Get Even: A Michelle Angelique Urban Action Adventure Thriller Series Book #2 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin)

by Lori Jean Grace

  I shot from behind my car. Gus mostly shot from the tree. Michelle shot a lot from up . . . Fuck! Where’s her brass?

  Only a few seconds had passed since Michelle and Nikky ran into Miss Betty’s house and sirens were on the way. No time to go inside and ask questions.

  Trevon sprinted to the shrubs below the balcony where Michelle had taken so many shots, and frantically searched the area.

  “She already got them!” Gus yelled. “Come on, the cops are almost here!”

  Trevon ran over and threw himself down next to Gus when the first two police cars, tires squealing, blasted around the corner. “What? She already got the shells?”

  “The little one ran in the house, and other one did this crazy thing: she pulled off her shirt and started picking up something. Then she yelled, asking me where her gun was. When I showed her I had it, she threw the casings over here like they’d ejected out of my gun. That’s them, scattered in the grass mixed with mine.”

  “Impressive,” Trevon said.

  “I thought so,” Gus replied.

  “Prints?” Trevon asked.

  “Guns, clips, and bullets, all wiped clean.”

  From the other end of the street, two more police cars screeched in, sirens blaring, lights flashing. An unmarked police LTD, red gumball light flashing on the dash, jammed up behind the first two cruisers. From his spot by the tree, Trevon had a clear line of sight to the unmarked LTD.

  At least two more cruisers, sirens screaming, roared up behind the van. Though he couldn’t see it, Trevon assumed the activity in front of him was mirrored at the other end of the scene.

  Uniformed police threw doors open, and crouched behind them with guns out, scanning the area.

  A plainclothes cop slid out of the unmarked car, using the door for cover. With his gun aimed at Gus and Trevon, he made eye contact. “Keep your hands where I can see them,” he said.

  They nodded.

  Several more police cars showed up.

  More uniformed officers, guns out, cautiously left the protection of their cars, accusing every shadow of being a potential threat, as they flowed up and around the four shot‑up vehicles.

  “Clear!” an officer yelled, moving away from the American sedan.

  “Clear!” a different officer yelled, stepping away from the shot‑up Lexus parked in front of the American sedan.

  “Clear!” another officer yelled from the black sedan behind the van.

  “This one’s dead!” called an officer, standing by the man in the gutter.

  “This one, too!” An officer rose to his feet next to the man lying in the middle of the street.

  “There are people in the van! They all look dead!” a different officer yelled.

  “Clear!” an officer shouted from the van.

  “This one is dead!” announced yet another officer, who stood up next to the man lying in the front yard.

  Four uniforms, two to either side, with guns drawn and pointing at Trevon and Gus, side‑stepped in a semicircle about fifteen feet away in front of them.

  “Don’t move!” a cop shouted, sounding foolishly loud.

  “Relax, we’re not going anywhere,” Trevon said.

  “Shut up! Hands up over your heads!” the same cop yelled.

  Trevon raised his hands, while Gus lifted one. The other remained on his lap.

  “Raise your other hand, asshole!”

  “Hey, Dickless Tracy, don’t continue to prove you’re a moron,” said Trevon. “You can see he’s been shot and can’t raise his arm. Now calm the fuck down, before one of you idiots does something stupid.”

  The cop in the suit walked up behind the uniformed officer who’d been yelling at them. “I got this, Gerry.”

  Gerry, the loud cop, nodded, but didn’t relax or lower his gun. The other three cops stayed equally as vigilant.

  Plainclothes asked Gus and Trevon, “Those your only weapons?”

  “Yeah,” both men answered.

  “Are you shot?”

  “I’m not, he is,” Trevon said. “He needs medical attention.”

  “Can you stand?” Plainclothes asked Gus.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ll go first, but not yet.” He nodded to Trevon. “You. Put your hands on your head, lace your fingers. Stay very still when your buddy gets up. Got that?”

  Trevon nodded and did as instructed.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them”—Plainclothes nodded over to Gus—“and slowly get up, and step away from the tree.”

