Hard Win (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series 3)

by Jason Stanley

  Michelle met with Trevon in his new club to talk about adding more security for her girls.

  The club name, Bat’s Cave Too was a cute play on words, and all Brandon’s idea. They had a hugely successful gay club in Long Beach called Bat’s Cave. It was also where they ran their street drug business. The new club in Anglewatts, doubled as a headquarters for their street business, as well as becoming a hot gay club.

  Trevon Moore and Brandon McCabe grew up as close as brothers since the third grade. Trevon was the brains and Brandon always backed him up. Trevon went to Cal State Long Beach University for the knowledge and degree. Brandon majored in partying. As a gay Black man with money and the drug supplier for the campus, it had been one hell of a four year party.

  But what Michelle needed to discuss was absolutely no party.

  “Damn right I’m worried. I’m also mad as hell. That muthafucka won’t stop just because I’ve got T-Dog’s crew on the street. Right or wrong, my girls want men, not women, out there backing them up. That means your organization.”

  “Okay, I’ll help. It isn’t my business what your hookers do, but what happens in my city is my business,” Trevon said. “Hey, Brandon, come on over here. I need you to do a little something.”

  “What’s up?” Brandon walked over to the booth where Michelle and Trevon sat.

  “I need you to give this drawing of this guy to all our people on the street and in the club. Everywhere we have people. Anybody see this guy they need to call me. Make sure they understand they call as soon as they see them. I won’t be happy about hearing some shit they didn’t think it was important and sat on it until they got their dick sucked,” Trevon said.

  “What about Long Beach?”

  “Yeah, them too.”

  Brandon looked at the drawing. “Is this the guy that killed Little-T?”

  “Yeah,” Michelle said in a flat tone.

  Brandon turned back to Trevon. “Do you want me to give them Michelle’s number too?”

  “No. It needs to be me. If they think it’s for anyone but me, they might be less vigilant.”

  Michelle and Brandon often teased Trevon about his “lawyer speak” as they called it. They were the only ones who got away with it.

  “We don’t want no muthafucka being less vigilant, do we?” Brandon said with a wink at Michelle.

  “Get the fuck out of here before I vigilant you,” Trevon said.

  “Promises, promises.” Brandon stood to leave. “We’ve been friends for damned near thirty years. Most of that time I’ve waited on him to ‘vigilant’ me. All I have are empty promises.” Then to Trevon he said, “It’ll be done before everybody hits the streets this evening.”

  “Thanks bruh.”

  Still standing, Brandon said to Michelle, “Answer my calls too. I’m putting the lady-boys and their studs on it with instructions to call me.”

  “Thanks Brandon. That’ll be a big help.”

  With Brandon putting out the word in the gay community, the number of people looking would explode.

  After Brandon walked away, Michelle said, “I appreciate your putting the word out to watch for this guy, but all of that is passive. They’re only looking and reporting back. I need more active muscle on the streets. What can you do with that?”

  “Not much. I don’t have any extra muscle to put on the streets.”

  Michelle stared at Trevon for a moment. She knew his answer was both bullshit and final. If it had been his business that was threatened, he’d be able to put on a dozen local guys and another twenty, maybe even thirty guys from Long Beach. That was the problem. It was her business, not his. He would help, but not go all out. That said things about their relationship she needed to think about — at a later time.

  “It’s just business then?” She said, more a statement than a question.

  “Just business.”

  She wanted to tell him she’d never ask for his help again and he could shove his just business comment up his ass. She also wanted to threaten never to help him if he needed it. Instead she simply said, “It’s not just business to me. This, all of this, is personal.”

  Eight Instant Karma

  TREVON WATCHED CAPTAIN BAXTER swagger up to the bar.

  He looked like a model for a bad TV cop. His deep-set, dark beady eyes, short, almost pug nose and severely receding hairline made his features appear scrunched in the middle of his face. The almost rodent impact was completed with a sallow complexion that carried the scars of serious adolescent acne on his hollow cheeks and down his neck. His wardrobe matched perfectly. Cheap sport coat over cheaper slacks and decent quality dress shoes that should have been retired a couple years ago.

