Sister's Revenge: Action Adventure Assassin Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin) (8 page)

“H
EY, LIL RICH.
Thought I might bump into you here behind the shoe store.” Michelle stood a few feet away, in the back alley, dressed in worn, comfortable jeans and an old, faded black hoodie with the hood pushed back, showing her face. One hand clutched a Big Gulp drink. The other was tucked in her pocket.

“Hey, girl,” Lil Rich said.

Clearly, he didn’t recognize her.

“It’s me, Michelle Angelique. We went to school together over at Carver.”

“Yeah?”

“Remember when me, Deja, and Nikky got you into that party where Billy Johnson got shot? He was sitting right next to you when it happened.”

Lil Rich’s expression changed.

“Ah, I see you remember me now. Do you also remember my brother, Michael?”

At the mention of the name, Lil Rich’s eyes narrowed as if he was trying to figure things out, when recognition registered on his face.

“I see you remember Michael.”

“Yeah, sure, I remember you and Deja and Nikky from school. How you been?”

“And my brother, Michael. You remember him, too?”

“Sure, sure. He was older. I didn’t know him too good.”

Michelle stepped in close. “Good. I’m glad you remember him. Do you also remember being Lewis’s snitch that day when Michael and Gabe Jr. got killed? What about watching the street from outside my house? Telling the cops a bunch of bullshit about things that didn’t happen? Do you remember helping Lewis get away with murdering my brother?”

Lil Rich’s eyes darted past Michelle down the alley. “No, no, Michelle, it didn’t happen that way.” He stepped to the side.

Michelle matched his move, blocking his path, and pushed him against the wall. “How about getting paid by Lewis for being a witness and saying he wasn’t there? Do you remember that, you scummy muthafucka?”

Michelle pointed her silenced 9mm at him. Lil Rich’s eyes flew big and round. He jerked back, slamming against the wall. She pulled the trigger.

Puhffiitt!

“That’s for Gabe Jr.”

Lil Rich stumbled forward, hunched over, and groaned, looking down at his stomach, then up at Michelle like he couldn’t believe she’d shot him.

“Please,” he said. “I didn’t do nothing.”

Puhffiitt!

“That’s for Michael.”

Lil Rich stumbled backwards from the neck shot, a stupid look of surprise plastered on his face. He collapsed to the ground and leaned against the trash cans, blood running down and mixing with the mud. He’d bleed out in less than a minute.

Squatting down, Michelle got into his face. “You’re dead for what you did. I want you to know who killed you, you piece of shit.” Then she picked up the two bullet casings, pulled off the surgical glove from her shooting hand, and dropped the glove and the casings into her Big Gulp. With the straw, she pushed everything under the ice and put the lid back on.

She took off the black hoodie, leaving her in a loose-fitting, denim work shirt. A black, canvas computer bag she used as a purse hung on her shoulder. As she walked toward the end of the alley, she dropped the hoodie in a puddle, then swished it around in the muddy water, making sure the gunk covered it. Later, every cop car, ambulance, and any other vehicle coming through would run over it. Then she strolled out of the alley, looking like anybody coming from the 7-Eleven with a Big Gulp.

“Well, bless my soul, is that you, Michelle?”

A middle-aged women had approached from the sidewalk as Michelle came to the end of the alley. Michelle recognized her. Betty Greer had been a family friend for as long as Michelle could remember. She was a church-going woman, and before the car accident that took Michelle’s parents’ lives, Mrs. Greer had spent a lot of time with Michelle’s mom at their church.

“Hi, Miss Betty. What a pleasant surprise to see you out here today.”

“Where else would I be? You must remember I always go to 7-Eleven for my cigarettes and a little fresh air.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

“Well, girl, are you going to tell me where you’ve been? Nobody’s seen you for, what, three years?”

Michelle was happy to see Miss Betty, but with a dead body in the alley and the murder weapon in her bag, the timing couldn’t be much worse. Miss Betty loved to gossip. She talked a lot. Much sharper than most people gave her credit for. Miss Betty also asked questions and truly paid attention to the answers. Michelle knew she would not be free anytime soon. She thought about a dozen ways to get out of staying and none of them were any good.