  Cradling his injured arm, Gus struggled to his feet and stepped a few paces away from the tree, where he was vigorously frisked.

  More patrol cars arrived, along with two ambulances.

  “He’s clean,” an officer said.

  “Get him on a gurney. Cuff him to it. Read him his rights, ride with him and don’t let him talk to anyone.”

  Turning back to Trevon, Plainclothes said, “You’re next. What’s your name?”

  “Trevon.” He nodded over to Gus being loaded into an ambulance. “And he’s Gus. Who’re you?”

  “I’m asking the questions, not you,” Plainclothes said. “First, I need to make sure you’re not armed. Stand up.”

  Trevon locked eyes with the loud, uniformed officer who still aimed his gun at him. “Before I move,” he said to Plainclothes, “put a leash on Gerry, the clown‑boy. I don’t want to get shot by some hyped‑up fool so excited by his excuse to point a loaded gun he’s about to come in his pants.”

  “Fuck you, asshole, and stand up like the lieutenant told you to,” Gerry said.

  “Is that how you talk to your boy toys down at the Roughrider Club? I bet they love that you’re a real cop with your own genuine police handcuffs.” Hands on his head, Trevon awkwardly climbed up onto his knees, then stood. He winked at Gerry and blew him a kiss. “Play nice, lover boy.”

  “You know the drill,” Plainclothes said. “Turn around, hands on the tree, spread your feet.”

  Leaning against the tree, Trevon heard the clatter of the pile of guns being removed while someone kicked his left out foot to widen his stance. Trevon expected the move, and let the kick push his foot too far, and take his balance. He stumbled, falling into the tree. Reflexively he pushed off the tree to regain his footing when a fist slammed into his right kidney. He sagged to his knees.

  “Another move, asshole, and you’re fucking dead! You hear me!” Gerry shouted.

  Trevon hid his smile and nodded. He remained on one knee and, arms spread wide, hugged the tree.

  “Stand him up,” Gerry commanded.

  Two sets of hands grabbed Trevon, yanked him to his feet.

  “Assume the position!” Gerry yelled.

  “I got this,” the lieutenant said.

  “It’s okay, Lou, I got it.”

  “No. You don’t. I’ll take it from here.” The lieutenant stepped in and frisked Trevon, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. “You can put your hands down and turn around.”

  Turning to his left, Trevon noted Miss Betty standing in her doorway, holding up her phone. He was sure she videoed the whole thing. He touched his cheek, then looked at his fingers. Blood. The rough tree bark had cut his face when he fell into it.

  “Well, now what, Lieutenant?”

  “We’ll start with who you are, and what you’re doing here with a pile of guns at your feet and a bunch of dead men in the street.”

  “No, Lieutenant, we’ll start with you opening my wallet and taking out my card.”

  Gerry started to step in closer but the lieutenant laid a restraining hand on his arm, “Hang on,” while the lieutenant checked Trevon’s wallet. “Counselor at Law? You’re an attorney?”

  “I am. And all of this mess, and the well‑documented police brutality by Officer Gerry, will be handled by my attorney. Now, I’m bleeding and I need medical attention. I suggest you deal with that as your top priority.”

&n
bsp; “It’s a fucking scratch; you’ll live,” Gerry said.

  “No, it’s a visible medical condition,” Trevon said. “Which, as a Black man, you know can cause keloids. That means you have special knowledge and are denying me appropriate medical attention.”

  “Gerry, go send the EMT over,” the lieutenant said. “Then help Sergeant Vasquez with logging the scene.” The remaining uniformed officer moved in and cuffed Trevon.

  Trevon looked over at Miss Betty, who was still videoing. “Dollars to doughnuts, she got that little action with Officer Gerry. What do you think that’s worth? A million? Too bad he’s not White. Throw in the race card and it’d be an extra half‑million, easy.”

  “What’s your angle, Counselor? If you think that stunt you pulled will get you off on any murder charges, it’s not gonna happen.”

