Sister's Revenge: Action Adventure Assassin Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin) (15 page)

“Yeah, well, that’s all very interesting,” Michelle said. “I’m not sad that sorry prick who broke Deja’s nose is dead. But if you thought any of that shit was close to real, you wouldn’t have me out here; we’d be back in booking. So what’s all this about?”

“We’ll do our job for the city and for Mr. Jackson on those homicides, and if you’re the one who did it, we’ll get you. But that isn’t what truly pisses us off.”

“Really? I can’t imagine what would piss off a couple of upstanding po-lice like you.”

“What pisses us off is you have our money,” Glover said.

What the fuck?

“Three years ago,” Glover continued, “your brother and two other bangers got their sorry asses killed in your house. Someone ran off with our money. We believe you’re that someone. The first cops on the scene reported finding a briefcase full of drugs, but no money. We know better, because Lewis told us the money was still there when he left.”

Michelle’s blood ran cold at hearing Lewis’s name, and for an instant, she squinted in a hate-filled stare. This cop knew who murdered her brother.

“Yeah, we knew Lewis shot your brother,” he confirmed. “You see, we know a lot about you. What we can’t figure out is, why wait three years to come back and kill Lewis? It’ll all come clear in time, but the one thing you need to get straight is we want our money.
Where is our muthafucking money, bitch?
”

“So that’s what this is all about. You’re a couple of chickenshit dirty cops who think I stole your money. Fuck you! I lost my brother. A bunch of lowlife assholes killed him, and now I learn you were part of it. I didn’t take any goddamned money; I wasn’t even at the house. All I know is my brother was murdered and you pricks never did anything about it. Now I know why—you’re in the mix just as much as the assholes who shot him.”

Glover growled. “Where. Is. Our. Money. Bitch!”

“I don’t have any money that belongs to you. Now take me back to the station and arrest me, or step off, Jack.”

Glover leaned close and spoke low in her ear. “We know you’re a bitch, like your brother, who was a nobody. He had to be killed to get to his boss. We made sure everyone involved stayed out of the light, that’s why nobody was arrested for those killings. We made sure. And when the time comes, we’ll do the same to you. You’ll be nothing but one more dead girl in the hood, and you’ll be buried right here where we’re standing. Or, you could do the smart thing and give us our money.” He stepped back.

“I told you, I don’t have any money. But I do have to get even for this bullshit right here. You’ll be hearing from my attorney when she sues your asses off.” Michelle knew she’d never call her attorney; she just wanted to plant the idea she could be an innocent citizen, as opposed to the player she really was.

“We’ll be in touch,” Glover said, and they drove off.

Dressed in borrowed hospital scrubs and stranded in the middle of a large cemetery, Michelle was very, very pleased. She’d learned more than she expected. And now, she was going to kill two cops.

I
T’D BEEN A
very busy day. Michelle pulled up to G-Baby’s house, parked, and took a moment to collect her thoughts. With the top up, the smell of the takeout dinner in the passenger seat filled the car, and as the last of the light faded from the western sky, the lights in the windows of the houses grew brighter.

Baby-Sister opened the front door for Michelle.

“Hey, Baby-Sister.”

“Sup, Michelle? G-Baby said you were coming over with some takeout from T-Bones. I hate to miss it, but I have to run.”

“There’s enough for you if you want to stay.”

“Naw, can’t. Not this time. I promised my momma I’d go to her house. She’s got the Right Reverend Marion and his wife, Barbara, coming over for Sunday dinner. Having them visit is a big deal for her. They’re okay for church people; they don’t press others with their religion too much. I’ll stay and eat next time.” Baby-Sister hugged Michelle and stepped off the porch.

“Okay, sorry you can’t stay. Holla at you later.” Michelle entered the house, calling out, “Uncle G?” She walked into the kitchen to find some plates for dinner.

“Hey, Michelle.”

G-Baby strolled in, and she gave him a hug.

“Hey, Unc. What happened in here?”

“What do you mean?” He looked around. “It’s my kitchen, like it’s always been.”

“Uh-uh, no. It’s not always been like this. You’ve had a woman in here. Her touch is everywhere. It’s too clean, and there’s things put up.” Michelle opened cabinets, pointing. “New spices, which I know you didn’t buy. What’s up?”

“Yeah, well, Baby-Sister did some cooking the other night. That’s all.”

“Oh really? That’s all, huh?”

“Yeah, that's all. Now you mind your own business.”

“Hell, I’m glad you’re seeing someone. That, and your kitchen needed the help.”

“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?”

* * *

A
fter 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.