Hard Run: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #4 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series)

by Jason Stanley

  * * *

  GALLETTI WAS PISSED Ascia had been stupid enough to let himself be killed.

  The news about the shootout had broken on the six o'clock news in Houston two days earlier. Galletti responded immediately, finding who was still available. Everyone at the top of the Houston organization was dead. It took a day to find and shake free the men from other parts of the country. Or at least those he wanted to bring in on his first meeting at Sal's in Tulsa.

  “Goddamn him anyway,” Galletti spat his words. “I'll be eighty in a few weeks. I was supposed to be fucking retired, having my dick sucked on some private beach, not sitting here with you mugs.

  Several eyebrows rose along with a couple sideways glances around the table. Nobody said anything.

  “Don't you motherfuckers worry about my dick. You best worry about doing your job. If you don't think so, go ask any of those assholes in Houston. They were sloppy. Now they're dead. This time, I won't wait for sloppy work. I'll kill you myself to save the time and aggravation of your fucking up.”

  Eight men sat around the table of Sal's Italian restaurant, Savini. The lingering smell of sautéed garlic, simmered sauces, and rich meats matched the décor. Decorated to give the feel of The Savini in Milan, copies of the frescoes of the Duomo Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II center dome adorned the walls. The furnishings were dark woods, heavy chairs and lots of cut glass paned windows. At 8:10 A.M. the restaurant wouldn't be open for several hours; they had the place to themselves.

  Galletti looked around the table. The situation was a mess. He only knew three of the eight men. They ran the drugs and had worked their way up through his organization. They would be loyal. Sal who ran things in Tulsa was one of the three. Two men were pimps, one worked for Sal, he didn't know the other. Up until three days ago, he thought they wouldn't be here if they weren't good men. After the fiasco in Houston, he wasn't so sure. In a spectacular cock up, his top guy, the man he mentored to take his place, was killed by a young woman they all had underestimated. He wouldn't ever underestimate her again.

  “How many guys did we lose? A smallish man with a sharp face asked.

  “You one of Sal's new guys?” Galletti asked.

  “Yeah, I'm Baxter. I do the accounting and keep everything at the houses supplied, cars, transportation, that type thing.”

  “You're a pencil pusher. Sal, what the fuck are you doing bringing a pencil pusher here?”

  “He's also my driver,” Sal said. “Nick, my old guy was on loan to Ascia.”

  “Baxter, can you shoot?” Galletti asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “And . . .”

  “I did a dime for manslaughter in Attica,” Baxter replied.

  “Good enough. You can stay,” Galletti said. “I wasn't planning on coming out of retirement and sure as hell didn't plan on being in Tulsa, Okla‑fucking‑homa. I'm here now to set this shit straight so we don't have no more problems like with Ascia or Fast Eddy. If I don't like one of you mugs, you’re gone. Anybody got a problem with that?”

  Eight sets of eyes looked back. No one looked down. No one said anything.

  Galletti mentally nodded to himself. Good, these guys are all solid.

  “How many guys did we lose?” Baxter asked

  “Anybody else doesn't know the whole story?” Galletti asked Sal.

  “I haven't told everyone. I figured you would want to do it yourself,” Sal said.

  “Okay. We got hit twice. The first time was about a month ago. Fast Eddie's apartment complex was hit. Fast Eddie and one of his guys was killed.”

  “I heard they took the women,” Baxter said.

  “Yeah, and here's the question. Why do you think they were able to take out an experienced mean bastard like Fast Eddie and disappear with thirty hookers?” Galletti looked around the table, everyone except Sal shook their head.

  “Because he was arrogant and careless. Eddie didn’t have backup. His own stupidity got him killed. The other dead mope, what was that asshole’s name? It doesn’t matter, the idiot was fucking one of the hookers when they shot his stupid ass. They found his naked body in a bedroom. No one was watching the store. Those assholes deserved to die.”

  “That was it? Thirty women with only two guys, and one of them in the rack. That's it?” Tony from Billings asked.

