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

by Jason Stanley

  “We see what happens tonight. If our girls are here, and they put them on the street, it's an invitation to dance.”

  “Do we dance?” Deja asked.

  “I don't know. I'm afraid it's a setup and we'll be dancing with the devil. This thing keeps growing. Baby‑Sister said the clerk found a photo of you by the microwave. It makes sense they would know who you are from our work in Anglewatts. That's part of what scares me. If they have your picture, who else do they know about? Why did those guys try to kidnap you? Why? Why? Why? I'm going crazy with why. This shit with you is exactly what I'm worried about. If I don't do this right, you or anyone could be killed. I'm not so sure it's worth the risk?” Michelle stole a glance at Deja before turning to look out the window at Sal’s place.

  “It wasn't luck Baby‑Sister found out they had my picture,” Deja said. “Baby‑Sister did that because you told her to go. She found this place where we can spy on those assholes because you sent her out looking for a lookout. We know they shipped out the Russian women because we watched them do it from here, the place you set up. We'll know where they're going when G‑baby follows them to wherever they go. Why will we know those things? I'll tell you why, because you put him on it, that’s why. We have a chance only because of your figuring things out.”

  “Sure that all may be true, but I still feel like I'm stumbling along reacting to each problem. Galletti has been running a big machine a long time. I’m used to planning for a one person show, not a big op with so many pieces and people.”

  “Michelle, I understand you're scared. I mean I'm beginning to really get what we're up against. The more I understand, the scarier it becomes. I also know we don't have much of a choice. In the end, it's still them or us.”

  “Not for Uncle G or Baby‑Sister.”

  “You seem to be forgetting those thirty women who pulled out of here are all being held as slaves. There is no way the rest of us can let that pass. One way or the other, we have to do something.”

  “We could back off and let the cops handle it,” Michelle said.

  “Right and that would put Nikky and me back in shit no‑pay jobs and you back to killing people for a living. You didn't become an assassin for the money or because of some deep military thing. It was because Michael and Gabe Jr. were murdered in your home. We took care of that. You say you're good at the assassin business. Fine. But I know you, and no matter how good you might be, it's not who you are. Not in your heart. The fact is none of us can go back. We have to do this thing.”

  Michelle put both of her hands on her head, scratched her scalp and sighed. “I know, I know, Christ, I know. The problem is, I don't have any idea of what they're up to.”

  “You'll figure it out. We're not in a big hurry. Nikky is handling business back home and look around.” Deja waved her hand at the old shabby efficiency apartment. “Look at this place, fully furnished with stained plastic dishes, an equally stained shower in the nastiest bathroom ever, and an abundance of roaches to keep us company. What more could we want?”

  Michelle pointed at the stained couch that held a hide‑away bed. “How about a real bed?”

  “Why? You planning on having company?”

  “Oh my God. The idea of having sex on that thing is almost enough to turn me off for good. Have you pulled the bed out?”

  “No. Is it nasty?”

  “Do yourself a favor. Don’t even think about it.”

  * * *

  Michelle covered the couch with a blanket. She’d taken a nap and was back on watch when, down on the street, two women walked out the front door of Sal’s and stood on the sidewalk. “Deja, come look. Are those the girls from Billings?”

  Deja jumped up from the table where she had been updating one of their escort websites. “Yes. I never rode with them so don't know their names, but they're absolutely part of the Billings group. I think they’re names are Alinka and Tonya or Tyria.”

  “I thought so. Thanks for the confirmation.”

  The women left in a taxi. “Do you want me to follow them?” Deja asked.

  “No. Not yet.” Michelle checked her watch and made a note on the pad. First sighting: Two women named Alinka & Tonya / (Tyria?), 9:45 P.M. “This is good, very good, but I think we better keep our heads down until we have a better understanding of the full picture. Also, I don't want to be too visible with Uncle G gone.”

  “You sure?”

  “Here we go. Check it out. See that pickup?”

