Sister's Revenge: Action Adventure Assassin Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin)

by Lori Jean Grace

  “You bet. Fountain or can?”

  “Cans.” She pointed to herself and Deja. “Bring us two cans of Pepsi.”

  “Sure thing. Would you like ice in your glass or separate?”

  “What do you mean by separate?”

  “Some people prefer to have their ice in a separate bowl with tongs. That way they can add more as they like.”

  “Um, yeah, in the glass. Thanks.”

  When Amber was out of earshot, Deja mimicked Valley-speak. “Oh my gawd, can you believe that?” Then, she fell back to her natural voice. “She’s so sweet, I bet she shits sugar cookies.”

  “Yeah, she’s always that way with everyone,” Michelle said. “I think she really means it. Guess it takes all kinds. Sort of makes you want to be nice back.”

  Nikky looked over at Deja, her gaze changing from curious about the waitress, to soft with concern for her friend. “Oh, girl, every time I look at your face, I want to jack that bastard, Jerome. He’s such a pig.”

  “Um-huh. Did you know he got hisself shot?” Deja asked. “Nothing big. The bullet took some skin and nicked the side of a rib. He’s been whining like a little girl who got spanked by her momma.”

  “Yeah, I heard something about him getting shot.”

  Both women turned to Michelle. “Is that what you wanted to holla at us about?” Nikky asked.

  Michelle paused to examine Deja’s face. Except for a little puffy area by her left eye, the swelling had gone down, and even though the bruise covered a big part of her cheek, it was mostly hidden by makeup. Michelle knew from experience bruises like that hurt like a bitch when touched. “You must have gone through some kind of hell getting your makeup on to come out to see me here,” she said. “Thanks for the effort.”

  Next time I’ll hurt him bad enough to get his attention real good, because assholes like him never learn. Sure as shit there’ll be a next time.

  “Ever since Michael got killed, I’ve been living a secret,” she added, “and it’s real hard to tell anybody anything. So, Deja, I have to ask you to forgive me for not telling you before …”

  “I knew you were the one who shot Jerome. I’m just glad you didn’t kill his stupid ass,” Deja said.

  “Oh, girl, I can’t tell you how much I wanted to cap his ass good for what he’d done to you. But you’re my row, and you still have feelings for that fool, so I couldn’t kill him. Besides, we have more important things to worry about. Still”—Michelle hung her head a little—“I just had to tell you it was me who did that to him.”

  “And this?” Nikky motioned toward the gym where climbers strained and grunted their way up the sides of the artificial rock faces.

  “It’s part of what I do. I wanted to show you some of these things to make it more real. Plus, it’s almost impossible to talk at the firing range.”

  “Firing range?” Deja asked.

  “That’s our next stop before lunch.”

  “Are you going to want us to shoot?”

  Michelle winked.

  “Christ, Michelle. Next you’ll want us to start throwing knives and those ninja star things,” Deja said.

  Michelle winked again.

  Fifteen: Jacked in the Street

  WE IN, SAID the short text from Nikky.

  In responding, Michelle called her.

  “Sup?”

  “Hey, girlfriend, it’s me. What do you mean, we’re in? What are we in?”

  “You remember Lewis? He’s in the Southside.”

  “Yeah, I remember him. He’s a year or two older than Michael; big guy, mean, used to hang out with Baby‑Sister. Uncle G’s been talking to her about him.”

  “Well, he’s now deep in the mix and pretty much runs the drugs and muscle in the hood. His crew is throwing a big birthday party for him in a couple weeks. One of the girls at work got the hookup, and I’m invited. I can bring any other fine women who like to party with me. This is a real good place to see everyone all mixed up, and with so many shorties, we can blend in with the crowd.”

  “That’s great, Nikky! This might be the real break we need to get everyone involved. From what Baby‑Sister said, it looks like Lewis is the one who was in the house that day.”

  “No shit! Why haven’t you taken him out? Do you need me to do something to set it up? What can we do?”