  “All of this”—Trevon looked around the street—“will eventually come out as a case of mistaken identification. I’m an out‑of‑town attorney visiting an old family friend. As far as I know, I’m not involved with these people. We acted in self‑defense and almost lost our lives. Then, I was brutally attacked by an armed police officer after I made it abundantly clear that I was unarmed and posed absolutely zero threat.”

  “That don’t tell me shit. What’s your angle? You pushed him into that shit on purpose. Now you got it on video. Why?”

  “Further, even after I did not respond to your officer’s brutality, proving I am not a threat, you had the remaining officer place me in cuffs. You have no sensible reason to cuff me, that is, unless you’re arresting me. Are you arresting me?” Trevon asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Trevon cocked his head. “I’m not too sure what to do about this. It could be something: it could be nothing. I’ll need to think about it long and hard. Before I say more, let this man look at my face, then we can continue this little discussion.”

  The EMT had walked up while they were talking.

  The lieutenant stepped back and nodded to him, and the EMT started to break out some gauze pads.

  “Do you know anything about keloids?” Trevon asked the EMT.

  “I know what they are.”

  “Do you know how to treat for them?”

  “No. Not specifically,” the EMT admitted.

  “Not a problem. Do what you normally do, but I’ll want all of the materials you use and the bottles you take any medicines or supplies out of.” While he talked, Trevon kept an eye on Miss Betty’s door. She and a woman Trevon didn’t recognize remained active, videoing everything.

  “Really? You want the bottles, too?”

  “Everything. Put it all in a bag.”

  “Should I do it?” the EMT asked the lieutenant.

  “Do as the good counselor asks,” the lieutenant said, “but keep a record, and charge him.”

  “Okay, I’ll go get a bag.”

  “I’ll wait.” Trevon glanced at Miss Betty, who inconspicuously held up two fingers: two minutes.

  “You don’t sound like you’re from around here, Lieutenant,” he said.

  “Jersey. I was a cop there for a long time. Now I’m a cop here. And I want to know what you’re stalling for.”

  “I’m using the time to think about how to deal with this problem. I’m innocent of any wrongdoing, so any legal or criminal issues don’t worry me. It will be, as they say in the business, an inconvenience. But that’s all it’ll be. The danger’s over; somehow we lived through this insanity. But then there’s our friend, Gerry, to decide about.”

  “Well, Counselor, you can think about it all you want, but until I’m clear on what happened here, you and your friend are spending some time with me back at the department.”

  While the lieutenant talked, Michelle stepped out onto the porch and stood next to Miss Betty, hair glistening with water droplets and she wore clothes that neither fit nor would ever be found in her wardrobe. Trevon nodded, and she ducked back inside.

  Good, they’ve had time to get cleaned up. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.

  The EMT returned, took care of Trevon’s face, and when he finished, he set the bag of used supplies on the ground by Trevon’s feet.

  “Well, Lieutenant,” said Trevon. “I’m ready to go downtown whenever you are. Since that’s my Lexus over there, I’m afraid I’ll need a lift. Now, this place is crawling with reporters, and my friend over there, and at least a half‑dozen others, have videoed all of this. So how about we try a different tack. So far, I’ve been brutalized but, in good faith, have gone along with your program. So, now we understand each other. If you aren’t going to arrest me, here and now, you need to remove the cuffs.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You and I both know, if I want to push this thing, I’ll create a nice, messy lawsuit that the city can ill afford. The department will suffer and I’ll get a little fame that, frankly, I don’t really need. I’m thinking about moving up this way, and I’d rather work with the police than against them. Perhaps you and I can find some better footing and work toward a mutually beneficial future.”

  “Turn around,” the lieutenant said.

  Trevon did, and the lieutenant removed the cuffs. “They were just a temporary precaution until the scene was secured.”

  “Of course, they were.” Trevon smiled. “I’m glad you chose to consider my offer.”

  “I didn’t hear an offer.”

  “The option of considering a working relationship rather than locking into an adversarial position.”

  “Whatever. I took the cuffs off. Don’t read too much into it. Now, it’s time to go downtown.”

