“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Well, girl, are you going to tell me where you’ve been? Nobody’s seen you for, what, three years?”
Michelle was happy to see Miss Betty, but with a dead body in the alley and the murder weapon in her bag, the timing couldn’t be much worse. Miss Betty loved to gossip. She talked a lot. Much sharper than most people gave her credit for. Miss Betty also asked questions and truly paid attention to the answers. Michelle knew she would not be free anytime soon. She thought about a dozen ways to get out of staying and none of them were any good.
“Are you going to tell me or make me stand here, guessing?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Betty. I don’t really know where to begin.” Michelle told her a watered-down version of the truth, a story of living abroad and about her job with the movies, chatting and keeping the conversation natural. She needed to act normal, or Miss Betty might tell the cops how Michelle had acted jumpy, which would make them suspicious of her.
While she talked, Michelle tried to casually ease toward her parked car.
“Where are you headed, child?” Miss Betty asked. “I still have to get my cigarettes. Here, walk with me to the 7-Eleven and I’ll walk back with you.”
“Sure thing. I’ve already been” — she raised her Big Gulp cup — “but I’d be happy to walk with you and hear about what’s happened while I’ve been gone.”
As the two women walked, Miss Betty gossiped about various people and events in the hood, and after they left the 7-Eleven, while they were walking across the parking lot, a police car passed by. Half way up the block, its light bar came to life with red and blue flashing lights as the cruiser did a tire-squealing U-turn and sped back past them. It hung a fast right at the corner they were headed toward.
Damn. That didn’t take long. Somebody must have come out the back of Brown’s and seen him lying there.
“That po-lease seems to be in a big hurry,” Miss Betty said, and then she chuckled. “Must’ve got a call from his girlfriend. Best not let his wife learn about that.”
Michelle and Miss Betty approached the corner, and another police car sped up the street, lights flashing, going in the same direction as the first.
“Something’s up,” Michelle said.
“Sure is. I wonder what. Don’t need no trouble, that’s for certain. I hope it isn’t someone been hurt over at the park. Those gangsta-looking types were hanging out by the courts when I came by.”
The wail of a siren came from not too far away, and then it cut off. A moment later, an ambulance drove up the street, lights flashing. The lights cut and it slowed down, following the two police cars.
Michelle and Miss Betty had turned the corner and stood at the mouth of the alley where the two police cars were parked, lights flashing. The ambulance sat behind them, back doors open. EMTs were casually pulling a stretcher out.
Michelle saw the black hoodie she’d dropped in the mud puddle; it’d been run over several times, and now looked like an old rag that had been lying on the ground for a week.
Amazing what a couple cop cars will do, running over their own evidence.
While Michelle and Miss Betty stood watching the scene, an unmarked police car came up behind them and bumped the siren. They moved out of the way, and the car passed into the alley. The detectives had arrived.
“All of those police mean something big happened,” Miss Betty said. “Maybe someone got killed.”
“You think so? I hope not,” Michelle said.
“Sure. They don’t bring an ambulance in all quiet-like and all them po-lease for no small thing. I’ve been around long enough to know how they operate. I’ll bet someone got hisself shot and killed. Want to walk down with me to see who it is?”
“No, I don’t like to see dead people. It always gives me the creeps, even at funerals. I’m sure the police will come up to talk to us, anyway.” No sooner had Michelle spoken, when a young cop strode up the alley. “See? Here he comes.” Slow, deep breaths; slow your heart down, keep calm.
“Excuse me, ladies, can I ask you a few questions?”
Michelle took the lead. “Sure.”
“Did you see anybody coming from the alley, or hear anything unusual in the last few minutes?”
“No, we were coming out the 7-Eleven when that first cop went around the corner. Then the second followed real quick.”
The cop looked at Miss Betty. “Is there anything else you can remember?”
“We heard the ambulance siren coming, but it cut off,” Miss Betty said. “Then we saw the ambulance down the alley sitting quiet, with no one running around like it was an emergency, so we figured someone must be dead. Is that what happened? Who’s down there, dead? I can see his feet sticking out, and they haven’t moved since we’ve been standing here. He’s gotta be dead. Who is he?”
