Jack‑Move shook his head.
“No? Of course not, because you don't pay attention to shit. If you want to take over Fast Eddies job, you better get involved, or I swear to Christ I'll shoot your ass myself. Now, what can you tell me about this guy Williams in Billings?”
“It's Wilson,” Jack‑Move replied way too cockily for the situation.
Okay asshole, Galletti thought, at least you've got the moxie to tell me I'm wrong. You might work out. I'm not convinced yet. Jesus, Mary, and Josep What a cluster fuck.
“Great, you know his fucking name. What can you tell me about him.”
“History, attitude, or current operation?” Jack‑Move asked.
Galletti leaned back in his chair. Gazed off for a moment. “All three, keep it short.”
“He's from Baltimore where he did a dime for killing one of his ho's. Set up shop in Billings when big oil moved into the region. He had a stable of four ho's when Fast Eddie brought him in. I don't know the story, but it was obvious they knew each other from before. He kept his ho's strung out to control them and wanted to dope up the Russians. Ascia sent me up a couple times to make it clear if he drugged our women, he'd be dropped like a bad habit. When Fast Eddie got hit, I made him put on two more guys so he had someone with all the ho's all the time.”
Bullshit. You carried water for Ascia. You didn't make anyone do anything on your own. “How many men did he have on the payroll?” Galletti asked not letting on to Jack‑Move how much he hated him right then.
“Two full-time guys lived with the ho's and drove.” Jack‑Move continued. “Two more were part time on a regular basis and a couple more for extra help.”
“You're telling me, he only had two guys full time and a couple part time help? The stupid scrote deserved to be hit. How many of our girls did he have?”
“Fifteen.”
“I want them back. You're going to bring them back to me.” Or Galletti would remove Jack‑Move’s balls if he failed.
“You got it, Mr. Galletti. I'm on it.” Jack‑Move fronted with confidence he didn’t feel.
“Not by yourself. I'm sending you with someone I trust.” Galletti nodded to the back of the room.
Jack‑Move turned around. A medium sized man in his early fifties with rimless glasses and his balding hair cut short sat in a chair by the back door. He sat still, not talking, no nod, nothing to acknowledge Jack‑Move.
“That's Nick,” Galletti said. “He's the boss on this operation. Your job is to bring the women back. He'll take care of making sure that happens and taking care of whoever did this thing. Do what he tells you, and it'll work fine.”
“Yeah, okay.” Jack‑Move turned back around looking at Galletti. “It's that cunt Michelle did this. She's the one we gotta find and kill.”
“Probably. Maybe not. Nick will find out and take care of it. You just do your job and bring those women back to me.”
“Anything else Mr. Galletti?” Jack‑Move asked.
“We're done, go do your job.”
When Jack‑Move turned toward the back, Nick was walking out the door. He hadn't said a word.
* * *
The rented Chevy Impala pulled up to the departing passenger section at Billings International Airport. Nick got out, walked around the car and sat in the passenger seat. A moment later the window came down. Nick looked out the window at Jack‑Move who stood on the sidewalk with his carry‑on suitcase. “You're driving.” The window went up.
“You don't talk much, do you?” Jack‑Move complained.
Nick continued to read the book on his tablet for a minute. He looked up and sneered at Jack‑Move. “We're not friends. We won't ever be friends. I don't like pimps in general. I hate pimps who beat their women. I hate pimps who use drugs to control their women. They do those things because they aren't good enough to even do the simple job of selling pussy. You're all of those things. If it were up to me, I'd drop you off on the side of the road right here. Just drive. I'll tell you what I need from you when I need it. Right now, head downtown to second and twenty‑ninth.” Nick returned to reading his tablet.
Billings was large enough to have an international airport and university and small enough for both of them to be a few minutes from the downtown police department. A few blocks from the police department, Nick said, “Drop me here. Go rent us some rooms at a mid‑level hotel out by the freeway and pick me up by the Wendy's.” Nick pointed at the Wendy’s on the corner. “If I'm not there, wait for me. Don't go inside, wait in the car.”
