“It's your dime.” Detective Thompson appeared unconcerned.
“I'm told by everyone in town, the best way to succeed in Montana is be a straight shooter. I'm going to find out how well that works.”
Detective Thompson had looked away while PJ talked. She glanced at PJ then again looked away. “Like I said, it's your dime. Talk.”
PJ paused. She recognized the attitude. This was about territory. For years she played the same game with women on the street.
A waitress brought two glasses of water. “Can I bring you ladies, anything?”
“Just coffee for me,” PJ said. “Anything for you Detective?”
“Coffee is fine.”
Feeling better for having recognized Thompson’s signs of protecting her territory, PJ relaxed a small bit. “We bought an old beat up three story house sandwiched between the cemetery and what is now mostly an industrial area. It's been empty for a while and is in bad condition. The building, as well as the location, are appropriate for my business.”
The waitress returned with a copper colored insulated picture of coffee. The conversation halted while she filled each woman’s cup.
“I know the place,” Detective Thompson said. “What’s your business?”
“You don’t already know?” PJ challenged.
Thompson looked over the rim of her cup as she took a drink of coffee. “I’d rather hear it from you.”
PJ waited for Thompson to put down her cup then picked up her own and sipped all the while holding Thompson’s eyes. “My partners and I run boutique shops with jewelry, fine lingerie, that sort of thing. My employees, all attractive women, will model these items as a service to the oilmen, out of towners, and perhaps occasional local businessman who would like a gift for his wife.”
“Or who wants a discrete indiscretion?”
“It could happen.” PJ nodded in agreement.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I think we can help each other.”
“I don’t see how.”
“I'm not asking for protection you wouldn't provide to any woman in Billings.” PJ paused a moment. “And I expect me and my girls will have the same protection as any woman, any race, any profession, any silver spoon bitch is given.”
Both women held flat expressions. For five long seconds, they held each other’s eyes. The rattle of dishes casually dropped into a plastic tub, and the waitress calling in an order to the cook filled the air.
PJ made her point and broke the silence to take control and direction of the conversation. “Now back to business. From my rather extensive experience, I can guarantee I’ll hear a lot about what happens on the streets. It's in both of our best interests that the streets be safe. As a show of good faith, here are the names of the seven most important assholes concerning drugs in our city.” PJ slid a piece of paper across the table.
“Our city?” It came out as a challenge denying that PJ had any claim to the city.
PJ casually shrugged. “Me and my girls are here to stay. I want to be an asset to the community for both the services we can provide as well as assisting with the well-being of its citizens.” PJ pointed to the paper. “Recognize the name on the top?”
“Rodney Wilson. He's a local pimp. The guy I'm convinced your partner had something to do with his spending several weeks in the hospital from a couple bullets in the gut.”
“The one and only. You should already know he ran girls for a crime boss named Galletti. Did you also know he was, and still is, the distribution point for the heroin, oxy, and some meth coming in through Galletti's organization down in Houston? Also, you should know that fracas in Houston was Galletti's headquarters. I'll bet you didn't know, now with Galletti gone, your man Rodney has jumped up to make the larger connection with the chemists and importers. If it works out, Billings will become the primary distribution point for oxy and heroin in the entire Midwest.”
“Will you testify in court?”
“Of course you can always make me come to court. I'll tell the judge I'm a poor single girl who doesn't do drugs. As far as knowing anything about selling them, I'm working hard trying to make a living selling jewelry and wouldn't know anything about that kind of business.”
PJ rested her chin on her laced fingers, batted her eyelids, and put on a baby doll expression. “Your honor, I’m as clean as the driven snow. Would you like to watch me pee in a cup?”
Detective Thompson spun her coffee mug with one hand. “I see.”
“Yeah, good that you do,” PJ said.
“That's perjury. Are you willing to perjure yourself?”