“We’re not sure,” the cop replied. “We think he might have worked at the shoe store, cleaning up.”
Miss Betty nodded. “Most likely Lil Rich. Is he a light-skinned young man with a bad complexion?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s a good description. What did you say his name was?”
“That’s Richard Williams you’ve got dead down there, then. Most folks know him as Lil Rich. I know his mother, and I watched that boy grow up. He was a good boy until he got into drugs a few years ago. Been cleaning at Brown’s shoe store. His momma’s going to be brokenhearted, but she always knew it was going to come to this.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Is there anything else you can think of?”
“Um . . . no. Except you cops don’t do enough to keep drugs from our kids. It’s y’all’s fault Lil Rich is down there, lying dead in the mud.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” With a nod, he turned and walked back toward the scene, stepping unawares on the muddy sleeve of the faded black hoodie.
Michelle considered Miss Betty, who seemed genuinely sad that Lil Rich had been killed. Now, though, she had news that needed to be spread. In less than an hour, the word would be out. She had to move quickly.
“I’m going to go back to the 7-Eleven to get me a burrito,” she said to Miss Betty. “You want to come?”
Miss Betty waved her hand. “No, you go on. I’m going to head over to Sondra’s. It’s better a friend tells her about her boy. So tragic.” She strode off, up the street.
Michelle returned to the 7-Eleven, spending several minutes heating up a burrito and refilling her Big Gulp, before pulling a white hoodie from her bag. A minute later, and dressed in the white hoodie, she paid for her stuff and walked out. Strolling the two blocks to her rented gray Acura, Michelle left the first body behind.
* * *
“G-Baby’s B-Shop. This is G.”
“It’s done,” Michelle said. “He was the first. The littlest fish is now a dead fish.”
The phone line went dead, and G-Baby hung up. With an extra bounce in his step, he gave everyone extra attention on their haircuts for the rest of the day.
Twelve: Out of the Hood
“HEY MICHELLE. THE REGULAR, or something different this morning?” asked Scott as Michelle entered the small diner located a short two blocks from her cottage.
“Hey, Scott,” she said. “The regular, please. You all alone this morning?”
“So far, but Sharon will be here any minute. Her shift starts at six thirty.”
“Mind if I get my own coffee?”
“Help yourself. It’s all fresh.”
Michelle poured herself a cup and settled in. Her friendship with Scott, the owner of the diner, had come as a pleasant surprise.
Michelle ate breakfast at Scott’s Diner several times a week. Sometimes, she dined in after her early morning beach run; sometimes she ordered takeout. On the days she didn’t go, she usually sent the guy she’d slept with for breakfast takeout for two. The men were always well-dressed, somewhere in their twenties — early thirties, tops — and typically professional-looking.
Scott not seeing th
e connection would have been a surprise. After all, how many single, Black women had recently moved into the area?
Most of the guys she brought home were good in the sack, but every once in a while, one would be a serious disappointment and wouldn’t last for takeout in the morning.
“Any news worth knowing?” she asked.
“News? Around here? We always have big news. Let’s see . . .” He brought over her breakfast and, spinning a chair around, sat down with her. “Sharon’s dog had puppies and she’ll be looking for homes in a couple of months if you want one. Hey, I have a note by the register on your fella who came in yesterday. Good-looking guy, but you know that. Pretty full of himself. He parked in the driveway when spaces were open and didn’t tip for the coffee Fran served him while waiting for his order. I’d say you can do better.”
For a White guy in his mid-thirties, Scott had an uncanny ability to size up those she sent over. He always liked the good guys, but for those he thought weren’t good enough for her (and there were a few), he straight-out dissed the punks.
A selfish lover ranked way down on Michelle’s list, right there next to the smelly trash that had stayed too long in the house. No trash or bad lovers ever stayed overnight twice.
