PJ reached over and made a note on the pad. Still holding the pad, she said, “The first taxi pulled out and, now, there goes the pickup.” She added to her note, put the pen down, and leaned back in the chair keeping an eye on the street below. “Did she understand someone else will take over when Sal is gone?”
“She was up on that. When she understood we were not here to take over, but to push them out for payback on crimes committed against our people, she wanted me to guarantee the new people would kill Sal and every one of his crew.”
“That's pretty emotional. Do you think she’ll be stable and not talk?” Nikky asked.
“She didn't strike me as the flighty type. Also, I believe she really hates them.”
PJ looked up from the window. “Why, because she does their plants or the grab ass?”
“She thinks they killed her boyfriend and all this shit is their sick idea of a joke.”
“I'd hate them for that,” PJ agreed.
“Isn't it nice how, what goes around comes around,” Nikky said.
“And it's our turn to help a little payback come around for some deserving assholes.” Michelle smiled.
* * *
Four days later they had five fully functioning microphones inside of Sal's Italian restaurant, Savini.
Even though Paige told them she had never seen any indication they did a sweep or were high-tech at all, they were all worried. The first day had been a day of nerves waiting to see if the guys on Sal's crew would sweep for bugs. So far so good. It was time to set up the complete system and start monitoring.
Each microphone fed into a DJ style mixing board where they could control the volumes of any area. Michelle smiled like a proud parent. “Viola! Surround sound. Okay, everyone gather round, and I'll show you how all this stuff works.”
Over the next forty-five minutes, each of the four members of Michelle's team, Nikky, PJ, Baby‑Sister, and G‑Baby took turns in the student's chair running through the operations, making notes and mastering the ability to focus on a specific conversation.
“In a short time, less than a day, you'll be comfortable with skimming the feeds to pick out the important conversations,” Michelle said. “When you're focused on one conversation, it's too hard to monitor a second. Don't try or I’ll guarantee you'll miss stuff. Turn it up, or hit the mute buttons on the other feeds. All the lines are being recorded real time so we can go back and listen to what was going on when you had them muted.”
“Damn, this espionage shit is hard work,” Baby‑Sister said. “Keeping all of this going at the same time is giving me a headache.”
“Welcome to the modern day, high tech, underground railroad,” Michelle said.
“I bet this would've given Harriet Tubman the same headache,” Baby‑Sister said.
“Probably, and from what I've read, she would've done it anyway,” Michelle replied.
“Oh, all right!” Baby‑Sister said. “I'll take the first turn on duty. But I do have one question.”
“Shoot.”
“This place stinks. I mean it literally stinks. How long do you think we have to stay here?”
Michelle paused, thought for a moment, and then replied, “The easy answer you already know is, nobody knows, but based on the few times I've done something like this, I usually heard something important in a day or two. The longest I had to listen was about a week.
“When we were listening in on Ascia, we had a long break because he left the country, so that time didn't count. Even then, we had real useful information in a few days of actual listening. All of that to say, my best guess is about a week.” Michelle smiled an apology at Baby‑Sister because she knew the news wouldn’t be gratefully received.
G‑Baby pulled Michelle off to the side. “You told Baby‑Sister in a week or so we're going to find out how many people they have and about most of their operation. Then it'll be time to make a move. Have you thought much about that?”
“I know, Uncle G. I'm still not convinced we should or even need to take on the full organization. At this point, I'm leaning toward taking out Jack‑Move and Sal here in Tulsa and Galletti in Houston.”
“You mean assassinate the top guys and see what happens?
Michelle winced. “I guess that's what it means.”
“You're the one who told me if you cut off the head, three more will grow in its place. If you take out the top management, it won't free those women. Jack‑Move deserves to die. The others probably do too, but, we need to be sure however we take them down also breaks out those women. Safely and permanently. I don't want a repeat of the disappointment we had in Cheyenne.” G‑Baby shifted his feet.
“Me either. I'm right with you. I'm not shirking from busting up this mess. I'm just scared. Not for myself, but for everyone else.” Michelle moved in closer and dropped her voice. “We're so out‑gunned here Unc. You and me are the only ones who've been in this kind of shit before. I've taught the others how to shoot. We both know that's not near enough when the shit actually goes down.” Michelle scratched the side of her head with a single finger then patted her hair back into place. “To face these guys, we need more firepower and experience than we have and better leadership than I can give. And that isn't the whole problem. Galletti was smart to split us up. I haven’t figured out how we can possibly take on Sal's guys here and Galletti's guys in Houston at the same time. Any action here and they’ll buckle down tight making it ten times harder to hit them later.”
“Yeah, I've been thinking about that stuff also. One thing I keep coming back to is how you've done so many things I never could. I have faith you'll figure out a way Michelle.”
“Thanks, Uncle G. Like I said, I'm scared.”
“Of course you are. Me too. But I’m just an old barber from the hood. You, you’re stronger and smarter than you think. Trust me when I say, you got this. Moving on, what about the Hoovers?”
“I talked to one of the lieutenants in the gang this morning. The shot caller is out of town, so the meet is set for next week sometime.”
“Are they blowing you off?”