“Are you going to tell me or make me stand here, guessing?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Betty. I don’t really know where to begin.” Michelle told her a watered-down version of the truth, a story of living abroad and about her job with the movies, chatting and keeping the conversation natural. She needed to act normal, or Miss Betty might tell the cops how Michelle had acted jumpy, which would make them suspicious of her.

While she talked, Michelle tried to casually ease toward her parked car.

“Where are you headed, child?” Miss Betty asked. “I still have to get my cigarettes. Here, walk with me to the 7-Eleven and I’ll walk back with you.”

“Sure thing. I’ve already been”—she raised her Big Gulp cup—“but I’d be happy to walk with you and hear about what’s happened while I’ve been gone.”

As the two women walked, Miss Betty gossiped about various people and events in the hood, and after they left the 7-Eleven, while they were walking across the parking lot, a police car passed by. Half way up the block, its light bar came to life with red and blue flashing lights as the cruiser did a tire-squealing U-turn and sped back past them. It hung a fast right at the corner they were headed toward.

Damn. That didn’t take long. Somebody must have come out the back of Brown’s and seen him lying there.

“That po-lease seems to be in a big hurry,” Miss Betty said, and then she chuckled. “Must’ve got a call from his girlfriend. Best not let his wife learn about that.”

Michelle and Miss Betty approached the corner, and another police car sped up the street, lights flashing, going in the same direction as the first.

“Something’s up,” Michelle said.

“Sure is. I wonder what. Don’t need no trouble, that’s for certain. I hope it isn’t someone been hurt over at the park. Those gangsta-looking types were hanging out by the courts when I came by.”

Not too far away, came the wail of a siren and then it cut off. A moment later, an ambulance drove up the street, lights flashing. The lights cut and it slowed down, following the two police cars.

Michelle and Miss Betty had turned the corner and stood at the mouth of the alley where the two police cars were parked, lights flashing. The ambulance sat behind them, back doors open. EMTs were casually pulling a stretcher out.

Michelle saw the black hoodie she’d dropped in the mud puddle; it’d been run over several times, and now looked like an old rag that had been lying on the ground for a week.

Amazing what a couple cop cars will do, running over their own evidence.

While Michelle and Miss Betty stood watching the scene, an unmarked police car came up behind them and bumped the siren. They moved out of the way, and the car passed into the alley. The detectives had arrived.

“All of those police mean something big happened,” Miss Betty said. “Maybe someone got killed.”

“You think so? I hope not,” Michelle said.

“Sure. They don’t bring an ambulance in all quiet-like and all them po-lease for no small thing. I’ve been around long enough to know how they operate. I’ll bet someone got hisself shot and killed. Want to walk down with me to see who it is?”

“No, I don’t like to see dead people. It always gives me the creeps, even at funerals. I’m sure the police will come up to talk to us, anyway.” No sooner had Michelle spoken, when a young cop strode up the alley. “See? Here he comes.”
Slow, deep breaths; slow your heart down, keep calm.

“Excuse me, ladies, can I ask you a few questions?”

Michelle took the lead. “Sure.”

“Did you see anybody coming from the alley, or hear anything unusual in the last few minutes?”

“No, we were coming out the 7-Eleven when that first cop went around the corner. Then the second followed real quick.”

The cop looked at Miss Betty. “Is there anything else you can remember?”

“We heard the ambulance siren coming, but it cut off,” Miss Betty said. “Then we saw the ambulance down the alley sitting quiet, with no one running around like it was an emergency, so we figured someone must be dead. Is that what happened? Who’s down there, dead? I can see his feet sticking out, and they haven’t moved since we’ve been standing here. He’s gotta be dead. Who is he?”

“We’re not sure,” the cop replied. “We think he might have worked at the shoe store, cleaning up.”

Miss Betty nodded. “Most likely Lil Rich. Is he a light-skinned young man with a bad complexion?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s a good description. What did you say his name was?”

“That’s Richard Williams you’ve got dead down there, then. Most folks know him as Lil Rich. I know his mother, and I watched that boy grow up. He was a good boy until he got into drugs a few years ago. Been cleaning at Brown’s shoe store. His momma’s going to be brokenhearted, but she always knew it was going to come to this.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Is there anything else you can think of?”

