A short minute later he tapped on the door.
“Just push, it’s open,” she yelled through the door.
Michelle reached down, untied her laces and kicked off her Nike’s. She pulled out the overstuffed pillows from under the bedspread for a seat back and leaned against the headboard. “These lousy pillows are hard as a rock.”
G‑Baby came in and sat in the upholstered chair in the corner. “How did it go?”
“Good. They're in. I'm exhausted. Working with this guy is like chiseling granite with a toothpick. At least, when it's done, it's fully done.”
“Aren't they all like that? Tuan can be pretty exacting.”
Michelle pulled her legs up and hugged her knees.
“That's the American businessman in him. Back in Vietnam, they're the opposite. They rush to make the deal then when the contract is signed they change it, and change it and change it. They renegotiate everything a thousand times after the deal is supposedly done. Not Ahn Tu. I swear to God he could give the Japanese lessons on negotiating down to the gnat’s ass before signing.”
“But we're good right?”
“Yes, we're good. Now we need to be seen by Galletti or his people. Thankfully, that has to wait until tomorrow. I’d like to get out of the hotel for something to eat. I’ve already pushed my luck spending time in Little Saigon. How about running down to Galveston for some fresh seafood?”
“Music to my ears.” G‑Baby grinned. “It's not like this place is a dive or anything, but I’m bored to tears staying in the room all day.”
Michelle and G‑Baby drove to Galveston, took the bridge over to Bolivar Peninsula and started looking for a place to eat. They passed several restaurants with boarded up windows and 'Closed for the winter' signs. Eventually, they found a large newer restaurant built up on tall posts in the fashion common to the area. Fashion had nothing to do with building on stilts. Frequent flooding made any other construction style foolish. And stilts had nothing to do with the quality of food which turned out to be excellent. Michelle and G‑Baby attacked their dinners with joy.
G‑Baby paused between bites. “These crabs are the best.”
“It's a good thing too,” Michelle replied. “Out here where fresh seafood is the big deal, you expect the place to somehow look like, I don't know, fishing or boats or something. Other than the sea view, this place could be in Kansas. It has absolutely no personality.”
“With these crabs, they don't need to have ambiance. The food is the ambiance. Not to change the subject away from this stimulating conversation, but about tomorrow. Do you think purposely showing your face to people who want to remove it is a good idea?” G‑Baby cracked the shell on a crab leg and dug out the white meat.
“No, not at all. The whole thing goes against every fiber in my being. So, good idea? No. Necessary? I think so. The best idea I have? Unfortunately, it is. I'm happy to listen to suggestions.”
“Did I tell you these crabs are fantastic?” G‑Baby wiped melted butter off his chin. “And fun to eat as well.”
“Perhaps you mean, fun to wear?”
G‑Baby held up pieces of crab leg next to his ear lobes like they were earrings. “Only the finest in accessories for the discerning man about town.”
Michelle laughed. “You do wear them well.”
The lighthearted moment was a needed distraction. But Michelle still needed to focus on the business at hand. Her idea was to have some of Galletti's men see her. She wanted them to believe she and her crew had abandoned Tulsa for Houston. After a week of listening to conversations with Sal's men, she knew they hadn't seen her and believed she wasn't in Tulsa. She trusted they would tell Galletti she had left. Letting them see her would be easy. If they decided to chase her, which she was sure they would, a clean escape might prove to be a whole different issue.
* * *
The next afternoon, Michelle stood outside the rear service entrance to the hotel waiting for the waitress to signal the men inside had finished their lunch. Full stomachs would slow them down. Not much, but hopefully enough. She mentally walked herself through each of the steps. Everything was in place.
Earlier, Michelle had wondered if it was a risk asking the waitress for help. It turned out the waitress knew the men by sight and was more than happy to cause them some small amount of grief. Apparently, they made an art of being rude to all the waitresses in the place.