“The puppies are a surprise,” Michelle said. “I didn’t know Sharon even had a dog. That guy being an asshat, that’s no surprise. You won’t see him picking up breakfast for me again. Thanks for the confirmation. Always good to get a second opinion.”
Michelle had always known how to “take care of herself,” but given the choice she preferred a warm bed and skin on skin contact to a mechanical orgasm. She always had a choice; willing men were easy to find. But a committed relationship? That was impossible now. She was on a mission to avenge her brother’s murderers and couldn’t be tied down.
Her real job, of course, created a huge problem. As a paid assassin, she needed total freedom, and a steady boyfriend wouldn’t understand. No, a permanent partner was out of the question, at least for now; she had to be free to work and free to enjoy sex whenever she wanted — all by her own rules.
Michelle felt comfortable in this part of L.A. Playa Del Oro snuggled in the midst of four different worlds: Marina Del Sol to the north, LAX to the south, Anglewatts to the east, and the beach to the west. Because of the airport noise and small area, the beach community would always be a modest, overpriced, middle-class neighborhood.
Her place was only a short hop to the hood by surface streets, yet it might as well have been on a different planet.
.
Thirteen: Girls Go Out
“IT’S AGREED — we’re hitting the Savvy,” Nikky told Deja. “I don’t want any whining or excuses. We’re going. Michelle’s been gone three long years, and we’ve got to get it on.”
“Yeah, I know what I said, but Jerome wants me to come to his place when he gets home tonight.”
Nikky rolled her eyes. “You’ve been with that no-count jerk for two years and he never takes you anywhere. And he never has any money; you always pay for everything. All he wants is to get some of that vajayjay when he’s in the mood. Screw that. We’re going clubbing with Michelle tonight.”
“You’re right.” Deja gave a firm nod. “I don’t know why I put up with him. I never let any guy give me shit before. We’re taking Michelle out for a good time tonight!”
Nikky smiled. “Good girl. Go pack up your stuff and come with me to my crib. How about you?” She turned to Michelle. “Can you meet us at my place with your stuff? We can all get ready there.”
“Sure. I’ll order some takeout and pick it up on the way.”
Later that evening and with an explosion of girl stuff strewn in every room and across every surface, Nikky’s apartment looked like a teenage pajama party gone awry.
“Look at you, girl,” Deja said to Michelle. “You are fly tonight. That dress shows your butt and legs really good, but . . .” She moved her hand back and forth in front of Michelle’s chest, exaggerating her move with a whole-body sashay. “You need some more padding in that bra. How do you ever get a man looking like fried eggs on top?”
Michelle looked down at her chest — or lack of it, rather — and laughed. “Shee-it . . . it’s never been a problem. Men may love to look at tits, but it’s a quality pussy they need. Let me tell you, I’ve got some serious quality where it counts. Any idiot who says something bad about my girls will find his sorry self talking to his hand. My vajayjay is golden, and a man who wants some has got to respect what he’s getting.”
At one point, Michelle had seriously considered getting a boob job in Bangkok, but later, in training, she discovered large tits could be a big problem. They drew attention — always. Especially when you didn’t want it. On a more practical note, they were a huge disadvantage when standing on a tiny ledge on the outside of a building. One woman had her tits reduced from a DD to a B cup after almost falling when her chest had pushed her back away from her balance point.
Michelle quick-checked her backside in the full-length mirror propped up against the wall in Nikky’s living room. “The men will be begging for a piece of this.” She licked the tip of her finger and touched her butt cheek with a hiss. “Smokin’!”
“We’re all hot tonight,” Deja agreed, “and not a minute too early. It’s almost ten, and time to get this show on the road.”
After a short drive and a couple valet tickets, the three women danced their way up to the front doors of the Savvy.
“Listen to those sounds, bumping big time,” Nikky said. “We’re turning this joint out tonight. The Savvy’s a ‘real’ club,” she told Michelle. “It’s in the hood, the music’s always bumping, and it has a good dance floor. Those Hollywood clubs are where the phony, wannabe players hang, always fronting like they’re somebody. Fact is, they’re either broke-ass or a fake thug living off their women. Some of them act like they’re the shit but have no heart. I’ve got no feeling for those jive-ass fakes.”
