“Not yet. But I do have a couple questions.”
“Okay; let me order breakfast first.” Michelle grabbed her phone and called Scott’s Diner.
“Ready?” he asked when she put her phone down.
“Shoot. I’ll answer if I can.”
“Are you in a committed relationship that you can’t get out of?”
“Nope. And last night doesn’t count as one.”
“Good on both counts. Are you blowing me off, or do I have a chance at another time?”
“I do have a plane to catch and business at the other end that I’d rather skip but can’t. Absolutely, I’d like to hook up when I come back.”
“Wonderful. Everything else is just details.”
“With that settled, I’ll make coffee, you go get our breakfast.”
Another beautiful Southern California fall morning promised hazy sun and cool breezes. Matt walked into Scott's. “Good Morning, you must be Scott?”
“Yup, in the flesh. How can I help you this morning?”
“I'm supposed to tell you . . . I have a note. Apparently, I’m not trusted to remember a phoned-in order.” Matt grinned. “I feel like a school kid with a note from his mom. But orders are orders, and I was told to read this to you.” He pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket and read, “A+. Two regulars, no coffee.”
“Your note says A+?”
“Yeah. I don't have any idea what that means. I thought it had something to do with the breakfast. It doesn't?”
“Who sent the note?”
“A lady named Michelle. She lives close by and talked like she knows you.”
“Sure, I know Michelle. Pretty Black woman, lives up the hill. I like to think we're friends.”
“I'm Matt.” He held out his hand. “Glad to meet you.”
Scott reached over and shook Matt's hand. “Good to meet you.”
“Do you mind putting the bill on my card? I pretty much spent all my cash last night and haven't found an ATM yet,” Matt said.
After Matt left with the breakfast Scott made a note on the pad by the register. “Matt: I agree, solid A.”
.
Twenty-Two: Who's Who
AFTER A QUICK ROUND of hugs, Nikky arched an eyebrow and surveyed the dingy tiny observation apartment across from Sal's. “I love what you've done with the place.”
Michelle pointed to a roach casually twitching its antennae as it climbed up the grease spattered wall behind the equally dingy stove. “They don't allow pets because they come with the place. Actually, I'm grateful for the roaches. This was the only place available that would make a good observation point, and I'm pretty sure our new pets are part of why there are vacancies here. This is without a doubt the worst dump in the area.”
PJ sat down by the front window and called Nikky over to join her. “This is the best view of the street and Sal's.” She went on to explain the points of interest, what doors led to where, which cars belonged to his crew, etcetera.
“That's the basic observation from this point,” Michelle said. “It's good but limited, and we don't know near enough. We need to figure out how to either find a snitch or set up sound to hear what they're talking about before making any decisions on which way to move.”
“While you guys flew in this morning, PJ learned something significant,” G‑Baby said. “She saw Jelena.”
“That's good news,” Michelle said.
“Yes, but you're not going to like what you see. We have pictures.”
Michelle and Deja both looked at PJ. “What?”
“She's been beaten pretty bad.”
A couple of the photos showed her face. Nasty bruises surrounded both eyes and covered the whole left side of her face. Her lips were cracked and scabbed.
“How was she moving? Did she hold her side or limp?” Michelle asked.
“She moved okay, no limp or noticeable extra care,” PJ said. “But, these photos don't show the bruises on her hands and wrists. She had on long sleeves so I couldn't see her arms. From what I did see, it looked like the bruises went up both arms. All of us girls who worked for Jimmy had those one time or another from covering up when he got to slapping us around. Most pimps will stop at the arms. Johns won't go with a woman with a fucked up face.”
Michelle saw Baby‑Sister and G‑Baby were both quite upset. “We expected something like this. That's one of the reasons we took over the girls back in Anglewatts. We wanted to save them from horrible pimps as well as give them better choices.”
“Expecting it doesn't make it right.” Anger flashed in Baby‑Sister’s face.
“No, it doesn't. It does remind us how important it is to move as fast as we can. In the meantime, we need to send her a message. Not much, just enough to let her know we're here.”
“She hasn't made a single post since they were grabbed back in Cheyenne,” Nikky said. He’s keeping them off‑line so posting on Facebook won't work.”
Without turning away from the window, PJ said, “Old school works. I can talk to one of the locals. She'll see me as a sister in arms. We've all been in need so it should be easy to find someone to pass a simple message to the Russians on the street. Their tails shouldn't be suspicious if they see someone who they've seen around talking to one of the Russian girls. They won't notice a couple hookers passing the time.”
“That's good,” Michelle said. “Do it tonight. Now, about our other problem.”
“What's that? Baby‑Sister asked.
“We need information. Any ideas?”
The team spent the next hour making suggestions and plans on how to put the best suggestions into action.
* * *
Michelle and G‑Baby sat in the parked car across the street from the Chicken Hut. In spite of the cold wind, both the driver and passenger side windows were down.
“I don’t smell anything,” Michelle said. “Do you?”
“Trees and the street,” G‑Baby said.
“No, I mean, I don’t smell the food,” she said.
“You’re right. Me either. Not a good sign for a fried chicken joint.”
