Hard Betrayal (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series 2)

by Jason Stanley

  “All that’s true,” Trevon said, “but for me, keeping the prices the same doesn’t matter. That’s up to Slim to handle. I get paid the same no matter who I deliver to. If I help you, I should have some appreciation. If I keep quiet, I got nothing coming from anyone.”

  “You do know you just painted a target on your own back if this shit goes bad for us,” Big John said.

  “Yeah, that’s the business we’re in. Still, this is how I want to play it.”

  “Does Slim know anything about this?”

  “Not yet.”

  “When you gonna tell him?”

  “I’ll stop by his place on the way home,” Trevon said.

  “How about you break for dinner before you head back down the coast?” Big John offered. “My wife can cook up something real good for you.”

  “I can take some time to eat, but not at your house.”

  “Fair enough. Betty will pick you up here and take you to Roscoe’s.”

  “I can’t do that, either. I’m good with someone joining me to keep watch, but I need to go in my car. You want Ralph or someone to follow me over, that’s cool.”

  “He’s right, boss,” Ralph said. “If this shit gets sideways, he’s gotta be clean and on his own. He already told us what we need to know.”

  Later, Miss Betty met Trevon at Roscoe’s, and sometime during their long, slow dinner, Big John and his guys paid a visit to Compton.

  In the days and weeks that followed, the Compton Police chased their tails on several unsolved deaths. Business in Anglewatts continued as usual, except after that, Big John always kept an eye out for Trevon. Over the next few years, Big John and Miss Betty took Trevon under their wing.

  One day a couple years later, Big John complimented him saying, “Trevon, you and Brandon are doing pretty good; running your crew straight, keeping it clean with no stupid shit like a lot of the other young guys getting started.”

  “You’re the one who said I should pay attention to the old-school rules, the ones where you take care of those who watch out for you,” Trevon replied. “Loyalty deserves loyalty, and business is always personal. It’s worked for me so far.”

  “And they’ll always work, so long as you watch your back and stay strong. That used to be enough, but not anymore. These days, it takes more to move up. You need connections in the right places and those things happen easier when you talk right and have a college education to fit in.”

  Trevon paid attention. He earned a degree in business management at Long Beach State University. While at college, he and his best friend, Brandon, built their distribution organization on campus. By their second year, they owned most of the university party drug business, supplying over thirty thousand students. After graduation, he continued his education with law school. A few years later, when he passed the bar, he ran most of the street drug business in North Long Beach.

  Now, sitting in Ms. Betty’s living room, Trevon wanted more: he wanted to move to the top, but not in Long Beach. Loyal to the men he’d worked for all along, he wouldn’t go against them.

  But a new, unexpected opportunity opened up — Jackson, the money-man in Anglewatts, and Lewis, his top lieutenant, had both recently been killed. No one knew who’d taken them out, or why. No one from the outside had made any challenges. That suggested it was internal. No one had taken over. And that said it wasn’t business. It had to be personal. None of why it happened mattered to Trevon. He only cared that the territory was now open.

  With the lower lieutenants fighting for control, Anglewatts was ripe for a takeover, and Trevon saw his first real opportunity to take his business to the next level.

  He sipped his tea. “Perfect, like always.”

  Miss Betty smiled at the compliment. “What brings you up this way?”

  “Business,” he said. “With Lewis and Jackson gone, Anglewatts is wide open. Even if BamBam hadn’t been killed by that cop, he wouldn’t have lasted long. He was strong, but stupid, and you can’t be stupid and survive in this business. D’andre’s smarter in a street way, but he isn’t as smart as thinks he is. He’s dangerous only because you can’t figure out which way he’ll go. Sometimes his shit’s clever, but other times it’s simple, like a little kid’s.”

  “I didn’t ever get to know D’andre,” Miss Betty said. “Not that it would take much to see what kind of guy he was.”

  “Back in the day, when we were coming up, Big John didn’t like D’andre because the punk didn’t understand loyalty. Unless he’s changed, he’ll be nearsighted and greedy; looking for the fast score.”