  “There was one other. They found him alive, and cuffed to a toilet,” Galletti said.

  “Who was the guy tied to the toilet?” Baxter asked.

  “He was a fucking gopher. A lop Eddie kept around to run errands. Eddie might as well had my ex-wife's poodle as muscle for all the good he did,” Galletti’s brow drew down in disgust.

  “Who did it?” a barrel-chested man, dressed in hip hop style, asked.

  Galletti sat up and leaned forward. “A broad from L.A. A fucking broad with a grudge.”

  “I was there earlier that day,” Jack‑Move edged up in his seat. “I'm gonna tell you what I told Fast Eddie. I dealt with her out in L.A. and found out she won't back up for nothing. I told him that bitch don't play, and he needed more security. If she thinks there is a reason to come after anyone of us, she'll pull the trigger before you know she's in town.”

  “That's the problem,” Galletti said. “I still don't know exactly why she hit Fast Eddie. It could've been part of revenge for her brother, or for Jack‑Move killing one of her girls.”

  “What do you mean, one of her girls?” Baxter asked.

  “She runs the street hookers in Anglewatts,” Jack‑Move said. “Ascia sent me out to L.A. to push her out, and I set it up with slitting the throat of one of her street girls.”

  “I thought she was a shooter, not a pimp,” Sal looked at Galletti.

  “She’s both,” Jack‑Move said. It's a long story, hell somebody could write a book on what all has happened since she showed up.”

  “Okay, so she's both,” Sal said. “How does she fit into our plans? I mean, is she headed here? Or, are we gonna go out to L.A. to take her out?

  “See, that's the thing,” Galletti said. “Since we don't know if it was revenge or something else, it's hard to figure her next move—or if there will even be one. We know she went after Ascia for revenge but, because of the shit with her brother, the hit on Fast Eddie is not clear.”

  “You mentioned a brother. What's the deal with the brother? Why is that important?” Baxter asked.

  “It was revenge,” Galletti said. “Ascia had her family killed a few years back. She found out and got even with people who did it. It started about a year ago when she cleaned house out in Anglewatts. I know for a fact she took out the top street guys. A short while later she also got our guy Jackson who ran the city and a couple cops along with him. I also heard she took out anybody who had anything to do with her brother’s killing. Even some punks who did corner outlook. That kind of shit is always revenge.”

  “Then, we don't got nothing to worry about,” one of the guys said.

  “No!” Galletti bolted out of his chair. Leaning over, hands on the edge of the table, he glared. “Listen to me you motherfuckers, that's the kind of stupid attitude that'll kill you. More important, it could get me, and the rest of us killed. If I thought there wasn't nothing to worry about, I'd be getting that blow job on the beach. My being here says we take this shit serious.” He stopped talking and looked around the table again.

  “How good is this bitch. I mean is she good or has it been fluky good luck?” Tony asked.

  “She's a pro shooter.” Galletti sat back down. “Trained in Asia, she knows her business as a solo operator. We didn't know she had a crew. We still don't know shit about who was with her. The police think there were five maybe six people hit Ascia. From this minute, put this in your heads, we're treating her like she's a real threat. I don't care what her reasons were. I don't care who she's working with. I don't care if she finds religion and becomes the next Mother Teresa. She has to go. I want her head.”

  “Are you sure it's her?” Baxter asked. “If we'
re looking at the wrong person, then the real person could show up and make trouble because we're not looking in his direction.”

  “One hundred percent sure,” Jack‑Move said. “Ascia had her number two, a bitch named Nikky, up in his place. They were pressing her for information about the lay of the land. That was when this Michelle and her team took Ascia and his guys out. The number two bitch was gone when the police came in. They didn't leave shit but a bunch of dead bodies.”

  “How many bodies?” the pimp in the hip hop clothes asked.

  Galletti paused, making sure everyone was looking for his answer. “Eighteen,”

  Several men shuffled in their chairs and a few mumbled comments.

  “So you're saying this Michelle, a woman, and her crew took out a total of twenty of your guys in what, a few weeks?” Baxter asked.