“Good thing we’re not here for the chicken.”
It looked like the right place. The news articles were not real clear on the location. Even if this wasn't the joint she’d researched where the shooting happened, it was the right place for what she wanted. The photo on the web showed it as a squat, square building. The reality lived up to the picture. The small building sat in the middle of a larger lot with nothing on either side or behind it and a little off the street with room for a few cars to park in the dirt parking lot. The order and pick‑up windows were walk‑up only, on the front wall. The whole thing looked like it came out of a Hollywood movie set for a B movie from the fifties.
A few locals had come and gone when an older teenager with the right type of tattoos on his neck and arms pimp-walked up to the order window. Michelle nodded, G‑Baby nodded in return. Leaving G‑Baby in the driver's seat, Michelle walked across the street and up to the young man. “Is this the place?”
His eyes roamed up and down, he smiled and asked, “What place?”
“You know, the place where some guy was shot and people stepped over him to pick up their food from the window.”
“Yeah, this is the place. He was a punk ass. Ain't nobody gonna diss anyone with real juice. Not with no shit like that.”
Michelle smiled. She pretended to be interested in him. “Are you one of the homies from around here?”
“Yeah, this is my hood. Me and my homies, we own this set.” A counter extended past the order and pick‑up windows running along the front of the building. He stepped in a little closer, leaned against the counter, and smiled. “Since you're interested about things, how about we go to my crib where I can get to know you better?”
Michelle put her purse on the counter next to his elbow and started digging. “I thought you might be willing to spend a little time telling me about current events.” She nodded toward her op
en bag while jiggling her hand. She kept her eyes glued to his face as he followed her nod and his eyes widened. She leaned over and whispered, “Run, and they'll be stepping over your body.”
In a short half-second his surprise by the silenced gun pointing at him registered on his face, then a moment of indecision, and last, a cunning acceptance settled in his eyes. “Say Ma, you don't need no gun to talk.”
“We'll see. You run, you’re shot. Today, shot means dead. I can't leave witnesses. Or, you can come with me, tell me what I need to know and walk away with a little cash.”
“Bullshit. You ain’t never shot no‑one, never gonna neither.”
Michelle stepped back three paces out of arms reach and slid the purse off the counter. “Five.”
With her hand still in her purse, she shot into the ground between his feet. “Four, three.” She raised the purse, so the hole from the bullet came level with his face. “Two—”
“How much?” he asked.
“See, I knew you were the right guy to talk to. As they say here in Oklahoma, this isn't your first rodeo.”
“I ain't no cracker doing no rodeo shit, but yeah, this ain't the first time a gun's been pulled on me. So, how much?”
“We'll discuss your fee later. Right now, we're going over to that blue Toyota across the street.” She kept the gun in her hand inside her bag, slipped the strap on her shoulder and motioned to the car. “Let's go.”
Under a gray sky, a cold wind blew at their backs as they crossed the street.
Forty‑five minutes later, on a deserted dirt road miles from the last house, Michelle, G‑Baby and their temporary guest stood about fifty feet away from the car. G‑Baby opened the trunk, pulled out a shovel.
With her silenced 9mm in one hand, Michelle held a hundred dollar bill in the other hand. “I don't have a lot of time. You, or someone like you, will talk to me. Your choice. Make me a happy woman and Mr. Franklin here is yours.” She smiled. “Piss me off with bullshit . . .” She pointed at the shovel. “Now talk to me.”
“You mean about that guy who was shot at the Chicken Shack?” he asked.
“Now that should irritate me. But I'll let it pass because I did bring it up. For your sake, I hope you weren't trying to misdirect the conversation. Now, talk to me.”
“Why? You’re gonna kill me anyway.”
“You don't know that,” Michelle said. “If I like what I hear, you’ll go free with a little change in your pocket. If you impress me, I might hire you for more. One thing you can count on. Another bullshit answer earns you a bullet in the leg. Any more bullshit after that, you're dead, and we have blisters from burying your dumb ass.”
“I know who you are.” He cut his eyes in a sly expression. “I didn't recognize you at first, then it came to me on the way out here. You're the bitch with a price on your head.”
“How much?”
“Fifty K.”
“So if I want to work with you and your set, I need to make it worth more than that.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” He postured with folding his arms across his chest.
It was clear to Michelle he didn’t have the juice to make things happen but she assumed he had the ear of who did. “Not a problem. What else?”
“The Italians, the ones who run downtown and most of the supply for the other operations, put out the hit.” He delivered the information like it was privileged and only he was important enough to know it.
“I knew that already,” Michelle said. “Give me what I don't know. How did you recognize me?”
G‑Baby had been leaning on the shovel handle. He stood back and stomped on the top of the metal driving the shovel into the soft dirt. “It’s easy digging here. Twenty‑five, maybe thirty minutes and I can have a good sized hole.” Both Michelle and the banger watched as he threw the shovel full of dirt aside.
“No, hey you don’t need to do that.” Trying to regain his bargaining position, the banger shuffled in place like a man about to deliver an important speech. “They put out pictures of you and two other women and two men.” The banger looked at G‑Baby. “He wasn't one of them. They were younger.”
