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

by Jason Stanley

  “Private jet?”

  “I doubt it. Galletti won't come himself. He wouldn't let his jet take a hit man. It would have to be commercial, and it'll be the first thing smoking from whereever they are. Without better information, guessing at flight arrival times is worthless.”

  “Where do you expect them to catch up with us?”

  “Casper at the earliest if we can delay enough. Cheyenne is more likely.”

  A dark blue SUV pulled into the front entrance. Michelle stopped talking while she watched it come in and park two rows over.

  “Stand still, don't turn around,” Michelle told Deja.

  A woman climbed out of the driver's seat, said something to someone inside and walked toward the store.

  A strong breeze gusted cold air carrying the promise of winter. Deja’s long hair waved in the breeze, and the light complexion of her cheeks reddened.

  “Cold?” Michelle asked.

  Deja nodded. “There’s no way in hell would I ever live in some place like this. I’m freezing, and it’s not even winter yet. I bet this place is like Alaska or something in the winter.”

  A man, about the same age and general appearance of the woman who went in the store, came around the front of the Nissan and started filling the tank. He tried to be inconspicuous while checking out Michelle and Deja. Michelle met his eye, and he smiled then looked away.

  Men are always such dogs.

  “Just a couple stopping for gas.” Michelle said out loud, but mostly to herself.

  “Could his people be here already?” Deja asked.

  “I doubt it, but someone local could be put on our trail, or even try to make a hit. Everyone is a possible danger. Even that couple. They could be spotters. When we leave, you need to hang back and follow them.”

  “What if they are spotters? How will we know?”

  “We adjust. The whole point of stopping at every truck stop is to put Galletti's men on our trail.” Michelle rubbed Deja’s arm. “We’re good. You’re doing good. I know it’s tough for you not being used to this kind of thing. Trust me, you’re a big help.”

  “I didn't think of spotters.” Deja glanced around. “What do you mean we adjust?”

  “About the spotters. If they leave but then follow us and pull in when we stop at the next point, we can assume they’re trailing us. We stop making a lot of short stops and pull off the main road to a small town, ten or twenty miles away, and get a motel. They’ll have to follow us to confirm where we are. We’ll do a little cat and mouse to prove they are following and set up for our visitors at the motel.”

  “Do you think that couple are spotters?” Deja asked.

  “I seriously doubt they have it together enough way out here for that, at least not this soon. But I understand how being on your own in the car is a little spooky. I'll join you at our next stop in Sheridan. Even going slow we’ll make it in less than two hours. For now, I think I need to remain with Baby‑Sister. She's still completely green with this stuff.”

  “Christ, Michelle, I'm such a newbie to all of this, it's hard to think of myself as seasoned.” Deja rubbed her back and stretched. “But, yeah, compared to Baby‑Sister, I guess I am.”

  “This last year, well not even a full year, has been a crash course into this world. You and Nikky have been amazing with this whole thing. It's like growing up in the hood. You grow up fast or become someone's bitch. Being somebody's bitch is not about to happen with any of us!”

  “Here's to Hansel and Gretel dropping crumbs.” Deja held her fist up. Michelle bumped it, and they headed in.

  Michelle stepped through the doors first, slowed to let Deja catch up and scanned the room.

  Deja stepped up beside Michelle. “How can it be so fresh and clean outside and so full of stale smoke inside?”

  “At least it isn't bleach and backed up plumbing this time.” Michelle noted the Russian women were doing their job being obvious without showing it. They had moved the woman from the Nissan SUV to the front of the line. “Deja.” Michelle pointed with her chin toward the woman standing at the front of the line. “That's the woman from the SUV outside. Go move your car across the street and follow them when they come out. See which way they go. Stay with them for at least twenty minutes. Let's see if they stop or double back.”

  “You got it. I'll see you at the next stop.” Deja turned around and walked back through the front doors.

  I hope she didn't have to pee . . .

  * * *

  Jack‑Move came out of the truck stop shaking his head. “No sign of them.”