  “Hey, Billy, Johnny Walker, two fingers, rocks.”

  “Red or Black?”

  “Black.”

  “You have a visitor.” Billy pointed with his eyes and a slight nod to a booth over Baxter’s left shoulder.

  Baxter turned and looked at Trevon. “In that case make it Blue. Put it on his tab.”

  Johnny Walker Blue in hand, Captain Baxter sat down across the table from Trevon. “You’re in my bar, motherfucker. You don’t come in here uninvited.” He took a drink of the scotch. “Just to show I’m a reasonable man, thanks for the drink.”

  Trevon gave a single, short nod and held eye contact. He didn’t say anything.

  The two men sat silently watching each other. After a long pause Baxter sipped his drink breaking eye contact. “Well, you’re here. What do you want?”

  “In case you don’t know who I am, my name is Trevon Moore. I’m a new attorney in town. An employee of one of my clients was murdered last week. It seems your team has taken over the investigation. It has come to my attention my client has hit a wall in her attempt to obtain information.”

  “Bullshit. I know who you are,” Baxter said. “This is how it works. Jackson paid me and paid me well. He’s dead and you’re in his chair. You think you can come waltzing into my city without asking me. You think capping a bunch of second rate street thugs can put you on top. Fuck you. You ain’t shown no respect boy. It’s time you learned some respect. You’re gonna pay if you want to stay in my city.”

  Trevon ignored the tone and racial insult. “The dead hooker has nothing to do with my business. Why the wall of silence?”

  “I don’t have to answer to you for a motherfucking thing. Here’s what you need to know. You and that little bitch who took over Sugar’s business best straighten up and start paying me. Yeah, I know about Sugar, and the cunt who took over. There are people who don’t want her here. Personally, I don’t give a shit. If you pay, you can stay. If not, both of you are out.” Baxter sat back, blew out his breath and rolled his shoulders, relaxing. The long pull he took off the Johnny Walker Blue suggested he had not relaxed as much as he wanted Trevon to believe.

  “How much?”

  “Your part. Twenty-thousand back pay. After that, five-thousand a month. I’m in a generous mood. You have until next week to pay me the twenty.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” When Trevon stood up, two White guys and two Black guys, all obviously muscle, stood up from their spots around the room. Baxter’s eyes widened in surprise. It was clear he hadn’t spotted all four of Trevon’s back-up team.

  * * *

  Of everyone Trevon knew in Anglewatts, Miss Betty was the most likely to have the inside information he wanted. Back in his teen years, when he was first coming up, he worked as a courier, bringing shipments up from San Pedro to Big John. At that time Big John ran the streets of Anglewatts. Things happened, trust was built, and eventually Big John, and his wife, Miss Betty, took Trevon under their wing. Big John taught him how to run his business. Miss Betty worked to teach him to keep his humanity while in the street life. Once again, he needed her help.

  “Hi Miss Betty, I’m calling about a cop.” Trevon explained what he knew about Captain Baxter.

  “Sorry Trevon, I can’t help you on this. I don’t know anything about him.�
��

  “Okay, thanks. Doesn’t hurt to check.”

  “Before you go, did this Captain Baxter have anything to do with Big John’s murder?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe, probably.”

  “If you learn anything, let me know. One last thing. No matter what he did or what kind of problems he causes, he’s a captain and that makes him po-lease royalty. You have to be real careful with those guys. Big John always said if you need to deal with royalty, you had to go for outside professional help. Don’t let nothing come back on you.”

  “Big John was a wise man. Thanks for your help,” Trevon said.

  “Any time.”

  * * *

  Trevon invited Michelle into his private office. “Thanks for coming. Would you like something to drink?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” Trevon pushed the intercom button on his desk phone. “Natalie, bring in a couple Cokes.”