She glanced at the rented motorcycle; more a scooter than a proper motorcycle. Today she had to be a better rider and do it faster than ever before. The ignition was hot‑wired so didn't need a key. It sat parked face out, prepared for either a fun run or the ride of her life. She hoped and feared it would be the latter.
The motorbike, an important part of her plan, was one more thing that scared her. She rode a scooter every day when she lived in Bangkok and was comfortable even in heavy traffic. But, she didn't kid herself. While quite capable, probably better than most women, she wasn't a daredevil and generally, men were stronger riders.
She tested a larger bike, and it was too heavy for her to handle well. It was a contest between speed or maneuverability. She decided it wouldn't matter how fast she could go if she crashed at every tight turn.
With a cocked eyebrow, she eyed the little racing motorbike. “You better be the right choice.” She spoke to it like it could hear her and might answer.
The autumn sun beat down on the concrete and blacktop rear service area. Dumpsters lining the side fence did their job of collecting heat and baking the food and other rotting garbage left over from room service and scraps that managed to avoid the disposals. A barrel filled with particularly rancid old cooking oil gave anyone without a bad head cold a good reason to find another place to be.
A young Black woman in a waitress uniform stepped out onto the loading dock where Michelle waited. “They're finished and drinking coffee. You want to know what they ate?”
Michelle handed the woman a hundred dollar bill. “No, I don't care about that.”
The waitress held up the money. “You said fifty. Do you need something else?”
“Yes, for the next couple minutes stay out of the back hallway leading to this door. You might want to take coffee or something to the people in the front of the restaurant. Also, I'd appreciate it if you don't mention this to the police if they happen to come.”
The woman's eyes went wide. “Are you going to cap those guys?”
“Nothing like that. Let's just say they are not nice people and I might need to leave quickly.”
“No shooting then?”
“Not by me.” Michelle winked.
The waitress went back inside. Michelle tugged on her sweater to be sure it covered her Kevlar vest. She chided herself for the nervous motion but had to admit this was one of the most dangerous, possibly even stupid stunts she had ever done.
For what must be the thousandth time, she wondered if freeing some women she didn't know and might never know was worth the risk. For the thousandth time she admitted it would eat at her soul if she didn't.
After a slow count to sixty to let the waitress get to safety, Michelle checked the butterflies in her stomach and went inside.
The three men sat in a corner horseshoe booth that could hold twice as many. She walked through the restaurant to the cashier at the opening in the counter in the middle of the room. She checked the reflection of the men in the mirror in the back of the pie display case mounted on the wall. She saw the man in the back of the booth, checking her out then look up. He made eye contact with her in the mirror and squinted. His eyes shifted around then widened and focused back on her reflection.
She watched him start, point at her and say, “Hey, that's her! She's the one we're looking for.”
Michelle spun around to face them, dropped her bag, and took off running down the back hall toward the back door.
BLAM!
A bullet ricocheted off the tile floor off to her right.
BLAM!
A bul
let hit the wall above the back door.
WHAM! BLAM!
At a full run, Michelle hit the swinging double doors with both hands. A bullet creased her thigh. Damn! The sting registered more as a motivation to run faster than an injury.
She grabbed the handle of the right door using it to swing her around out of the line of fire and launch her toward her waiting scooter.
With a single push of the starter button, the little bike came to life with the ferocity of a half-grown kitten, and she gunned it for all it was worth. Blasting across the delivery area, she hit the brakes sliding into the turn into the alley. Glancing back she saw the three men had blown through the door. Two men pointed guns. One was on the phone.
BLAM! BLAM!
She didn't look back again. The bike screamed down the alley. She made a hard right at the first street and twisted the throttle full open. Bending down over the tank, her heart raced faster than the bike, she checked the mirror. Nothing. Horn blaring like an angry high-pitched electric saw, she blew through the first intersection.
Almost to the second intersection, screeching tires an exploding sound of a car crashing came from behind her. She looked back over her shoulder. A large sedan careened off a parked car and headed straight for her. She tried to push the motorbike faster. Already maxed out, it gave her all it had. Tires screeched. A pickup slid sideways as she passed through the intersection.
