“What?” Michelle put on her most innocent face. “I'm still the little girl you used to know.”
“Right. And I'm President Obama. That little girl is long gone. She has turned into quite a woman. Your mom and dad would be so proud of you.” He accelerated through the intersection.
“Yeah, except maybe the madam part and for sure the part about killing folks. No way would Mom ever understand any of those things.” Michelle pointed up. “I can see her up in heaven, that finger pointing at me and saying how I know better.” Michelle shook her finger at an imaginary little girl.
“Maybe, maybe not. I think she would understand your getting revenge for Michael, and probably even for taking care of the street women in the hood. The thing I'm not too sure about is that crazy motorbike stunt you just pulled. That would be over the top.”
“You know as well as I do, she would never approve of what I've done. She might understand, but wouldn't ever approve. I still miss her and Dad. Now, Dad, he's a different story. He’d be proud of that ride.”
“Yes, he would.” G‑Baby checked his mirrors and switched lanes.
“The risk will be worth it when they break the password on the computer I dropped running out of the café and get into the email. The messages said we are only four strong, you, me, Nikky and Deja. If they buy that, we'll have a big leg up.”
“Let's hope they buy it.” G‑Baby pushed the left turn signal and slowed the car to make the turn at a large intersection to take them home.
“Let’s hope they do.” Michelle sighed deeply. The adrenalin from the wild ride was wearing off. She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes.
.
Twenty-Five: Bear Trap
GALLETTI DEBATED ON using either the seven-story Sam Callelo Building in downtown Houston, where Ascia had his headquarters, or the small apartment complex where Fast Eddie kept his stable of prostitutes. The police had released both places as crime scenes, so he was free to move in. For long a list of reasons, each posed security risks.
No, he wouldn't make the same mistakes his now dead protégé made. With too much civilian traffic, neither of his two restaurants would work. The same for his bar. Mom's Wholesale Homemade Ice Cream two story distribution building in the old part of Houston was the strong logical choice.
It also had a sentimental value to Galletti. It was the first building he bought. The wholesale ice cream business had turned out to be an excellent funnel for laundering money. The legitimate business serviced about fifty restaurants in the Houston area and a few over the border in Louisiana. The false accounts showed close to a thousand. Two large walk-in freezers on the back wall, twenty-four deep freezers in rows in the middle, and an open office area at the front filled the ground floor. Large windows and a wood framed glass door made up the front wall. Sunlight from the high narrow windows lining both sides was lost in the harsh glare of overhead fluorescent lights.
Back during his days when removing the competition was a common occurrence, the freezers and delivery trucks came in quite handy for taking care of the occasional body. Early on, he and his crew lived on the second floor. It had been mostly empty for at least fifteen years. His old office still took up the back corner upstairs.
The men who ran the daily business didn't know much about the other aspects of the business. As far as they knew, their primary business was ice‑cream. All of the office staff, drivers and warehouse staff were seated in the few office chairs or perched on the edges of a few of the freezers. The general manager tapped his pen against an empty water glass. “Everybody, listen up. This is Mr. Galletti. He owns this building and also is the owner of Mom's Ice Cream. He has some things he wants to talk to us about.”
There was a general shifting in seats, and Galletti started. “Can you guys in the back hear me? If you can't, move your asses up here because I ain't gonna raise my voice and you need to hear this.”
Several men hopped down off the freezer they were sitting on and moved up closer. One guy remained seated away from the cluster.
“You, back there. What's your name?” Galletti asked.
“Irving.”
Galletti turned to the man who had introduced him. “Irving's fired. Kick his ass outta my building.”
“Now?”
“No, next fucking year.” Galletti tugged on his nose. “Anybody else gonna try to give me some shit?”
“Hey, all I did was sit here, I can hear you real good,” Irving said.
Galletti looked behind him to where one of his thugs leaned against the doorjamb. “Move that mope outta here.”
The thug casually pushed himself off the wall allowing his sports jacket to fall open showing his shoulder holster and gun. Without a word, he walked through the circle of employees back toward Irving.
“Fuck this. This ain't nothing but a bunch of bullshit over a crappy job. Tom, you send me my pay or I'll be back.” Irving talked over his shoulder while steadily heading toward the back door.
“Anybody else wanna cause trouble?” Galletti asked.
Nobody spoke.
“Me and my men are moving in upstairs. We’ll have some women with us. They’re off limits to you mopes. You won't see much of them because they'll use the back door by the stairs. They won't never come into this part of the building. My men will be around but won't interfere with your business. You guys keep doing what you do. Sell ice cream. One thing though. From now until we move out, I want the parking lot clear. Park the trucks out front and use the front door. Any questions?”
“Where do we park? That’s the only lot,” a man asked.
Galletti examined the man like he was a moron. “Somewhere else.”
A man in navy blue slacks, white and blue striped dress shirt, and tie pulled loose at the collar, asked, “Are these women prostitutes?”
“Yeah, they're whores, and like I said, they're off limits.”
“When will you and the women move in?” the man asked.
“Last night. They're upstairs now.”