  A moment later, Natalie, his secretary and office manager came in with Cokes and glasses on a tray. She nodded to Michelle, sat the tray on a side credenza, and left.

  Trevon picked up a Coke, gestured with it to Michelle. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I said I didn’t want anything to drink. I’m pressed for time today. What did you need to talk about?

  “Ever hear of Captain Baxter in the Anglewatts Police Department?” he asked.

  “Just the name, but I don’t know anything about him,” Michelle said.

  “He’s dirty. Not just dirty, but might have been influential in setting up Jackson in the takeover from Big John back when your bother and Big John were killed.”

  Michelle leaned forward. “Are you saying he had something to do with Michael’s murder?”

  “I don’t know if he did or not. But I do know he was the inside guy that smoothed things to set Jackson up in the first place. Now that Jackson is gone, he wants us to pay.”

  Michelle leaned back and drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “What do you mean by ‘us’? Is he looking at us as a team, or squeezing each of us individually? And, what do you mean pay? How much?”

  “Five K a month for me, he didn’t say what he wanted from you.”

  “Five grand for a police captain is steep, but in range depending on what he can do for you,” Michelle said.

  “It’s not the cheese, it’s the attitude. He’s trouble. I’ve dealt with his type before. Sooner or later, he’ll fuck one or both of us.”

  “I’m here, and I hear what you’re telling me. But so far I don’t see what we’re really talking about. What’s on your mind?”

  “I want you to take him out,” he said.

  “You want a contract on him?”

  “Yeah.”

  That sure didn’t take long to come full circle. Not even six hours ago he told me his half assed support was just business. Now he needs my help. Well you live a little and you learn a little. Today I learned more about what kind of man he truly is.

  “One-hundred fifteen thousand. Half up front, half on delivery,” Michelle said.

  “You know this guy is a problem for you as much as he is for me.”

  “No, I don’t know that. If your information is good and Baxter did move Jackson into place, it doesn’t mean he had anything to do with Michael’s murder.”

  “Without him doing what he did, Jackson wouldn’t have been able to order the hits.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that. I know all about the missing nail in a horseshoe costing the king a kingdom. Might as well say, without Henry Ford, my folks wouldn’t have been killed in a car wreck. It’s bullshit. I can’t blame him any more than I can blame Baxter for what Jackson did.”

  “Maybe not, but he’ll be a problem for you and your business as much as for me,” he said.

  Michelle paused, steepled her fingers resting her chin on her thumbs, then dropped her hands into her lap. “No, he won’t be near the problem for me as for you. The fact is you want me to make your life easier.

  “It’s been my business to take care of these types of problems for people for the past few years. But I’m pretty busy with my own issues at the moment and not particularly inclined to take the job. We both know the po-po and good citizens don’t care much about hookers on the streets. Not anything like they’re up in arms about drugs. Drugs cause all kinds of problems, where pussy makes people happy. No, this is your problem, not mine. You want it to go away, and stay away, you’ve got to pay.”

  She knew, whatever she did, eventually Captain Baxter had to go. He was the type of cop that wouldn’t ever stop demanding more. Worse, she had heard from her girls, they never knew when he’d go too far and really hurt one of them. Beside what she told Trevon, it was in her best interest to take him out. If Trevon had done her right with loaning her the muscle she needed, she would have refused the job, and done it on the quiet. But pay back was a bitch and she wanted to make Trevon pay for being an ass.

  “That’s a lot of money to cap one guy,” Trevon said.

  “Trevon, you want me to take out a police captain. Here in our own backyard. It needs to be in a way nobody can bring it back to you. That’ll take some special set up and execution. It won’t be simple, not on any level. Killing him is easy. Most any one of your guys could cap him in a drive-by. Hell, a baby-g with a gun could walk up and do him when he’s having dinner in a restaurant. That type shit will put them and likely you in the joint doing serious time. At the least you’ll be disbarred and blow the shit out of your street business for months here in Anglewatts. Probably forever. You’ll be back in Long Beach as a street thug the rest of your life.”