  A brown Ford sat parked at the corner up from Sal’s and a blue Dodge with peeling paint drove past.

  “The blue one?”

  “No, the other one.” Michelle indicated the parked truck with a nod.

  “Oh the brown one parked over there. Yeah, okay.”

  “Notice anything odd?”

  “Ummm, no. It's a normal truck.”

  “The guy driving doesn't fit. He's not a truck kind of guy, not in those clothes. More important, he came out of Sal's about five minutes before the girls came out. He's been sitting there doing nothing. Not on the phone, or looking at maps, nothing. Now that they take off, he pulls out. He's their tail. Trucks in Tulsa are as common as taxis in New York City. They’re a good vehicle for a tail.”

  “Good call. Glad I didn't rush out to follow them.”

  Michelle smiled. “It's the little things we have to watch for. They will tell us about their operation. At least that's the hope.”

  “Any new word from G‑Baby?” Deja asked.

  As if on cue, Michelle's phone chirped in incoming text. “Speak of the devil. It's Uncle G.

  ‘houston… girls and full crew at one building’

  “Interesting, very interesting,” Michelle said. “They're in Houston.”

  “You said they might head down there.” Deja pointed out.

  “It's the smart move.”

  Deja moved back to the tiny kitchen table where she had her laptop set up. “Why is that?”

  “Galletti is stronger in Houston. Even after we took out Ascia, he's bound to have plenty of homies he can call in. By moving their women down there and leaving Jelena's group here, it splits the target. The smaller group is here where they appear to have fewer defenses. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure they have added security around the women we're here for.”

  “We haven't seen many new men that fit the profile in the last couple days.”

  “That doesn't mean anything. They could bring in a half dozen guys in ones and twos acting like customers and put them upstairs. We might not notice them. Also, you can bet the girls are being watched upstairs where we can't see. That's one of the problems with these old smaller buildings. There are no inner service passages in the walls for plumbing or air conditioning systems to snoop around in. Short of walking down the hall, there isn't much we can do to find out what's going on inside.”

  “What do you mean service passages?” Deja shook her head.

  “Remember in the movie The Matrix when they climb down that narrow shaft with the pipes?”

  “Sure, it's where that guy sneezes.” Deja twisted in her chair reaching for the refrigerator in the tiny kitchen. “Want some water?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Michelle reached over taking the bottle of water.

  “Right where he sneezed, well that's true. Most larger buildings have some type of passages for things like plumbing and electricity.”

  “No shit? I thought that was all Hollywood.”

  “The part where they went down real fast was pure movie stuff. Guaranteed that won't happen, something is always in the way making for slow going, but yeah, the passage space is real. Unfortunately, Sal's building doesn’t have anything like that we can use.”

  Shortly after midnight Baby‑Sister and PJ showed up. Baby‑Sister had a new coffee maker in a box, filters, and a can of coffee. “Hello, ladies. Anything important happen this evening?

  PJ unloaded a bag with a bottle of ranch dressing, and a couple premade mixed green salads in clear p
lastic boxes.

  “Yes, the first two of the Billings' girls came out at a quarter to ten, and the second two about thirty five minutes later,” Deja said. “Both times they took a taxi and both times they had a tail. One was a pickup, the other a white puddle jumper similar to our Toyota.”

  Michelle said, “Uncle G sent a text saying he was in Houston. I assume he sent it to you too.”

  “We've talked a few times,” Baby‑Sister said. “He rented a room and will crash there later tonight after keeping an eye on the building where they have the women for a while. He wants to see if they put anyone working the streets straight away. I haven't heard from him in about an hour. Nothing had happened when we last talked.”

  “When you do, tell him to leave the car and fly back,” Michelle said. “Tell him not to check it in. Walk by and drop the keys and contract in the slot at the Alamo counter when they are busy with a line of customers.”

  “Alamo? I thought you rented it from Avis?” Baby‑Sister asked.

