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

by Jason Stanley

  “They split us up. The cops arrested Deja, you're weak, and I’m out of my depth. Going stealth on a single one‑on‑one assassination is not only what I know best, but it's also the best way.”

  “Maybe it's the best way when you look at it from the small picture of taking out Jack‑Move and Galletti. But not from the bigger picture.”

  “There is no bigger picture without taking out those assholes first.”

  “Yes, there is.” Nikky untucked her legs, put her feet on the ground and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “You said it yourself. If you take out the leader of a group like this, a line of assholes are waiting to jump in to takeover. So you kill Jack‑Move. So what? Galletti is set back for about ten minutes. One phone call and he has a dozen pimps waiting to take over. Also, this is not just about those two assholes. It's about women being held as slaves. None of us can leave it to you alone. We can't do that. The bigger picture is all of us have to do something.”

  “I hear you, but I'm not convinced.”

  “You don't have to be convinced. You only have to agree to go with me to Tulsa.”

  Michelle laughed. “Now I'm going with you? Isn't that a little backward?”

  “It's only backward if you refuse to lead us.”

  “Okay, I'm still the team leader. But, I have serious reservations about how to move forward. If I see it's best to take the shot to take out Jack‑Move, that's how I'll play it.”

  “I can live with that. As long as I'm involved, and the others are too.”

  “Damn girl, I’m glad you’re on my side. Where did those negotiation skills come from?”

  “Yeah, I wonder,” Nikky said. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

  Michelle furrowed her brow in a question.

  “Grams,” Nikky said.

  “I swear that woman had a saying for everything. If you’re coming, we need to free you up from work.”

  First, you'll need to see if Miss Betty will help out while I'm gone,” Nikky said. “How about asking Trevon to help find a lawyer for Deja?”

  “Call Miss Betty and tell her I would like to talk with her this evening. I talked to Trevon. He gave me the name of an attorney in Billings.

  Michelle stood up out of her chair, picked up her shoes and headed toward the bedroom. “Give me twenty minutes. I'm going to take a quick shower and put on some fresh clothes.”

  Nikky tapped the face of her phone. “We’re good to go. Miss Betty is home and said we can drop in any time. We’ve got a few hours to kill before I can set things up with the girls, so they know I’ll be gone for a while.” She arched one eyebrow. “Do you want to reach out and touch someone? Maybe Trevon or Daryl?”

  “Oh, how sweet. You're worried about getting me laid. Or do you think you'll soften me up with a little sex?”

  “Am I right?”

  “Half right,” Michelle answered. “The half that thinks I haven’t taken time to get laid and have a strong desire for some good loving. Yeah, that half is right. The part about putting me in a better mood is also right. But that piece about changing my mind? Not gonna happen.”

  Nikky smiled and with her index finger, fired an imaginary shot at Michelle.

  “You don’t know me as well as you think.” Michelle countered.

  “Well enough to know you’ve been super busy being super responsible and in need of some good sex,” Nikky said.

  “Saying a girl wants a little loving is like saying the sun will come up in the morning.”

  “Play it off all you want. I clocked you, and there’s no getting around it.”

  “You’re right about being horny, but you know what I’d really like to do?”

  “Make buttermilk?”

  “What? No. I’d like to go catch some good music where I can unwind and let my mind rest. I know a great place not too far from Miss Betty’s.”

  Michelle pulled out her credit card. “Here, while I’m in the shower, call the Barbara Morrison Performing Arts Center and get two tickets for us.”

  “Do you want to see if Trevon or Daryl can meet us there?”

  “No. I need some down time where I can get lost in the music. I’ll make up my mind about what to do after the show.”

  “Fair enough,” Deja said. “We have women to meet, music to listen to, and possibly men to ravage. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  .

  Twenty-One: Who's This?

  AFTER MEETING WITH Miss Betty, Michelle and Nikky drove their own cars to the Barbara Morrison Performing Arts Center. Michelle got there first and went in to pick up the tickets. The short line had three people, an older couple and a single White man. He absolutely looked out of place.

