Hard Betrayal (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series 2)

by Jason Stanley

  “She’s asleep. I gave her a pill. She’ll be down all night.”

  “Call us if either of you need anything.”

  Nikky hugged the woman. “I will. Thank you for helping clean up.”

  The other woman gave Nikky a hug, then stepped back and, still holding her hands, said, “I’m so sorry, child.”

  “Thanks.”

  The two women left, closing the door behind them.

  “Deja, get some glasses and ice, if there is any,” Nikky said. “Michelle, get the Courvoisier. Let’s go sit in the back.”

  The previous home owners added the covered patio, which now held cheap, white plastic lawn chairs, a matching table, and two mismatched chaise lounges. Earlier, the smokers in the afternoon set of visitors had congregated out in the backyard. They’d since left, but the evidence of their presence remained. Michelle threw away coke and beer cans, and emptied several overflowing ashtrays.

  The three friends settled in at the table.

  Nikky took a long pull of her Courvoisier, then leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “I think I know why you did it. I want to appreciate it, but I’m also pissed.”

  “I understand,” Michelle said.

  “It’s just one more thing about this whole mess that’s completely fucked up.”

  Deja picked up her drink and moved over to the lounge with the thickest pad; not out of ear-shot, but far enough away to be out of the conversation.

  “So,” Nikky said. “I don’t know if I should thank you, or be mad at you,”

  “Both, I think.”

  “Both?”

  “Yeah, both. You have every right to be pissed since it was your revenge to take out Sugar and that’s been stolen away from you. I won’t try to rationalize it by saying some stupid shit about me being there when you weren’t. Those things are only logistics and they can always be worked around.

  “No, I did it on purpose, which took away your chance for closure. Like when I took out Jackson. That was the end. Even though he wasn’t there when they killed Michael, he’d ordered it. It was my vengeance, and I’m sorry I took away your chance to get even with Sugar.”

  “If you understand — hell, Michelle, you even went through the same exact thing! — then why did you do it? I mean, I think I know why, but you didn’t let me make that choice. It’s your taking away my choice that makes me the maddest.”

  Michelle put her glass down with a small clink, then sat up straight and looked directly into Nikky’s eyes. “I know, and I really am sorry you’re mad. I’ll just have to live with it. It hurts me to have you mad at me, and especially on something so important. I did it because the option was worse. If I didn’t act, right then, you would have chosen to take her out.”

  Nikky rubbed her eyelids with the fingertips of both hands, then kept her palms cupped over her face and eyes as she talked. “Probably — no, that’s not true.” She pulled her hands down. “There is no ‘probably’ to it. I would have hunted her down and killed her like the bitch dog she was. She set up Jerome to hurt my baby sister, so she’s every bit as responsible for her death as he was.”

  “Then you know I had to do it.”

  “No, I don’t know that. I don’t know that at all! How can you say that?”

  While Michelle sipped her drink, she scrutinized the backyard. More weeds than grass, and it needed mowing. The cheap patio furniture and peeling paint at the back of the house were all-too familiar. She’d spent many days here growing up. Now, today, sitting here after they’d buried Taye, it all looked older, shabbier, with less hope than ever before.

  “I had to choose. Either take away your choice, or let you do something that would haunt you the rest of your life.”

  “You don’t know that,” Nikky said.

  “Yes, I do. In your heart, you know it, too. You shot Jerome in the heat of the battle. He was strapped, didn’t have a chance in hell; still, he had a gun and went for it. I know you. Can you honestly tell me the sight of him with a hole in his face, the hole your own bullet made, doesn’t stay with you?”

  “I’d do it again if I could.”

  “Yes, you would. Any of us would. Even your mom. But that doesn’t answer my question. Does the memory of killing him bother you?”

  “Fuck you, Michelle. Yes, it bothers me.”

  “I’m sorry for pushing, but it has to be said.”

  “It bothers me, okay? So what? He deserved it.”

