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

by Jason Stanley

  “When did this happen? The change with the men staying with them?”

  “I didn't ask,” Jelena said. “From the way they talk, I think it was right after we make the womans in Houston free.”

  Jelena was instrumental in Michelle and the others being able to set up, and then take out Fast Eddy in Houston. Killing him was the only way they could free the women without the police involved. The police meant INS, and nobody wanted that. They freed thirty women that day. It was a good day. A freed slave herself, Jelena swore allegiance to Michelle for pulling her and her friends out of the clutches of the murdering Jack-Move.

  Michelle looked over at G-Baby and Baby-Sister who were quietly listening to the conversation. “Let's go see if we can find that trailer park,” Michelle stood and picked up her purse with the comforting weight of her 9mm in it.

  “Do you want me to come?” Jelena asked.

  “No, your accent would stand out even more than our being Black, especially in that neighborhood. We'll see you in the morning.”

  .

  Seven: Boss Man

  SHONTAY STRODE UP TO PJ, squaring off, one hand on her hip, the other holding a cigarette. Two fingers and the cigarette pointed at PJ. “You don’t belong here. This is my street. Who said you could be out here?” She rolled her neck, pursed her lips to one side, and cocked an eyebrow.

  The heavy makeup helped, but even with it, Shontay was pug ugly. Small beady eyes, and a broad flat nose set atop small short teeth exposed by a jutting lower lip, all set in a flat fleshy face. Spiked orange hair clashed with the wrong color foundation that stopped at her jaw exposing the dirty uneven scared complexion of her neck. Her thick waist gave way to a huge ass barely covered by a cheap Lycra and stumpy legs.

  PJ took a slow drag off her cigarette, dropped the butt on the sidewalk and stepped on it. She leaned back against the wall behind her and crossed her arms. “You the bitch in charge out here?”

  “You looking for work?” Shontay asked.

  “I might be. I'm checking out this town, and yeah I might be. Who runs things?”

  “That'd be my man, Wilson.” Shontay lifted her chin.

  “Anybody else work the area?” PJ asked.

  “No. You want to work, you work for us. We run these streets, and the truck stops too.”

  “I guess I need to meet Wilson.”

  “Come to the Flying J on the North End around six tomorrow. Now you gotta go. I don't want you on my street tonight.”

  “I got what I wanted.” PJ pushed off the wall and walked away.

  * * *

  Michelle, Deja, PJ and Jelena sat talking at the table in Michelle's suite. G-Baby occasionally joined the conversation from the brightly lit tiny kitchenette where he fried eggs on an electric skillet and heated frozen biscuits in the microwave. It sounded terrible but smelled delicious.

  “Do you want to meet Shontay?” PJ asked.

  “No. We have to assume they have pictures of me. I can't be seen by anyone connected to Galletti or even in the business. You'll have to go and check it out alone.” Michelle answered.

  “Okay, but I would be more comfortable with you there. However, if I want to be up here, running my own show someday, I guess I need to man-up and walk into the lion’s den,” PJ said.

  “You go, girl!” Deja whooped. “Just remember the lions eat Christians.”

  PJ looked down at her miniskirt, deep cleavage and fuck-me stilettos. “I ought to be pretty safe on that score.”

  “They're indiscriminate, they eat pagans and lapsed Christians just as fast,” Deja said.

  “You know you're not helping, right?” PJ gave Deja a death stare.

  “Okay, remember this. You're on safari looking to have a lion skin rug on your floor. So don't go doing a Daniel thing looking to pull a thorn out of somebody's paw. You're Bwana, the great White hunter.”

  “Yeah, right. Hell, I'm no hunter and I ain't Michael Jackson, so turning White won't be happening.” PJ said.

  “Yup, and they're not real lions either. You're still gonna make a rug outta their asses. Count on it.” Deja said.

  Deja stood up. “More coffee anyone?”

  “She's right.” Michelle handed her cup to Deja for a refill. “You've been on the Los Angeles streets dealing with every kind of good guy, bad guy, and woman eating sonuvabitch out there. You can handle some guy out here in the middle of Hicksville that couldn’t cut it in a real city.”

