Century around 9:00 this evening. At least the driver’s side windows and rear window were shot out plus a few hits on the body.”

  “Sounds like you heard a lot about this thing. Hey Mackey,” the sergeant called to an officer walking by, “did you hear anything about a Lincoln taking a half dozen shots while driving down Century this evening?”

  “No. Do we need to be on alert for it?” the officer asked.

  “No. I don’t think so. But let me know if you hear anything.”

  “Sure, you got it.”

  Sergeant Fillmore turned to Michelle. “That’s real strange. Something like a public shooting should’ve been covered in roll call. I don’t suppose there’s anything else about this mystery shooting you can tell me?”

  “You’ll be the first to know. Thanks for your time, Sergeant.” Michelle walked off.

  * * *

  “Hursh,” the man answered the phone on his desk.

  “Hello, L.T., Trevon Moore calling.”

  “What can I do for you, counselor?” Hursh always called Trevon by his attorney’s title.

  “I’d like to talk to you about a case I can’t seem to learn anything about. It would be best if we meet away from the police department.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ve got nothing else to do but help you with your personal problems.”

  While their conversation sounded antagonistic, they had a good understanding on how to do business with each other. Also, there were no secrets about who was really who and what they stood for.

  Six months earlier Hursh had summoned Trevon for an off-the-books meeting:

  “How can I help you, Lieutenant?” Trevon had asked.

  Hursh had taken a moment not saying anything, just staring at Trevon. He nodded, apparently at a thought, then began. “Both of us know the story about what happened with D’andre is a crock. I’m going to sign off on it as mistaken identity and self-defense. Unless I’m badly mistaken, and I’m not, that will clear you to run the drugs in Anglewatts.”

  “And?” Trevon asked.

  “I mean, you have a free pass to the top.”

  “Why?” Trevon asked.

  “I’ve been in this business a long time, here and back east. I’ve seen lots of money and time spent on putting the top guy behind bars. It’s all politics and public relations bullshit. Taking the top guy out doesn’t have anything to do with cleaning up drugs.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Every time we take out the guy at the top, there are ten guys waiting for their chance to move into his place. Take out those ten, and there are ten more for each one. There are always a bunch of thugs fighting to move in. We take out the top guys because it makes good news headlines. That wins elections and helps with funding. It doesn’t do crap for the city.”

  “That is an interesting perspective. What does it have to do with me?” Trevon asked.

  “I’ve checked you out. Carefully. From what I can tell, you run a tight ship down in Long Beach. You don’t let your people sell to kids. That’s the deal. Keep your shit away from kids and clean up any existing thugs dealing to kids and you have your pass to Anglewatts.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Basically, yeah. Run a tight ship, no fucking around with kids, and you’re in business. Do sloppy work, involve kids at any level and I’ll take you down.”

  “What’s in it for you?” Trevon asked.

  “I have a safer city, fewer killings, and fewer kids sucked into the shit-hole of drugs. I focus on things I can’t control, like wives killing their no-count deserving husbands.”

  Since that day there had been a few helpful exchanges. Nothing of significance, mostly Hursh letting Trevon know he was watching. Today’s call was unusual, but not unheard of.

  “Good guess, almost,” Trevon said. “I am calling about a problem concerning an associate and client. It’s also a problem that ties directly back to your business. As a matter of trust, I believe you will want to discuss it with me. Can you meet me for breakfast?”

  “I already ate.”

  “Me too,” Trevon said. “Dulan’s in an hour.”

  Fifty minutes later, Hursh joined Trevon at an outside table in front of Dulan’s. “Thanks for coming. I think you’ll be interested in this little problem of mine,” Trevon said.

  “Okay, counselor, why is that?” Hursh asked.

  “I had a late-night meeting with a business associate last night.”

  Hursh turned to face Trevon.

  “My associate lost an employee last week. A Miss Veronica, known as Little-T. Her throat was cut in an alley of our fair city. My associate is being stonewalled by your department. Apparently everyone who might be willing to lend a hand with this most unfortunate incident has been moved off the case. Last night there was another, we believe related, situation. A car got its windows shot out while driving down Century. We know several people reported it. But, it was curiously absent from the night roll call a few hours later.”

  “If true, that would be unusual,” Hursh said.

  “My associate thinks out of town muscle is setting things up for a takeover. That would be bad for everyone. You would have more homicides, and all the headaches that come with a takeover. If they succeed, it will only be the thin edge of the wedge. They’ll come after other street business which will make a lot more work for your department. The city and its good citizens will suffer.”

