“Hello, Scott’s Diner. How can I help you?”
“Hey Scott. Is everything ready?” Michelle asked.
“Yup. Locked and loaded, ready to go,” he replied.
“I sure wish it were better timing with Little-T’s death and all.”
“I hear you. But you know, Michelle, this may be the thing to break the bad feelings and put them on a better track. Also, like you said, the money has already been spent. It’s not like you put this together after Little-T got killed.”
“Thanks Scott, you’re a good friend. I needed to hear that.”
“I have to go,” Scott said. “Nikky just pulled up outside.”
After watching both Nikky and Deja go into the diner, Michelle pulled up in her silver convertible Crossfire. She parked in front of Deja’s Honda across the street from the diner. She had the top down and old school blues by Pjae Stanley were bumping. Then silence.
“Hey, Michelle,” Scott greeted her when she entered the diner.
Michelle joined her friends at their table.
“You guys are late for breakfast and early for lunch. What’ll it be, lunch or breakfast menus?” Scott asked.
“Breakfast plate special, Caesar Salad, Burger with fries, coffee, A&W root beer, Pepsi,” came back in a chorus of three voices. The women shouted out their orders.
Scott grinned and started fixing their food.
“Thanks for coming over. I wanted to be away from the center where we wouldn’t be interrupted.” Michelle looked at Nikky. “You’re up. Show us what you have.”
Nikky opened her briefcase and hauled out ledgers and files. “I thought we’d start with an overview of income, costs and profit from the websites, call centers next, then look at the massage parlors, and end with the girls. The childcare center and clinic are separate overhead . . .” Nikky gave Michelle and Deja folders with spread sheets and bank statements.
Deja groaned but opened her folder.
“I hear you girl,” Michelle sympathized.
“Well, you’ll like this.” Nikky pulled a blue folder out of the stack in front of Deja. “Flip to page three and check those numbers. Here . . .” Nikky put her finger on a column on the page she had turned to. “See that?”
“Yeah, I see it, but I’ll be damned if I know what I’m looking at,” Deja said.
“Look here and here,” Nikky pointed some more.
“Okaaayy,” Deja said.
“Deja, you’re fucking hopeless you know that?” Nikky said.
Deja batted her eyes with her best innocent Bambi imitation. “But I’m awfully pretty to look at.”
“I’ll give you that. But it only means you’re pretty and hopeless.” Nikky teased back. “Now, back to the numbers. Those numbers show you your budget for cosmetics and makeovers for the girls. This is what it used to be. This one here, which is almost twice as much, is what you have now. You have more money to spend to make everybody even more beautiful than they already are.”
“See, being pretty pays off.” Looking at Nikky, Deja crossed her eyes and grinned.
Nikky continued to point out highlights and figures.
Michelle looked up and winked at Scott. “Great, here comes our food.”
Scott put Deja’s plate down and had Nikky’s plate in his hand. “Nikky, isn’t that your Honda on the back of that tow truck?” He barely had time to jump back to keep from wasting the breakfast on the floor.
“Holy shit!” Nikky jumped up and ran out the front door.
Nikky wasn’t through the door when Deja shouted, “No! That’s my car!” She also jumped up and ran outside.
Two flatbed tow-trucks were parked across the street where both Deja and Nikky had parked their cars. One truck had Nikky’s Honda on the back, the other had Deja’s Nissan. The men were busy securing hooks on the undercarriages of the cars as Nikky and Deja ran across the street.
“Stop! That’s my car! Stop right fucking now! You sonuvabitch, you’re stealing my muthafuckin car. . .” Deja threw her arms in the air and danced all around the man who continued to winch down her car on his flatbed truck.
Nikky squared off with the man that had her car, looked him in the eye, and said three words. “Put. It. Back.” She emphasized her words with her Glock 9mm pointing at the ground between his feet. With eyebrows lifted and eyes wide, he looked over at Michelle, who had followed Nikky and Deja out. He nodded, and turning back to Nikky, lifted his hands chest high in surrender.