Nick walked into the downtown Billings police station and identified himself as a reporter going by Jake Carlotti.
“Hi, I'm Jake Carlotti. I have an appointment with Detective Thompson. Here’s my card.”
The desk sergeant pointed to a row of abused chairs. “I’ll call and tell her you’re here.”
A few minutes later, Detective Thompson walked up beside the sergeant. “Thanks, Alan. The guy by the door?”
“He's all yours” The sergeant responded.
“How can I help you Mr. Carlotti?” Thompson asked.
Shaking hands and handing her his business card, Nick /Jake said, “Thanks for coming down Detective. I'm a freelance reporter. I run a popular news blog and regularly place articles in several of the East coast papers. Is there anything you can tell me about the murders of two of your citizens earlier this evening? The one that also included the abduction of a large group of women.”
“How did you learn about that?” Thompson couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
Nick/Jake shrugged. “I'd like to say it was superior investigative reporting. The truth is a friend of a friend was bragging about how he heard about how a bunch of women were missing. He didn't know any more than that. I thought it was interesting enough to come up and check out. I asked around on the streets here in town and heard it might have been connected to the murders. How is Mr. Wilson?”
“Well, Mr. Carlotti, it's an ongoing investigation. I can't say anything about it.” Thompson had her composure back in full swing.
“Are you the lead detective?”
“I can't say.”
“You can't say, or won't say?”
“I can't say.”
“Look, detective, I'm going to be around town for a few days and see if this leads to anything. Maybe we can help each other out.” Nick handed Detective Thompson his business card with Jake Carlotti’s name on it.
“Let’s play that by ear Mr. Carlotti. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“Good meeting you detective.”
“Mr. Carlotti.” Detective Thompson said over her shoulder already walking away.
* * *
After leaving his meeting with Detective Thompson, Nick made two calls and walked the block to a nearby grassy area looking out on a parking lot. He found a bench and fired up his tablet to catch up on his book. After reading for about twenty‑five minutes, he walked across the lot and got into a late model Nissan. Two blocks later the pickup pulled over and Nick got out and walked back to the intersection of 2nd and 29th streets.
Nick climbed into the Impala. “What's that?”
“What's what?” Jack‑Move asked.
“That smell.” Nick checked the back seat and saw the Wendy's bag. “Where did that come from?”
“What the burger?”
Nick nailed Jack‑Move with a dead-eyed stare.
“Right there,” Jack‑Move said, pointing at the Wendy's. “It's a burger joint, that's what they sell. What's your point?”
“I told you not to go inside.”
“I was hungry. You may be calling the shots, but you can't tell me when to eat.”
Nick pulled out the Glock 17 he had just acquired from the guy in the Nissan, and casually laid it in his lap, pointing at Jack‑Move.
“Whoa, where the hell did that come from?” Jack‑Move said twisting around in the seat pushing against the door.
“Look you stupid ill‑bred f
ool. We're in Billings, Montana. I'm Italian from the East coast and I stand out here. You're Black, or African American or whatever it is you call yourself and pimp is written all over your stupid ass. You dress like a pimp, you walk like a pimp, and as soon as you open your mouth, you prove you're a pimp. How many Black pimps do you think are walking around downtown Billings on any given day? If the good detective doesn't already know about you, she will before she sits down for breakfast in the morning.”
Nick lifted the gun off his lap and leveled it at Jack‑Move. “That was your one time. You do anything else I tell you not to or don't do something I tell you to do, you're dead.”
Silence filled the car eclipsing the burger smell that started the conversation.
“Take me to the car rental section at the airport. This time, stay in the car.” Nick turned to face the front, acting like the last fifteen seconds hadn’t happened.
Jack‑Move didn't say anything. He drove the short distance back to the airport.
“Where do you want me?” Jack‑Move asked.