  “The rental companies will straighten it out,” Michelle said. “I'm sure people turn in the wrong keys occasionally. With the shit that happened with Deja, the cops might have the plates on their security cam, and I don't want the clerks to remember him turning the car in.”

  “Those salads look good. Where did you buy them?” Deja asked.

  “Walmart. They're open all night.” PJ said.

  Deja looked at Michelle. “Do you mind stopping on the way? I'd like something fresh to eat before crashing?”

  “Sounds good,” Michelle said. “We might as well pick up stuff for the next couple days. If you guys think of anything you want, send me a text. Okay, we're out of here. Don't hesitate to call if something strange happens or you need anything.”

  .

  Twenty: Arrested

  THE SHORT CHECKOUT LINE at Walmart moved at the typical snail’s pace. The woman at the front had emptied about half of her full basket and seemed stalled out.

  Checking the surrounding lines, Michelle counted the number of people waiting at the five open cashiers and four self‑serve checkout points. Moving to a different line wouldn't help. Due to the late hour, moms with kids were absent, but still, all the lines held a mixture of late night serious shoppers and gaunt-faced individuals with a hand full of items.

  The constant beeping of the scanners suggested a faster checkout speed than was real. Boredom ruled the lines. Somewhere Michelle read year‑over‑year sales were down for the retail giant. Business seemed good tonight. Not exactly crowded, it was busy for being well after midnight.

  A few minutes earlier, Deja stepped out of line to go pick up some ice cream while Michelle waited. Michelle saw her come around the corner of the aisle and head toward her.

  The sound of keys jingling and leather creaking came from behind her. It was the sound of cops when they walk. Michelle followed the sound looking up and over the top of a battery display. Two cops walked toward Deja. All of Michelle's alert signals flashed, and her heart rate jumped. She turned to see what Deja was doing. Deja had stopped and stood still while the officers headed her way. They walked up to her.

  The female cop stopped in front of Deja and the other, a man, stepped off to the side and took one step past her. The cop in front asked, “Are you Deja Washington?”

  “Yes.”

  The same cop said, “Miss Washington, put the ice cream on the floor and put your hands behind your back.”

  Without a word, Deja did as she was instructed.

  When she stood up, the cop who went past her earlier, stepped in and cuffed her. The female cop in front said, “Deja Washington, you are under arrest for the murders of Shontay Wilson and Jeremy Woodrow in Billings, Montana.”

  In a ripple effect moving out from those closest to Deja, everybody and everything in that part of the store stopped. Like everyone else, Michelle watched as the cop cuffed Deja. When Deja made eye contact, Michelle made the phone sign with her thumb by her ear and little finger by the corner of her lips, and mouthed “Call me.”

  Deja nodded once slowly and looked back at the cop who was reading her, her rights.

  “Do you understand these rights?” the cop asked.

  “I want an attorney,” Deja responded.

  * * *

  G‑Baby and Baby‑Sister met Michelle in the short term parking lot at the Tulsa International Airport. They were the only people in the lot. No other cars joined them or even passed by while they stood in front of their cars. Lost in thought while the others talked, Michelle heard a single night bird. The bird’s song sounded strange in place of the normal den of noise surrounding the airport. In another hour or so, the noise would return.

  At 3:30 AM the terminal remained open, but no flights came or went. Michelle’s flight, the first available, departed a few minutes after five.

  “How in the world did they connect Deja to Billings?” PJ asked. “She never shot her gun or did anything to leave a trace of her being there. It doesn't make any sense for them to arrest her for killing those assholes. Plus it wasn't murder. It was a fair fight that they started.”

  “Yeah, they shot first,” Baby‑Sister added.

  “Those things don't matter,” G‑Baby said. “We went with guns. As far as the law is concerned, certainly in places like Montana anyway, they had the right to protect themselves. But that's not the point. Why Deja?”

  “The only thing that makes sense is something to do with the gun she dropped,” PJ said.

  “That's right, I shot it a couple times at that back door of the middle trailer and didn't pick up the casings,” G‑Baby said. “They could identify it easy enough. The question is, why would they even check? Tulsa is a long way away from Billings and the two situations are completely different.”