  Nick pulled a beef jerky stick out of his shirt pocket and tossed it to Jack‑Move.

  “What's this?”

  “It's jerky.”

  “Yeah, I don't like the stuff.” Jack‑Move handed the jerky back to Nick.

  Nick threw the jerky into the trash can standing beside the gas pump. “Who'd you ask?”

  “A couple of the Black truckers. I knew they'd talk to me. They haven't seen anything.”

  “Who else? Describe them.”

  “What the fuck? You think I'm stupid. Of course, I talked to some others.”

  “Who?”

  “Yeah, well nobody. The old guy at the counter looked like a fucking KKK. I knew he wouldn't tell me shit. I tried to talk to the girl at the Subway, but she clammed up. Wouldn't say nothing.”

  “How long had the truckers been there?”

  “I didn't ask.”

  “So you’re telling me, you went in, asked two guys that don't work there, if they saw anything. They could've come in five minutes before you. And the girl. How many times do you think some thug on the road has tried to hustle her? About ten a day. You're just another asshole in a long line of assholes.”

  “I don’t think the truckers had just got there. They were almost through eating.”

  “Okay, Einstein, it takes ten minutes to order a sandwich and about five more to eat. So they were there fifteen or twenty minutes before you. Look, Jack you better—”

  “It's Jack‑Move.”

  Nick pushed his glasses up on his forehead, took a deep breath and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Look, Jack, you stupid motherfucker, they were here. That old man you were scared of talking to, the one who sold me that stick of jerky for a hundred bucks, he talked to me plenty. He told me a whole crowd of Russian women took up residence tying up his restroom for at least a half hour. They were with a Black man and a couple of Black women. They bought a bunch of snacks, some sandwiches, filled up their SUVs and left less than four hours ago.”

  “What the fuck, man. If you knew that shit, why did you ask me?

  “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck! Is that all you can say? Your vocabulary is as limited as your IQ. I asked because I wanted to prove to myself just how stupid you really are. Now I know.” Nick popped his glasses back down on his face.

  “You're an asshole.”

  “Okay, Jack, here's the deal. We agree I don't like you and I don't respect you. Now, we need to figure out if I'm going to take you with me or do this job alone. I can't dump you because you'll try to follow me or do something stupid that will mess things up. So if I want to be rid of you, I'll have to kill you and leave your worthless carcass out here in the middle of nowhere. But today’s your lucky day because I need a second driver.”

  Jack‑Move stepped back and put his foot on the back bumper of the car. When he looked up, Nick's 9mm pointed at him.

  “Don’t.” Earlier Nick gave Jack‑Move a .38 revolver with an ankle holster that he’d got back when he picked up his 9mm. He wanted the ankle holster for this very reason, it was hard to get a gun out of an ankle holster without being noticed. At least not when the person watching knew what to look for. “I gave you a gun because I need you armed for when we catch up to your girl. Until then, if I see you go for it, or even scratch your ankle, it'll be your last time. Are we clear?”

  Jack‑Move stood up and faced Nick. “Fuck you.”

  �
��Are we clear?”

  “Clear.”

  “They're only a couple hours ahead of us. We should catch up with them by Cheyenne.” Nick pulled the nozzle out of the gas tank, replaced it on the pump, and walked around to the passenger side of the car. “You're driving.”

  .

  Twelve: Predator is Prey

  ARMS FULL OF large bags of McDonald’s burgers and fries, Deja and Michelle walked back across the street to the Exon gas station. Finished with the restroom break, everybody stood around the SUVs. Several of the women smoked cigarettes.

  “At least it isn’t as cold as the last place we stopped,” Deja took a couple deep breaths and looked around.

  “Um huh, you're right,” Michelle said. “It is nice, fresh-like, and the sky is sooo clear. Almost makes you not trust it.”

  “I know, huh, how can you trust something you can’t see?” Deja said. “It’s not like our air back home where you can almost feel the smog. Now there’s something you can trust.”

  “Yeah, well, this won't last. In a couple months it’ll be freezing your ass off time.”