  “You got a special team or are we gonna go out outside the organization to deal with this broad?” Sal asked.

  “I've got eyes out now looking for her,” Galletti said. “That's the other problem. “I don't know where she is. She's been gone since the hit on Ascia. Nobody's seen her. But she'll surface. When she does, I've got someone to take care of it. In the meantime, I want things beefed up here. Everybody goes on rotation. Nobody works alone. I'm not going to take a chance she shows up here when our pants are around our ankles.”

  “You got it, boss. Good to have you back,” Sal said.

  “Yeah, I'd rather be on the beach.” Galletti grumbled. “We gotta kill this bitch. If for no other reason than she has to pay for making me come to Okla‑fucking‑homa.

  .

  Three: Shooters

  BLAM!

  Deja's bullet hit the man‑sized target.

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

  Michelle hit three in the inside ring, center mass.

  BLAM!

  Deja hit the man on the target.

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

  Michelle put three in a tight cluster in the face.

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

  Deja celebrated three all in the paper target; two inside the silhouette.

  Michelle glanced around the range. It was risky bringing Deja to The Arms Room shooting range in Dickinson, outside of Galveston. Anyplace public posed a risk. Michelle brought Deja because she needed as much practice as possible. A serious shit storm brewed on the horizon, and Michelle wanted to be ready. Also, Deja's natural exuberance could only be kept tamped down for a few hours at a time. Already antsy back at the apartment where Nikky recouped, Deja bounced around getting on even her own nerves. Going to the shooting range hit two birds with one stone.

  Galletti was sure to have the word out to watch for Michelle. She had always been careful to do some basic face modifications when she met with Ascia. For two years before killing him, Ascia had been one of the two men in the life in America who knew what Michelle looked like and about her occupation as a skilled assassin for hire. He had hired her for many jobs. Most in the North East concentrated around New York and DC. They tended to be political. Those in the other big cities, and especially in Chicago, were corporate sponsored.

  Michelle chuckled at the thought of a corporate sponsored assassination. It sounded like a tax-deductible charity donation.

  She assumed he would take pictures. Considered bad form, even rude in the trade, nobody who bought the services of an assassin worried much about being rude, so she never allowed him to see her real face. Pads in her cheeks rounded her face. Temporary slightly discolored caps on her teeth made them a bit bucked in front and her lower face more pronounced. Black contacts hid her lighter brown eyes. The heavy padded bra changed what a lot of men focused on. The bra was her personal inside joke because with barely b‑cup breasts, the men were ogling foam and plastic. Wigs always covered her short hair. Standard accessories such as lightly colored glasses and makeup would only fool the casual observer, but she always used them for the fun of it. She thought the exercise helped with discipline doing something she didn’t care for and sometimes the practice paid off with better or new results. After all, a girl couldn’t be too careful.

  Using makeup in the wrong way for the best effect gave her a little kick. A dark streak along the bridge of her nose, blended into light color on the sides, made it appear flat and wide. Dark circles around her eyes made them deep and brooding.

  The overall effect turned her into a rather unattractive, large chested, woman. She was sure Ascia had taken pictures of her, the same as she took pictures of him and his men. The disguise would help keep her real identity.

  Everyone at the busy range looked like they belonged there. A young couple, flirting and giggling, the relationship appeared new, possibly a second or third date. The range master kept his eye on them like he had experience with young men more intent on showing off than practicing good range safety. Michelle didn't think he had to worry about that this time. The young man seemed to take himself pretty seriously and Michelle wasn’t worried about him doing something stupid. Deja caused a lot more concern. Many times over the years Deja had done something foolish when excited.

  On the other hand, Deja's unflappable good mood and high spirits were her strong suit. Being tall at five feet ten inches and gorgeous didn't hurt either. Michelle knew that even though Deja often came off like a silly beauty queen, she had a good head and was loyal down to her toes.

  A couple stalls down, a father showed his son how to shoot and practice proper gun safety. Four off‑duty cops practiced their skills on the lanes at the far end.