  “Do you really think so?” PJ asked.

  “Without a doubt,” Michelle said. “Sergeant John, pretty much confirmed what Shontay told you. According to him, this guy, Wilson, came to town right after the oil was first discovered. Apparently, there were quite a few of his ilk came to town in those days. All of them full of jive bullshit with no substance. Most of them are gone now. He’s your man, and you’ll do fine.”

  “Breakfast.” G-Baby put plates with fried eggs, bacon, biscuits, and sliced tomatoes on the table. “Everyone serve yourself.”

  * * *

  PJ stepped out of the taxi, grabbed her suitcase, looked around and headed inside. It was a regular full-service Flying J truck stop. She never worked any of the truck stops in L.A., but plenty of her friends had. They liked being able to shower between johns when they wanted to. The overweight middle-aged man behind the checkout counter gave her the suspicious eye; she ignored him and walked through the convenience store toward the café in the back. She didn't look like she was working the street, but she certainly didn't look like a trucker either. The clerk followed her with his eyes. He didn't say anything.

  Shontay focused her full attention on the tall and lanky man she shared the booth with. He wore expensive looking clothes, pale green slacks, two-tone shoes, sheer shocks, silk shirt, a couple heavy gold chains around his neck, and several heavy rings. His receding hair was cut in a close fade but not shaved. She caught eyes with him. His smile was fast, big, and stopped at his lips. She could see his reptilian eyes calculating her net worth as she walked toward him.

  Without getting up, or even leaning forward, he gestured to the opposite side of the booth. “Sit down.”

  PJ slid in. Shontay hadn't said a word.

  “Tell me why I should let you work for me?”

  “Because you’re the biggest asshole in Billings and I'm looking to stay,” PJ said. “I figure if I'm gonna work in a new city, I should work for the guy who's on top, not some wannabe punk-ass who won't last till next week.”

  “Where you from?” he asked.

  “Dallas.”

  “You don't sound like Dallas.”

  “I didn't grow up there,” she said.

  “Where'd you grow up?”

  “Somewhere else.”

  Wilson rubbed the tip of his nose with his thumb while staring at PJ. “Why'd you leave Dallas?”

  “It was time I moved on or face a murder rap for killing the asshole I worked for.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Asshole Junior. Or maybe it was Asshole Senior. I didn’t ask.” PJ looked around the room bored with the conversation.

  “Yeah, I know him. He moved down from Chicago.” Wilson laughed, apparently at his own inside joke.

  PJ sat looking at Wilson. She didn't reply or laugh.

  “You gonna be a problem for me?” Wilson asked.

  “That's up to you. I'll work for you and live with your girls. Give you your money, and won't give you no shit. You slap me around or try to make me suck your dick, I'll either leave or kill you depending on my mood.”

  With a tilt of his chin, Wilson pointed to the suitcase sitting on the floor. “That everything?”

  “Yeah.”

  He turned to Shontay. “Take her to Jenny's place, put her on Western where you can watch her tonight.”

  “Sure thing, Boo.” Shontay slid out. “Let’s go. I got a car outside.”

  On the way to the front door, PJ stopped. “Give me a minute, I gotta pee.”

  “No, hold it, you can
pee later. We're leaving now,” Shontay demanded.

  PJ stopped in her tracks, parked her suitcase and put her hands on her hips. “Stop right there. I'll work for you and Wilson. I'm clear on who's boss. I'm also clear I don't put up with no stupid power games. Don't you even think you can tell me when to take a piss. Now, I'm gonna go pee. When I come out, you'll be waiting, or I'll catch a bus out of town.” PJ walked off to the ladies room. Inside the stall, she sent a text to Michelle:

  I'm in. Going to trailers w/Shontay. Wilson not w/us

  * * *

  Two nights later, under Shontay's watchful eye, PJ stepped off the curb and leaned over to talk through the passenger window of a dark maroon mid-size Chevy. “Looking for a good time this evening sweetheart?”

  “How much?”

  “For you, given that you're sporting such a fancy car, and dressed in those designer clothes, it's a special price of one hundred plus the room.”

  “You sure you're worth it?”

  “You'll never know if we keep talking.”

