“Amen to that,” Baby‑Sister said, walking into the kitchen.
“Thought you left,” G‑Baby said.
“Left my keys in the bedroom.” Baby‑Sister winked at Michelle, then waved around the room. “Yeah, this kitchen needed some deep cleaning, and that refrigerator! I thought I would never get it clean.” She leaned over, kissed G‑Baby on the head. “I’m really gone this time. See you tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ll walk you out.”
“It’s all right; I know my way. You guys eat your dinner before it gets cold. Bye, Michelle.”
“Bye.” Michelle handed dishes and utensils to G‑Baby. “You serve, and your kitchen does look a lot better.”
“You never mind my kitchen, and never mind what I’m seeing someone for,” he said, chuckling. “You called, saying you’ve got news that we need to conversate about in person. So sit your ninja ass-kicking butt down and talk to me.”
Michelle heard the front door close, and she went to the living room, checking to make sure Baby‑Sister had left. Returning to the kitchen, she asked, “Do you still have any of that single malt scotch you’ve been bragging about?”
“Scotch, huh?” G‑Baby said. “This has gotta be big for you to ask for scotch.”
“It’s not for me. It’s for you.”
G‑Baby cocked his head, both eyebrows raised.
“Just go get it, Unc. Trust me.”
G‑Baby came back with a bottle of Dalwhinnie 15 and two glasses. In one, he poured one finger and slid it over to Michelle, then poured two fingers for himself. “Now, tell me what you’ve got.”
“Well, there’s a lot, and I have to tell it all. I’ll jump to the big stuff first. It’s confirmed. Like we thought, it was Lewis at the house. Him and his cousin Quincy.”
“That’s good. Real good. Do you have any ideas on how to take them out?”
Michelle grasped G‑Baby’s hand. “Lewis and Quincy, they’re both dead now. I took care of both of them muthafuckas last night.”
“Last night?”
“Last night.”
“They’re both dead?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” G‑Baby closed his eyes and, leaning back in his chair, tilted his head to one side. He sat like that for a long time, breathing slow and deep.
When he opened his eyes, he looked at Michelle and let out a long breath. “Doesn’t make up for them being gone, but that sure is good news. Thank you. Thanks for coming to tell me, personal. When did it happen?”
“Late last night, after the big party they threw for Lewis’s birthday. I couldn’t come and tell you before because I was at the hospital with Deja and Nikky. Deja’s nose is busted, and I needed to be seen with them all night.”
“Well, you’re here now with good news, and that’s what counts.”
“There’s more,” Michelle said. “A couple of Anglewatts detectives came to the hospital and arrested me for some unrelated shit with Deja’s man. But that’s nothing; I’ve got that covered. I was in New York when the whole deal came down. Now check this out—you won’t believe what happened after they cut me loose.”
“After that news you just gave me, I can believe just about anything,” he said. “Three long years I’ve been waiting for that news.”
“I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, just let you have the good news for a while. But there is more.”
“Okay. I’ve got the good news, so what comes next will be small, now that I know Gabe’s murderer is dead.”
“Those cops. They’re dirty. The money I took? They say it was theirs.”
“Say what?”
Michelle explained what had happened with the cops, and what they’d said.
“My God, Michelle. Dirty cops protecting those killers. I never expected that. In the end it didn’t matter—you got them. Last night, you got them, and nothing will ever change that.”
“No, but it does change what I have to do.”
“How’s that?”
“Those two cops put themselves on my list,” Michelle said. “I have to take them out.”
“That’s a bad idea. Dirty or not, they still have the whole police brotherhood behind them. Nobody gets away with killing a cop. No matter how good you are, you don’t want to mess with dirty cops.”
“Yeah, I do. I very much want to get at those two dirty pricks, and I’ll need your help to do it. Doesn’t matter if I want to or not; we have to get them. If I don’t take them out first, they’ll take me out. The only reason I’m alive right now is they think I still have their money. If I want to live, both of their sorry asses have to die.”
