Today, almost four more years later, and dozens of domestic and international flights later, she was flying to Houston to see her Uncle Gabriel and his fiancé Baby‑Sister. He was Uncle G to her, G‑Baby to the rest of the world, and her only living family. The bell dinged and the unbuckle seatbelt sign came on. Most of the passengers jumped up. They crowded into the center aisle, pulling down luggage and backpacks from the overhead storage bins. The flurry of activity took one or two minutes. Nobody went anywhere further.
Michelle relaxed in her seat. At five feet five inches tall and thin she comfortably fit into the economy seat that many people complained about. Business class gave a lot more room and service. On a four-hour flight to Houston, the extra space made a nice difference.
However, business class couldn't give Michelle the one thing economy did. It couldn't provide a way to easily blend in. Nobody noticed her in coach. Everybody paid attention when she flew in business. A young attractive Black woman stood out when flying in business class that was full of older White men in suits. Blending in with the economy herd was inconvenient but a smart move on her part.
Past experience taught her the waiting time would be dead time. On other flights, she tried to read while waiting at the gate, but couldn't seem to focus. She guessed the barely contained energy of everyone standing in line, waiting on the door to open, affected her. She closed her Kindle and more out of habit than expectation of anything important, turned her phone on.
Five messages and three missed calls. All from her Uncle G. Her heart rate jumped.
She knew G‑Baby was more old school; he would give her the news in the first voice message. Tapping the icon for missed calls, Michelle waited for the message center to connect to G‑Baby's message. Immediately, the sound of his voice told her something serious was wrong. “She's gone. They've taken Baby‑Sister! We have a message. They said she is alive and need us to wait for instructions. I need you here now!”
Michelle’s heart jumped from a quick trot to full-blast panic and lodged in her throat.
Stop. Get a grip. Listen again. Understand, then move.
Over the next forty‑five seconds, Michelle listened to the three voice messages. They all said the same thing: Someone had kidnapped Baby‑Sister.
Michelle sent a text to G‑Baby:
‘landed, on plane, DON’T CALL, will call you in minutes’
Well over a hundred people stood between her and the still-closed door. Michelle put her phone in her purse, pulled the purse strap over her head, and started working her way toward the front.
“Excuse me, please, I have an emergency and need to get off.” She made quick progress getting past about fifteen people. Then she ran into an overweight middle-aged woman wearing a bad wig and frumpy business clothes. The woman had a large computer bag on one shoulder, large purse on the other, and held on to the handle of an oversize carry‑on suitcase.
“No. You wait your turn like everyone else,” the woman said.
“It's important,” Michelle said. “Please, let me pass.”
“No. Maybe those other people fell for your girlie sob story . . .”
Shaking her head, but not saying a word, Michelle looked around. On her left a young mother struggled with a demanding two-year-old. The row on her right was empty. Michelle side-stepped into the row on her right and climbed over the seat backs into the empty row in front of the woman.
“Oh, hell no! You ain't getting in front of me that way.” The woman crowded up to block the row where Michelle now stood.
Two older women sat in the next row up, one woman by the window, the other by aisle. They were both turned around, watching the confrontation between Michelle and the obstinate woman. Michelle turned to the older women. “Excuse me, ladies. I have a serious emergency and need to get through.”
“Why I never!” the woman seated by the aisle exclaimed.
The other woman responded. “Shut up, Bernice. Even you can see this is an emergency. Now get down off your high horse and up off your dead ass and help this child.” The woman pointed a well‑manicured finger at the big woman in the aisle. “You should be ashamed of yourself. There is no call for being so selfish.” She scooted back against the window and raised her hand to help Michelle climb over the seat. “Come on, child.”
Bernice stood up to make room. “Thank you.” Michelle made eye contact with each of the two women helping her over the seats. “Both of you, thank you.”
A stocky young man standing in the center aisle, the one who the selfish woman had crowded up against, pushed back, making room for Michelle. He yelled toward the front of the plane. “EVERYONE LISTEN UP! This woman has an emergency; she needs to get off first! Make room for her to get by!”
Like a parting sea, people stepped back into the rows to let her go by. Less than half a minute later, when Michelle got to the front, the stewardess asked, “Do you have a bag?”
“It's in the overhead, forget it. I'll replace it later.” The only important thing in her small carry‑on suitcase was her computer. There was nothing incriminating on it. Losing some of the information and buying a new computer would be inconvenient, but she had learned to leave things behind when necessary.
The stewardess picked up the microphone, “Can someone please check the overhead bin where this woman came from? Her bag is in there. Please pass it forward.”
Like an old‑fashioned bucket brigade, the small suitcase tumbled forward.
Overwhelmed by all the help, Michelle yelled down the tube of the plane, “Thank you, everyone!”
A tall man leaned back around several other people and grabbed the bag from another tall man and swung it forward around the two people between him and Michelle. Her bag reached her at the same moment the stewardess released the handle to open the door. Someone a few feet back yelled “Good luck!”