  “Guaranteed he hasn’t changed.” Miss Betty shook her head and sipped her tea. “His type never do.”

  “My business down in Long Beach is solid. I’ve been off the streets for a couple of years, with some really good men running the day-to-day operations. Now that there’s this big hole up here, I’m going to take advantage of the situation. It’s a good move for my organization.”

  “Big John always did say you were the one who’d make it big, and it looks like you’re going to prove him right. But why are you telling me?” Miss Betty asked. “Big John’s been gone a long time, and I left the street life when he died. So, I don’t see how I can help you.”

  “Of course, you don’t want anything to do with my move into business up here; you didn’t fit the life even when you lived with Big John. I came by today to ask you for some information. You’re the central four-one-one up here. What can you tell me about who, or what, to watch out for?”

  “Well, I’m not near as close to the streets as I used to be, but I do hear things.” Miss Betty nodded. “And I recently joined a woman’s group that might help out.”

  “What kind of group? How can they help?”

  “You’ll love this. The name’s Pussy Squad. We’re not involved with anything concerning your business; it’s mostly about women helping women. What might interest you, though, is a couple of the women are deep in the life. T-Dog runs a crew, and they help some of the men’s crews with driving and information.”

  “Yeah, they could be helpful. Depends on how we come up.”

  “Do you know Sugar?”

  “No. I don’t think so. What does she look like?”

  “Dark, pretty, average height, a little chunky. Always dresses nice; a little too sexy for my taste.”

  “Doesn’t ring any particular bell,” he said.

  “She’s with D’andre, and she runs a large group of street women here in the hood.”

  “No shit! Being up on what she’s doing might be important. Way to go, Miss Betty. You’re always full of surprises.”

  An impish smile touched her eyes. “I try.”

  .

  Fourteen: A Little Pussy

  THE FIRST NIGHT after Taye’s surgery, Deja and Michelle stayed at the hospital with Nikky and Mrs. Harris until the intensive-care unit staff ran them off. Taye’s surgery was a success; she survived the immediate crisis, though the doctors warned it was far too early to tell much. They kept her in a medically-induced coma so there wasn’t any visible difference when she came out of recovery.

  Because her condition remained critical, she stayed in the ICU while the doctors and nurses carefully monitored her progress. The days that followed were each a carbon copy of the first. First thing in the morning, Deja showed up and stayed until ten o’clock when she left for work, then came back in the evening. Michelle arrived before Deja left and stayed all day, while both Nikky and Mrs. Harris remained by Taye’s side throughout the day and all night.

  The second day, after Taye’s surgery, Michelle woke up thinking about the best way to eliminate Jerome from the face of the Earth. A three-way emotional battle raged — she wanted to take him out herself, but she needed to do the smart thing and lie low to avoid the police. Plus, she’d promised to support Nikky. Though her emotions were at war, the decision was easy. As much as Michelle wanted to see that rat bastard’s eyes glaze over in death, Nikky had made it one-hundred perc
ent clear, his ass belonged to her, and Michelle would never take that revenge away from her friend.

  No, she wouldn’t kill him herself. She’d do everything possible, and more, to make sure Nikky had the undeniable opportunity to get even.

  After staying at the hospital late the night before, Michelle hit the beach a little after seven. Time enough for a run and to catch breakfast at Scott’s before heading over to the hospital. Though she enjoyed running earlier in the morning, the later time worked fine today. A cool, onshore breeze refreshed her, and the receding tide left firm sand to run on.

  After two miles, up and two miles back, plus a five-minute cool-down walk, Michelle wiped sweat off her face with her wrist-band, walked into Scott’s Diner, and inhaled deeply. “Pie? Are you baking pie?”

  “Hey, Michelle,” Scott said. “Yeah, my pie lady is on vacation for a couple of weeks, and I thought, what the heck, why not make my own?”

  “Apple cinnamon, right?”