“No, I had Trevon put me in touch with some of their top management in Los Angeles. He vouched for me. It's all real. They don't know what the score is, but when we meet the guy here, he’ll be someone who can put it all together. That is, if he goes for the deal.”
“I should've known you would reach to the top back home.” G‑Baby squeezed Michelle’s arm. “The people you can touch amazes me, especially since you've only been back in the States less than a year now.”
“You and me both.” Michelle laughed and rubbed her hands on her jeans. “I never would've thought it, but here we are. Working to free White women slaves. Now how is that for strange? Look, when the meeting does come down, I have a plan on how to play it, and you are a big part of it.”
“Am I going to like it?” He leaned back and gave her the cocked eyebrow stare.
“I doubt it.” She walked off to get a drink.
Baby‑Sister was right. The apartment did stink. With their new ability with the microphones to hear what was going on, they could afford to leave their look out post at the window for a couple minutes. That meant they didn't have to keep two people in the apartment for restroom or stretch breaks. With the apartment being so nasty, the window spot was by far the best seat in the house. Michelle volunteered for the first shift and sent everyone else out to enjoy dinner.
“Do you want me to do anything for the meeting?” G‑Baby asked.
“Buy a bullet proof vest.”
“What?” His voice rose along with his eyebrows.
“Just kidding,” Michelle said.
“That wasn't funny!”
“The kidding part is only about you buying it. You don't need to buy one because I already did. The serious part is about you wearing it.”
“Now you're scaring me.”
“That's not a bad idea. We don't know these guys at all. We need to be careful with them. In the meantime,
we should learn about what we're up against in Houston. The girls can take care of listening here while we run down there for a couple days.”
* * *
G‑Baby had installed a new, second deadbolt lock on the apartment door. It had to be assumed several past tenants still had keys to the old lock that showed its long tenure by the number of coats of paint on it. Michelle unlocked both locks and carried in a dark forest green blanket which she spread out over the couch and secured with large safety pins. She stood back admiring her handy‑work. “It's not as good as Gram's crocheted afghan but at least it covers that worn out upholstery.”
“Thank you! I hated to sit on that thing.” Nikky said. “Now let's put your new cover to good use. Come here” Nikky patted the couch next to her. “Have a sit and listen to this.”
“What's up?” Michelle asked.
“No, you need to hear it yourself.” Nikky fiddled with some of the buttons on the mixing board and leaned back.”
The recording was a conversation between several men, at least three, possibly four or five. “How many total?” Michelle asked.
“I don't know. How many isn't important. What they say is. Here listen to this.” Nikky turned on the feed.
“And he's dumb as a fucking doornail.” The man spoke with an east coast accent. “But you gotta agree, them Russian whores are good business.”
Nikky punched the pause button. “I don't know who's talking. But he's talking about Jack‑Move. Earlier in the conversation, it was obvious none of Sal's regular guys respect him. They all think he's stupid and a coward.”
“Does it sound like they might do something against him?” Michelle asked.
“Not really. Just what a lop‑ass he is. That isn't the important stuff.” Nikky smiled, clearly enjoying giving the information to Michelle.
“I'm sorry,” Michelle interrupted. “But if this is going to take more than a few minutes, I want something to drink.” Michelle walked to the small refrigerator. “How about you?”
“Sure, I'll have a Pepsi.”
Michelle started pouring drinks. “You can keep it going. I can hear fine from here.”
“I'll wait. You'll want to be focused for these next couple parts.”
“Couple parts?” Michelle asked.
“Yeah, there are two more things in here I think you'll want to hear.” Nikky rubbed her hands and wagged her brows like an old‑time movie villain.
“That good huh?” Smiling, Michelle brought the iced drinks into the living room and settled in. “Let's do this.”
“Hang on, I marked the counter. Let me run it up.” Nikky watched the numbers on the counter run. “There. Next, you'll hear a couple guys talking about the women, then Sal joins in.” Nikky punched the play button.
One of the men, who apparently tailed the women in the evening, talked about how watching the women in their short skirts leaving with some guy made him horny. A few other comments were made. “Here it is.” Both Nikky and Michelle recognized Sal's voice having listened to his men call him boss and his response numerous times over the past few days.
“When this whole thing blows over, and our women are back from Houston, I can tell you I'm going to buy double the number of those Russians. They're the best paying whores I've ever run. I mean, they're a fucking cash cow for this business. We should look at spreading out into some of the other cities.”
Michelle had been leaning back on the couch, legs crossed, arms spread wide resting on the back. She sat up, leaning forward, “What the fuck? Cash cow—
Nikky interrupted, holding her hand up, palm out. “Wait, there's more.”
Another familiar voice said, “Not only do they bring in the bank, it's also pretty good to go on upstairs for some house pussy when you're in the mood.”
Michelle recognized the voice. It belonged to the portly balding man who often stood outside by the front door, as he added, “These new girls are okay; not quite as good as the ones we sent down to Houston.”
The first guy responded. “Oh, man you haven’t tried all of them. That tall one with the short blonde hair. Man, you can bend her over and grab that ass. Boom! Now that is some good ass.”
