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

by Jason Stanley

  “I want you to take over prostitution in Houston,” he said.

  “My business is in California. I don't have any intention or desire to move here.” She sipped her tea.

  “Yes, I am aware of your current obligations. I assumed you would not be friendly to the idea of coming to Houston. However, there may be a way for this to happen.”

  “Back up a minute. Why would you want me to do this? Can't your organization handle this?”

  “The Ancestor's Honor does not, and will not ever, allow our women to enter into prostitution,” Tu said.

  Michelle sipped her tea. “What about the prostitutes I've seen in Little Saigon?”

  Tu lit a cigarette, centered his lighter on top of the flip top box, and moved the stack to rest next to the cheap gold-colored star shaped tin ashtray. “They are Chinese, not Vietnamese.”

  “You're telling me you don't have Vietnamese prostitutes?”

  “That is correct,” Tu said.

  “None?”

  “If one of our women chooses prostitution, she is helped to relocate. Usually to Los Angeles.” Tu flicked ash from his cigarette.

  “Why not have your man who handles the Chinese women in Little Saigon take over for the rest of Houston?”

  “Without explaining our internal business, it's enough to say, spreading out to provide prostitutes to all the men of Houston would not be consistent with our values.”

  Michelle smiled. She knew Ahn Tu preferred not to admit he and his organization were absolute racists. The truth was, they didn't want to deal with the White, Black and Brown men and women, providers and customers, the prostitution business would require. “I see.” Michelle shook her head. “Your desire to stay out of prostitution in greater Houston does not mean I would remotely consider moving here.”

  “In anticipation of that answer, I have a proposal which does not require you to move here. Would you be interested in hearing it?”

  “I'm all ears.”

  * * *

  Two days later, Michelle led G‑Baby and Baby‑Sister down the small neat alley to an open air coffee shop where Ahn Tu sat reading the paper. The shop was not much more than a canvas awning with stainless steel folding tables and stools. After introductions, she ordered iced coffee with sweet condensed milk for everyone. “Ahn Tu, please repeat your offer.”

  Tu, folded his paper, picked up a box of cigarettes, and a Bic lighter and made a neat stack of the items on the table. “I propose you permanently relocate to Houston and take control of prostitution,” Tu said. “This is a business I do not wish to become involved in. However, it's in my best interests that certain parties are not allowed to do business here.”

  “Why us and not them?” G‑Baby asked.

  “Michelle has proven her desire to remain out of the drug business. We are in the drug business. Many people desire to move into this business. We accept this as the nature of things. To take it further and foster the growth of additional competition is foolish. Most organizations might view moving into prostitution as an opening to build a base for future growth into drugs. Allowing them to handle prostitution is an invitation to foster competition in our primary market.

  “And you trust we wouldn't do that?” G-Baby asked.

  “Michelle has vouched for you.”

  “Also, Uncle Gabriel,” Michelle interjected. “As I said earlier, part of the deal is I oversee the operation. As backup, there is the little fact that Ahn Tu would take drastic measures if you or anyone started a drug sales organization within his territory.”

  “What do you mean by drastic measures?” Baby‑Sister tilted her head.

  “I believe the way he put it was, aggressively dissolve the arrangement,” Michelle said.

  “Aggressively dissolve? That's as ambiguous as drastic measures.” Baby‑Sister said.

  Tu shifted in his chair drawing the conversation to him. “It means I would have to kill the person who chose to break their word of honor.”

  “Okay, now those are words I can understand.” Baby-Sister gave one strong nod. “Sure, there isn't any problem for that with me. Like Michelle, I won't have anything to do with drugs. I'm as dead set against dealing as I am with using.”

  “Fair enough,” G‑Baby drew the conversation back to the agreement. “We don't want nothing to do with your business, and you don't want to mess with ours. We have the women, but we don't have the muscle to keep others at bay.”

  “If we come to an agreement, the next step is to broker an arrangement between yourself and a for‑hire group of ex‑military personnel who can provide multiple levels of security,” Tu said.