  “Oh, Nikky, I had to protect you. Killing Jerome and killing Sugar were the same thing because they both earned it. But, they were also very, very different. I know what it is to kill in a fight, and how, way deep down, it’s completely different to look an unarmed person in the eyes when they know you’re going to kill them. When you pull the trigger, it takes some of your soul. I couldn’t let you kill in cold blood and still call myself your friend.”

  Nikky twisted sideways, pulled up a second chair, and put her feet up into it. She slowly turned her drink, making a ring pattern on the tabletop with the water from the condensation.

  Michelle waited.

  “You may be right, but I’m still mad.”

  Michelle reached over, rested her hand on Nikky’s arm. “You deserve to be.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Nikky asked.

  “We’ll work through it. Right now, I’m going to leave.” Michelle caught Deja’s eye. “Can you stay a little longer?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Deja said.

  * * *

  Michelle waited two days before calling Deja and Nikky to ask to meet them. Nikky surprised her by suggesting they meet at her mother’s house for lunch.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, Michelle asked, “How’s your mom?”

  The morning sun had passed overhead, taking with it the light that streamed in through the small window high over the sink. Although, sunlight from the dining room usually brightened the kitchen, today, the front drapes were closed, which cast the dining room into a shadowy dimness. The kitchen’s ambiance hovered between lighting not low enough to need the overhead turned on, yet not quite sufficient, either.

  “She’s not good,” Nikky replied, leaning against the sink. “She’s at church talking with the minister and his wife. They’re trying to talk her into joining a grief counseling group that meets at the church every week.”

  “Will she do it?” Deja asked.

  Nikky shrugged. “I don’t know. So, what’s everyone drinking?” she asked. “We have Pepsi, A&W, and tea. Help yourself.”

  Michelle recognized the offer of A&W as a small peace offering. It’d take a while for Nikky to get comfortable with the situation; it always did. And like always, she’d work through it and come around. Whereas Deja lived from one emotional moment to the next, Nikky simmered slowly to a resolution.

  This was the biggest problem their friendship had faced since their junior year when Deja gave Steve Cathcart a blow job when Nikky had the hots for him. Back then it’d been a big deal. Lessons were learned, and their friendship, built upon a solid foundation, survived it. Michelle was confident they’d get through this, as well.

  Michelle cut on the overhead light, and rummaged through the refrigerator, pulling out leftovers.

  A few minutes later, a heated casserole, some macaroni and cheese, and greens sat on the same kitchen table they’d sat at not too long ago. Once again, everything was familiar and yet completely different.

  “So, what’s up?” Nikky asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about an unexpected result to all of this craziness,” Michelle said. “With D’andre and Sugar gone, all of Sugar’s girls have their shit in the wind, without any leadership or direction. Most importantly — well, to them, anyway — they don’t have any protection.”

  “Uh-huh. They’re in a tough spot right now. What do you think will happen with them?”

  “If nobody good steps in, somebody bad will step in. Probably Jimmy from over on Western. He’s real bad news, with the way he beats hi
s women all the time. Either him or one of the girls’ asswipe boyfriends will try; some stupid jerk who doesn’t know dick about business will think he’s all that. Just because his woman’s a street girl, he’ll think he knows how to run a stable. They’ll run game on him, then he’ll slap them around and take their money. A month later, some real pimp will move in, shoot his dumb ass, and take it all away. Through it all, the women get the shit end of the stick.”

  “Sugar didn’t much care about her girls,” Deja said, “but she didn’t treat them bad, either. She had D’andre backing her play, so the wannabe pimps stayed out of the mix.”

  “Right. D’andre didn’t give a shit about Sugar’s girls,” Nikky added, “but everyone knew he’d take your ass out if you messed with Sugar.”

  “Here’s the thing.” Michelle leaned in. “I’d like to get out of the business I’m in. This deal with Sugar has been tougher than I expected.”

  Nikky tilted her head slightly, arching an eyebrow.

  “It’s all on me,” Michelle said. “That has nothing to do with you.”

  Nikky nodded.