  The man stood looking off to the side so, if he noticed, he would see Michelle out of his peripheral vision as she walked up.

  “Are you sure you know where you are?” Michelle asked the man who, judging by his clothes and race was either lost, or confused about the neighborhood.

  “I've been here before,” he said.

  “Really? Why?”

  He turned around looking at Michelle. It wasn't anything hostile; a slight tightening around the edges of his eyes told her he was ready to defend his turf. At the moment his turf was picking up his ticket at the will call counter.

  “I've been here before,” he repeated. Completing the turn, he made eye contact with Michelle. The tightness around his eyes softened and with a slight, almost unnoticeable, tilt of his head a small smile touched the corners of his mouth.

  “You’re telling me history, not an answer,” she said with a bit of a twinkle in her eye. A small tease—open to interpretation.

  “You're right. It is history. And tonight, history is about to repeat. Only now it looks like it'll repeat more pleasantly than before. To answer your question, I'm a fan of Barbara's. I try to catch her show when I'm in town.

  The older couple walked away, and the middle-aged woman behind the counter caught Michelle's eye.

  “I think she wants your name.” Michelle nodded to the woman at the counter behind him.

  “Excuse me.” He turned around to take his ticket.

  Michelle examined him while his back was turned to her. He could have come out of a LL Bean advertisement. Comfortable looking tan casual pants, something between slacks and jeans but more upscale than Dockers. He had on a medium‑weight blue denim shirt. Light brown sporty soft leather shoes. She leaned forward, sniffed and noted a light hint of cologne. It was something real. She didn’t detect any of the peppery overtones of cheap knockoffs. Somehow it all came together as expensive without advertising it. Tasteful without announcing it. Sort of like class and good taste was expected or even assumed and didn't need to be stated.

  This guy was not in his normal element. Not only was he White, he was real White. In fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Strange, he seemed perfectly calm and comfortable being the only White person in the place.

  Michelle felt as much as she heard Nikky come through the front doors. She idly wondered about the out of place White guy standing in front of her as Nikky walked up behind her. “Perfect timing. The show starts in a few minutes.”

  The man stepped aside from the ticket agent, turned to face Michelle and put out his hand, “I'm Matt.”

  She shook his offered hand. “I'm Michelle.”

  “Glad to meet you, Michelle. Perhaps we can continue our conversation after the show. That is, if it isn't too much of an interruption on a girl's night out.”

  Strong features, good looking but not Hollywood handsome, his striking eyes shined with intelligence and curiosity. His sandy brown hair, highlighted with almost blond streaks, was cut medium length and looked like he combed it with his fingers. Not quite the unkempt look, he was clean shaven except for a full trimmed mustache. At about five feet eleven inches or possibly six feet, with broad shoulders on an average build, he looked trim like a swimmer or tennis player.

  “Perhaps?” Michelle teased.
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  “Perhaps . . . Tell you what, here's my card. Now you have my number. I'd like to buy you a drink after the show, or some other time. Call me, or toss the card, your choice. I'd like it if you choose to call.” His smile crinkled the edges of his eyes lighting up his whole face.

  “Thanks for the number. Perhaps I'll take you up on your offer,” Michelle’s smile, though not as big as his, was genuine.

  “Please do.”

  Like a poor distant relative who is present but not noticed, Nikky watched the conversation.

  He nodded and stepped away. The nod may have been for both of them. His eyes remained fixed on Michelle.

  “Whoa, girl. Those were about the bluest eyes I've ever seen. There definitely was some heat for you in them too.” Nikky bugged her eyes big making her point.

  “We were talking before you came in. I kind of asked him what was a White boy like him doing here. I think I wasn't the first. You know, a guy looking all White like him, coming to a place like this is gonna have to deal with some rubbing by the brothers. He said he'd been here before. I think he was ready for a little push back then something changed his mind. It was nice.”