  “Right now, we wait.”

  “Okay, if you say so, but … why?”

  “Believe me, I don’t want to wait; I don’t want to, in the worst way. But I promised myself I’d do this right and get every one of those bastards involved. Problem is, even if we are right and Lewis is the man, we don’t know who else was involved. Why did it happen? Did Lewis do it on his own? He wouldn’t have had the juice to make that decision if he was just starting to move up.”

  “Do you think there was someone above him?”

  “I don’t know, but I do know there was someone else in the car. I saw two people in it when it tore away from my house. I didn’t see them well enough to know who it was, but there were definitely two people in it.”

  “So it was probably Lewis, and one other guy that we know of. Is that right?”

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean no?”

  “There were at least two more; both of them are dead. And I have something else I should tell you and Deja about. I’ll tell you now. But don’t tell Deja who. Just say I need to tell her something.”

  “Got it. No problem. Is it about the other two guys?”

  “Yes. One was some guy I’d never seen before; he was in the room with Michael and Gabe Jr. They’d shot his ass, and he was dead by the time I got there. The other guy was Lil Rich. You remember him from school? A loser who started on drugs pretty heavy in our junior year?”

  “Sure, I know who Lil Rich is. I see him on the street sometimes.”

  “You won’t see him on the street anymore.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “When, where? Or can’t you tell me?”

  “A few days ago,” Michelle said. “In the alley, behind where he works.”

  “Jeez.”

  “At the very least, that leaves the driver. There had to be others, and if I move on Lewis now, the driver and anybody else might put Lil Rich’s and Lewis’s deaths together. That would be bad for several reasons.”

  “What reasons?” Nikky asked.

  “They’d be ready for us, making them harder to get to. Worse, they could be more dangerous, and safety could become a problem for you and Deja.”

  “Probably not any worse than what’s already going on.”

  “Why?” Michelle asked. “What’s already going on?”

  “Nothing. You know, just life in the hood, shit like that. Nothing that won’t be fixed by the time the party happens.”

  “Okay … two questions. First, when’s the party?”

  “Saturday, three weeks from now.”

  “That’ll work fine. I have a job coming up. I’ll have to leave in a couple days, and I’ll be gone for at least a week, or more likely, two weeks.”

  “What kind of a job?”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to work; you can’t change the subject by asking me about that. I still have a second question. What’s already going on that has you in danger?”

  “Michelle, you already have a lot to worry about. You don’t need any more junk right now.”

  “Something’s already happened. I can hear it in your voice. Give.”

  “Just a little run-in with Jerome, but it was nothing.”

  “Nothing? What’s nothing? Stop trying to bullshit me; I know you too well for that. What did that prick do?”

  “Like you said, I gave him his space, and I left the bastard alone.”

  “Yeah, what happened?”

  “I was in the 7-Eleven,” Nikky said, “and he came up on me, started talking smack about what he was gonna do to you to get even. I told him to go fuck himself, that he wasn’t gonna do anything to anybod
y because he’s a punk-ass with no balls.”

  “So what?” Michelle said. “You were only shit-talking. Girls talk like that all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “That’s how I saw it too and I didn’t pay him no never mind. He said some shit about how we’ll all see who’s got real balls, then he left. I went outside and saw him standing by my car. He looked like he was surprised to see me coming his way, and when I tried to get in my car, he wouldn’t let me. We started to scrap, and he clocked me upside the head real good with his fist.”

  Michelle’s heart rate jumped. “That sonuvabitch!” Oh, he’s gonna pay for this.

  “Wow, that fool can hit!” Nikky said. “I started seeing stars and my knees got all wobbly. Then the muthafucka gut-punched me—took my breath away and put me on the ground. I was so jacked I couldn’t get away or even protect myself, and he started kicking me while I was down.”

  As she listened to Nikky’s explanation, Michelle forced herself to calm down and transform her rage to a quiet, seething, scorching hatred. Her resolve deepened with every ragged breath. Had she brought bad luck to her friends? No. The real bad luck had happened the day Deja started messing with that rat bastard Jerome.