  “I'll take your word for it,” Deja said. “This is my first time in any place like this. The air is so fresh and you can smell the clean. Also, it's huge. We drove for hours without seeing anything. In a barren, desolate western movie kind of way, it could be considered pretty. Not that I'd ever want to live here. It may be pretty, but, can anything be more boring?”

  “Ever been in seriously cold weather?” Michelle asked?

  “I went up to the snow in Big Bear once. We had to wear gloves to make a snowman.”

  “I'm talking about where snow feels warm.”

  “Bullshit, it can't be that cold. That snow was like ice. Have you? You know, been where snow felt warm?” Deja asked.

  “Once, in Japan.”

  “What were you doing in Japan? I thought they had the Jacuzzi to, umm, assassinate people.”

  “Jacuzzi, like in a hot tub?” Michelle tilted her head with a puzzled look on her face.

  “No, you know, The Jacuzzi. Those famous Japanese Jacuzzi gangsters with the tattoos.”

  Michelle laughed. “You mean the Yakuza.”

  “Yeah, them. I thought they ran Japan.”

  “Deja, no matter what happens to us, now or over the years. Promise me one thing.”

  “Sure, what?”

  “Never change.”

  “What did I say?”

  Michelle's phone rang. She handed the McDonald’s bags to Jelena and stepped away from the others. “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this Michelle?” The man spoke with a gravelly voice sounding like years of too many cigarettes and whiskey.

  Michelle recognized the voice as the counter man at the last gas station. “Hi, George. Did someone come in?”

  “There were two of them. They just left. A Black guy, I'd guess about fifty, flashy. He tried to hustle Ginger in the Subway then talked to a couple truckers. The other guy was White, mid‑fifties, balding, glasses, dark eyes like maybe Italian. Gave me a hundred bucks to tell him about you guys. Does that sound like the guys you were expecting?”

  “George, you're the absolute best. The next time I come through, I'm buying you a steak dinner.”

  “You already did. Or, you're going to.” George chuckled. “I'm taking my girlfriend out for dinner tonight.”

  “You ol' dog! I hope she knows what a good guy she has.”

  “I'm the lucky one. I gotta go, a customer’s waiting. Good luck.”

  “Hey, before you go, did you see their car?” Michelle asked.

  “Yeah, sorry I forgot to tell you. They’re in a new silver Chevy Impala with an Alamo rental decal on the windshield. I checked them out when they went back outside. I didn’t see anyone else with them.”

  “Thanks, George, I owe you.”

  A small Mc Donald’s bag in hand, Deja walked over while Michelle talked to George. “Do you want yours now or later?”

  Michelle replied absent minded. “Um, later.”

  Nodding to the phone, Deja asked, “What was that?”

  Michelle brought her focus back from thinking about what George had told her to speaking with Deja. “That was perhaps the best five hundred bucks I've ever spent.”

  “Really? Who was it?”

  “George, the old guy at the counter back in Harding.”

  “Do you mean the guy who eyeballed everyone coming through the door? The way he checked everyone out, I couldn’t make up my mind if he was grumpy or horny.”

  “Yeah, he looked grumpy, but he was pretty friendly when we talked. He called to tell me two men, one Black and one White, came in looking for us. The Black guy sounds exactly like Jack‑Move. The White guy paid him to tell about us. I'll bet he's a fixer hired by Galletti. I’ll know as soon as I see him.”

  “How will you know?”

  “Everything about him will show it.”

  “Really? What?” Deja asked.

  Michelle thought for a moment. Rather than explain the little details she would notice, she decided to put it in a way Deja would have experience of her own. “You can see five Black women walk out of Starbucks. Four are American and one is from Africa. You’ll spot her the moment she steps out. She doesn’t have to say anything, but she’s different in how she dresses, wears her hair, and carries herself. It’s as plain as day. I can tell him the same way. Don’t worry, I’ll know our man the instant I spot him.”