  “Maybe he's been here before, but I haven't been here before. Hell, I haven't been anywhere that costs forty dollars to see a show,” Nikky said.

  “You're in for a treat. It doesn't matter that you're not into old‑school blues like me. You still gonna enjoy this big time because Barbara has some real pipes on her. You’re gonna love it. Guaranteed,” Michelle said.

  The seats in the modest sized center ranged from good to great to excellent. Matt sat front row center only a couple of seats to the left from Michelle and Nikky. Michelle checked him out a few times during the show. His head, shoulders, and at times, whole body moved to the beat. Michelle saw Barbara make eye contact with Matt and smile.

  They must know each other.

  At the end of the show, Michelle noted Matt appeared at ease while he chatted with a couple of the band members.

  Michelle and Nikky walked out to the front of the club. “Well, what did you think?” Michelle asked.

  “I gotta say that was jamming,” Nikky said. “You were right, Barbara can make it happen. How are you feeling?”

  “Better, thanks. I needed that. I was pretty strung out earlier. Now I feel like a little action to cap the night, and I’ll be ready to deal with Galletti and all his bullshit.”

  “Good. We’re set for tomorrow, right?” Nikky asked.

  “Yeah, our flight is at 9:20.”

  Nikky paused a moment. “It’s the right decision. We have to do this thing, and you are the only one who can lead us. Now you go have a good time, I’m headed over to the center to talk to the girls and set things up to be gone.”

  Michelle didn't want to call Trevon. Things there were strange. She was pissed about what had happened. From the beginning, they had made it clear theirs was only a physical relationship. But, the truth of it was, she felt something more and knew he did too. She needed to better understand what was going on and didn't want to cloud the issue with sex. Tonight was about sex, and she didn’t want to cloud that with emotions. Absolutely, calling Trevon was out.

  She pulled out her cell and called Daryl. “Hey, what's up? Do you have some free time this evening?”

  “Ooooooh. You've made a perfectly miserable evening worse than I thought possible,” Daryl said. “I'm in Reno at a training session with my company.”

  “A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. I'm flying out tomorrow and will catch you on the flip side.” She hung up.

  Matt, the guy from earlier, stepped out the front doors of the center and made eye contact with Michelle. A small, friendly smile touched his eyes as he nodded and said, “Think about that call,” and took a step away.

  “What? You not even gonna try?” Michelle asked.

  He stopped, looked back at her, and said, “I already did. The ball's been in your court since I gave you my number.”

  “That's it?” she asked.

  “I don’t like to push. I gave you the option to make a choice, and I meant it. I said I was interested and I meant that as well. Now it's up to you. Also, I'll learn if you're the woman I think, hope, you are. Or I'll learn if you're a woman who is more interested in talking than doing.”

  “Your car or mine?” She arched a single eyebrow.

  Matt grinned like a little boy getting a new bike. “Mine. It isn't the type of car to leave on the streets all night.” He said nodding at a dark green old fashioned sports car parked next to her Crossfire.

  Both cars were two seat convertibles with the tops down. The similarities ended there. Hers was silver, modern, fast, sleek with a low‑to‑the‑ground hungry stance, as sexy as hell. His was old, antique old. It looked like it should be in an Indiana Jones movie, not on the streets of the hood.

  That explains the messy hair and leather jacket.

  “Mine either.” She nodded at her Crossfire.

  “Door three, both cars,” He said.

  “What's that?”

  “Door three?” “The Price is . . .” He rolled his hand with expectation. “Right.”

  “No silly, I know where door three is from. Your car, what is it?”

  “It's a 1955 MG TF. It was made in England.”

  “And it still runs?”

  “Yeah, most of the important parts are new so it runs fine. It's a whole different perspective than your Crossfire.

  “You don't say?” she deadpanned.

  “Stating the obvious . . . Sorry. I guess I'm rambling because for all my posturing a minute ago, I'm not too sure of what to say. That happens when I want to impress someone. You'd think by now I'd be over it. I still get a little tongue-tied when it's important.”