“What else?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “What do you mean?”
“Who got the pictures?” In a small flash of insight she asked, “Where did you get them?” Michelle shifted the gun into her other hand.
“Not everybody got them. I only had them because my cousin told me about what’s up.” He shuffled, kicking dirt around with his toes.
“Why doesn’t everybody have them?” Michelle asked.
“The wops don’t like everyone. Some people are too strong for them,” he said.
“Who would that be?”
“Hoover.”
“You're Hoover?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He smiled like being Hoover Crip made him special.
“What's the problem?”
“We don’t put up with their bullshit,” he said.
Bullshit meets bullshit.
“I want to meet with your shot caller,” Michelle said. “I have an offer that will make fifty K look like lunch money. Do you know anyone who can put that kind of a meet together?”
“I can. I can make it happen.”
Michelle handed him the hundred‑dollar bill. “Let’s go.”
.
Twenty-Three: Listen To This
A YOUNG WOMAN stepped out of Sal's front door. The first full fall storm had blown through a couple days earlier. Today, Tulsa seemed determined to prove summer still held sway. Even though the midday temperature touched the high‑seventies, the fall sun held no conviction.
Dressed to match the warm day, the woman wore jeans, a loose lightweight short sleeve cotton blouse and running shoes. She carried a hand basket with sprayers and several bottles in one hand and a short aluminum three step ladder in the other. One of Sal's men slapped her on the ass as she walked by. Without turning or saying anything, she put her head down and quickly walked to an older minivan with signs on the sides and back advertising Paige’s Plants.
Michelle watched the scene below unfold. “That was rude. Worse, it looked like it might be a bad habit.” Pointing at the departing van, “She’s probably Paige. I think we need to talk to her. Did you catch the number off her sign?”
“No, she left too soon. I remembered her website. Let's see what we can learn from it.” PJ said. A few taps and scrolling on her phone later. “Here's a girl who is serious about business. She has her cell number on the front page of her site.”
Michelle dialed the number. “Paige's Plants, Paige speaking.”
“Hi Paige, I'm in town for an event I think you might be right for. Can I meet with you sometime this afternoon?”
After a couple minutes conversation, Michelle said, “She'll be free in an hour and can meet me at the Sonic Burger up north in a town called Oologah. Apparently, she has the town sewn up with her plant business. I'll be gone at least a couple hours for drive time alone. I’ll swing by and pick up Baby‑Sister or G‑Baby to go with me.”
* * *
Three hours later Michelle pulled her key out of the deadbolt, stepped in, kicked the door shut behind her, threw her keys on the couch, and less than three seconds later the bathroom door slammed.
Nikky and PJ exchanged glances. “When you gotta go, you gotta go.” Nikky chuckled.
A few minutes later Michelle came out wiping her hands on a new hand towel. “I never thought I would be so happy to see that funky nasty bathroom. What’s worse is, we already scrubbed and bleached it as good as possible. I'm beginning to think the bathroom gods hate me. I thought I'd seen the last of terrible stinking bathrooms when I left Thailand.”
“Like my momma used to say, “If you can't be a good example, then be a horrible warning.” I think she was preparing me for this place,” Nikky said.
PJ looked up from the window where she was on watch duty. “How'd it go with Paige?”
“Damn girl, are you
still on the window?” Michelle asked.
“No, Nikky's been on most of the time you were gone. I just now sat back down.”
“It went better than we could've hoped for. She's our golden girl. If it works out, we can forget trying to find someone at the laundry to bug the linens or hide the bugs in beer crates. Thank God we don't have to risk paying some banger from the Mexican gangs to drop a bug inside. All of those ideas are thankfully no longer relevant.”
Nikky slowly dropped her head asking a synchronized drawn out, “Welllll? Spill it.”
“That girl has some serious hate for Sal and his whole crew. Sometime a while back her boyfriend went into business with them. They fronted him some drugs and he sold them. That happened a few times, then apparently he disappeared, drugs and all. He went out on a run to make a payoff and pick up more supply and never came home.
Next she knows she's pissing her pants in a meeting with Sal. He tells her she owes them for the drugs her boyfriend stole. One of the guys said they should put her on the streets but she wouldn't do it. She said she'd rather be in jail than be a hooker. Sal laughed at her. He told her she had to do their plants to pay off the debt and kicked her out of his office.”
“How long has that been going on?” Nikky asked.
“A couple years. And they always give her grief. Mostly a little grab ass here and a little sex talk there. She has to go in at least a couple times a week because there's no sunlight for the plants in the back and she has to switch them around a lot.”
“Talk about how to win friends and influence people,” Nikky said. “These guys missed that class.”
“It's a good thing too. When I asked her for help with letting me put a bug in some of the plants, she didn't want anything to do with it because they would learn how we got the information during their trial.”
Nikky cocked her head and asked, “What trial?”
“Exactly! She thought I was an undercover cop. You should've seen her face when I told her we here to run those assholes out of town. It was like I was the second coming. She's totally in. She even apologized for not being able to go into Sal's back office because she only has plants in the restaurant area.”
Hard Run: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #4 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series) Page 16