  “Do you know these people?” G‑Baby asked.

  “I do. They are efficient and as far as I can tell, honorable.”

  “Who are they?” Michelle asked.

  “They are simply discharged military who have found employment difficult to obtain in this poor economy,” Tu said.

  “You're saying they will work with us, in this business?” G‑Baby asked.

  “They will.”

  “That's all good. There is one more thing. If I read this correctly, you're looking for us to move the other small-time pimps who are involved in dealing out of the city. We absolutely are not equipped for those kinds of active confrontations.”

  “No that’s not necessary.” Shaking his head Tu assured G-Baby. “We wouldn't ask you to take action against any such people. It's our responsibility to deal with our direct competition.”

  “But, you would like us to support you with information about pimps we hear are dealing. Correct?”

  “Of course your support as a conduit of information would be helpful. However, we will make sure the information is accurate. We would be most disappointed to learn you put our people in danger to remove your competition.” Tu straightened the already aligned pile of his paper and cigarettes and brushed imaginary lint off his slacks.

  “And, you might want to aggressively dissolve our relationship?”

  Tu met G-Baby’s eyes. “Exactly.”

  The conversation paused. Everyone sipped their iced coffee and looked around.

  “Anything else?” Michelle asked.

  G‑Baby and Baby‑Sister shook their heads.

  “That's it,” Tu said. “Take a day or two to let me know.”

  G‑Baby and Baby‑Sister looked at each other, both nodded. “We're in,” G‑Baby said.

  .

  Thirty-Three: His 'n Her Hair

  THE THIRTY RUSSIAN WOMEN that came to Houston with Junior were given the option to stay with Michelle's organization, leave prostitution, or go back to Russia. Two joined Jelena’s crew in Anglewatts. One went to Billings. All twenty-seven of the rest chose to remain in Houston and work for G‑Baby and Baby‑Sister.

  Michelle stood in the middle of Baby‑Sister’s beauty shop admiring the progress. Nice but not too fancy. It fit the neighborhood. Still under construction, things would soon change. Soft background music, humming dryers and chatting women in chairs would replace pounding hammers and screaming saws. The odors of sawdust and fresh paint would be replaced by a mixture of dyes, perms, conditioners, hot oils, and incense pots.

  The setup with the shops and residences combined was G‑Baby’s idea. Baby‑Sister strongly supported it. They wanted a building large enough to give the women a place to live yet contained to easily provide basic security. They all agreed the three-story building only a few blocks down from Mom's Wholesale Ice Cream was the perfect place. Michelle bought the building. Baby‑Sister and G‑Baby invested their own money in building and furnishing her beauty and his barber shops.

  The IRS closed down Mom's Wholesale Ice Cream business so the building stood empty. Initially, they said it would be good to be able to keep watch on Mom's to see if Galletti, who hadn’t been heard from, or any of his remaining men, returned to set up shop. It turned out to be a short-lived consideration. Late one night during the second week of the remodeling work, Mom's burned down.

&nbs
p; Arson was thought a strong possibility partly because of the seven empty gas cans neatly lined up along the side of the parking lot. Adding fuel to the fire of suspicion were letters printed on the sides of the cans that, when seen in a row spelled out, P A Y B A C K!

  Michelle watched three tall willowy blondes, carrying boxes of dishes and what appeared to be sets of pots and pans, walk through the shop. They smiled, said “Hi,” went out the open back door, and up the stairs. A moment later two more women came through. Both carried boxes with pictures of kitchen appliances like blenders and mixers. They were followed by Baby‑Sister, carrying bags from Target, and Nikky with a ledger and zip pouch under her arm. “Hi Nikky, Baby‑Sister. I see you’re shopping for kitchen stuff; does that mean your girls are moved in?”

  “Yes, they couldn't wait any longer, so today's the big day,” Baby‑Sister shrugged. “The top floor is still completely stripped but the second floor is livable. I'm expecting the delivery truck with bedroom sets this afternoon. Thank God G‑Baby convinced the construction guys to assemble the beds.”