  Michelle checked, she had a plenty of time left. “They had help. Somebody told the police where to look.”

  “Who? The Tulsa police?” PJ asked.

  “Maybe. I doubt it. It's more likely Galletti had someone call Billings. With the double murders to solve they're the ones who are motivated to chase this down. In fact, I'd bet the local police didn't even run a ballistics test on Deja's gun until Detective Thompson busted their asses about it.”

  “Who's Detective Thompson and why would he know about Deja?” G‑Baby asked.

  “Thompson’s a she, and is on the case in Billings. We talked once. She sounded pretty sharp.”

  “She?” G‑Baby asked.

  “Um huh. She called me on one of the burners from our trip out of Billings. The call came when we were in Los Angeles. It wouldn't be a stretch for her to run Deja's prints out there and come up with her arrest record for attempted murder.”

  “Damn, this keeps going from bad to worse,” PJ said.

  Michelle checked the time again even though she knew only a few minutes had passed since she last checked it. “This is where we stand. It takes time to go through all the preliminary crap with the legal system. With the murder charge, they won't let her out on bail. I'll talk to Trevon about who to hire so she has a local attorney.”

  Michelle paused a moment then went on. “This had to be Galletti. He's pulling the strings here. He's making us weak by breaking up the team. But it's a two-way street.”

  “I don't see it,” PJ said.

  “Jack‑Move is here where he doesn't have any real history with the players. Basically, he's isolated so will be easier to reach. Galletti is back in Houston. I can move on each of them alone. I'm going to set things up for Deja and check in with Nikky. PJ, you're good here.” She looked at G‑Baby and Baby‑Sister. “What about you guys? Are you good being away any longer?”

  “We’re here for the duration. Those women are still held in slavery. That hasn't gone away,” G‑Baby said.

  “Good. I should only be gone a day or two, three at the most. Keep an eye on Sal's and clock anything you can about Jack‑Move. And, for God's sake, don't do anything that will make you visible. We can learn enough watching from the
apartment. Don't go out on the streets—not yet.”

  Michelle hugged G‑Baby, Baby‑Sister and PJ and walked to the crossing heading in to catch her flight. She still had over an hour before her flight, but wanted the time alone to think.

  Several hours later she walked through the terminal doors at LAX to be assaulted by the roar and diesel fumes of two departing buses. The line of taxis started a few hundred feet to her left.

  “Where to,” the driver said already pulling away from the curb into the bright Los Angeles smog filtered sunlight.

  “Scott's Diner, Playa Del Rey.” She always had taxis drop her off at Scott's and walked the five minutes up the hill to her place. It was one small step of insulation if there ever was an investigation. Though they never talked about it, she knew she could count on Scott to tell the cops nothing and warn her if they ever came in asking questions.

  Michelle rounded the corner onto her street. A half block up, two Chrysler Crossfires were parked in front of her cottage. One silver convertible and a shiny black hardtop. Nikky got out of her hardtop and met Michelle midway. After they hugged, Nikky said, “What a mess.”

  “I couldn't agree more. Fortunately, I have some ideas.”

  Inside Michelle's living room the conversation had gone on long enough for the ice in their drinks to melt. Nikky took the drinks into the kitchen to dump them. She came back with fresh glasses of iced tea. “You're the boss. You're the one with the experience and knows how to do these things. But, no, I can't let you do that.”

  “We've been over this several times, and it's the only way,” Michelle said.

  “I don't care. You can't push us out on this. I'm sick that Deja is back in jail. But let's be honest. The only reason she was with you is because I'm still not a hundred percent after Houston. You need my help. Plus, there is no way the others will let you go alone.”

  “It's not your choice. If I choose to go it alone, there isn't anything you or the others can do about it.”

  “We can still do the job ourselves. All of us are committed to getting those women out. If it means you need to do your lone assassin thing while we do our team thing, then that's what it means.”