“No. It's all hearsay, based on some gossip I got from prostitutes and their johns. How would I know if it's true or not? Now get real. If you want this to work, you need to realize I'm not a low life piece of shit informant looking for fifty bucks to cop a high. I can help you or you can stumble along, and I'll find someone else to help who isn't a bitch with a stick up her ass.”
“I can make your life and business very difficult.”
“Sure you can, but it would be stupid. I don't think you're stupid. You may be small‑minded or a racist. Or maybe you don't like women selling sex. I don't know. My offer is real. The information on that paper is real. Now you can get real, or continue to play this foolish power game and act like you're offended by some guy getting a blow job.”
Detective Thompson sipped her coffee slowly nodding her head. She put her coffee mug down, picked up the paper and put it in her pocket. “Thanks for the coffee. I'll be in touch.” She dropped a couple dollars on the table and walked out.
* * *
On the way back to her house, PJ stopped at a neighborhood bar where she figured the clientele would be a mix of construction workers, truck drivers, and other blue collar workers. Her kind of people. The bartender, an overweight blonde woman about forty with a friendly smile, greeted her at the bar. “Aren't you the woman who bought the old Carson place over by the cemetery?”
PJ climbed up on a stool at the bar. “Yes, how did you know?”
“My husband is Mac. His crew is helping you guys. He said he's never seen his guys work so hard to impress anyone. Apparently, they're all smitten with your girls. I hear the women are from Russia and all real lookers.”
PJ reached across the bar holding her hand out. “I'm PJ.”
“Bonny. Me and Mac own this place.” She looked around at the bar. “I run it. What's your pleasure?”
“Johnny Walker Black, neat, water back. Make it a double.”
“Special occasion?”
“I’ve just had one of the hardest meetings of my budding business career, and my nerves are kinda shot.” She rolled her shoulders, tucked her head and blew out a big breath.
“You’ve found the right place to relax. Short of a Thursday night argument over who won at darts, this place is about as stress-free as they come,” Bonny said.
“You said your husband’s guys are working at my place. Do you know what our business is?” PJ asked.
“Sure, you are in the oldest profession known to civilization.” Bonny grinned, leaned back against the back bar and sipped her coke.
“That doesn’t bother you? I mean, your husband working with us.”
“Honey, the day that bothers any woman is when she’s doing something wrong. The way I look at it, I can cheat on Mac any day of the week. Working behind this bar, I get dozens of offers. If I was unhappy and stupid, I’d probably take up one of those offers. But, when I’m unhappy, I tell his ass and make him work it out. He does the same with me. No, when a man or woman is cheating, it’s because there is trouble in River City, not because another person is available. There’s always someone available.”
“That’s a rather enlightened philosophy. And to think, all I wanted was a moment to collect myself before going back to work.”
“Take all the time you want.” Bonny held up her coke glass in a toast. “Here's to new neighbors and women run businesses.”
> PJ tapped glasses. “To good neighbors.”
.
Thirty-Five: Good To Get Home
GROWTH AND THE center’s need for storage space pushed Nikky out of her cubbyhole office in their childcare center in Anglewatts. Since most of the children were there during the night hours when their moms were out working the streets of Anglewatts, they decided to take up some of the back yard play area to build an addition for Nikky to have a real office. In the meantime, she had taken up temporary quarters in the unattached garage.
Years of cars dripping oil on the floor, vapors from gas cans stored for lawn mowers, combined with the musty, acrid odor of pest control poisons, couldn’t be removed by even the professional power‑wash they had done. Nothing they did removed the smell that screamed garage.
Nikky unlocked and opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a large ledger. With a big Cheshire cat smile, she sat the ledger on top of her desk. “Did I tell you I love my new desk? When the construction is done, I'm going to be as happy as a pig in shit with my office.”
Michelle lounged, sipping an A&W Root Beer. Her phone rang. A few minutes later, she tapped the face of her phone. “That was PJ. She did it.”
“What did she do?” Nikky asked.
“She had her big meeting with Detective Thompson,” Michelle said.