Nikky, then Deja, turned to see Michelle and Scott across the street. They stood in front of the diner, laughing their asses off, holding on to their sides and hanging on to each other.
Both Deja and Nikky looked back at the tow truck drivers, who were both also smiling, obviously barely holding back from laughing.
“What?” Nikky demanded.
“Yeah.” Deja had stopped jumping around. Hands on her hips, she faced across the street. “What the fuck is going on?”
By that time, unable to remain standing, Michelle sat down on the sidewalk. “Stop! You’re going to make me pee my pants.”
“Goddammit Michelle, what the fuck is going on? What’s so funny?” Nikky demanded.
“Oh sweetie, put your piece back in your purse and let this man do his job,” Michelle said from across the street.
“Like shit I will. He isn’t driving away with my car. That’s not happening. Not today it’s not.”
“Deja will you do me a favor?” Michelle asked from across the street.
“What the fuck are you talking about Michelle? This man’s got my car headed to the impound and you want me to do you a favor. Goddammit, can’t you see I’m busy right now?” She turned back to the man who had started to laugh out loud. With a dramatic shake of her head, and eyes bugged out, she said, “You — You shut the fuck up, and put my car back on the street.”
Michelle walked over and put her hand on Deja’s arm. “He can’t, sweetie.”
“The hell he can’t!”
“Come here.” Michelle pulled Deja by the hand over to Nikky and grabbed her hand also. She held on to her two friends. “Do you guys remember when I asked you about your dream cars? Deja, you said you wanted it to be sexy and red.” Turning to Nikky, she said, “And you wanted a black hardtop Crossfire? Remember that?”
“Here they are!” She pointed to the two beautiful Crossfire hard-tops parked on the side street around the corner from Scott’s. One was shiny deep black, the other a brilliant red.
Deja jumped and squealed. “Sweet Jesus! Are you serious?” She jumped and squealed again. With her hands on her mouth she bent over looking at it. “Can I get in?”
“It’s your car,” Michelle said. “You can do whatever you want with it.”
Nikky ran her hand over the top and down the back of the car. “It’s so beautiful.” She turned and hugged Michelle in a fierce grip. “Goddammit girl, I ought to shoot you for scaring me like that.”
A few minutes later, Michelle handed each of the tow-truck drivers a Franklin for a tip. “Drop the cars off at this address, it’s our daycare center. And, guys, thanks. That was perfect.”
Ten: Eyes On Him
MICHELLE CHECKED THE display on her phone and bolted upright in Daryl’s bed. The beginning foreplay with Daryl totally forgotten, her focus became laser sharp on T-Dog’s words.
“We’ve got eyes on him,” T-Dog said.
“Where?”
“My girl Chevonne saw him over by Soul Food on Century and is following him. He’s driving a white Caddy. I’ll take over when he passes me in a couple minutes.”
Michelle had her jeans on, but not yet buttoned.
Daryl scooted up to sit against the headboard. Wide-eyed he followed her movements.
Damn, he doesn’t know about any of this.
Deciding against putting her phone on speaker, she held it against her ear with her shoulder and grabbed her bra hooking it in front and twisting it around. “Does he look like he’s in a hurry or just cruising? I wa
nt to catch up if I can. But most important, stay with that muthafucka and see where he stops. We can’t lose him no matter what.” She tapped her phone off and put it in her jeans pocket.
“This looks serious. Can I help?” Daryl asked.
“More serious than you can imagine. I’ll explain later.” She hollered the last part running through his living room to the front door.
Daryl only knew about her daytime job working with the movie industry as a freelance production assistant. As her GFB that was all he would ever know. He had no idea she was the madam of the streets of Anglewatts, and had zero hints of any type concerning her assassin’s life.
Part of her ability to keep those things from him and the rest of the world was keeping her lifestyle below the radar. She didn’t flash money, lived in a modest cottage by the beach, and drove a sexy but slightly older Chrysler Crossfire.