  “So you want to impress me, huh?” she teased.

  “Still stating the obvious and yes. I like the way you . . . Well, I like what I know of you so far and want to know more. How about I dig out of this hole and suggest we get that drink. Are you familiar with the Candy Shack?”

  “Sure I know it. It's a good spot. But I'm more in the mood for something a bit closer to home. Do you know the Speakeasy in Venice?”

  “Not yet. But, I'm looking forward to it already. I'll follow you, okay?”

  “Can you keep up?” Michelle climbed in and started the powerful engine.

  Matt closed her door and stepped back. “Keep up? With music and on the dance floor, sure. On the freeway following a Crossfire? Only if you want me to.”

  On the freeway, Michelle held her Crossfire to a modest sixty. The cool Los Angeles night air felt fresh on her face. She checked the mirror to see if Matt in his little vintage English car followed. He did.

  Michelle waited for Matt to give his keys to the Valet. When he finished, she asked, “Dinner, Dancing or Drinks?”

  He met her question with a big grin. “Dancing always, Drinks are fine, Dinner is done, but I’ll be glad to buy you something if you’re hungry.” He held his arm out in an old-fashioned gentlemanly manner. “Shall we?”

  Sliding her hand into the crook of his arm, she pulled close and got a whiff of his aftershave again.

  Matt nursed a single scotch for over an hour. Between dances, he drank a couple bottles of water.

  “You don’t drink much,” Michelle pointed to the remains of his scotch.

  “Not often and certainly not tonight.”

  “Why not?” Michelle sipped her Courvoisier.

  Matt looked up like he was making up his mind. “I’d like to ask you to spend the night at my hotel. If you say yes, then I don’t want too much booze to, umm. Let me put it this way, I’d rather have doubles later than double scotches now.”

  “And if I say no.” An impish smile touched Michelle’s eyes.

  “Then I’ll wake up with a clear head and have memories of a remarkable evening with an amazing woman.”

  She met his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes. I live close
by. Let’s go to my place.”

  * * *

  Michelle rinsed the toothpaste out of her mouth and stuck her head out of the bathroom door. “Hey sleepyhead, time to wake up.”

  “I’m awake,” Matt said. “Just enjoying my ruminations about last night?”

  “Oh God,” Michelle groaned. “Not you too. What’s ruminations mean?”

  “Not me what?” Matt asked.

  “Big words. And you didn’t answer my question. What’s ruminations.”

  “To ruminate is to mull over memories. At least it is for humans.”

  “What, do you mean for humans? No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

  “Okay, what do you want to know?” Matt asked.

  “Breakfast. Are you hungry? I can make us some coffee and order take‑out from the diner down the hill.”

  “This might be pushing things, but how about we hop in my car and head up the coast. Can you take the day off?”

  “I don’t know you well enough to trust you to take me anywhere in a car that is older than both of us combined,” Michelle said.

  “Lots of new parts. It’s good for the soul to get out, go slow up a winding road with the wind in your hair. How about it?”

  Michelle came out of the bathroom and hopped on the bed, kissed him a quick peck on the lips and sat back. “I can’t go. I can’t tell you how good it sounds, but I have a plane to catch in a couple hours.”

  Matt propped his pillow behind him and pushed up to sit against the headboard. He stretched and put his clasped hands behind his head. Hair tasseled, striking blues eyes, well‑muscled stomach with the sheet covering his lap, he looked like a scene out of a summer blockbuster.

  “You didn’t ask, but here’s the short version,” Matt said. “My dad is a blues musician, and I grew up around bars and blues music. My folks divorced when I was nine, and my mom remarried into old money. They’re loaded, I’m not. I’m single, never married. Close once, but we called it off in time. There is nobody important in my life right now. I travel a lot with my work and last, but not least, I would like to get to know you better.”

  “Wow. I hope you’re not expecting something like that from me.”