  “Exactly. Good nose. What’ll it be? Breakfast or just coffee?”

  “Breakfast.”

  “How’s Nikky’s sister?”

  “No changes. I’m headed over after I eat.”

  Scott nodded at the long-haired, orange kitten that had followed Michelle into his diner. “Who’s your little buddy?”

  “He’s not mine. I saw him about half a block from here, on my way down to the beach. He was still sitting in the same spot when I came back from my run, almost like he was waiting for me. I think I made a mistake by scratching his little head. After I petted him, he followed me here.”

  Most days, Michelle ate breakfast at Scott’s after her morning beach run in Playa Del Oro, a small, residential area snuggled between LAX, Los Angeles’ major airport to the south, and the marina to the north. With the noise from the jets and no room to grow, it would never be upscale. Michelle loved it.

  Already unique as a single Black woman in the neighborhood, Michelle stood out in many ways — energetic, attractive, and overtly friendly, she smiled at everyone and seemed immune to petty annoyances. After she moved in, young Black men started getting breakfast takeout for two from Scott’s.

  Sometimes, a guy would pick up the order for two — the usual drill, except, a few minutes after he left, Michelle would show up for breakfast alone. A month into this, on those mornings, Scott began to make small comments to her, saying things like, “I didn’t care for this morning’s customer. He was somewhat of an ass.”

  After a few times, Michelle replied, “Yeah, in bed he was a prince, but out of the sack, he was something of a butt. It happens. That’s why I got rid of him.”

  Now they had a habit of comparing notes on all the guys she sent in. Most weeks, she would send two or three men in for takeout. Other times, a week or two would pass without anyone picking up breakfast. Occasionally, Michelle and her girlfriends had lunch at the diner, but she never brought any of her overnight partners.

  “Michelle, I was thinking about your men friends the other day,” Scott said.

  “What about them?”

  “Well, it seems odd. I know most of the men you sleep with.”

  “Sure, they almost always come in for breakfast the next morning.”

  “They come in, and we usually talk while they wait,” Scott said. “The strange thing is, the whole time, they’re totally in the dark that I know they came from spending the night at your place. They leave, never realizing I’m not only aware of what already happened, but also, pretty soon, I’ll know if they earned coal in their stocking or deserve a big present from Santa. That’s as completely ass-backwards from every other woman I’ve ever known, as it is special.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, for example, it’s a sure bet my waitresses here at the diner are sexually active. Take Alice. She’s in her early forties, divorced, attractive, and fun to be around, so she must be getting laid, right?”

  “Alice? Don’t be silly. She’s a good-looking woman. Of course she’s getting laid.”

  “I’ll never be certain if she’s having sex with someone,” he continued. “It’s not like it’s any of my business, it’s definitely not. Hell, it’d probably piss her off just to hear me talking about it. But still, I’m just saying, I’ll never know.”

  “Sure, you’ll know. You can always tell when people are hooking up.”

  “I can guess, and probably be right, but I won’t really know. Not for sure. With you, there’s no question. You confirm who you’ve had sex with; who’s a good guy, and who’s a jerk. I’ll know who’s boring, or interesting. Hell, you often tell me how generous they are as lovers. I talk to them, but I don’t actually meet them.”

  “Yeah, when you put it that way, it does sound odd.”

  “I’m so glad you’re my friend,” Scott said. “Without a doubt, there aren’t many women in the world like you. You’re a rare gem and you make my life richer.”

  “Tell you what. If I meet a special guy,” she said, “someone I want to keep around for more than a couple of nights, I’ll bring him in. Chances are you’ll already know all about him from before, but I’ll make the proper introductions. Then we can sit and talk about him later, like two girlfriends. How about that?”

  “Golly gee, all this work, only to find I’ve been to Sweden.”

  “Catch me up,” Michelle said. “That went right past me.”

  “The sex change capital of the world . . .”

  “Oh, humor — har-har.”

  “More like semi-sarcasm,” Scott said.