“Um . . . no. Except you cops don’t do enough to keep drugs from our kids. It’s y’all’s fault Lil Rich is down there, lying dead in the mud.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” With a nod, he turned and walked back toward the scene, stepping unawares on the muddy sleeve of the faded black hoodie.

Michelle considered Miss Betty, who seemed genuinely sad that Lil Rich had been killed. Now, though, she had news that needed to be spread. In less than an hour, the word would be out. She had to move quickly.

“I’m going to go back to the 7-Eleven to get me a burrito,” she said to Miss Betty. “You want to come?”

Miss Betty waved her hand. “No, you go on. I’m going to head over to Sondra’s. It’s better a friend tells her about her boy. So tragic.” She strode off, up the street.

Michelle returned to the 7-Eleven, spending several minutes heating up a burrito and refilling her Big Gulp, before pulling a white hoodie from of her bag. A minute later, and dressed in the white hoodie, she paid for her stuff and walked out. Strolling the two blocks to her rented gray Acura, Michelle left the first body behind.

* * *

“G
-Baby’s B-Shop. This is G.”

“It’s done,” Michelle said. “He was the first. The littlest fish is now a dead fish.”

The phone line went dead, and G-Baby hung up. With an extra bounce in his step, he gave everyone extra attention on their haircuts for the rest of the day.

“H
EY MICHELLE. THE
regular, or something different this morning?” asked Scott as Michelle entered the small diner located a short two blocks from her cottage.

“Hey, Scott,” she said. “The regular, please. You all alone this morning?”

“So far, but Sharon will be here any minute. Her shift starts at six thirty.”

“Mind if I get my own coffee?”

“Help yourself. It’s all fresh.”

Michelle poured herself a cup and settled in. Her friendship with Scott, the owner of the diner, had come as a pleasant surprise.

Michelle ate breakfast at Scott’s Diner several times a week. Sometimes, she dined in after her early morning beach run; sometimes she ordered takeout. On the days she didn’t go, she usually sent the guy she’d slept with for breakfast takeout for two. The men were always well-dressed, somewhere in their twenties—early thirties, tops—and typically professional-looking.

Scott not seeing the connection would have been a surprise. After all, how many single, Black women had recently moved into the area?

Most of the guys she brought home were good in the sack, but every once in a while, one would be a serious disappointment and wouldn’t last for takeout in the morning.

“Any news worth knowing?” she asked.

“News? Around here? We always have big news. Let’s see . . .” He brought over her breakfast and, spinning a chair around, sat down with her. “Sharon’s dog had puppies and she’ll be looking for homes in a couple of months if you want one. Hey, I have a note by the register on your fella who came in yesterday. Good-looking guy, but you know that. Pretty full of himself. He parked in the driveway when spaces were open and didn’t tip for the coffee Fran served him while waiting for his order. I’d say you can do better.”

For a White guy in his mid-thirties, Scott had an uncanny ability to size up those she sent over. He always liked the good guys, but for those he thought weren’t good enough for her (and there were a few), he straight-out dissed the punks.

A selfish lover ranked way down on Michelle’s list, right there next to the smelly trash that had stayed too long in the house. No trash or bad lovers ever stayed overnight twice.

“The puppies are a surprise,” Michelle said. “I didn’t know Sharon even had a dog. That guy being an asshat, that’s no surprise. You won’t see him picking up breakfast for me again. Thanks for the confirmation. Always good to get a second opinion.”

Michelle had always known how to “take care of herself,” but given the choice she preferred a warm bed and skin on skin contact to a mechanical orgasm. She always had a choice; willing men were easy to find. But a committed relationship? That was impossible now. She was on a mission to avenge her brother’s murderers and couldn’t be tied down.

Her real job, of course, created a huge problem. As a paid assassin, she needed total freedom, and a steady boyfriend wouldn’t understand. No, a permanent partner was out of the question, at least for now; she had to be free to work and free to enjoy sex whenever she wanted—all by her own rules.

Michelle felt comfortable in this part of L.A. Playa Del Oro snuggled in the midst of four different worlds: Marina Del Sol to the north, LAX to the south, Anglewatts to the east, and the beach to the west. Because of the airport noise and small area, the beach community would always be a modest, overpriced, middle-class neighborhood.

Her place was only a short hop to the hood by surface streets, yet it might as well have been on a different planet.