The man stood and pulled his coat off the back of his chair. “Prostitution is a sin against God. I can't stay under the same roof with prostitutes.” He looked at the general manager. “Send my check to my house.”
“What's your name?” Galletti asked.
“Robert.”
“Hold up a minute Rob.” Galletti looked around. “Anybody else?”
Several of the men shook their heads. The one woman in the group nodded. “Yes, sir. Not because of religion. I just wouldn't be comfortable working here anymore.”
“Okay, and your name?”
“Sarah.”
Galletti pointed his finger at the general manager. “Give Sarah and Robert their regular severance pay plus three months’ salary. They got the balls to stand up for what they believe. In my book that makes them okay.”
Surprise written across his face, the manager said, “Yes sir, Mr. Galletti.”
“The rest of you, we're done. Go move your cars out of the back lot and go back to work.”
Robert and Sarah started collecting personal items from their desks and the rest of the employees headed to move their cars.
“It's Tom, right?” Galletti asked the manager.
“Yes, sir. It's Tom. Tom Parker.”
“I know this is new and strange to you. Until my accountant called this morning, you thought he was the owner. So here's the deal. I retired from my other larger businesses a few years ago. Recently the guy that ran things for me got an early permanent retirement. I need a place to put things back together. This is it. We will be here a few months, six tops. I got no interest in ice cream and won't be asking no questions about it. That stuff is your job. What I want from you is make sure none of your people park their cars in front of the building. I want those spots kept open for the trucks. You keep doing what you've always done, and you'll be okay. Can you do that for me?” Galletti waited for an answer.
“Do you need to see the books or employee records or anyt
hing?” Tom pointed toward a locked file cabinet against the wall next to the desks.
“All I need from you is have those trucks parked out front, and I need to know if you're gonna stay or quit.”
“I guess I'm staying. It's a pretty good job.”
“Good.” Galletti walked to the front door. The man who had been standing behind him walked out onto the sidewalk and surveyed the area. After an almost imperceptible nod, Galletti followed.
“Pain in the ass civilians. What you wanna bet, Robert‑the‑righteous would be the first in line for his shot at the girls if the lights went out?” Galletti asked.
“That's a bad bet boss. You'd have to give me some pretty long odds to take that bet.”
Asphalt driveways to the parking lot went down both sides of Mom's Ice Cream building. About midway to the back, a van with racks on top and the doors open, blocked one of the driveways. Two men on ladders installed additional security lights along the side of the building.
Galletti looked at the men. “Vinnie, are they also putting in the cameras?” Galletti asked.
“They're part of the crew. We have cameras in three rings of security. The first ring is all around the building. The second ring is across the street and on the front and back of the buildings next to us on both sides.” Vinnie pointed at several spots on each building. “Also across the back alley. The third ring is a cross view going out from the outside edge of the next door buildings and those two buildings there and there.” Again Vinnie pointed directly across the street. “And back this way from both ends of the alley and both ends of the block. There's a total of twenty-nine cameras. They'll all be up by the end of the day.”
“Any trouble with people letting them install the cameras?” Galletti asked.
“Not so far. The cameras are wireless and solar charged battery powered. I don't think anyone has even noticed us putting them up. Also, since there are no wires to cut, if anyone wanted to shut them down, they would have to climb up and physically take them down or maybe shoot them.”
Galletti looked up and down the street nodding to himself. “Okay, it looks good.”
“We’re setting up a full array of movement sensors, lasers on the roof, the whole works. She can't even come in from underground. There's no basement, and the buildings along here are too old and small to have any connecting underground infrastructure. This whole neighborhood is low-tech, and that's working in our favor. They'll have to shoot themselves out of a cannon or drop from a helicopter to get in, and we'll still see them coming.”
“Good. It's all good. I want you to call Sonny. Tell him what you're doing here and tell him I want him to look for weak points.”
“Boss, there ain't no weak points.”
“There's always weak points.” Galletti lit a cigarette and pocketed his solid gold lighter.
“I'm telling you, we have it covered.”
Galletti pointed at Vinnie with the two fingers holding the cigarette. “Just make the call.”
.
Twenty-Six: Jefe Agrees
COORDINATING TWO STRIKES in distant cities with two completely different groups seemed impossible. Especially when the two targets, albeit far apart, were in close communication. The tightly organized Vietnamese in Houston were ready. Tulsa was a different story altogether. The meeting with the Hoover shot caller took several days to set up.
Michelle hated depending on outsiders, but couldn’t think of a reasonable alternative. To be effective she needed enough firepower to totally overwhelm Sal’s crew. She needed reinforcements.
The Tulsa Hoover’s reputation said they were capable of an out and out violent and effective attack. Motivated, brave, and ruthless, they were also arrogant, undisciplined, and reckless. Michelle didn't kid herself, her only leverage was the carrot. She had zero chance of controlling their methods. But she could start this ball rolling, watch it take on a life of its own, and sweep in behind its wake to take what she wanted.