  Cops on the range were a good thing. Michelle kept an eye on them, watching to see who they paid attention to, talked to, and who they gave the evil eye to. Without knowing it, they created an automatic barometer of the clientele. Drug pushers and known scumbags didn't like to hang where cops had fun with guns. In the hour and a half since she and Deja came in, there were no signs of any of Galletti's, men.

  Michelle didn't relax, but she did file the information away. She would send word about the range back to Ahn Tu, her Vietnamese friend who ran a strong crew in the Houston area. She'd let him know the club and owners appeared to be in good with the local police. Also it appeared they didn't put up with the low-life types who were often drawn to guns and ranges. Ahn Tu and his crew would want her assessment of the range. Like her, they were a higher class of criminal.

  Michele ejected the empty magazine out of her Glock 19 and laid her gun on the shelf in front of her.

  “Nice shooting,” one of the cops said. He and his buddy, apparently finished for the evening, had packed up and left their shooting station.

  Michelle finished drawing the target in to examine her cluster. She turned to confirm the voice belonged to one of the cops. “Thanks.”

  “I think your friend can use a little more practice.” He smiled and cocked his head. “She does seem to be enjoying herself.”

  Stepping back from the firing‑line, Michelle looked over at Deja who was grinning and shooting with apparent total unselfconscious abandon. “Yeah, I introduced her to shooting recently. She's getting a kick out of it.”

  “Hey Mac, come on, we gotta go.” His friend stood in the door, pointed to his wrist and jerked his head with a sideways nod.

  The man held out his hand. “I'm MacDonald. Everyone calls me Mac.”

  “Good to meet you, Mac. I'm Michelle.” She shook his offered hand. “It looks like you better go to the station or you'll be late for your shift.”

  “That obvious, huh?” Mac raised his eyebrows, an impish bad‑boy look in his eyes, and a gorgeous smile played on his lips.

  “You and your friends might as well be wearing uniforms.”

  Mac raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “It's a good thing. Mostly. Nice to have you guys around, but no—Michelle nodded toward Deja—we're not cop groupies.”

  “There's always hope,” Mac said. “Maybe I'll see you around sometime.”

  “Maybe.” Michelle looked at the door where Mac's friend stood. “Is he your p
artner?”

  “Yeah. He's a good guy, and has a big thing about being on time.” Mac turned back to his partner who still stood at the door. “I'm coming, Christ, you're worse than my wife.”

  Michelle glanced down the range at the two other cops still shooting. With a small nod of her head, she stepped back to the firing line, adjusted her ear protection and reloaded.

  A few minutes later, violating at least half of the range's safety practices, Deja stepped into Michelle's shooting station. “Wow, this is fun. You didn't tell me shooting would be so much fun.”

  “I'm so glad you like it. Shooting either sings to you or it doesn't. It's kinda like sex that way,” Michelle put her own gun on the shelf. She gently took Deja's S&W Bodyguard 380 out of her hand, clicked on the safety, and laid it next to hers.

  “Talk about missing the target. That one went right over my head.” Deja waved her hand over her head. “I mean, everyone likes sex.”

  “Not really,” Michelle paused and looked up. “There're lots of women who aren't into it. They do it because their boyfriends or husbands want it.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Some women say those things, and they seem serious, but not me. If I don't have some good sex for a while I start getting bitchy and twitchy.” Deja wiggled.

  “I hear you. That’s why I never go too long. And men are always so easy. I can’t think of a reason to wait. So how is your twitchy meter this evening?”

  “Moving toward the danger area.” Deja looked across the room with hooded eyes.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just haven’t been lucky lately.”

  “Silly goose. A beautiful woman like you never needs to get lucky. You just—”

  “Don’t say it.” Deja held up her hand as a stop sign.

  “So you do remember our little chat about the secret to great sex?”

  “I remember,” Deja said. “Give me a drum roll.”

  Michelle drummed her fingers on the gun shelf.

  “Yes. All a woman has to do is say, yes,” Deja rolled her head with the word yes. “But it isn’t always that easy.”