  Nikky waggled her eyebrows. “Big surprise there. Construction guys, on the clock, willing to help a bunch of beautiful helpless women put their beds together. You can almost see the visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads.”

  “What about the girls? How are they doing?” Michelle nodded to the women headed up toward the stairs.

  “Working their asses off,” Baby‑Sister said. “They created some kind of a contest between them and the Billings group. It has to do with construction milestones on each project. They made a big board showing the whole thing. But it's all in that funny Russian writing, so I don't understand it.”

  “What about the streets?” Michelle asked.

  “That was, still is, interesting,” Baby‑Sister scratched her head. “Some are more excited about having their own money, so want to hit the streets. Others are more excited about having this place to call home and the chance to fix it up how they want. I set up a rotation with all of them including a minimum work time on street and home. They’ve been working a week now, and not a single complaint has filtered back to me. I think they view it as proof we will be fair with them, while making it clear they are expected to make money for the company.”

  “How about the money?” Michelle asked.

  Three construction workers in their twenties walked through followed by a fourth guy, a little older and carrying a power saw.

  “Hey, Jerry, this is Michelle. She's the brains behind our operation.”

  “Hi, Jerry.” Michelle shook his hand. “Those your guys?”

  “Yeah, I have crews on several projects around town. I don't do a lot of hands-on work anymore, but I'm making an exception for your project.” He winked and grinned. “I met Nikky and Baby‑Sister when they hired me, so, it’s brains, money, and three beautiful women in charge and OMG, upstairs! One of the reasons I'm here is to make sure my guys actually do the work you hired us to do. And, to run off the other guys who drop by to see if the stories are real.”

  “I appreciate your spending time with us and making sure your guys do the job.”

  “Well, speaking of that, I best go. I'm sure a couple of them have found a reason to help one of the ladies hang a picture or something. Good meeting you.”

  The three women watched Jerry walk out the back door.

  “Cute,” Michelle laughed watching his ass as he walked away.

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” Baby‑Sister chuckled.

  “Where were we?” Michelle cleared her throat and returned her gaze back to Baby-Sister.

  “The money,” Nikky said. “We're good. As you know, it only took one day after they made decisions on who was staying, to be back on the streets. We created a rotating fund for cosmetics and clothes so they can buy the gear they need for work. Bottom line, these girls are serious money makers. They'll slow down once the newness of freedom wears off, even at that, they’ll still make us all proud.”

  “Oh honey, with the numbers I've seen, we’ll be laced up tight!” Baby‑Sister said. “My little hair salon will be a work of love for the chump change it'll bring in.”

  “You don’t have to have the shop. Like you said, the money isn’t necessary,” Michelle said.

  “But my dream is.” Baby‑Sister waved a hand at the room. “Having my own shop is a long‑time dream, and nothing, not even big money, will stop that.”

  “I hear that!” Michelle bumped fists with Baby‑Sister. “Here’s to making dreams come true.”

  Nikky tapped the ledger in her hand. “Just keep your books totally separate and squeaky clean. It’ll take vice about a day to figure out who you are, if they don’t already know. You can count on being one of the most scrutinized businesses in Houston.”

  Baby‑Sister reached over and bumped fists with Nikky. “Girl, everything here, from the girls upstairs to the books in the back room, is squeaky clean.”

  “Where's G‑Baby?” Michelle asked.

  “He's in Anglewatts. They're signing the papers on the shop. Jimmy offered to Fed‑Ex the package, but G‑Baby wanted to do it in person. He's as excited about this as I am. He's also nostalgic; he spent a lot of years running his barber shop.”

  “How are you guys doing with the idea of being in sex management?” Michelle asked. “It's quite a transition from beautician to madam.”

  “Both of us are loving it,” Baby‑Sister’s eyes lit up. “The money will be nice, more than nice. Also, the chance for us to help all of these women have a step up is pretty wonderful. Between us, we have most of the skills on the management end. I don't know how the security guys will work. There is a woman, an ex‑army sergeant, who is already as protective as a mother bear.”