Snatching her suitcase out of the air, Michelle leapt through the barely open door and pounded up the mobile breezeway.
So much for not being noticed.
* * *
A mild passing storm driven up from the gulf left the sky gray, the air cool, and streets wet.
Michelle and G‑Baby talked on the phone while she was in the taxi on the way from the Airport. He filled her in on all the details he knew.
Baby‑Sister left around 9:00 that morning to pick up a few last-minute items for her new beauty shop. She said she would be out most of the morning and should be back in time for lunch. If not, she would be back by 1:00 because two beauticians were coming in for interviews for chairs in the new shop. When she didn't show for lunch, G‑Baby tried to call but was taken straight to voicemail. Then around 12:30, Karol, one of their Russian employees, ran in through the back doors sobbing. She brought the news that Baby‑Sister had been kidnapped.
No one had been concerned that Karol hadn’t returned from her night on the street. With her somewhat better English than most of the other women, she had been quick to develop a couple of regulars. Around midnight, she left with one of the guys she'd been out all night with before. Nothing suspicious about that. Baby‑Sister talked to Karol's good friend, Darla, who said Karol had once mentioned going to a champagne brunch with her guy. They should expect her to return sometime in the middle of the day.
It turned out, the timing was about right, but Karol hadn't been enjoying a champagne brunch.
At first talking to her Uncle G helped her focus and bring her rising panic down a small notch. When he began repeating everything for the third time, his panic started to rub off. Michelle got off the phone and forced herself to grab her racing emotions.
She took a couple deep breaths, settled back into the seat, and, using her carry-on suitcase as an arm rest, closed her eyes and began reciting the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi. It was her go-to prayer when she needed to calm her mind.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace . . .
Thirty-five minutes later, she saw G‑Baby and a couple of the women waiting on the sidewalk in
front of his shop. “Over there, where those people are standing.” Michelle pointed to where they stood. Tossing a hundred at the driver, she jumped out the door of the still-moving taxi.
“Karol’s upstairs,” G‑Baby said.
“Somebody get my bag,” Michelle said to the group and turned to her Uncle G. “Oh Unc, I’m so sorry. We’ll get her back. I swear to God, we’ll get her back.”
Only a few months earlier, G‑Baby and Baby‑Sister partnered with Michelle, creating what they hoped would become the foundation of a very profitable prostitution business. They bought an old three-story building and immediately began renovations.
The front of the building, on the right side of the ground floor, was G‑Baby’s barber shop and to the left was Baby‑Sister’s beauty shop. Side by side and completely independent, the legitimate shops created a front for their real business. When renovations were complete, the second and third floors would provide housing for almost thirty Eastern European, mostly Russian, prostitutes. It had been a long, hard, and very dangerous war that brought the working women to Houston and put them together with Baby‑Sister and G‑Baby.
Over the past six weeks, Michelle spent a lot of time traveling between the new start-up in Houston and a similar operation in Billings. The renovations were on schedule for the most part, construction was going well, and the barber and beauty shops were only a couple of weeks away from opening for business.
The second floor had a kitchen at the end with an open living area in the middle. The rest of the floor had bedroom suites and stairs leading to the third floor. The third floor was all bedrooms and bathrooms where two women would share a bed and bath combo modeled like college dorms.
On her last visit, less than a week ago, spirits had been high with the prospect of a sparkling future for everyone. As the renovations wound down, the women spent more time on the streets bringing in money. The mood today, however, was dramatically different.
Michelle and G‑Baby found Darla, one of the working girls, in the living area. “Where’s Karol?” Michelle asked.
“Up in her room. She's sleeping,” Darla said.
“Get her.” Michelle fought the urge to pace and sat down in one of the upholstered chairs.
Darla and two other women left the room, leaving Michelle and G‑Baby alone in the living area. A few women were sitting at the large table in the kitchen area drinking coffee and quietly talking in Russian. The chatter of daytime TV drifted up the hall from a few of the rooms. The living room was quiet, which was the opposite of the normal rather raucous noise of so many women waking up and getting started on their day.
Early afternoon was morning for this crowd. Many of them used this time of day to work out. Typically, there would be a lot of clattering of dishes in the kitchen and coming and going through the living room. Today, the place was draped in silence.
G‑Baby sat in a chair next to Michelle. “Won’t it be faster if we go up to her room?”
“No. It's been a bad night for Karol and I'm sorry about that. But, I'm one hundred percent concerned for Baby‑Sister. She's family. Karol is an employee. I'll do whatever I need to do for family. Even if it means kicking all of our employees to the curb. No, Uncle G. We put our lives on the line to save these women and I'd do it again. But when it comes to them or family it's a one-way street.”
G‑Baby looked at Michelle with a question on his face.
“You, and my two row dogs, Nikky, and Deja. And because of you, Baby‑Sister. I care a great deal for some of the others like PJ or Miss Betty and would go to the ends of the earth for them, but not when it comes down to a choice between any of them and the four of you.”