  “I’m more than happy to go, but I won’t be answering your questions without my attorney. And since it looks like we’re going to see more of each other, what’s your name?”

  “Hursh. Lieutenant Hursh. And don’t think knowing my name makes you my friend. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a suspect in a multiple homicide.”

  Twenty‑Three: You?

  A WEEK AFTER the street war, Michelle and Trevon settled into Miss Betty’s large, overstuffed chairs in her living room. The cool air‑conditioning belied the outside heat, while bright afternoon sunlight spilled through the vertical blinds, casting shadow stripes on the table and the floor in the open dining area.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t see that shit coming,” Michelle said.

  “You can’t believe it!” Trevon leaned forward. “No shit, woman! I couldn’t believe what I saw with my own eyes—still can’t. You, up on that balcony, taking out those guys; it didn’t make sense.”

  “You saw that?”

  “At first I didn’t know you were up there. But then the sound of your shots gave you away. But I could barely see the bottom of the balcony so I didn’t know if you were shooting at us or them. Hell, I almost took a shot at you. I only saw you hit the guy on the grass, who, by the way, was a fast‑moving target. I couldn’t see where the shots that got D’andre came from, but I didn’t need to. I knew Gus was empty, and I saw you come out.”

  “Then you didn’t see me miss the other guy who got away?” she asked.

  “No, just him jumping around and running up the street.”

  “He was fast!”

  “You didn’t take a second shot at him. Why?”

  “No danger. Then or now. What’s he gonna do? Go to the police and tell them we killed his friends while he tried to kill us?”

  “I’ll have to watch for him later. He might come back at us.”

  “Time will tell.”

  “So tell me, where the hell did all of that Tomb Raider stuff come from?” Trevon made a finger gun with one hand and, cradling it in his other, shot while panning across the room. “Miss Betty told me a woman in her Pussy Squad seemed like she could take care of business. But damn, girl, I didn’t have a clue you were the one.”

  “Well, I’m the one,” she confessed.

  “And?”

  �
��And what?”

  “That was a real question,” he said. “You being Laura Croft? Where did all of that come from? Who shoots like a pro, and with the cops on the way, has the presence of mind to take off her shirt to pick up casings without leaving prints? Which, by the way, was quite impressive. You sure didn’t learn that stuff in Miss Betty’s church.”

  “It’s a long story,” Michelle said. “Before I get into it, what about you? You didn’t see this coming? Well, neither did I. You’re a fucking drug man. Christ Almighty! Drugs! How in the world are drugs involved? Are you a drug man or a lawyer first? Jesus, next, you’ll be a politician. You’re not running for governor, are you?”

  “Drugs are my business, but I’d never stoop so low as to become a politician.” Trevon smiled, sipped his tea. “My story isn’t so long. Grew up poor, wanted more, and made it happen. I started on the corners as a kid; law school came later.”

  “So now what? Are you moving up here and taking over the drug business in the hood?”

  “It’s a hands‑on kind of thing. D’andre and his crew being out of the way is an important start, though it doesn’t mean much by itself. I still need to show every wannabe I’ll shoot his shit off if he comes sniffing around. Hell, if he even thinks of doing some shit, he’ll be put down. So yeah, I’ll be bringing a crew with me.”

  “So you’re the man in Long Beach, right?” she asked.

  “Uh‑huh.”

  “Why come up here when you’re already top dog in your hood?”

  “I run the streets, not the top organization,” Trevon said. “I’m loyal to the men I came up with. They’ve always done right by me, and I’m good with that.”

  “Bullshit,” Michelle said. “Nobody’s loyal in the drug business. Someone finds a weakness, they move in. You just don’t see any weaknesses, is all.”

  “You’re right. These days most people are like that, but not everybody. You can think what you want, because it doesn’t matter what you think. I’m firm in my loyalty. When I see a weakness with my people, I help to make it right. Nothing else. That’s the way it is. I worked that way back in the day with Betty’s husband, Big John. This business here, this is payback to the assholes who helped to put him in his grave.”