She looked back. The stalled truck blocked her view. Then the sedan swerved around the front of the truck. Sparks spewed behind. A piece of the bodywork of the car dragged on the street. A man leaned out the passenger side window.
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
Michelle rounded the corner at the third intersection faster than she thought was possible. Pulling away she powered through the gears.
WHREENG, WHREENG, WHREENG.
The little motor wrapped in an ear shattering high pitch. The shrill, obnoxious sound matched Michelle's racing pulse.
Come on, come on! Almost there!
She stomped the brake pedal locking the rear tire into a skidding turn, jumped the curb and hit the open gate. The opening, bordered by buildings, was too small for a car. The sideways sliding turn and narrow miss going through the gate put her heart back in her throat. While making the wild maneuver, she heard the car moaning a deep throaty growl from the accelerating engine coming up the block.
BLAM! The shot came from the car behind her. They had seen her go through the gate.
Fuck! Almost.
She chanced a quick look back. Nobody chased on foot.
She wasn't clear yet. She flew down the grass lawn past the short building on her left. Again she locked the rear tire going into another sliding turn. It almost worked. The bike dropped out from under her on the much slicker grass. In a tangle, she slid into an aluminum frame lawn chair and shrubs lining the building that formed a 'T’. She grabbed the bike, yanked it upright and hit the starter button. The starter gears screamed a shrill protest against the still running motor. Michelle gunned the gas. and the tire spun in the grass slewing sideways.
BLAM! BLAM!
Two shots came through the gate.
Michelle let up on the gas, and the bike got a little traction slowly moving her forward. She pushed on the handlebars trying to make the bike move faster. “Come on, come on, come on!” She screamed. The bike inched forward onto a cement walk, the tire grabbed traction, and she shot forward.
The screech of spinning tires out on the street told her they were headed around the block to cut her off on the other side.
She let off the gas, turned right toward the back gate and freedom.
“No! No! No!” Michelle laid on the horn, wildly looking for the person who owned the boxes sitting on the back loading ramp of the U‑Haul truck. The truck was backed up almost touching the fence and the ramp extended through the gate blocking her. It didn't matter how good she drove her bike today, she wasn't going through that gate.
Damn. They'll see this is blocked. Go! Get out before they come back!
Seconds counted. She whipped the bike around and headed back to the front. This time several senior citizens stood by their open doors. Some gawked, some yelled, she sped past back out the gate.
Three blocks and forever away, G‑Baby sat waiting, next to the open door of the garage they rented two days earlier. The plan was, she would make a beeline for him, hide the bike in the garage door, and duck down in the back seat. He would calmly drive away, clean and easy. Plan B was, go through the apartment complex and lose them there, then meet up at the garage. There was no plan C.
Michelle pushed the little bike for everything it had. G‑Baby and escape were only a half block after the next intersection.
“Almost there.” Michelle’s voice urged the bike to go faster.
She sped through the last intersection and looked to her right. In an adrenalin induced slow motion she looked into the eyes of the driver of the car that had been chasing her. The instant crystal clear snapshot showed the determined recognition in his eyes. The scene blurred past, her heart lurched, and her stomach dropped.
She hit the driveway where G‑Baby waited and spun the motorbike into the garage on the hope against hope she had been fast enough. The back door of G‑Baby's car stood open and Michelle dove in. “Go! Go! Go! That's them. Go!”
The sedan skewed sideways going wide coming around in the left turn. G‑Baby burned rubber springing away from the wall past the speeding sedan. He hit the street laying down a long black streak and clouds of white smoke. Michelle watched through the back window. They hadn't gone around the first corner when the sedan backed out into the street and copied them stinking up the air with burning rubber.