“Um, I can see that. But isn’t there another way so we don’t have the whole police force looking for us?”
“I don’t see one. These guys may not be killers, but they’re hooked up with plenty. As soon as they get their money, or believe it’ll never happen, then it’s all over. I’m as good as dead. It really is me or them.”
“I hate it, but you’re right.” G-Baby rubbed his eyes, sighed, and scrubbed his face with both hands. “What’s our move?”
*
After some time, and a combination of old-school physical surveillance and paying the right people for modern database searches, Michelle soon had a working file on the cops.
She’d covered the basic surveillance herself, but being only slightly more competent than the average net surfer, she didn’t dare dig into secured databases like credit reports or police work schedules. The people (or rather, the avatars) that she knew and trusted were expensive, a cost she gladly bore. She liked the arrangement—they didn’t know her, she didn’t know them, and money was transferred through offshore dummy accounts. She guessed they weren’t Americans so any dealings with them was out of local police jurisdiction.
Michelle gathered all of the information she needed on Detective Glover: his pirated work schedule and where he lived; that his wife divorced him three years ago, and where she lived. He had one child, a six-year-old son, and drove a battery‑powered Nissan Leaf. The only surprise was the car. She hadn’t figured him for the tree hugger type.
She’d also acquired the same critical information on Detective Gerard. No surprises in his private life. He’d been a decorated cop in his younger years but appeared to be coasting ever since he’d been promoted to detective.
Now, Gerard and Glover left the diner’s parking lot. They headed around the corner to the front door for lunch. Just like last week, they didn’t stop to talk to anyone. Nothing seemed out of order; just two cops having lunch. Normal, like last week, and every week for the past two years. According to Gerard’s credit card report, they always went to the diner for lunch on Tuesday.
While waiting for them to back come out, Michelle briefly wondered if they had the regular special lunch plate. She was pretty certain they didn’t go there for the food. Some kind of payoff, or information transfer happened in there. Whatever it was, it had to be illegal, but, ultimately, it didn’t matter. What mattered was she could count on them to show up.
Slightly over two hundred fifty yards was a fairly short range for a sniper shot. Michelle felt one hundred percent confident she’d shoot one of them. The second might be iffy.
The cops rounded the corner, walking back toward their car. When Glover turned to say something, his body jerked. He crumpled on the spot like a dropped sack of groceries. Years of training paid off for Gerard—he immediately dove down between the parked cars, the bullet hitting him in the upper arm. A split second earlier, it would have gone through his chest, center mass.
She had no doubt Glover was dead; he hadn’t moved since he fell. How badly Gerard’s arm was hit, though? It wasn’t lethal.
Lucky you’re fast, Detective Gerard. Next time you won’t be fast enough.
Michelle closed the scope’s cover, collected the brass shell casing, and scooted back from the edge of the industrial building. It was time to go.
After firing the second round, it had taken less
than two minutes for the ACE employee to reach the van. First, scoot back from the roof’s edge and out of sight from the parking lot. Next, break down the rifle and put it in the sports bag, then run to the end of the building, grab the small toolbox, and climb down. Last, collapse and store the ladder inside the van. Total: one minute, fifty-three seconds.
If anyone happened to look in Michelle’s direction, they would have only seen an ACE Air Conditioning employee with a goatee, glasses, and a ball cap, dressed in a large, loose-fitting maintenance uniform, going about a normal day’s work.
Before Michelle drove out onto the street, she turned up the police scanner sitting in the passenger seat of the rented van. Nothing.
Good. He’s playing it safe in case the shooter is still out there. He’ll wait until someone walks by to call for help. Ten seconds or ten minutes, it doesn’t matter; I’m already gone. I hope he’s miserable the whole time.
Less than a half-minute later, the ACE Air Conditioning van left the industrial park to pull into a far corner of the shopping mall parking lot a few minutes later. Again, had anyone been watching, they’d have seen the man with the goatee jump out and remove the magnetic signs, transforming the ACE Air Conditioning van into a plain white one.
