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

by Jason Stanley

  “What about the leg?” It was obvious he was still in pain with it.

  “Honestly?”

  Michelle bugged her eyes out and pursed her lips. “No. I want you to lie to me. That will make me feel so much better.”

  “The cane is more for sympathy than support. My leg is fine. I’m in,” G‑Baby winked at his niece.

  Michelle looked at Baby‑Sister. “How are you with a gun?”

  “I used to own one, but never shot it. Then, back in the day, when things were so bad between Lewis and me, I was afraid I'd kill him in the middle of the night, so I gave it away.” Baby‑Sister gave Michelle a knowing look. Back when Baby‑Sister was with Lewis, he killed Michelle’s brother Michael. Michelle evened the score when she put a bullet between his eyes. When it happened, Baby‑Sister and Lewis had been split for a long time. There was no love lost at his departure from this life.

  “How are you at driving?” Michelle asked Baby‑Sister.

  “Like a bat out of hell. I love to go fast, which is why my insurance is canceled. Too many speeding tickets.”

  Michelle laughed. She had come to love Baby‑Sister’s straight forward style. “Uncle G, do you agree?”

  “She's your girl,” he answered.

  “Good enough.”

  .

  Five: Target Practice

  BLAM!

  BLAM! BLAM!

  BAM!

  POP! BLAM!

  POP! POP! POP!

  Sucked up into an overhead vent system, the gun smoke quickly evaporated. The smell remained. A mix of small caliber handguns fired at paper targets in the indoor firing range.

  Dangerous times loomed ahead, and Deja promised Michelle she would learn how to shoot. Everyone agreed Deja wouldn't be worth much in a gunfight. They also agreed she needed to at least learn the basics. She surprised everyone when she enjoyed it. The bigger surprise came when she started getting good.

  Michelle, Deja and Nikky, three lifelong friends, were the, if not accidental, then certainly unexpected madams of a fast growing prostitution business. A few years earlier, Michelle, their leader, purposefully sought out the training to become an assassin. Witnessing her brother and cousin's murders, she had been given a huge motivation for revenge. But, she hadn't grown up thinking she would someday become a madam as her life's work.

  Yet, that is exactly what she thought of herself today. However, being a madam was far more dangerous and difficult than even she imagined. The problem was that she was taking girls from the hood and hookers who had never fired a gun into what promised to be a serious battle. And the upcoming battle was only the beginning. They had a war on their hands.

  With one last check, Michelle said, “This time I want you all to fire at your targets with the double tap I taught you. Don't count shots. Focus on sighting and shooting, and keep shooting, tap‑tap, tap‑tap, tap‑tap until the slide locks open. Can you do that?” Michelle asked her three trainees and one seasoned shooter.

  “BLAM/BLAM! BLAM/BLAM! BLAM/BLAM!

  The four shooters opened fire on their man‑shaped targets twenty‑five feet away.

  Deja’s big cheesy grin lit up her eyes as she put a nice cluster on the center mass of the target.

  Jelena wore a serious face. She always put all of her shots inside the rings on the target. Her clusters weren't tight, but every round would have hit something vital in a real person.

  PJ was a whole different story. Where Deja grinned like a kid every time she aimed and fired, PJ grimaced. If possible, she was getting worse with practice. She closed her eyes when she pulled the trigger. Like an actor in an old time silent movie, she “threw” her bullets by jabbing her gun forward with each shot. Fewer than half of her shots hit the target. It was a wonder even that many did.

  “Don't sweat it,” Michelle rubbed her chin. “Learning this about yourself is a good thing at this time. You sure as hell don't want to be out on the ragged edge all alone, with no back up, and learn you can’t shoot. That's a recipe to wind up very dead in a big hurry.”

  “All that sounds fine, but I need to pull my weight when the shit comes down. How can I help if I can’t even hit a paper target?” PJ waved at the almost pristine target.

  Michelle took PJ by both shoulders and locked eyes with her. “Look, when two people are facing each other, it can come down to who is steadiest and the best shot. Those situations almost never happen in real life, and it isn't what we're facing. I'll put you where you can do the most good tactically. Your help will be as important as anybody else’s.”

  “Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but I still feel crappy.” PJ gave Michelle a wistful look. “I’m so sorry I can’t really help.”

  “I didn't say you would be outta the shit. I said I'll use you tactically.”

  “What does that mean?” PJ asked.