“How did it go?”
“Good. Shouldn't Deja be here pretty soon? Michelle asked. “Let's wait until she's here and we can all go over the details together. In the meantime, I need you to show me some of the figures on our profits because our house in Billings will be expensive to turn it into the place we want it to be. Thank God you know what you're doing with this office stuff. Who would've thought there was so much paperwork in the world’s oldest profession and we don’t even collect taxes?”
“Taxes!” Nikky did a fake shudder of terror. “Thank God for small favors. I’m not sure I’d make it having to sort out the taxes on each of the girls. Can you just see the ledger. A blow job in a car would be billed as an auto procedure.” She laughed.
Michelle widened her eyes. “Stop! I mean it. Stop there. I don’t want to even imagine the names you’d come up with for everything.”
Nikky waggled here eyebrows. “Only because you’re the boss. But someday, me and the girls are gonna get busy with some serious marketing euphemisms.”
Michelle groaned.
About half an hour later Deja came into the makeshift office. “Nikky, have I told you how much I appreciate you doing all of this book stuff?”
“I know, you guys are sooo lucky to have me. I mean this whole business would fall apart if someone didn't take care of the all mighty powerful books. Without the books, who would make the girls drop dead gorgeous and out on the streets and scare the creeps off and, and, and, and . . . Fuck you, Deja. I want you to know, I suffer serious problems here.” She held up her middle finger. “Look, right here, I got a paper cut the other day.”
“I was serious! I sincerely do appreciate your doing this back office stuff. Hell, I didn't even know what a back office was until you told me it's the business part of every business. Honest to God, if it were up to me, I'd hand the girls some part of the money and go buy clothes with the rest.”
“Thank God it isn't up to you then,” Michelle said. “According to Nikky's books we're doing fine, but we do have some big expenses by setting things up in Houston and Billings. It's a good thing Jelena has her girls working and pulling their own weight.”
“Tell her about the call from PJ,” Nikky said.
Deja looked at Nikky. “What call?”
“I don't know. She said we could wait till you came in.”
“It's not that big of a deal,” Michelle said. “It was a progress report. She had a meeting with your favorite cop. Detective Thompson.”
Deja pursed her lips. “You mean my favorite bitch?”
“Yup, that’s the one.” Michelle winked at Deja. “It sounded pretty much like I thought. Thompson tried to be a cop playing it tough with power head games. PJ backed her down.”
“I thought you already had that shit straightened out with Thompson?” Nikky asked.
“I did. But that doesn't mean she wouldn't try to angle for one‑upmanship with PJ. After all, we're down here, and PJ is there with her.”
“Wait, are you saying PJ didn't know everything was set?” Deja asked.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I'm saying, and it worked out fine.”
“Why didn't you give PJ the heads up so she would know she was in a stronger position going in?” Deja asked.
“Look at how different each of us is than a year ago,” Michelle said. “Both you and Nikky made bupkis at dead end jobs.”
With her fist Nikky knocked on an imaginary door, or in this case, on an imaginary forehead. “Hello! Anybody in there? Trying to manage those knuckleheads was like spending my life in a factory specializing in stupid.”
Deja groaned. “I hear you girl. The thought of going back to my old job gives me a headache.
“We weren’t the only ones.” One eyebrow raised, Nikky tilted her head at Michelle. “You were a speeding bullet on a one way street.”
“Woof!” Michelle blew out air and rolled her eyes. “I was a hundred percent absorbed in revenge. Now, look at us, all three of us.”
Deja held her hands out wide to her sides, palms up, with her fingers flicking a give-it-to-me gesture and smiled. “Yes, look at us!”
Michelle laughed. “Seriously, though. We are so different from then and where will we be in a year or two? The sky is the limit for us. We did all of it because nobody held our hands. We were pee-on-ourselves-scared and did it anyway. Sending PJ into that meeting believing she was on her own will help make her stronger for her business ten times more than anything we can do. Giving her a heads up would've been nice, but not good for her.”