After a few changes in the cargo area, a young woman with big sunglasses and bright red lipstick pulled the plain white van out of the parking spot, then out of the other side of the mall, to disappear into the afternoon traffic.
*
“I knew it would be almost impossible to hit both of those pricks at one time,” Michelle said. “Civilians usually stand around looking stupid, wondering what’s going on. But the police have too much training. Plus, they’re jumpy, because they know they’re always pissing people off.”
“What do you think?” G‑Baby asked. “Will you get another chance at him?”
“Not for a few days at least. He’ll be on medical leave from the shot in his arm, maybe even retire from it. I don’t know how badly he was hit. Anyway, you can bet he’ll lie real low for a while. Sooner or later, he’ll come out. Cops are always cocky bastards.”
“When you’re ready, we’ll go back out on the boat with Tuan,” he said.
Earlier that morning, G‑Baby and Michelle had gone out on the boat of his Vietnamese friend, Tuan Nguyen.
They started the day with breakfast at a Vietnamese café, where Black faces were rare. They were certain to be remembered. From there, they’d gone into a bait shop to buy supplies for a day of ocean fishing, which added more witness sightings to her alibi. After they launched Tuan’s boat, they motored south and pulled up alongside a dock in Newport Beach, where Michelle hopped off the boat and jumped into the rented van. Tuan didn’t ask questions, and never would.
In twelve hours, they’d pick her up at the same dock, but the whole thing wouldn’t take more than six or eight hours. It was a simple operation: put on the disguise, stick the signs on the van, drive to the industrial park, set up on the roof, take the shot, and get back.
As far as anyone knew, Tuan, G‑Baby, and Michelle had spent the day out fishing. And they had a modest catch to prove it.
Twenty-Four: Trevon—Check, Please
THE DAY AFTER an assassination, Michelle always dealt with being depressed yet full of nervous energy—happened every time—so she needed to do something physical that didn’t require thinking or decision-making.
Early enough in the morning to be back in time to open the shop, G‑Baby drove Michelle down to Newport Beach where the van was parked. The van came from a rental company in Long Beach that specialized in service vehicles. Hers was one of dozens rented every day.
As an extra precaution, she wouldn’t take public transportation back up the coast to Playa Del Oro. Cops could check with bus or taxi drivers so it was best not to leave any trails for them to follow. Instead, she’d wait until G‑Baby could come for her after he closed the shop, which gave her most of the day to kill. Perfect for some time in the gym.
“Hi, welcome to LA Fitness. How may I help you today?”
Michelle looked down at the pretty Mexican woman’s name tag. “Hi, Carmen. I have a prepaid day pass I’d like to use today.”
“Great, have you been to our location before?”
“No. Is there anything especially different here?”
“Well, yes and no. Like all of the LA Fitness gyms, our equipment is top notch and kept in excellent condition. We’re one of the larger gyms in the system—we have basketball courts that some of the smaller locations don’t have, and our sauna was recently upgraded. All of the ladies love it. Would you like a tour of our facilities this morning?”
What a bimbo! … No, she’s just being helpful. I’m the one being bitchy this morning.
Michelle paused and squelched her bad mood. Carmen probably wasn’t trying for an “A” on her customer service evaluation. Some people were just naturally helpful. Deja was like that. No, it wasn’t Carmen’s fault she was happy to be a receptionist. “Um, no thanks,” Michelle said. “Sign me in, and I’ll find my own way around.”
“Sure, sign here, and I can take your pass.”
After a couple of hours on the free weights and cross training equipment, Michelle felt much better. She stopped by the snack bar, picked up a smoothie, and watched the guys on the basketball court. A few were good.
When the game ended, one of the guys, hand towel draped around his neck, approached. “I saw you in the weight area earlier. Looked like you know your way around the gym pretty good.”
“You call that bullshit pick-up line game?” she asked.