“You got that right,” Deja said. “I used to hook up with this guy I met over in Hollywood. He acted like he was the big baller shot-caller. Turned out he worked at some warehouse, driving one of them fork trucks. Doesn’t matter what a guy really does, so long as he doesn’t try to act like a big-time thug he’s not. Worse, that guy screwed like a sissy.” Deja raised her voice like a little girl’s. “‘Baby,’” she mimicked, “‘you so fine, but I gotta get up early in the morning. I’m too tired to lay the pipe tonight.’ Fucking momma’s boy.”
“Well, we’re here to party our butts off,” Michelle said. “If we meet some fine men, that’ll be good. If not, their loss. All three of us got some golden quality hoochie they wish they could get up in.”
“Michelle, you make me feel confident,” Deja said. “Let’s make a deal: we don’t waste any time on no deadbeats, wangsters, or creeps. Tonight, it’s all about quality.”
“Damn skippy!” Nikky said, when as if on cue a Jheri-curled man walked up, flashing his fake diamond-and-gold grill. She up put one hand in a stop-right-there motion. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “We’re not interested.”
“Don’t be like that, ma.”
He set his drink on their table, and Nikky turned to him, straight-on, so there’d be no mistaking her meaning.
“Did I say you could put your drink down? Pick up that glass of Mad Dog you brought from home and get your cheap juice-dripping skank self away from this table. Get to stepping.” She gave him a hit-the-road-Jack hand movement, head and neck swerving as she spoke, then she turned to Michelle and Deja. “Cheap fuck didn’t even offer to buy us a drink before he tried to sit his skeezy self down. Think again!”
“You got that shit right,” Michelle and Deja said at the same time, and all three women busted up laughing.
Mr. Gold Tooth tried to play off the diss, mumbling, “Stupid bitches. They loss.” He walked away as quickly as his cool stroll would let him.
“Hey, take a look at that mocha chocolatte over there,�
�� Michelle said, nodding toward a man. He sat alone, fine in a pair of new Stacy Adams brown-and-tan wingtips and dark chocolate slacks, flawless light skin set off by a dark green silk shirt and a fresh fade.
Nikky glanced in his direction. “Yeah, he’s all right,” she said with a knowing smile and an appraising arched eyebrow. “He might do in a pinch. What do you think? Up to your standards?” she asked Michelle, just as a waitress walked up to their table and placed down a round of drinks.
“These are from the gentleman over there.” She nodded over toward the man they were discussing.
“Hey, you go, girl,” Deja said. “First night out and already you got them paying to get with you.”
Michelle and Nikky turned to lift their glasses in a toast of thanks, and Michelle noticed Deja was all smiles but didn’t seem in the game. She’s just not warmed up yet, that’s all.
The man caught eyes with Michelle and nodded back.
“If he’s as good with the moves as he is fine,” Nikky said, “then you’re all set for tonight.”
“Yeah,” Michelle agreed. “I’m going to find out if he can move on the floor.” She didn’t believe in playing hard to get, nor in lots of other games people played. If she liked him, good: if not, adiós, and on to the next guy. Tonight, she wanted to dance, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to wait around for some man to come ask her.
She slid off her stool and approached the man, who pointed to himself, with eyebrows raised in a “Me?” expression. Michelle nodded, and he stood, strolling over to meet her halfway, where he stuck out his hand.
“Hi, I’m Daryl,” he said with a genuine grin that touched his eyes.
“Hey, Daryl, I’m Michelle, and I’d like to dance. You do dance, don’t you?”
“I love to dance. Shall we?” He extended his arm toward the dance floor.
The party went on for several more hours and during that time, Michelle and Daryl connected on and off the dance floor. Nikky met Omar and brought him and his friend, Speed, over to the table, and the six of them danced, old-school, having fun with funky moves like the Snake, the Cabbage Patch, and the Running Man. Together, they helped DJ Beatz kick it up.
Hard Revenge: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique) Page 7