  “Get in.”

  PJ opened the door and showing a lot of leg and peek of panties, navigated getting into the front passenger seat. She tugged on her short skirt and leaned over and kissed G-Baby on the cheek. “I should charge you the hundred for even thinking about it.”

  “If I wasn't engaged, I would consider it a good deal. But you know how fiancées are. They're not very understanding, even when it's in the line of duty.” G-Baby winked at PJ and drove off.

  A few minutes later they pulled into a parking lot. Michelle climbed into the back seat. “Christ, Uncle G. I thought you quit smoking. This car reeks.”

  “I did. I quit when I’m around Baby-Sister or anyone who will tell her.” He turned in his seat and raised an eyebrow at Michelle.

  “Like I need to snitch you off. Your stinking clothes will do that.” Michelle scooted over to get a better angle to talk to PJ. “What do you have?”

  In the next twenty minutes, PJ laid out Wilson's organization. “It's like he has two different organizations. His girls and Galletti's girls. On his own, in addition to Shontay, he has three girls he turned out or were already working when he showed up. In the standard asshole pimp move, he keeps them all strung out on drugs to stay loyal to him. The fifteen Russian women who came from Galletti don't use drugs. They're punished if they do. Along with three local guys, they are packed into two mobile homes. It doesn't make any sense, but he put me in with the Russians.”

  “Can you sketch out a basic floor plan of the trailers?” Michelle asked.

  “Just the one I'm in and the front half of Wilson and Shontay's. I haven't been in the back of theirs or the other trailer.”

  “Good enough. Do that, and you need to get back.”

  G-Baby gave PJ five twenty's and took her back to Western.

  PJ got out of the car, leaned back in before closing the door and blew a kiss to G-Baby. “Adiós Lover.”

  .

  Eight: Trailer Trash

  MICHELLE STEPPED AROUND the corner of the mobile home where she could see Wilson and Shontay’s place.

  Something's wrong?

  It took her a few seconds to realize what it was. The lights in the living room were off. The women inside should still be getting ready for the night’s business. That meant the whole place should be lit up like a shopping mall at Christmas. Then she saw the reflection of a gun as it was used to push the side of the curtain back.

  Fuck, they're expecting us.

  The plan was simple. Michelle and G-Baby were to move on Wilson at gunpoint and in the words of the Godfather, make an offer he couldn't refuse. She didn't think Wilson would go for it. She hoped he would because she was sick of killing and hoped for a less lethal option.

  Michelle urgently whispered into her mic. “Shit! Everybody fall back. Back out, back out now! Get out! Get the fuck out!”

  With much less than military precision, six people started backtracking away from the three mobile homes they were sneaking up on. With a crash, someone tripped over what sounded like lawn furniture or a BBQ. “Fuck,” someone said. A dog with a loud deep voice started barking. It sounded large and angry.

  Wilson’s front door slammed open. At a crouch, he flew out onto the porch.

  BLAM! BLAM!

  He shot wildly toward the back of the trash-strewn yard.

  BLAM!

  Wilson swung and shot toward where Michelle stood partially covered by the neighboring trailer house.

  Not more than thirty feet away, Michelle raised her gun. Wilson swung his gun back toward her.

  BLAM! BLAM!

  Michelle double tapped. Both shots hit him center mass. Wilson crumpled into a ball on the front porch, then tumbled down the three steps to the asphalt driveway. Michelle ran over to Wilson. He tried to pick up his gun. Michelle kicked it away before he could reach it.

  “Where's your other gun?” Keeping an eye on the open door, Michelle reached down checking Wilson's ankles for a second piece. Nothing. Before she could look further, the back door of the neighbor creaked on rusted hinges.

  BLAM! A shot came from the dark of the open door.

  BLAM! BLAM! - BLAM! BLAM! Michelle shot into the dark.

  BLAM! BLAM! Two more shots came from behind the door.

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Michelle started stitching bullets across the wall and through the door. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! More stitched shots.

  The door creaked again. The man's falling body pushed the door open. He fell to the lawn below. He didn't move.

  Looking down at Wilson, Michelle was met with his hate-filled glare. He coughed and spit blood at her. The glob of blood landed a short ways in front of her. Wilson coughed again, but didn’t spit a second time.