Chuckling, his smiled widened. He wiped sweat off his face with the towel. “Yeah, guess I came off the court with my mouth running fast, like my feet have been. Can I try again?”
“Sure, but it better be more real than that lame shit you just tried.”
“My game’s obviously weak today. Clearly, I don’t have any good lines, certainly not good enough for a smart, pretty woman like you. How about I start with saying, ‘Hi, I’m Trevon. Is it okay if I sit and holla with you a minute?’”
“Shut up! An honest man! Asking permission! I can feel the world shaking. Men everywhere need to be scared. They won’t know what to say if they have to be honest,” she teased. “I like that part about me being smart and pretty. You’re okay. You can stay for a minute.”
“Why, thank you. What’s your name?”
“Michelle.”
“Well, Michelle, I hate to leave when I’m doing good, but I’m famished. Maybe you would let me buy you lunch?”
“Sounds good to me. Give me twenty minutes to get showered and changed.”
Michelle had been looking forward to a long sauna, but now things had changed, and she was sure a different kind of steam would dominate her afternoon.
The quiet money and good taste of Trevon’s pearl white Lexus matched his expensive suit. Michelle relaxed in the deep, leather seat while she clocked the route and location.
“Soul food, huh? How are the greens?” Michelle asked as they sat down for lunch. “You know, the best way to tell if a place is any good, is the greens.”
“Given regional variations and cooking traditions compounded by personal and familial tastes, that can be a difficult thing to pin down.”
“Funny. You didn’t seem like a smart-ass earlier.”
“That was my way of weaseling out of what might happen if you don’t like the greens. I guess I could’ve said I like them and left it at that.”
“With all those fancy words, you must be a college boy. So, College Boy, how are the greens?”
“They’re great. You’d have to be crazy not to love them.”
“Now that’s a recommendation I can understand.”
The food, especially the greens, was as good as Trevon promised.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“The food was bang on, though I’m still not too sure about all those fancy words. What’s the name of this place?”
“Kenneth’s Soul Food.”
“Yeah, Kenneth’s. Come to Kenneth’s often?”
“Not as much as I’d like. I enjoy their greens.” He winked. “Normally, it’s out of the way; I came here because I wanted to impress you. I’m hoping it worked. I’d like to see you again sometime.”
“It worked. About seeing me again sometime, though, I have a better idea. Do you live around here?”
“In Bixby Knolls up the way, not too far.”
“Good. How about we go to your place and you can show me you’re as good as you think you are.”
Trevon locked eyes with Michelle, who smiled and nodded in confirmation that he’d heard her correctly.
He raised his hand to signal the waitress. “Check, please.”
Twenty-Five: Ninja Bitch
WHOOF … TWACK!
Take that, you ninja bitch. Michelle danced back after successfully landing a tough combination: a knee to the stomach, followed by a right hook to the side of her opponent’s head. Their Muay Thai sparring session was drawing to an end, with Michelle clearly ahead.
Today, Deja and Nikky joined Michelle to watch her work out. Other than the pungent tang of sweat, the gym itself wasn’t the typical Southern California type; with the Muay Thai ring the center of attention, it looked more like a boxing gym. It definitely wasn’t for losing a few pounds or for socializing while building better, doctor-ordered cardiovascular health. People who came here were serious about combative sports, or they quickly left.
Deja helped Michelle take off her lightweight gloves. “Oh, girl, your kicking that bitch’s ass was exactly what I needed to see today.”
Deja looked like shit. Above the big, white tape bandage across the bridge of her nose sat two seriously black eyes. This was her first time out since the fight at the club.
“I’m glad to oblige,” Michelle said. “It’s a good thing you saw me doing Muay Thai. I’m better at it than she is.”
“Muay what?” Deja asked.
“Muay Thai. That the name for kickboxing in Thailand. It’s real big over there, like boxing is here. It’s what I first started training in when I went overseas.”
Sister's Revenge: Action Adventure Assassin Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin) Page 14