“Go slow and circle through. Keep circling until I come out.” While walking away, Nick shook his head at his shit luck of being assigned that idiot Jack‑Move and wondered if he’d have to kill the fool before it was all over.
What a pain in the ass.
* * *
Melony looked up from texting her boyfriend to see a businessman, early fifties, no tie, standing at her counter. “Welcome to Alamo. I'm sorry we're closed. I was only finishing up some paperwork.”
“That's okay, I don't need a car.”
Melony put her phone down. Tired and very ready to be gone, she didn't much want to be helpful, but had learned it was almost always easiest to find out what the customer needed, answer a stupid and usually obvious question and send them on their way. “How may I help you?”
“I just need a little help,” Nick read her name tag. “It’s Melony right?”
“Yup.”
“Pretty name.” Long ago Nick learned not to smile big with young women because his smile was more menacing than disarming. He let the corners of his mouth raise slightly and adopted a sincere expression.
“Thanks.”
“Melony, I'm looking for some business associates, well actually they're friends. They were here sometime in the last two nights and would’ve needed two or three full size SUVs.”
“I'd love to help, but we can't give out information on our rentals. It's against company policy, and I'd get in trouble. I'm sure you understand.” She said this while typing and looking at her monitor. She smiled. The man didn't say anything, his expression didn't change, but when she met his eyes, something about him sent a shiver up her spine. When she looked down, she realized she didn't see him move. Somehow, while she had been sucked into his gaze, he put his hand on the counter and spread out two one‑hundred dollar bills.
He nodded at Melony. “I fully understand how important it is to help your customers and keep your company satisfied. I'm not asking about some strangers but close friends.” His eyes flicked down at his hand. Three more bills peeked out.
Oh, My God, that's five hundred dollars!
“I know exactly what you mean. Yes, a man and woman came in early yesterday. They rented three Suburbans, one was silver gray, um, one was white, and the third one was dark blue.”
Nick stood quietly, not saying anything.
Melony looked back down at the money.
“The man and woman. Were they African American?” he asked.
“Yes, do you need their names?”
“No that won't be necessary. Like I said we're all friends. However, it would be best this conversation remains between us. Wouldn't you agree?”
“Yes sir, I couldn't possibly agree more.” Melony smiled sweetly at him.
“Thank you for your help . . . Melony.” The man stepped away. A brochure covered the five one‑hundred dollar bills.
The way he paused then said her name, sent another shiver up her spine. Melony reached out and pulled the brochure and the money across the counter.
* * *
Outside Nick flagged Jack‑Move down and climbed into the passenger seat. “Got it. They're in three Suburbans. Time for you to start earning your money. Head south on the ninety.”
“The ninety goes east-west not south,” Jack‑Move said.
“Just head east on the freeway and step on it. The ninety turns down south for a few hundred miles. Now stop arguing with me and start burning miles. They have a ten-hour head start on us. With any luck, they stopped to eat and sleep.”
“I need to go back to the hotel to pick up my bag,” The confidence gone, Jack‑Move’s voice had a nervous tinge.
“What? You left your bag in the room?”
“Yeah.”
Nick blew out his cheeks and shook his head. “Man, it's easy to see why a couple broads kicked your dumb ass in Los Angeles. Forget it. We're not going back.”
“I need my bag.”
“Why, what’s in it? Another custom-made pimp suit. Silk underwear? Too bad, your fancy boxers are lost.”
“My prints are all over it. Like you said, I stand out up here. It wouldn't take much for the po‑po to put me together with what's coming down.”
“So now you're a high-tech master espionage pimp who's worried about his prints. It's a lousy suitcase left in a room. People leave stuff in rooms all the time. Some clerk will put your precious suitcase in a back closet and think nothing of it. There's no reason for the cops to ask. What do you imagine? They'll go to every hotel in town and ask, 'Hey did an African American pimp leave his shit in your hotel?' Get real.” Nick snorted in disgust.
“It's my ass on the line if they make the connection.”