  “That coward punk muthafucka,” Michelle whispered.

  “I don’t think anything’s broke. Breathing big hurts only because I’m bruised pretty bad where he kicked me. I’ll kick his ass next time I see him, I promise. I don’t care if he’s still with Deja or not.”

  “I know how you feel; I’m feeling the same. I need you to do me a big favor, though. It’ll be tough to do, but it’s important.”

  “What’s that?” Nikky asked.

  “I need you to lie low on this. If you go and shoot or cut that jerk, chances are you’ll get thrown in jail, and you being in jail will completely screw up the cha-cha with the party. We can’t let that asshole derail everything. As much as I want to hurt him, I can’t let that piece of shit get in the way of finding out who helped to kill Michael.”

  “I feel you. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you about it. You’ve been living with this too long to lose it now.”

  “If you can lie low, I promise you, after the party, Jerome will get what he has coming. It’s smarter to wait, too. The police won’t see you as the one he’s having trouble with, and they won’t automatically suspect you.”

  “Girl, I’m so pissed at that bastard, I really don’t want to wait. But you’re right, and it’s time we girls got smart about how these fools treat us. Truth is, my side’s all jacked where he kicked me, so I’ll need some time to heal anyway before I bust his ass.”

  “We have to tell Deja before we do this thing,” Michelle said. “It’s not right to do something bad to her man without talking to her first. You know that, right?”

  “Of course! She may not like it, but she’ll deal with it. She’ll understand he’s got it coming.”

  “So we agree. First, we talk with Deja, then later do some damage to that sorry-ass sonuvabitch. Are you good with that?” Michelle asked.

  “Damn skippy!”

  But Michelle had a different plan, one that kept everyone out of trouble and would still get the job done.

  Sixteen: New York, Duty Calls

  “MOVING ON STUDIOS! This is Shelly. How may I direct your call?”

  “Hi, Shelly, this is Michelle Angelique. May I speak to Keisha?”

  “Oh, hi, Michelle. I’ll put you right through.”

  The line clicked and then: “Hello, this is Keisha.”

  “Yo, Keisha, this is Michelle. What’s up, girl?”

  “Same ol’, same ol’. Nothing but work. What’s up with you?”

  “Something came up and I’m going to the East Coast for a few days. Do you have anything for me to check out while I’m there? Travel and expenses as far as New York, on me.”

  “Damn, you’re something else, you know that? Do you have some kind of work radar shit going on? How’d you know I needed some stuff from Manhattan?”

  “I just hoped you might so I could make the trip pay a little extra, is all.”

  “Well, I’m glad you asked. We got a hookup working on a pilot for a new cop show that has a bunch of scenes in Manhattan and across the river to Elizabeth in Jersey. This’ll put me ahead of schedule for a change. I’ll send you all the details.”

  “Thanks,” Michelle said. “I’ll get back to you with the report in a little over a week. Is that okay with you?”

  “That’d be real good. The writers can drop in the details when you deliver the reports. The files are on the way to you now. When can you get started?”

  “I can leave as early as this evening and start on the project by tomorrow afternoon.”

  *

  Her movie production assignment took her to the heart of Manhattan. Perfect.

  A short twenty-four hours after talking to Keisha, Michelle sat quietly, checking her email at the Starbucks on the New York University campus. A satisfied smile played on her lips.

  Dressed in jeans and a dark purple NYU sweatshirt, Michelle looked like any other student there, and with her short hair and no jewelry or flashy nails, she skillfully hid in plain sight.

  Normally, when she was working, she needed to go unnoticed. But not today. Today, she needed a witness who’d remember her, and people with regular schedules, like employees, made the best witnesses.

  She chose the tall, all-too thin, geeky Black busboy cleaning up the dining area—no one talked to him; in fact, no one even saw him—and when he’d come close enough, hands full of collected dirty cups and plates, Michelle accidentally knocked over her coffee, creating a minor crisis.