“Yeah, you're right,” Deja said. “I can see that. From what I know about Thompson, she's the kind of person who won't give you anything you don't earn yourself. Okay, you did good. Just don't let it go to your head.”
“You are too kind,” Michelle said. “Are you guys about ready for some dinner?”
“Sounds good. Oh hey, did PJ say anything about Thompson putting out a vibe?” Deja asked.
“What are you talking about? What vibe?” Michelle asked.
“You know, well, I'm not sure. I didn't ask, but yeah, my gay‑dar maxed on her.”
“Gay?” Michelle asked. “I completely missed that.”
“Yeah. She's kinda cute too.” Deja grinned.
Nikky rolled her eyes. “As if!”
Michelle said, “Remember, we have tickets for Barbara Morrison tonight.”
“Is your new guy Matt gonna be there?” Nikky asked.
“Who’s Matt?” Deja asked.
“Oh, right,” Michelle said. “You were in jail, hanging with the girls when I met Matt.”
“And . . . tell me,” Deja said.
“He’s just some cute Richie Rich White guy I met the last time we went to Barbara’s show.”
“Don’t tell me, he’s great in bed too.” Deja bugged her eyes.
“It’s all true,” Michelle put on a serious and sad expression. “They really can’t jump, and they can’t fuck either. So sad.”
“Right. So why are you meeting him at the show?” Deja asked.
“Yes, he’s in town, and yes, he’s meeting us at the show. And oh my God yes, I’m lying. That White boy can jump!”
* * *
Covered in a sheen of sweat Michelle rolled off and lay on her back. “The whole day?”
Matt, catching his breath, sighed deeply and trailed a finger along her neck and down to circle her nipple. “Yeah, the whole day.”
They were in Michelle’s bed. The bright insistent sun found every crevice, crack and gap in the drawn curtains loudly announcing the morning.
Appreciating Matt’s light touch after their lovemaking, Michelle stared at the ceili
ng. Her thoughts drifted to how good this felt as compared to catnaps on the nasty stinky couch in their observation apartment in Tucson.
Michelle’s eyes focused and brightened. “I deserve a day off.”
Matt continued making trails on Michelle’s skin with his fingers. He leaned over and flicked her soft nipple with his tongue. Looking up he smiled. “I’m free the whole day; all the way up to tomorrow morning. I’d love to spend as much of that time with you as you are willing to give me. What do you say? Breakfast some place local, a little time on the beach, lunch in Malibu, dinner, and dancing in Ventura. Wake up for breakfast on the beach in Santa Barbara. Any or all of it. My treat and I’ll do all the driving.”
Sexually sated and knowing Matt was also, it felt great to have him touch her just to enjoy the touching. “Dancing in Ventura sounds pretty good.”
“You’ll love it. I know a place up there with a great blues and old-school soul band. Great to dance to.”
Michelle combed through Matt’s hair with her fingers. Focusing on the softness and how different his hair felt she let her mind wander.
I don’t know where this is going, or how long it’ll last. But I’ll take it as it is for whatever it is right now.
With his face buried in her stomach, Matt rolled his head and asked, “Well?”
Michelle ruffled the top of his head. “You take a shower; I’ll make some calls to clear my schedule.”
.
Thirty-Six: Q-Time
MICHELLE CHECKED OUT the crowd filling the yard and house. All afternoon neighbors and longtime associates from the hood had dropped in, grabbed a burger and beer, and exchanged farewell hugs. She was a little surprised when she looked around to only see mostly close friends who were left at the moment. Scott and Nikky took the two lounge chairs where they had been all afternoon. Deja's mom and dad were backing out of the drive. G‑Baby had turned the grill over to Trevon and was at the big wooden picnic table playing spoons with Baby‑Sister, Miss Betty, Brandon, Deja and her date, a light‑complexioned guy named Matteo.
Hard Run: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #4 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series) Page 25