In less than twenty-five minutes — after several coordinating calls and a lot of crazy driving — Michelle caught up with T-Dog and called again. “Yeah. I’m still on him. Where are you?”
“Right behind you. Don’t hang up, stay on the phone with me.” Both cars turned onto 164th. The street held older, smaller houses packed in tight with tiny yards and lots of chain-link fences or cinder block walls between them.
As she rounded the corner Michelle saw his brake lights come on and he turned into a driveway on the right. “Pull over at the end of this block. Give it a minute to see what happens. This street dead-ends a few houses past the drive he turned into. He can’t go anywhere but back this way.” They were parked on the corner a little over a half block up from where the Cadillac had turned in.
They stood on the old cracked sidewalk and waited five minutes, then Michelle said, “We go on foot from here. We don’t know what’s up there. Could be a bunch of homies all strapped or could be his grandma’s house. We need to find out before doing anything.”
“No problem. I’m all for being smart as long as this muthafucka doesn’t get away. Little-T was a friend.”
“You strapped?” Michelle pulled the slide back on her 9mm, making sure there was a round in the pipe.
“Always.” T-Dog checked the slide on her 9mm the same as Michelle had.
“Do you have any extra clips?” Michelle asked.
“In the console.”
“Get them.”
T-Dog opened the passenger door and reached inside to the center console. At the same moment, the pearl white Cadillac backed out the drive and headed up the street. The interior light on T-Dog’s Explorer shone like a beacon on the dark street.
The new full size Caddy sedan looked out of place on the street lined with older, less expensive cars. Michelle saw the blond woman behind the wheel look right at her as she slowed to pass them. The woman slowed down even more, turning her head, looking from Michelle to T-Dog, to Michelle’s silver Crossfire convertible. The Cadillac bucked in a deep nose dive to an abrupt stop. Shifting gears slammed. Thick gray smoke poured off the burning rubber of the screeching tires. The Caddy shot back in reverse toward the house.
Michelle took off running full-out after the car. T-Dog followed on her heels.
Out of control, tires squealed and slammed into the suspension when the Caddy jumped the curb. The car’s front swung crazily toward the center of the street. Almost rolling over, the car leaned wildly to one side. Metal screeched as the car careened off a telephone pole. Its momentum slightly slowed from the telephone pole, the back of the big Cadillac rammed into a cinder-block wall. In an explosion of sound, busted blocks blew across the neighbor’s yard. The back of the car flew up, bounced, and violently ground to a stop with the back wheels up on the pile.
The blond jumped out of the car and screamed, “Jack-Move! Jack-Move!” She ducked down behind the open door and fired once at Michelle. BLAM!
She missed. Michelle dove to the grass, rolled over and stopped spread eagle. Shooting before she had a good aim, BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! a half dozen bullets peppered the car.
The first several shots hit the car door. One hit the woman in the leg below the cover of the door. The woman fell back on her ass. The next shot hit her in the lower stomach. The last shot hit her in the chest. She fell back on the concrete driveway.
BLAM! From another direction a bullet drove into the ground a couple feet from Michelle. Whipping her head around, she saw Jack-Move jump back into the open front door of the house.
Michelle sprang up and ran to the left of the small covered front porch to see inside.
She looked through the open front door at an angle into the small living room. Four White women crouched on the floor. She also saw a split second flash of Jack-Move. He ran through an arch deeper into the house.
T-Dog ran up. Michelle told her, “Go around the back. Cover the back door — don’t go inside,” Michelle ran toward the door in a crouch.
She blew through the open front door and swung her gun in an arc. Wide eyed, several women cowered down even smaller than they already were. She edged toward the open arch and spun into the opening.
She stepped into a dining room. A table sat against the right wall. Two folding single beds, neatly made, filled the rest of the room. Two other women huddled on the floor at the end of one of the beds. A doorway on the right of the far wall led to a kitchen.
Shots rang out in the kitchen. BLAM! BLAM! Several women screamed. Michelle ran over to the side of the door and popped her head around the door jamb. A woman almost collided with Michelle as she ran out of the kitchen. Three more women hugged each other where they hunkered down by the counter. Curled up into a ball, a woman lay on her side on the floor.