  “I don’t have any work skills, but I need a change. Doing anything with drugs is totally out. Drugs started the whole problem back when Michael was killed. Trevon can keep the drugs, the money, and the misery that comes with it.”

  “Drugs are nothing but trouble,” Deja said. “I don’t do drugs, and I won’t mess with dealing.”

  “I’m thinking, the three of us could take over the street girls,” Michelle said.

  “Like, be pimps?” Deja asked.

  “More like madams, but essentially, yes,” Michelle replied.

  “You do remember it’s illegal, right?” Nikky asked.

  “I do,” Michelle said. “It’s also a hell of a lot more visible than what I’ve been doing. None of us have been convicted of anything, which is pretty amazing. This could, probably would, change that.”

  Nikky mixed her food with her fork. “Michelle, you and me have been real lucky. We killed those guys, and you got the bastards who murdered Michael. It looks like it’s all over so we can completely walk away free and clear.”

  Deja held up a finger, made a show of swallowing, then wiped her mouth. “You’re right, I’m the only one who was ever really arrested, and I got off on that. But it’s not like we’ve been ‘Miss Goody two shoes,’ either. We just haven’t been caught, is all. It’s not like we’re talking about robbing folks.”

  “You got that right,” Nikky said. “Selling a little pussy is basically what we give away for free. It’s the law, but it shouldn’t be — not really.”

  “How much money?” Deja asked.

  “What do you mean, how much money?” Michelle asked.

  “How much money can we earn?”

  “Depends on how we do it,” Michelle said. “I’d want to treat the girls right. Give them more than Sugar and D’andre did. I also think we could expand. For sure we could do a better job at the business end. You know, customer service and stuff. Those things would cause the money to be slower at the start, but in time, we could make a lot.”

  “Yeah? How much is a lot?” Deja asked.

  “I figured Sugar and D’andre pulled in at least ten K a month.”

  “You mean with their girls and drugs,” Nikky said.

  “Just the girls. But, that’s only a guess based on the cost of a hooker, how many johns each girl might do on average, you know, that sort of thing. I’m pretty sure Sugar was bringing in over one hundred-twenty grand a year on her own.”

  “You’re shitting me!” Nikky said. “Sugar made over a hundred grand selling pussy, and I’m making less than thirty, busting my ass managing a bunch of lops who fight me on every little, teensy, tiny, itty-bitty fucking thing I want them to do. That’s not fair! Not at all!”

  “Yeah, but she got all of it,” Deja said. “You’re talking about three of us. That only means about forty thousand a year each. Me and Nikky make less, but you already make more than that with your regular day job. Why would you even want to do this?”

  “The way I see it,” Michelle said, “Sugar was just about the worst businessperson, ever. She treated the girls like they were nothing to her. I’ll bet they were stealing from her, and why not? She didn’t do anything to make things better. I’m sure if we work on it, we could easily triple her income, just in the first year.”

  “Net or gross?” Nikky asked.

  “Net. In the first year, each of us should be able to earn at least a hundred grand.”

  Deja got up to clear the table. “What about after the first year?”

  “Well, that would depend on a lot of things, but there’s no reason, after everything’s in place, for it not to be a million-dollar business.”

  “You’re saying, in a couple years, we could each be making a quarter million or more a year?” Deja asked.

  “If we stick to street women, a quarter mil would be the upper limit,” Michelle said. “If we go into high-end call girls, massage parlors, online sex talk, that sort of thing, it would be a million each.”

  “I can see it now,” Deja said. “Mimi’s Steam and Cream. Sauna and Sex. Blow jobs and back rubs for the man on the go.”

  “You’re counting for expenses?” Nikky asked.

  “Of course. It costs money to make money.”

  “This is all good and dandy,” Nikky said, “but how in the world could we do it?”