  “We'll load you up with lots of ammo, put you right in the middle and all you need to do is keep firing at the bad guys. It won't matter if you hit anything or not. As long as you keep shooting, they won't dare move.”

  “Won’t they all be trying to shoot me?” PJ’s eyes had gone wide.

  “Yes, of course,” Michelle agreed. “But, it's our job to make sure they don't.”

  “Oh right, like putting me in the center of a shit storm with everyone trying to kill my ass should give me warm‑fuzzies. What have I gotten myself into?” If possible, PJ’s eyes were even wider than before.

  “I'm messing with you girl.” Michelle chuckled. “I'm gonna do everything I can so we don't land in some kind of wild shootout. I'm training you guys, so you won't ever be caught not knowing how to shoot if you have to. Hopefully I'll do most of the shooting. But the real truth is, we are going against some people who won't hesitate to shoot so we can't either.”

  “I know. We all agree there is no way we can leave those women in the hands of those miserable sons‑a‑bitches. I wish to Christ I could fucking shoot straight!” PJ rolled her eyes.

  “We'll keep working on it PJ. Once you start improving you'll be amazed at how fast you'll become a killer shot.”

  Only a few weeks had passed since Nikky unlocked the computer files from the now very dead and never great Fast Eddy, and his equally dead boss, Mr. Ascia. Someone with a vested interest was bound to be looking to strike back. The more time passed, the more nervous Michelle became. It was only a matter of time until she found them, or they found her.

  Michelle automatically scanned the parking lot and street as she and the others left Shooting‑Line. Nothing caught her attention.

  Watching the three women drive away, Michelle turned to G‑Baby who had hung back to talk to her. Her back to the wall, she stood in front of G‑Baby's Chrysler 300. A silver‑gray mid‑size nondescript car cleared the corner of the building next door and came into Michelle's line of sight. Not paying attention, she vaguely noted the car, and because it slowed down, she anticipated it would pull into the lot where they stood. It registered at a deeper level in Michelle's brain. Something didn't fit. Something was wrong. The car didn’t continue to slow but moved forward at a steady speed.

  Then she saw the movement as the passenger lifted his arm. It could have been anything, but she trusted her gut.

  Oooff!

  The air whooshed out of G‑Baby as Michelle hit his stomach with her shoulder taking him down.

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

  Four shots rang out as the car held a steady low speed crossing the front of the parking lot.

  Michelle had her 9mm out of her purse in time to see them drive off. She didn't fire.

  “Ow! Shit! Damn!” G‑Baby grumbled.

  “What? Are you hit?” Michelle asked.

  “No. I smashed my elbow.” G‑Baby sat on the asphalt rubbing his elbow. “How about you? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” Michelle put her gun back in her purse. “We need to go.” Without another word she ran around G's car and hopped in the passenger side.

  Three men burst
out of the front door of the shooting range. The man in front looked at Michelle then G‑Baby. He asked G‑Baby, “You guys okay?”

  “Yeah, we're fine. That was some crazy shit. That kind of thing happen often around here?” G‑Baby asked. He started his car.

  “No, never,” the man answered.

  G‑Baby backed out and headed up the street. “Damn, that was close. Any idea of who that was? Or, what it was about?”

  “It had to be Galletti,” Michelle said. “He is the only one with a reason to hire a shooter who would know how to find me. It doesn't change anything, but it does push everything up faster than I wanted. We gotta go underground. Right now!”

  * * *

  “Hello,” Galletti answered his phone.

  “Hey, Boss, we found her,” Charlie, a long time soldier reported to Galletti.

  “Is she dead?”

  “No. We had a good shot, and Frank took it. She was too fast and he missed.”

  “Fuck.”

  Charlie waited silently.

  “Do you know where she is now?” Galletti asked.

  “No. They ditched their car in a parking garage.”

  Galletti’s voice had gone soft and deadly. “You’re telling me you missed your one easy shot.”

  “Yeah.” Charlie kept his answer short.

  “Well that’s a real mess. You won't find her again, not out there.” Galletti’s voice got louder losing the quiet edge of death.

  “Yeah, we figured as much,” Charlie said.

  “Fuck . . . Get your asses back to Tulsa. You're no good to me in L.A.” Galletti broke the connection.

  “Well?” Frank asked Charlie.

  “Tulsa. Like we thought.” Charlie paused and shook his head. “You shouldn't have missed her.”