  “Which is a much greater problem for you than the police department.”

  “I’ve heard a certain Captain Baxter may be involved somehow. But I don’t know what the connection is.” Trevon sipped his coffee.

  “Hum.” Lt. Hursh took a sip of coffee. Turning to look straight ahead toward the street where they sat, he spoke quietly. “Baxter came here from Houston a few years back. Shortly after he showed up, Jackson, the man who used to run drugs and women in Anglewatts, took over. There have been rumors, but there are always rumors. This time I think they’re m
ostly true. The timing was, among many other things, shall we say, suspiciously convenient. Concerning your associate’s problems, my guess is, the good captain is assisting his old friends. The same friends who he helped set up Jackson.”

  Trevon stood up. “Lieutenant, it’s always a pleasure doing business with you.”

  “Counselor.”

  Trevon left.

  Hursh sipped his coffee.

  Seven: Eye Of The Storm

  DEJA PEEKED THROUGH the side door into the hotel conference room. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “It’s the only way,” Michelle said. “People will deal with a lot of crazy shit if they think they’re being told the inside four-one-one. You lose them when they think you’re holding out. Next, they turn on you and you’ve got serious problems. Our girls are scared. It’s real easy to go from scared to mad. We want them to be mad at this asshole, not us. So, yeah, it’s a good idea and we have to do it now.”

  “A lot of them are out there now,” Nikky said. “When do you want to start?”

  “Is Miss Betty out there?” Michelle asked.

  “Yeah, she’s mixing and talking to the different groups like you asked.”

  “You guys go on out and mix with everyone. Don’t stay together. If you’re alone, they’ll be able to talk to you privately. You’ll hear more of what’s on their minds. I’ll be out shortly.”

  Michelle was familiar with the conference room. It was the same conference room at the Sheraton Hotel where, six months earlier, she had taken control of the prostitution business in Anglewatts. She’d made promises that she meant to keep. Most of those things had been accomplished. Some hadn’t. Protection had failed. It was going to be a very different meeting waiting out there for her this time.

  I’ll be goddamned if I’ll let some murdering sonuvabitch come in here and hurt any more of my family. He killed one of my girls. He has to die.

  She took some calming breaths, tugged on her clothes, fluffed her hair, and stepped through the door into the conference room. When Michelle walked in, nearby conversations stopped and several of the women moved to the chairs.

  Nikky saw Michelle come in through the side door. She stepped over to the speaker’s table and spoke into the microphone. “Everyone, Michelle’s here, let’s settle in.”

  Most everyone found seats in a couple minutes.

  Michelle looked at a sea of worried, scared faces. Faces that looked to her for answers. She didn’t ever expect to carry this weight. Because she had been driven to avenge her brother’s murder, a string of unforeseeable events developed. Those events resulted in her being barely twenty-four years old and responsible for the safety and emotional well being of almost a hundred people — most of them street hookers.

  Not quite sure of her voice, Michelle walked about a third of the way down the center aisle, touching shoulders and making eye contact. Then, slowly, she walked back to the front of the room.

  If not for Mrs. Betty, an older woman who had been in the life for many years who was willing to share her wisdom from years of experience, things would have been much tougher. Still, she was more nervous facing this group tonight than at any other time in her life. Nerves or not, she didn’t have a choice, she had to take control. She had to be the one to lead their way.

  Michelle picked up the hand-held microphone. “We’re here this evening because yesterday we buried one of our own. Little-T was murdered. That’s a fact that can’t be changed. I know who did it and I’m going to kill the sonuvabitch. That’s also a fact that can’t be changed.”

  When she walked down the aisle, Michelle noted that Latoya, a woman with a perpetually bad attitude, sat by the center aisle two thirds of the way to the back. She thrived on turmoil and frequently stirred up problems where there were none. The first time they met Latoya had introduced herself as “Latoya, Honey on the street.”

  Tonight they had real concerns and Michelle couldn’t afford to allow Latoya to push them in the wrong direction. Sadly, this was exactly the type situation Latoya would exploit to create unnecessary and damaging drama. She sat with her arms folded and a scowl on her face. She yelled out, “That ain’t gonna help Little-T none.”

  The shuffling of seats and soft clatter of jewelry subtly filled the room. Many of the women, already nervous, fidgeted in their chairs.

  There it is. That’s the one Miss Betty warned me about. I have to nip it in the bud to keep everyone from joining in and going into a panic.