  “Oh shit! Damn, damn, damn.” Michelle jumped up and away from the spilled coffee dripping off the side of the table. “Damn, I spilled coffee on my computer. Damn, damn, damn.”

  “Uh-oh!” The busboy dumped aside the dirty dishes and grabbed up her computer. After a few minutes of sopping up spilled coffee, Michelle thanked him.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without your help. Thank you very, very much.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t that much. I’m glad I was here at the right time.”

  “I might have lost my whole computer and that would have been a total disaster. You saved me,” she gushed.

  “I’m very happy I could help,” he said, warming up to the conversation.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Eban.”

  “Well, Eban, I have to run. Again, thank you for saving me. Next time I’m here, I’ll make sure I have time to visit; I want to know what you do other than clean up spilled coffee. Is this your normal shift?”

  Eban beamed. Obviously, he didn’t get much attention, and certainly not from pretty women. She’d made an impression. Good!

  In addition to making herself memorable, Michelle had learned his work schedule. Before leaving New York, she’d be back and next time she’d buy him something to eat and a cup of coffee, which would permanently cement another brick in her alibi.

  She’d done dual jobs, but this time one of those jobs served a double purpose.

  Her clandestine assignment had brought her to New York and it needed to appear like a political assassination, which required her to be invisible.

  The second job with the studio, however, felt better. But for reasons having nothing to do with the studio, Michelle needed to be seen and remembered in New York. She’d already created a paper trail by flying, booking the hotel, and doing research in her own name, which would help with her third mission: a personal project back home scheduled for later this week. That presence alone would provide all of the alibi she needed.

  *

  Michelle spent a productive morning doing research for Keisha, which had been a good way to pass the time. The target she needed to find wouldn’t have been out much before noon, so now she had a different type of job to do.

  “Yo! Yeah, you,” Michelle called over to the overtly gay and slightly scru
ffy White male prostitute who pushed off the pole he’d been leaning on and walked over.

  “Say, homegirl, I don’t think I have what you’re looking for,” he said. “I don’t sell drugs and I don’t do girls. That is, unless you’re looking for a hookup for your man. I can help you with that.”

  He had a Midwestern accent with a general artsy-fartsy attitude. He’d probably come to New York to make it as an actor and probably still thought he might make it big in acting, though it looked like he made most of his money as a lower-end male prostitute. He was the second guy she’d approached. The first had been a far-too suspicious native New Yorker; if the police ever questioned him, he’d remember her. This guy was much better; he fit her needs perfectly.

  “It’s not anything like that,” she told him. “It’s also nothing illegal and not dangerous. I need someone to act a small part. My friends and I are playing a prank on a co-worker who’s getting married. I’ll need you to rent a room—that’s it, just rent a room, with cash. It’d be easier if I did it, but it has to be a man. Plus—and don’t take this the wrong way—being gay is perfect and it can’t be anyone from work. The whole thing will take less than an hour. I’ll pay you a hundred bucks, with another fifty for taxi fare to get back here.”

  “That’s all I have to do?”

  “Yes, and you’ll need to wear these.” She held up a pink Ralph Lauren knit polo shirt and a charcoal gray sport jacket. Both items looked close to the right size and still had the new tags on them.

  “Do I get to keep the clothes?”

  “Of course. Consider them fringe benefits.”

  “Okay, sure, I’ll do your little job. When and where?”

  “Now. Put these on first, then hail us a taxi.”

  A short ride later, Michelle waited a few paces up the block from the front of the hotel, which she’d checked out earlier. It was old but well-maintained, and like the male prostitute, it fit her needs perfectly. When it was new, the building had been a luxury hotel with large rooms, built back when windows opened for fresh air. The rooms had been updated with fresh paint, new carpet, and modern hotel furniture, though the bathrooms still sported the old‑fashioned white floor tiles with a light blue line of tiles that trimmed the shower enclosure.