G‑Baby stood up and walked to the arch between the kitchen and living area, looked in the kitchen, then faced back at Michelle. “I understand. Thank you. But still, wouldn't it be faster to go to her room?”
Michelle stopped and looked at her uncle. He was a good man, mid-forties, raised in the hood. But didn’t yet understand the type of people they were up against. If necessary Karol or the whole bunch would have to go to save Baby-Sister.
“This room,” — Michelle waved her hand around. — “They share it, but we own it. That counts. By putting her on a little bit of an edge, she'll be more alert and maybe remember more details.”
“I didn’t think of that.” G‑Baby said.
“Okay, Uncle G, we can’t mess around with this. You guys work for me. But she is your fiancé. So, how’s it gonna be. Do I run the show, or do you? One of us had to be in charge — no second guessing, no BS.”
“What’s your opinion?” G‑Baby asked.
“You’re too close. I should be the one making the hard calls. If we choose that way right now, it has to be that way all the way through.”
“You’re right. I can’t do it and shouldn’t even try,” G‑Baby said. “We follow you. I’ll tell the others.”
Karol dragged into the room. Her sunken eyes were red rimmed with dark half circles under them. Wearing long pajama bottoms and a t‑shirt, she hadn't put on a bra.
“Did you get a shower?” Michelle asked.
“Da,” Karol answered.
“Good,” Michelle said. “Now go back and put on a bra. The pajamas and t‑shirt are fine.”
Karol looked confused and said something in Russian to Darla, who had followed her into the room. Darla responded and both women headed to the stairs.
“Why the bra? I’m trying not to question you, but Goddammit, Michelle isn’t this just taking extra time to prove you’re the boss. They already know that. This is wasting time we don’t have.” G‑Baby said.
Michelle stood and leaned against the door frame. “We have a minute to get this stuff straight. First, I’m going to explain myself. Not that I want to, but because I really need you to get that I’m doing everything I can to help you and Baby‑Sister. Next, if you don’t agree, tell me and I’ll step off. You’re in charge. Deal?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“She needs to put on a bra for the same reason I don't want to go to her room. I need every conversation she has with me to be important. I need to keep my distance and remember she isn't my friend. She’s an employee with information. If I let myself get sympathetic and involved, I might miss stuff. If I miss something, it could cost Baby-Sister’s life. Now, either you trust me to think things through or you don’t. Which is it?”
“Jesus. You’re right. I’m too close and too scared. Thanks for explaining it.”
“I will when I can — if I have time. You still haven’t answered my question,” Michelle said.
“I trust you and you’re in charge,” he answered.
A couple minutes passed. Karol and Darla returned. The dampness in Karol's hair and flush on her cheeks showed Michelle that Karol had washed her face. She’d also put on a bra. Her freshly washed face remained haggard but with her head held a little higher and a bit more energy in her steps, her walk had more assurance.
“Sit over here by me,” Michelle said.
“Is okay I stay?” Darla asked.
“Is your English better than Karol's?” Michelle asked.
“No. She is better,” Darla said.
“Yeah you can stay, but don't talk,” Michelle said. “I need to hear from Karol.”
Holding hands, the two women sat on a couch next to Michelle.
Piece by piece, working through the language barriers of Karol's limited English and Michelle’s almost nonexistent Russian, she got the full story.
Several times, as she learned the details of the horrific events from the night before, Michelle’s blood began to boil. She clamped down hard on her emotions and made herself focus.
Karol's guy didn't want her all night. He paid her and gave her taxi money and left. She stayed in the room long enough to freshen up before heading out.
Outside the hotel, a man grabbed her from behind with his hand over her mouth and put a gun in her side. He pulled her back to a car and got in the back s
eat with her. Another man waited in the driver's seat.
“Can you describe the man who grabbed you?” Michelle asked.
“Average size. That’s all I see.”
“Did you see the driver when you got in the car?” Michelle asked.
“No. I did later,” Karol said.
Why didn't she see the driver? “Did the light come on in the car when the man opened the door?” Michelle asked.
“I don't know.”
“Karol sweetie, I know this is hard, but I need you to think. What did you see when the man opened the door?”
“I saw the edge of the back seat. The rest was dark.”
“That’s good, very good.” Michelle leaned in a little. “The part you saw, the edge of the seat, was it the light from outside or inside that lit it up?”
“The light from the outside,” Karol said. “The parking lot lights, I think.”
Michelle tilted her head. “Thank you for remembering. Every little bit helps.”
“How does that help.” Karol shook her head. “What difference where light comes from?”
“It helps me get a picture of the men. Please trust me. The things you remember may be very important. You know that these men have Baby‑Sister?”
“Yes, I hear that.”
“That’s why it is important you tell me everything. What you know could help me save her life. I am sorry if my questions are hard. I don’t have a choice because you are the only one who knows anything right now.”
Darla rubbed Karol’s back. “I’m here malyutka, my little one.”
Karol nodded. “Okay, I try hard to remember little things.”
“He made you get in the back seat . . .” Michelle prompted.
Hard Run: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #4 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series) Page 28