  Deja smiled big, then a frown creased her forehead. “It's good we know who is coming, and we only have to deal with two. I'm also glad it wasn't that couple at the gas station back in Harding. They seemed happy with each other.”

  “I didn't think it was, but in a situation like this, you can't be too careful. Thanks for checking them out back there.”

  “Anytime. Now, what about those guys that are following us?”

  “Get G‑Baby, Baby‑Sister, and Jelena,” Michelle said.

  “Just them?”

  “You’re right, get everyone.”

  With Jelena’s help, Deja rounded up everyone.

  Michelle explained, “Jack‑Move and some White guy are hunting us. Jack‑Move is after you and your ladies.” Michelle pointed at Jelena. “The other guy will be a killer, and he’s after me. They just left Hardin so are about four hours behind us. They’ll expect us to be on the run so we have to act like it now. We’re a few hours out of Casper, we'll stop for a quick pit stop. Break up and go to different gas stations, so we don’t have thirty women waiting on one toilet. Run in, pee, fill‑up with gas, nothing else. From there we hightail down to Cheyenne. That’s where they’ll be expecting to find us.”

  Jelena stopped translating for the women and asked, “What is this word hightail?”

  “It means bust a move, you know, get hat,” Deja said.

  “We put hat on the tall tail? I don’t understand,” Jelena said.

  Deja turned to Michelle, “You try.”

  “Go fast. Have you ever seen a cat run? Most of them hold their tail straight up, so they are hightailing it. And that’s what we need to do, hightail it out of here right now!”

  “Yes, our cats at home run with the tail high like you describe. But I still don’t understand about the hat. Do you put a hat on the cat’s ass?” Jelena asked.

  Michelle and Deja exchanged a look and groaned.

  “No, sweetie,” Michelle chuckled. “It’s just an American saying that means go fast.”

  “Okay. I tell my girls, get hat, but don’t buy a hat!” Jelena laughed. “American English is so much fun to talk.”

  * * *

  Several hours later Deja nudged Michelle. “You said to wake you up when we're close to Cheyenne. We're about thirty minutes out.”

  Michelle checked her watch and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Do we have any coffee left?”

  “Yeah, I didn't drink any so the thermos should still be full.”

  “Good. It's almost four in the morning. Watch the speed limits
as we come into town. The cops will be bored. Mostly they're bone lazy. Sometimes they stop people to help keep themselves awake or earn enough points to move off the graveyard shift. Go on through town to West College Drive exit. It's the first exit after the eighty interchange. There's a Flying J with a Denny's off to the right. That's where we'll set up.”

  * * *

  Well out of sight, Michelle and Deja stood on the flat roof of the Denny's behind the top of the sloping roof‑facade designed to hide the industrial-sized air conditioning units. Even in the early dawn, the smell of the roofing asphalt tar mixed with the vented fried oil. The air carried the chill promise of a storm. Dawn brought an overcast gray sky. Michelle noticed the tar and vented grease smell when she first climbed up the wall ladder at the end of the small storage yard in the back of the restaurant. Now, intently focused on watching the traffic in her quadrant, the asphalt roofing, fried oil, and even the early morning chill faded away.

  “There.” Deja pointed at a sedan pulling into a parking lot in front of the Quality Inn across the street.

  Michelle looked through the scope on her sniper rifle to see Jack‑Move disappear below her line of sight that was partially blocked by the open air roof covering the gas pumps. A moment later the silver gray late model Chevy pulled up into her clear view. A few yards later it turned into a parking spot on the side of the motel.

  “I wonder why they went over to the motel?” Deja asked.

  Michelle didn't answer. She was watching through her scope where she had a clear view of the car. A middle aged White man matching the description George gave her stood by the passenger side. From her angle and the glare of the early morning sun on the rear window, she couldn't see Jack‑Move in the driver's seat, but she knew it was him.

  “Everything about that asshole screams fixer. He’s definitely the one,” Michelle said in a voice so low Deja couldn't quite hear.

  The man closed the car door and slapped the roof twice. He stood still, turning his head, apparently searching the area then walked around and knocked on the driver's window.