  “Look,” Michelle said, “we have the skills, the tools, and the trust among us to make it, big time. I have the cash to get us started. Nikky, you’re already a manager, so you have the management skills to set everything up and you’re also experienced in how to manage people on an everyday basis, once your systems are all in place. You know, inspect what you expect, on one side of the coin, and then on the other side, help them with their personal stuff like territory and transportation.”

  “Sure,” Nikky said. “Managing hookers is probably not a lot different than the fools I work with now, except for maybe bailing them out of jail. Hell, yeah! I can also set up systems for running the business end, things like bookkeeping, controlling overhead costs — a whole bunch of back-office stuff.”

  “Right, and you” —Michelle turned to Deja— “you can help the girls be more glamorous and classy. Fix how they dress, and get their hair and makeup right. Also, we need you to deal with the medical stuff to keep their asses clean and healthy.”

  “Uh-huh . . .” Deja said quietly, then, warming to the idea, she added, “We’d have the best-looking girls on the streets. I can get with my momma, because she’s a nurse. For sure, she’d help me with what to do on the health stuff.”

  Relieved, gratitude filling her heart, Michelle nodded. “I was thinking of starting in the hood, so we can get to know how to work the girls, the johns, the police, and all of the things we won’t think about until they actually happen. And we can learn about who’s running different parts of L.A. As soon as we get everything humming along, smooth-like, we should expand. Keep our base close to home, but add to it. I want to go into the richer places like Brentwood and Beverly Hills.”

  “Of course, that would be the next step,” Deja said. “You know those Beverly Hills millionaires and hot shots will line up to get some sweet, Black pussy.”

  “Exactly,” Michelle said. “I also think we should recruit some classy White girls, too.”

  “Why would a classy White woman want to work with us?” Nikky asked.

  “Because we’ll run the best, cleanest, safest operation in the whole state,” she replied. “If we treat our women right, the others worth anything will come to us.”

  “I’ve read about how housewives are getting into the business, working for extra money and fun,” Deja said. “They sure as hell won’t get involved if they aren’t treated right.”

  “What do you think? You guys interested?” Michelle asked.

  “Interested? Hell, yes!” Deja answered. “I need to get out of my dead-end job and I ha
ve no idea how. This could be my ticket out.”

  “Damn skippy! Me, too,” Nikky said. “But, only if you plan on being the head of the organization. I’m all right with managing the day-to-day and the back office, but I don’t know the first friggin’ thing about how to start or build a business. And, someone has to back my play with real protection for the girls.”

  “I have the protection issue covered,” Michelle said. “I’ll personally take care of any serious problems to start. I talked to Brandon and he can help me hire a few muscle guys for the day-to-day issues.”

  “No shit, you’re for real about this?” Deja asked. “You mean, we’ll really be in business together?”

  Michelle held up her glass. “To our business.”

  “To our business!” Deja and Nikky chimed.

  The three women clinked their glasses.

  .

  Thirty-Two: Under New Management

  STILETTOS, CLEAVAGE, MICRO-SKIRTS, AND CLASHING PERFUMES dominated the room. The occasional loud laugh or exclamation of “No shit,” “That muthafucka!”, or the clatter of bracelets moving up or down wrists punctuated the dozens of conversations and snippets of language that were all distinctly female, but none lady-like.

  Sheraton Inn’s conference room had held a variety of events, even the notorious Pimps Ball a couple of times. But this was a first. Over a hundred blatantly obvious streetwalkers milled around. One nervous manager commented to Michelle that it was fine, as long as they didn’t work the hotel.

  Most of the women ignored the coffee, tea, and water service that sat on a table by the back door. Instead, a few feet away, a very busy hotel staff bartender hosted a free-flow bar giving out beer, wine, and sodas. Very few sodas were served.

  Even in the indirect diffusion of light, the bangles, bright costume jewelry, and wild hair colors sparkled, caught the eye.

  A three-person professional speaker’s table, complete with a white, pleated edging, sat in the center of the front area. Off to the side stood a podium, while rows of cushioned, white-draped chairs filled the front half of the room. Sitting at the table, Deja and Nikky relaxed and watched the crowd for a while.