G‑Baby made the first right, then the first left, and right again. At each turn, Michelle yelled, “They're still there.” They were on a short block with an alley, G‑Baby wrenched the wheel right barely making the tight turn. Three houses down an open garage door beckoned. G‑Baby screeched into the clean two car garage, jumped out, and yanked the large door down. The idling motor sounded ridiculously loud in the quiet of the garage. From the back, Michelle reached between the seats and turned off the ignition. The slow crunch of tires on the gravel in the alley outside crept toward them. The crunching approached and went on past. Both Michelle and G‑Baby let go a deep breath.
“Don't move, I'll shoot! Who are you? Don't move! What are you doing in my garage?” A plump woman in her late fifties stood in the open door connecting the garage to her middle-class home. She pointed a chrome .38 revolver at them.
“Don't you move!” She jerked her gun at G‑Baby. “Put your hands up.”
G‑Baby already had his hands up over his head. He pushed them up a little higher.
Sitting in the car with her hands out of sight Michelle could easily reach her gun in her ankle holster. She slowly raised her hands to show the woman they were empty. “Please mam, please don't shoot. Please let me explain. My name is Michelle, and he is my uncle, Gabriel. Please let me talk. Can I do that?”
“Be quiet. Don't move” The gun shook in the woman's two handed grip. “Who are you? What's going on?”
“My name is Michelle. This man really is my uncle. He was my mother's brother. His name is Gabriel.”
“Was? Why isn't he still your mother's brother?”
“She died in a car accident a few years ago. He helped raise me after my parents died. Honest mam, we're not here to cause you any trouble. Please let me tell you what happened to us.”
The woman pointed the shaking gun at Michelle. “Okay, tell me what's going on and why you are hiding in my garage.”
“Thank you. Can you please lower your gun? Just a little? You are really scaring me. Please?”
Still holding it in both hands, the woman lowered her gun.
“Thank you. Do you want me to talk from here out where you can see me?”
“Oh? Yeah. Out is better. Stand over by your uncle.”
“Yes mam.” Michelle
climbed out and stepped past G‑Baby to stand behind the car where the woman couldn't see her legs or feet.
“Stop there. Now tell me, what in the hell is going on?”
“Did you hear that car go by when we first came in?” Michelle asked the shaky lady.
“No.”
“Right after Uncle Gabriel closed the door a car went by real slow. The men driving work for a major drug dealer here in Houston.” Michelle went on to explain how she had information about the murder of a prostitute out in California and it could put the top man in jail. Also, how the one murder had snowballed into her finding out about a slave prostitution ring. Those men wanted her dead.
“Oh, my. They reported on TV about human trafficking and how women are made into sex slaves. I didn't think those things happened here in Houston.” The woman was visibly shocked.
“Yes mam, apparently Houston is a center for bringing the women into the States.”
“How sad. You are working with the police to help stop this? You must be quite brave.”
“At the moment, I don't feel very brave. I'm more scared than anything. I'm so very grateful to you for letting us stay here for a few minutes while those men go away.” Michelle chose not to comment on the woman's question about the police.
“Oh God, will they come back? What if they see you leaving? Will they do anything to me or my family? I'm sorry, but you need to go now.” The woman was really jittery now and Michelle knew it was time to leave.
“Of course, I can’t blame you for wanting us gone. We'll be happy to leave. I suggest you close the door behind us.”
“I'm going to close it all right. Close it and lock it tight. You can bet on that!”
On the way out, G‑Baby asked, “I hope that was worth it.”
Michelle grinned. “Any landing you walk away from is a good landing.”
“Oh, so now you're a pilot?”
“Of course not, Uncle G. But it's a good saying don't you think. It does seem to fit if you paraphrase. Any get‑away you can talk about is a good get‑away.”
“Paraphrase? Since when did you start using words like paraphrase? No. Don't tell me. I already know. It's that lawyer man, Trevon's fault. Keep it up, and I won't know who I'm talking to.” G‑Baby moved the car forward to his turn at the four way stop.
Hard Run: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #4 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series) Page 18