  “Army you say. How long and what did she do?” Nikky asked.

  “She was a lifer, did her twenty before recently retiring. All I really know is she was some high-level sergeant with lots of strips. I’m guessing, but I think her job was to chew nails and spit bullets.”

  “She’s the one Tu introduced you to, right? What’s her name?” Michelle asked.

  “Yeah, she’s the one. Her name is, get this, Sarge.”

  “Seriously?”

  Baby‑Sister put her hand on her chest. “Hand to heart. That’s what everyone calls her. But I’ve been calling her Sam. Short for Samantha, her real name.”

  “Gay?”

  “Full‑blown rainbow. Her wife is as cute as a button.”

  “Good. As long as she doesn't mix business with pleasure, it should work out fine,” Michelle said. “You, or better, G‑Baby, will want to spend a lot of time on the streets and keep her close for a few months to set boundaries.”

  “It’s all G‑Baby on security,” Baby‑Sister said. “I don’t know what I’m doing and can’t fake it.”

  “If she works out, talk to us about setting her up as a profit sharing manager,” Michelle said.

  .

  Thirty-Four: Welcome To The Neighborhood

  FROM ACROSS THE STREET, PJ admired the house she helped Michelle choose. Close to the edge of downtown Billings, the old, huge, rundown, three-story turn of the century house needed a lot of work. PJ thought it was a Victorian. The real estate lady said with the large wrap around covered porch, it was the epitome of a gracious Colonial Revival. Whatever it was, a ton of work and equal amounts of money were needed for a revival of any kind, gracious or not. She loved it.

  It had the potential to be the perfect home for her and her girls. PJ and the twelve women had worked for two weeks helping the three-man crew pull out old musty carpets, scrape paint, strip old wallpaper and a dozen other tasks that broke finely painted, manicured fingernails with abandon. Everybody laughed at their plight of becoming handy‑women working on the old house. The first order of business was to clean one bathroom well enough to be used. The cleaning spread out from there.

  PJ set her girls up as the equivalent of company shareholders. They received a modest sal
ary, and after expenses, the profits, calculated on income produced, would be divided up between the business and the women. Like the women back in Anglewatts who worked directly for Michelle, part of the income was put into a retirement account for each woman. It was the absolute opposite of how they had been held slave before. Now they had a future.

  The sooner the house was up to working order, the sooner they focus full time on their real business of helping the men of Billings happily part with their money. Even with splitting their time between working the streets at night and on the house during the day, progress had been faster than either PJ or Michelle expected.

  Earlier in the week, two local women came by asking about the possibility of work. PJ said she would think about it, but knew she wouldn't hire them. They had the signs of drug users. No druggies need apply. She didn't need them.

  When word of their operation spread out, PJ knew she would be able to pick the best women in the state, if not from the whole frozen region. Unfortunately, her daydreams didn't take care of other things. She had other business to attend to. PJ had an appointment to meet with Detective Thompson. She'd thought about asking Michelle to help set it up. Then rejected the idea. It was time to put on her big girl pants and make it happen on her own.

  Nothing to it but go.

  The first snow of the season had completely melted. As if in anticipation of the next snow, the air had turned colder. The chill in the air matched the reception she anticipated at her upcoming meeting. In jeans, loose man's denim work shirt, and lined Levi jacket, PJ was warm enough in the crisp autumn air. She didn't even try to do anything with her hair. She wrapped her head in a scarf, then switched to a short natural wig. As the boss of the highest class working women in the state, there were some appearances she needed to keep up. Showing up in construction clothes and broken nails was bad enough. A scarf on her head was too far, even to meet a woman cop.

  PJ walked into the clean large diner. Detective Thompson sat about midway along the otherwise deserted long row of booths that lined the windows overlooking the street. They’d met once before but hadn't talked. PJ slid into the booth opposite the detective, and said, “Thanks for meeting me.”