  Michelle held up her hand in a ‘stop’ gesture toward Latoya. She held it there while sweeping the room, making eye contact with the women from the far left to the far right. She returned her focus toward Latoya and gave her a flat eyed stare for a long drawn out moment.

  The last time they were in this room Michelle demonstrated how well she could put someone, anyone, down in only a couple seconds. The first time it was hand to hand. The second time the other person came at her with a knife. It didn’t matter. Both times, in almost the blink of an eye, Michelle had the woman flat on her back. Everyone saw her do it. They also knew Michelle ran the established pimps out of town — men who were known to be sadistic mean bastards. Everyone in the room understood Michelle had the ability to do exactly whatever she said she would.

  “Latoya, Honey on the street, you don’t get to say nothing about my long-time friend Little-T. Not a muthafuckin word. You just using her name to disrespect me is disrespecting her. Do that in any way again and I’ll kick your ass so bad your momma won’t recognize you. Now shut the fuck up.”

  “I’m not dissin anybody —” Latoya started.

  It didn’t matter that Latoya hadn’t really dissed Little-T, Michelle needed the excuse to put her in check to make the statement that Michelle was in charge.

  Michelle walked down the aisle, stood next to Latoya, held the microphone behind her back and quietly said, “If you’re scared, say so. If you have a problem with me, say so. If you don’t want to work the streets anymore, say so. If you let Little-T’s name pass your lips again in this meeting, I swear to God, this whole room won’t be able to pull me off of you. I strongly suggest you pick up your purse and leave before your mouth has you in more trouble than you can deal with.”

  “You can’t kick me out,” Latoya said.

  “I can, but I’m not. I’m suggesting you be smart for once and take a break.” Michelle stepped back, giving Latoya plenty of room to make her choice — fight, shut up and stay, or go.

  Latoya squinted, pursed her lips, looked up away and back at Michelle. “This is bullshit, I’m leaving.” She grabbed her purse and stormed out.

  Michelle took a single long, deep breath and slowly let it out.

  Everyone in the room mirrored her action with letting out their breath. The room relaxed.

  Michelle faced a calmer room. She was still seething mad at Latoya and wanted to follow her down the aisle and do exactly what she had promised. From her martial arts training, she knew she had to put something else in front of her thoughts to control her anger.

  Focus on the murder.

  She took another deep breath, then slowly let it out. She stood in the middle of the room. “The man who did this is an out-of-town pimp. He wants to take over running all of you. He doesn’t want to kill any more of you.”

  One of the new girls who had joined the team only a month earlier stood up. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “How can you be sure he won’t kill someone else?”

  Again, the soft shuffling sounded as most of the women turned first to the woman when she asked the question then back to Michelle. The room, though less explosive before Latoya left, became tense.

  Michelle walked back to the front of the room. “Like it or not, to him, you’re product. He doesn’t want to waste product. It’s bad business. Also, last night he made his statement by slapping Bunny around, then made a show of dropping her off where I’d see it.” The room lit-up with conversations
. Michelle waited for a moment, letting the small talk take over.

  When the talking turned into questions, she spoke loudly into the microphone. “She’ll be okay. She’s shook up and bruised, but nothing is broken or injured. I sent her home this morning after a good night’s sleep at the clinic. She’s home safe and resting. Now we need to focus on tonight and how to keep everyone safe. I also need you to help me get the motherfucker who killed our sister.”

  Most of the women in the room nodded in agreement. Under Michelle’s management, they might be doing better financially than before, but they couldn’t afford to be off the streets for more than a few days. Women were sometimes abused and even hurt in this business. That was the unfortunate sad reality of the job.

  “T-Dog, come up here, please. Everyone, this is T-Dog. Some of you saw me with her last night when we posted her crew on your streets. Tonight we’ll be more organized. Every one of you is going to be partnered with one or two of her crew.”

  Michelle was back on an even keel, or at least not on the edge of losing it over being so angry at Latoya. The women were focusing on her words and on how to face the problem.

  “Also, we know what this asshole looks like. Nikky is passing out copies of a sketch of his face. I want everyone to study it and know his face before we leave here today. If you see him, don’t be a hero and try to get even. Call me or T-Dog. Put our numbers in your phones before you leave here today.”

  With Nikky’s help, T-Dog paired up the women with her crew. Numbers were exchanged and call-in schedules were established.

  While the business took place, little bits of additional safety oriented conversations reached Michelle. “We can team together. I’ll get a photo of every john you go with.” Michelle knew the first crisis of fear had been beat.