All of that depended on starting the ball rolling, and at this point, that wasn't anywhere close to a sure thing. She was entering the ring with more unknowns and complete uncertainty than anything she had ever remotely considered, much less actually done. Would those who promised to help hold up their end? About the only thing she was sure of was she trusted her own people and didn’t trust anyone else any further than she could throw the smallest one of them. Michelle was also certain she couldn’t do what had to be done without both groups.
She smiled at the thought of herding cats and amended it to herding a pack of rattle snakes. The thought didn’t comfort her at all.
Two days earlier a cold front rolled in. The sky remained clear, but the sun was powerless to prove much heat. Under Michelle’s silver and white Ghillie suit, her hunter’s jumpsuit kept her warm. She watched from her position on top of the crude‑oil storage tank a few hundred yards away and listened to the chatter the high-end microphones picked up inside the SUV. Everyone on the team wore headsets and mic's to pick up ambient sound.
The two SUVs approached from opposite directions on the dirt road along the dry river bed. They stopped face to face about fifty yards apart. With his hands out to his sides, G‑Baby walked half the distance between the cars then stopped. Nikky and Baby‑Sister also got out and posted at the front corners of the car. PJ stood by the back door of the SUV.
A tall man with broad well‑muscled shoulders mirrored G‑Baby by walking to the middle to within speaking distance. Sticking out in short twists like a thousand little antenna, his hair combined with pointed chin whiskers accentuating the almost skeletal thin shape of his face. A cocky sneer appeared to have become his permanent expression.
Two men, backup muscle, stood by their SUV. The man in front looked around then shook his head. “You're not her. I'm only talking to the top person.”
“You’re not the man either,” G‑Baby replied calm and with an air of authority. “Spider, your boss, is standing by the driver's side of your SUV. Before you tell him anything, you should understand some things. To make this operation work, it has to take out Sal and his boss Galletti. My boss is running the show in another state to take out Sal’s boss. I'm calling the shots here. You’ll work with me or not at all. Also, you need to know my boss has eyes on us and is in my ear. She can see the whole set up and hears everything both of us say. One last thing, one of the many ways she can kill you or Spider back there, is with a sniper you’ll never see. You won't know you’re dead until you're shaking hands with the devil himself.” G-Baby let his eyelids droop and smiled in a dare to be disagreed with.
“What, she’s got no guts to face us directly?” His sneer deepened and he looked back at the men standing behind him.
“Proving you have guts is for children and doesn't have anything to do with success. We're here for success.”
“Bull shit. We don't have time for this shit,” The thin man turned to leave.
“I thought you would say something like that. I won't insult Spider with putting a laser on him. Anybody can point a light. It takes skill to put a bullet in something from far away. I'll demonstrate the reality of what we're saying. Then, either you can drive away and we'll find a new partner or Spider can come out and talk to me.” G‑Baby maintained eye contact with the man and raised his hand over his head. “My associate is bringing up a little something you might find interesting.
PJ walked up carrying a life‑size cardboard cutout of Spider. She handed him the cutout then backed away. G‑Baby stood Spider’s likeness in front of him. “Stand there or step back. It's up to you.” He winked at the man. “Safety first.” G‑Baby stepped back. A red dot appeared center mass on the cutout followed by a bullet knocking it over. Seconds later, a red dot danced on the real Spider’s chest. It stayed long enough for him to look down and jump.
Keeping his hands visible, G‑Baby returned to where he stood earlier.
Spider walked out. “Pretty impressive. But I still don't talk to number two.”
“That's unfortunate,” G‑Baby said. “You can keep the cutout.” He backed away from the conversation, and they left.
“That was a bust,” Nikky said.
“Maybe. My guess is they'll ask for another meeting.” G‑Baby said.
“Why?” Nikky asked as she steered them onto the main road.
“Several reasons. Now they know we're serious. We have the goods and can deliver what we say. Also, with us driving off, our message is they need us more than we need them.”
“Anything else?” PJ asked.
The guys back in L.A., the big dogs in Hoover, won't be any too happy if we give this little treasure to some other set because Spider is an asshole and let his ego get his nose bent out of shape,” G‑Baby said. “That's childish baby‑g shit, not leadership.”
“Don't we need them?” Nikky asked.
“We need somebody, yes,” G‑Baby said. “For reasons mostly to do with Trevon back home, they have an edge. But, it doesn't need to be them. There's the local sets, a couple Mexican gangs, and the White bikers. Anyone of them can work as good as the other. All we really need is extra guns who are motivated for a takeover. Anyone want to bet, they call back before night falls?
Michelle's voice came into the headsets. “Good decision you guys. Leaving that asshole sent the right message. I called Trevon and told him what happened. I said we'll give his friends two hours to set something up. If we don't hear something that convinces us they're serious by then, we look at our options. Nikky, I want you to find out if any of our girls in Anglewatts know someone who can broker a meeting with the Mexicans.”
“Sure, glad to, but I don't know where to start,” Nikky turned to G-Baby sitting in the front passenger seat, shrugged, and bugged her eyes.
“Check with Marie, her or Maria,” Michelle suggested.
“The Mexican girls?” Nikky asked.
Hard Run: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #4 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series) Page 19