  “See? You’re already qualified to be a girlfriend.”

  “Well, I’d be honored, I think. I mean, meeting your guy would be cool and all, but I never thought of myself as a girlfriend before.”

  Michelle laughed. “It’s like when they give some guy a doctorate for being so special, he didn’t need to attend the university. Scott, you’re my special ‘girlfriend,’ even if you don’t qualify on the girl part. Heck, you’re not even gay, but you’re definitely a girlfriend; have been, ever since I started coming in.”

  “Well, speaking of girlfriends, I’m back in the market for one.”

  “Not my job, and it’s a good thing. I’m terrible at matchmaking. It’s way too dangerous for me. I could hook you up for a one-night stand, you go all gaga, get married to a world-class bitch, she sucks you dry of all of your money, leaves you with four brats, turns gay and runs off with a younger woman. Oh, hell no, no way, I am not going there. You do your own matchmaking.”

  “Wow. Thank you so much for saving me from such a horrible fate,” Scott said, chuckling. “I feel like my life just passed before my eyes. And speaking of relationships.” He pointed to the little white-chested orange tabby kitten. “Are you keeping him?”

  “No, and I don’t have him now; he’s not mine. He followed me in.”

  “You’ve never had a cat before, have you?”

  “No, why?”

  “Well, the best ones, the ones who make excellent friends, are those who choose you. This little guy chose you.”

  “Really?”

  “Get used to it. He’s your buddy now. Hang on, let me grab some burger from the fridge in back.”

  Scott returned with a small spoonful of raw hamburger. “Here, give him this. Treat him right, and he’ll be a good friend.”

  Michelle placed the meat on a napkin and put it on the floor. The kitten stretched, kicking out one back leg and then the other, then bounced over to his meal. He attacked the hamburger with the ferocity of a grown lion, growling and purring. After eating every last little scrap, the kitten curled up by Michelle’s foot, and fell asleep.

  Michelle finished her breakfast and a second cup of coffee, and then, standing at the cash register to pay her bill, she felt something messing with her shoes. The kitten had followed her, and now busied itself attacking her laces.

  “All right, little one, you made your point. Looks like we’re buddies. Hey,” she called over to Scott, “you know about cats. Is
this one a girl or boy?”

  Scott lifted the cat’s tail to check. “He’s a boy. You have yourself a little tom.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Experience. It’s easier to tell after a few months when his balls drop. Right now, they’re tiny little things still inside. Soon, they’ll grow bigger and come out where you can see them. In a year, those furry little balls will control his life, keeping him out all night, tom-catting around.” Scott winked.

  Michelle looked the tabby in the eye. “If you want to stay, you’ll need to behave.” The kitten silently stared back. “We’ll get along fine so long as you keep letting me do the talking.”

  Scott rubbed the kitten’s nose, and scratched under his chin. “With cats, the first person who speaks, loses. Cats are like people. Some are smart, way cool, even surprisingly loyal. But, each one is different. Understand one thing, though: dogs have owners, cats have staff. You’re now staff to this little guy.”

  “Staff, huh? You know he’s as much your fault as mine. If I’m staff, so are you.”

  “What? I’m sorry, I don’t see that connection,” Scott said.

  “Dude, you’re so in. You gave him the hamburger. Here you are, selling him like he was yours to find a good home for. I’m willing to be the primary care-giver. But you . . . you’re definitely partners in joint custody.”

  “That’s not at all what I meant.”

  “I know, but I’m gone on business a lot. Not for long times, but frequently. Cats are independent and all; still, I’ll only be comfortable if I can trust his daddy to be around to lend a hand when I’m not home.”

  “Christ, Michelle, you’re more trouble than most of my girlfriends.”

  “Yeah, but I’m well worth it.” Talking to the kitten, she said, “Say goodbye to your tabby daddy and let’s go home. It’s never too early to start teaching you how to be a gentleman. Any man with me needs to treat the ladies right.”

  .

  Fifteen: Back To Work