  “Maybe. That’s putting a lot of trust in the cops catching my man.”

  “On something like this, they’ll always catch one of your guys. You want a professional, clean job, totally disconnected from you. This guy needs to be killed in a way that won’t bring any suspicion or heat on you, the streets, or your organization. That’s why you hire a pro and it’ll cost you.”

  “It’s still a lot of money.”

  “That’s my price. I pick the way it’s done and the time and place. It’ll take some time to set up. Could be in a week or a month. I’ll give you a couple hours notice so you can be seen in public when you need to be.”

  “I’ll let you know in a day or two.”

  “No. You’ll let me know while we’re sitting here or the answer is I’m not interested. I need to be back on the streets. So what’ll it be?”

  “That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think?” Trevon asked.

  “It’s just business.”

  Nine: Take A Breath

  BEFORE TAKING OVER the street prostitution in Anglewatts, Michelle spent the better part of two years rebuilding her financial foundation.

  Only after Michelle returned from Asia was she able to piece together the behind-the-scenes details of what had happened when her brother Michael and cousin Gabe Jr. were killed. The men who murdered them had created a fake drug deal and got the drop on them.

  Four and a half years later, the memory was as vivid as if it were yesterday. Michelle had heard an explosion of shots in the back of the house. When the shots stopped, a man stumbled through the house and ran out. Fighting her fear, she went down a blood-smeared hall to find her brother dying on the floor of his den. Two briefcases sat open on a coffee table. One case was crammed full of bags of oxy. The other case held over a half million dollars. She left the drugs and took the money.

  Determined to avenge her brother, she put a big dent in her blood fund, leaving the country and paying for her increasingly clandestine assassin training. She felt every cent was well spent.

  With her first assassination, in her third year of training, she began rebuilding her stash. Early on, jobs were few and pay was low. That changed as she became known as a reliable contractor. By the time she returned to the States, she had a good start on refilling the accounts. After a year back home, taking every job offered, she had more than doubled her stakes
.

  Since putting down the scum that murdered her brother, she had slowed down on accepting assignments. After taking over the prostitution business in the hood, she had not taken any assassination jobs. She wanted to keep it that way if she could.

  As horrible as Little-T’s murder was, they would make it through. The emotional price was terribly high. The added security with T-Dog’s crew and the others cost a lot. Much more than the business earned. Fortunately, Michelle had both money in the bank and, if necessary, the way to earn more. Somewhere somebody always wanted someone to be removed, and was willing to pay for it.

  But now, in spite of Little-T’s murder and the financial issues, it was time to show a little appreciation. Nikky and Deja had worked their asses off for the past six months. Plus, this was something she had been working on for several weeks. All of the big costs had already been paid.

  Michelle conspired with her friend Scott to set up a little surprise for Nikky and Deja.

  Only a couple of blocks from Michelle’s cottage in Playa Del Sol, Scott’s Diner had become a fixture in Michelle’s life. First as a local diner for a good home-style breakfast or lunch. It was in the perfect spot to stop in after a morning run on the beach. Later Michelle and Scott became unlikely friends. They compared notes on her frequent male companions. He had an uncanny ability to peg the guy for a good guy or cretin. Or somewhere in-between.

  Now Michelle, Deja, and Nikky included the small diner, along with Blanche’s Café, as an unofficial office away from the office. They also came with their extended family and friends for purely social occasions. Partly because it was Michelle’s favorite, and partly because they knew they could talk around Scott.

  She had Scott help with the surprise because as a White surfer dude, he was completely separate from her life in the hood. With his help, Nikky or Deja wouldn’t possibly get wind that they were being set up.

  Parked around the corner from Scott’s Diner, Michelle called him.

  “Hello, Scott’s Diner. How can I help you?”

  “Hey Scott. Is everything ready?” Michelle asked.