A door stood open to the back yard.
BLAM! BLAM-BAM! Three shots rang out in the back yard.
Michelle jumped over the woman on the floor. She hit the door at a crouch and went through into the dark.
T-Dog fired one last round toward the back fence. BLAM!
Michelle saw the last of Jack-Move as he dropped down over the back wall. At a full sprint she hit the wall with her left foot raised high. Her momentum catapulted her to the top of the seven-foot wall. With a two handed muscle up, she snapped to waist high and vaulted over into the dark of the neighbor’s yard. Nothing. Nobody.
“Shit.” She sprinted to the front of the neighbor’s house. She looked up and down the street. Nothing. She stopped dead still, listening to the night around her.
Nothing.
Eleven: Mutiny
MICHELLE STEPPED OUT of the dark back yard into the brightly lit kitchen. T-Dog knelt beside the woman on the floor. “How bad is she?” Michelle asked.
“Muthafucka shot his own girls to create a block. She’s shot in the side.”
“Let me see.” Michelle knelt down beside the woman and touched her face. “I need to see where you’re shot.”
“No English,” the woman said.
“I understand,” Michelle said. “No English.” She touched the woman’s cheek again then reached down to pull her hand away from her side. Then she lifted her blood soaked shirt. “I’m no doctor, but it looks like a flesh wound.”
“The other one in the dining room was hit in the shoulder.”
“Any idea of who these women are?” Michelle asked.
“Other than they’re all hoz, no. No idea,” T-Dog said.
Michelle looked at the three women still huddling in the corner. “Do you work for that asshole?”
“No English,” one of them replied in a heavy Russian accent.
“Shit, they’re Russians.” Stepping into the dining room Michelle shouted, “Any of you speak English?”
A pretty blond woman, a little taller than Michelle, came from the living room. “I do.” She stood, square, face on, direct, feet slightly spread. Not quite a challenge but not particularly friendly.
The two women on the floor by the bed scrambled out of the dining room and ran into the living room behind the blond.
“Is that guy your boss?”
“You hate him?” Michelle was surprised by the heat in the woman’s words.
“All womans hate him. He is pig. We hope you kill him.”
“Who was the woman in the car? She warned him.”
“She was one of us, but changed. She became his girlfriend, his China Doll. Did she run away with Jack-Move? I didn’t see her.”
“She’s still out front. She’s dead.”
“She is dead?”
“Yeah.” Michelle watched the woman to see if she had another fight on her hands.
“She turned on her sisters. I am sorry she is dead, but not mad at person who killed her. The others will feel same.”
“What happens with all of you now?”
“Jack-Move will come back. Or Fast Eddie will send someone else for us.”
“Who is Fast Eddie?”
“Fast Eddie is big pimp. We hate bastards Jack-Move and Fast Eddie.”
The blond nodded to the third women in the room, the one who had been shot. “My friend is hurt. I need to help her.”
“Tell her to let me look at it,” Michelle said.
The woman said something in Russian. The other woman shook her head, “Het.”
“She is okay for now,” the blond said.
“Stay where you are,” Michelle said. “You can look at her in a minute. First, does Jack-Move work for Fast Eddie?”
“Yes. It is bad life for us working for Jack-Move.”
“I’ve never heard of Fast Eddie. I know most of the pimps in California. Where is he?”
“He is in Houston.”
“You said Jack-Move or someone else will come for you. What happens when they show up?”
“We will do what they want. If they tell us to, we will stay here or go I don’t know. It is not our choice.”
“Yeah, well, maybe that would’ve happened. But with all the shots and that dead woman outside, all of you are going with the police. If I guess right, that means INS and back to Russia.”
“No! We cannot go to INS. They send us back. We go home, the Russian mafia will kill our family. That is why we don’t run away from bastard Jack-Move.”
Hard Win: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #3 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series) Page 7