“Connection?” Nick scoffed. “Connection to what? Looking for some grown women hookers who left town? Are you saying your suitcase will somehow lead them to solving the two murders? Murders you don't have anything to do with?
“I didn’t say that.” Jack‑Move mumbled.
“No of course not, but that's not the end of it. What happens when we catch up to the three SUVs? Oh, yeah, each one’ll have muscle looking for trouble. Are you going to walk up and ask them to politely turn over the keys and the women?”
Jack‑Move didn’t respond.
“That's the point Jack‑Move. We have to catch them. Your stupid move of putting your bag in the room is your problem. My problem is catching them. Get on board, or get out of the car now.”
“Where are we headed?” Jack‑Move asked.
“If your girl did this shit, and that's the best we have to go on, then my guess is she's headed back to Los Angeles. East is the shortest fastest way. They won’t go that way because every tight turn on a narrow mountain road is a potential ambush point. South is longer, but easier to see what is ahead, or behind. Denver is South and closer than Los Angeles. Denver gives them options. They can go by air, train, or stay in the cars. If they choose the cars, they have several good choices. The smart move is Denver, it's their freedom.”
“What makes you think they'll take the smart move?” Jack‑Move asked.
“Because every tactical thing she has done so far has been the smart move.”
“Even hitting Fast Eddie and Ascia?”
“Those things were emotional, maybe even strategic, but not tactical.” Nick said.
“Yeah, what's the difference? Those guys are still dead.”
“You'll notice the difference when she puts a bullet in your empty head.”
.
Eleven: Cat and Mouse
“CALL THE OTHERS, we're stopping here,” Michelle said.
The three SUVs stopped at the small Flying J truck stop in Harding, Montana. They took up three of the four gas pumps in front. Deja parked the Chevy Malibu by the large Subway sign on the front corner of the property. The big rigs whined in low gear as they made the corner and pulled past the Malibu on the side street headed to the back diesel pumps. Michelle noticed none of t
he trucks blew black smoke out of the exhaust stacks like they do when the driver pushes hard on the pedal. Evidently, the drivers were not in a hurry to go the one hundred or so yards to turn in. Everyone piled out and gathered around in a large group. Michelle stood with her back to one of the SUVs, and the rest make a semicircle around her.
“Let's go over your parts again,” Michelle said. “G‑Baby, you first.”
“Fill up the SUV's,” G‑Baby said. “They'll only take a few gallons, keep the hose in so it looks like it's taking longer.”
“Baby‑Sister?” Michelle asked.
“Stay with G‑Baby. We slow drag going inside. Walk the aisles picking up snacks. Hook up with Jelena at the register.”
“Deja?”
“Hit the restroom then come back to my car to keep an eye on the store and the street.”
“Jelena, do your ladies know the drill?”
“Da, they make a long line at the toilet. Spread out and talk. After they finish with toilet, walk around. They are talking, smiling at the men, friendly with the womans. Make people remember them. Pick up snacks or drinks and put them on counter for me and Baby‑Sister to pay for.”
“Deja, does someone have a list of things you want?” Michelle asked.
“Yeah, Baby‑Sister has me covered.”
“Okay everybody, let's go,” Michelle started to walk off.
A crowd of pretty blondes headed toward the Flying J Casino store front.
“Michelle, hold on,” Deja said.
Michelle stopped and turned to her friend. “What's Up?”
“This will take, what, thirty maybe forty minutes,” Deja said. “Is that enough time?”
“I think so. It'll have to be. If we stay any longer than a regular bathroom break it’ll be suspicious. We need to leave the impression we're on the run and nervous about getting the girls to move along. They need to look clueless and more interested in a bathroom break than anything else.”
“How far behind us do you think they are?”
“As little as two or three hours, as much as six or even eight,” Michelle responded. “I'm expecting faster. We know at least one, maybe two guys lived, plus the three hookers. It’s just about guaranteed one of them called Galletti before everyone made it out of the trailer court. I bet Galletti had someone on their way before we left town.”
Hard Run: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #4 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series) Page 7