Nikky stopped the recording.
A heaviness descended in the room. The light had lost all brilliance, and everything looked, smelled, and felt, dark, dank, depressed as if a fog of despair had invaded the room.
Michelle and Nikky looked at each other with red-rimmed eyes. Neither woman looked away, both stared at the other. Their drinks and earlier good mood completely forgotten. An understanding passed between them.
“They're ripping them off? Is that what they’re saying?” Michelle asked.
“That's how I read it.”
They sat together in silence a moment longer, looking at each other. Michelle began slowly shaking her head.
“I agree,” Nikky said, “we can't sit still for that, can we?” Her eyes pleaded with Michelle to agree with her.
“No, no we can't,” Michelle said quietly still taking in all she’d heard. “It's one thing for a woman to decide this is the business she's in and choose to be paid for who she screws. Making them work the streets is horrible. But this, this shit is where they live. They don’t have a single safe place. Those lowlife scummy assholes are bragging about rape. Those women are being raped. We can't sit back and act like everything’s okay. It's not, not even close.”
Michelle paced, her radiating anger filling the room. She looked at Nikky, then over at the audio system like she hated it for recording that shit.
“What are we going to do?” Nikky asked.
“My God Nikky, What was I thinking? I can't take out the top guys and leave it at that. They're all animals. What are we going to do? I'll tell you what we’re gonna do. We're gonna give them exactly what they're begging for.” Michelle walked over to the window and squinted down at Sal's front door. In a quiet, determined voice, she said, “We'll kill them all, every last one of those miserable sonuvabitches.”
.
Twenty-Four: Smoke and Mirrors
AT THE RESTAURANT, Kim Ngo in Little Saigon, Houston, everything looked like any other modest mom and pop cafe until Michelle read something, anything. Outside of brand names like Coca‑Cola and Pepsi, nothing was in English. Vietnamese restaurants thrived throughout most of the larger cities across the southern half of the States. All of the other restaurants Michelle had been in had the menus and signage in both Vietnamese and English. Often the Vietnamese dishes were explained with bits of history or other tidbits of interest to the non‑Vietnamese customers. Not here.
Fortunately, she knew enough Vietnamese language and the names of their foods to order a delicious meal. She chose a simple soup, pho, and stir-fried ginger chicken, ga gung, with a Pepsi.
When the soup came, the steam carried the distinctive scent of lemongrass. She picked out the diagonal slices of lemongrass with her chopsticks along with a few slices of ginger and made a small pile on the table, then savored the fresh noodle soup. She ate alone. G‑Baby, or anyone else, could not attend this meeting.
After she finished her meal, a teenage girl asked in broken English if she would like tea or coffee. Michelle ordered traditional Vietnamese coffee with ice and sweet condensed milk. She ordered in correct tonal Vietnamese which brought a smile to the girl’s eyes.
While waiting for her coffee, a young Vietnamese man with an unassuming appearance and demeanor sat down at her table. Without looking, she knew two or three other men would be stationed at the front door, the entrance to the kitchen, and out through the kitchen by the back door. They would be far more intimidating in appearance than the man who had joined her. He was a perfect example of how appearances could be deceiving.
“You asked to see me?” A simple, direct question. No wasted time or words. His was an invitation to talk.
“Hello, Ahn Tu. I trust your family are all healthy?” Her question showed respect for his highest priority which was family.
; “Yes. They are well. Thank you for asking.”
“I hope your businesses are also prosperous.” The statement implied value for his well-being.
“Business is good.”
“I wish all of your family is happy.” The wish showed the importance of happiness, the least of the three pillars of a well-balanced life.
“It is so. And with you? Your family and business?” His response returned the respect he had been shown. It also gave Michelle the opportunity to discuss her business which she decided to get straight into.
“Mr. Galletti, the previous boss of Mr. Ascia, has returned to Houston, and though he may be old, he has many connections. With his considerable influence, wealth, and, support he may represent a potential threat to your new business ventures.”
“We are aware of the presence of Mr. Galletti. What is your interest in his return?” Ahn Tu maintained an aloof cool and calm attitude.
“His return may be a problem for you as he is certain to attempt to re‑establish his control over the drugs of this city. His other business with women is counter to my business concerns.”
“Prostitution of non‑Vietnamese women is not my concern. How is prostitution in Houston an issue for you?”
“Prostitution is a choice, or at least in this country it's a choice. Slavery is not a choice and deeply concerns me. The Russian women who work the streets for him are slaves bought from the Russian mafia. I intend to free them.”
“That will require the elimination of the owner.” Ahn Tu stated the obvious.
“Exactly. Once again, our interests align.” Michelle smiled her best dragon lady smile.
“Miss Michelle Angelique, you are the most interesting American I have ever met. Let's discuss this further.”
* * *
Back at the hotel, Michelle fell on the bed, sprawled out and groaned. She rubbed her temples, flapped her arms out wide on the pastel quilted bedspread with gold threads, and groaned again. Then rolled over, ignoring the complaint of her back and shoulder muscles, she tapped G‑Baby’s icon on her phone. “I'm back, come on over.”
Hard Run: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #4 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series) Page 17