  “You wouldn't have hit her either,” Frank said. “She jumped before she could've seen my gun. She just had the sense of it. Not many people will dive for the ground without solid proof they've seen something. I have a feeling old man Galletti is up against more than he knows. We'll cap her ass okay, but it's not gonna come free. Watch yourself on this one.”

  .

  Six: Homework

  BILLINGS HAD ONE indoor shooting range, called Three Sights. It was clean, safe, efficient, friendly, and most importantly for Michelle's purpose, at 7:10 P.M. several off‑duty cops honed their skills. Jelena and Michelle went to practice their shooting and see what they could learn from the local police department.

  After a few targets and a bit of banter, Michelle left with Sergeant John Baker. Jelena, chatted with his friend, but he was married. He went home to his family.

  Jelena hit the streets.

  Michelle hit the sheets.

  A light sheen of sweat covered Michelle's body, and a soft satisfied smile rested on her lips. “So Officer John, how many of us are there?”

  John’s offer to go to his apartment slightly surprised Michelle. She thought he might be married and want to go to her motel. The apartment was pretty standard for an established bachelor. Matching leather couch and recliner, childhood mementos displayed on shelves along with some law enforcement books and the ever‑present high‑end game control unit with matching wide screen TV.

  Not giving him a chance to tidy up, Michelle made a beeline for the bathroom when they arrived. Fresh towels hung on the two racks, clean sink, folded linens on open shelving. A small glass shelf above the sink held an assortment of shaving and hair grooming items. He used some of the products her brother had used. The top drawer on the vanity next to the toilet held a half dozen new cheap toothbrushes and an assortment of pads and tampons.

  She had seen the same drawer in other bachelor apartments. A few basics for spur of the moment guests with special needs said the man was a good bet to be a generous thoughtful, lover. It was a bet she would have won if there were any takers.

  Sergeant John Rawlings propped himself up on his elbow. “By us, I take it you mean, Blacks?”

  “Yeah, how many Black cops are there here in Billings?”

  “Six. One is a detective. He's getting close to retirement. I'm the only sergeant. The rest are all beat cops. They'll have to start promoting someone pretty soon, or our numbers won't look so good. I'm in line for lieutenant. I did pretty good on the exam so unless I screw up, I'll move up and give this spot to one of the new kids. Why, are you planning on going through the department? I can tell you, don't waste your time. You're already with the best the Billings Police has to offer. Black or White.” He smirked at Michelle.

  “You sure about that?”

  “It's what half the wives on the force tell me.” John winked. “Seriously, why do you want to know?”

  “Just trying to learn more about your fair city.”

  “My turn. When I saw you at Three Sights earlier, I wondered, how would I introduce myself to the hottest woman in Montana? You’re clearly not from around here. I hope you'll do more than pass through. What brings you to Billings?”

  “I'm with my company. We're scouting the city to do business here.”

  “What business are you in?”

  “Support services for the oil industry.”

  “We're certainly the right city. What kind of service does your company provide?

  “Oh, it's all boring industry stuff. I'm more interested in a different kind of services. How about you provide me with some special services?” she teased.

  “That's the kind of scouting I can strongly support,” Officer John agreed.

  * * *

  “Any luck?” Michelle asked when Jelena came into the nondescript overpriced motel room around midnight.

  “Da. I speak with several of them. I don't know who is leader with the Russian womans. One speaks English pretty good. She said a couple more can also speak English but not as good as her. They tell me the man in charge is Black man and his China Doll is Black woman. They tell me the woman is from big city on the East Coast. They do not like her. She is not nice China Doll.”

  “What about the pimp,” Michelle asked.

  “Nobody knows where the man comes from,” Jelena said. “Ascia moved them here a few months ago, but they don't know much about city or people. They don't care because they know they'll leave soon. Most of them are working for Ascia for more than three years. This is fourth city they live in.”

  “Did you meet the China Doll?”

  “No, she was not working the street tonight. She will be back in two more nights. I go back to meet her then.”

  Michelle asked her most important question. “What about where they stay, and how much security?”

  “They did not know the address. They live in three trailer houses in a park of trailers. The park is on the South end of city. They tell me it is not a nice place. The last womans who lived there leave it dirty and they have trouble with the toilets.”

  “Christ, with all the money they bring in, at least those assholes could keep the bathrooms working. What about security?” Michelle asked.

  “Before it was easier. Now every house has a man stay with them all day and night. Some of the men want sex. They are pigs.”

  “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 scarred 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.