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

  Three shots came out of the door Wilson jumped out of earlier. The first bullet whizzed past Michelle’s ear. Michelle ducked down and to her left. The second bullet grazed her upper left arm.

  “You killed him!” Shontay stepped into view. She held a 9mm in her outstretched hand.

  “Don't do it!” Michelle screamed. “Put it down!”

  BLAM!

  Shontay fired again. The shot went wild.

  “Last chance! Drop it!” Michele screamed.

  The gun in Shontay’s hand shook. BLAM! She took another shot at Michelle.

  BLAM! BLAM!

  Michelle's double tap answered Shontay's last shot. Shontay fell back into the room.

  Michelle crouched down with her back to the wall, the steps on her left and Wilson on her right. “Is everybody there?” She asked into her headset. A jumble of voices came back all at once. “Okay, everyone. Listen up! There are still at least two guys somewhere inside. Don't go into the trailers yet. Now. Give me a response. G-Baby?”

  “Yo.”

  “Deja?”

  “Yo.”

  “Jelena?”

  “Da.”

  “PJ, are you with us?”

  “Yes.”

  A Honda sped past Michelle down the street inside the mobile home park. The engine strained, and tires squealed as the car rounded the corner leaving the trailer park.

  “Tommy, the jerk staying in the trailer with us, just took off in his car,” PJ said.

  “Is there anybody else in your trailer?” Michelle asked.

  “No, just me and the women.”

  “Do you know how many men were in the middle trailer?”

  “No,” PJ answered.

  “Jelena, you go to the front door of PJ's trailer. Start moving the women out.” Michelle ordered.

  “On my way.” Jelena replied.

  Deja, go to where you have a good shot at the front door of the middle trailer. Don't go in.”

  “Got it,” Deja answered.

  “G-Baby, the back door in the middle trailer is one of those strange ones; the door is on my side. It opens into Wilson's yard. There’s no step. The threshold is about three feet off the ground. Come around the back and cover the ba
ck door. Don't go in, stay outside. There’s a man down on the ground by the door. Check him. Take his gun if he's alive. Also, Wilson is down, but alive, in the driveway. I'm going in Wilson's trailer for a minute, wait for me.”

  Michelle went up the three steps at a low crouch peering around the corner. Shontay lay sprawled on the floor, face up, dead eyes staring at the ceiling. The silver 9mm lay by her feet. Michelle looked into the living room. Empty. She stepped in and was assaulted by the smell of gunpowder, cheap perfume and too many people living in a small space. She yelled into the back, “Anybody there?

  Silence.

  “We're taking the other women away,” Michelle yelled. “You can come or stay. It's up to you.”

  Continued silence met her. She backed out.

  When she reached the bottom of the steps, she knelt down in front of Wilson. He was breathing and conscious. “The Russian women are coming with us. You don't get to have slaves. If you live and I see you with a single Russian woman, I swear to God, I'll kill you.”

  Wilson coughed, spit more blood. Without lifting his head, he whispered, “You're dead bitch. I'm gonna find you and kill you.”

  Michelle took one last look at Wilson and ran back to where G-Baby watched the open back door. He stood next to the man had who had fallen out.

  “He's dead,” G-Baby said. “I took his gun.”

  Michelle nodded to the back door trailer. “Have you seen or heard anything inside?”

  “It sounds like a couple women crying is the only thing I can make out,” he answered.

  Michelle turned her head pointing to Wilson's trailer. “Sorry, Uncle G, there wasn't time to clear it. I think some women are still in the back. They wouldn't answer when I called out. They should be street girls, not shooters, but still keep an eye on both doors.”

  Wilson's mobile home had both front and back doors along the same side. That put the back door across the yard and about even with the back door of the trailer where they stood.

  “Okay, stay here, cover me. I'm going in.” Michelle popped her head inside quickly clearing the hall. “I'm going to check the back first.” Michelle sat in the threshold and swiveled on her butt, coming up on her knees in one smooth movement. She was in a narrow hall facing a closed door at the end. BLAM! A shot rang out from Wilson’s place.