Get Even: A Michelle Angelique Urban Action Adventure Thriller Series Book #2 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin) Read online

  Both T‑Dog and Sugar ran all‑girl crews. T‑Dog’s worked with several of the men’s crews as logistic and information backup. Sugar’s consisted mostly of street hookers. Between the two crews, they had a pretty good understanding of the goings‑on in the hood. Both women joined the Pussy Squad a couple of months earlier when it formed up as sort of a “women’s watch, got‑your‑back,” sisterhood thing. It all started when Michelle brought her best friends, Nikky and Deja, to Miss Betty’s, looking for help to warn the women of the hood that problems were afoot, problems that could hurt a lot of them.

  “In times like these, big trouble could kick off,” Michelle said. “With Lewis gone, everyone thinks BamBam, his muscle‑man, will hold on in his place. Does he have the juice to take over?”

  “Sugar,” T‑Dog said, “you’ve been hooked up with D’andre for a while. He worked close with Lewis and BamBam. Will BamBam be strong enough to hold the hood?”

  “You got me.” Sugar shrugged. “D’andre don’t talk too much about his bidness.”

  “What about your crew?” Michelle asked. “Any of them getting any word on something about to jump off?”

  “No, nobody’s said nothing.”

  “Well, maybe your girls haven’t caught wind of anything yet, but trust me,” Miss Betty said, “something serious is definitely going to happen. Lewis worked for a downtown thug named Jackson who was found dead shortly after Lewis was killed.”

  Michelle nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that, too. What do you think his being dead means to us?” she asked, though she already had her own thoughts about the consequences of her killing Jackson. A power struggle would crop up, and guaranteed some people would be caught in the deadly crosshairs. Unfortunately, death and disaster was one of life’s realities in the hood.

  This hadn’t stopped her from taking out Jackson when she’d learned he was the man who’d ordered her brother’s murder three years ago. In fact, nothing could have stopped her from getting a sister’s revenge on Jackson, Lewis, and the whole crew involved.

  “It means trouble for us,” T‑Dog replied. “Jackson and Lewis getting killed guarantees the streets will blow up. This shit with that asshat, Jerome, is coming at a bad time. With everything crazy on the streets, our men won’t pay any attention to what some chickenshit rat bastard does. He’s back, and pretty much free to cause all the trouble he wants.”

  “Jerome’s back?” Miss Betty asked.

  “Yeah.” T‑Dog nodded. “I saw him at the 7‑Eleven last night. We’ve never been friends, so he didn’t say anything to me. But yeah, he’s back and looking kind of weak.”

  “I’m happy he’s looking weak,” Sugar said. “Anyone mess around hurting women enough to get his ball shot off should be looking weak. Ask me, he’s lucky to be alive. With the men so distracted, we’re on our own here. Sure as shit, he’s gonna cause problems with the girls in the hood. Now that he’s home, we gotta be real careful.”

  Most of the women from their first meeting were in the room, and they all seemed to agree this one fool could kick off a much bigger problem for many of them. “Everyone understands Jerome needs to show he’s man enough to get his revenge,” Michelle said. “Problem is, he’s a coward. A real man will come at you straight, so you can deal with it. Cowards always put a knife in your back or hide in a crowd.”

  “I hung out with that jerk for almost a year,” Deja said, then held up her hands. “Don’t ask me why I stayed; I can’t explain it, not even to myself. Jerome thinks he’s a real stand‑up guy, but he isn’t. He’ll try to convince others to back his play so he can feel like he’s the top dog running stuff. If he’s able to recruit some other idiots, we’ll have a lot more to worry about than just a bunch of loud shit‑talking.”

  “He’s got three strikes against him,” Michelle said. “Not only is he a coward, he’s also stupid and basically mean. From what I can see, he’s the type of man who never learns. He’d been shot two separate times before losing his nut, and he still kept acting a fool. Now, I heard he’s snitched to the police on who shot him.”

  “If he snitched,” Sugar said, “then why ain’t you in jail? Everybody’s pretty damn sure you’re the one who shot him.”

  Michelle winked. “I guess everybody doesn’t know what they think they know.”

  “You say this prick is a real big problem,” said T‑Dog, “so why not just cap him and be done with it?”

  “Because I was the one he tried to snitch on,” Michelle said. “He told the police I shot him in the side, which happened before he was shot in the nuts. They let me go because I had a solid alibi. Now, they have a record of the situation between us, so I can’t do anything without them getting real deep in my business.” For many reasons, she couldn’t afford for the police to be too interested in her.

  Last time, at the end of their first meeting, they’d picked a name, mostly for fun. Deja had suggested the P.U.S.S.Y. Squad—People United to Stop Sonuvabitches like You. Everyone laughed when she’d suggested it, but when Miss Betty supported it, they all agreed, and the Pussy Squad was formed. Mostly because one creep had gone too far, but others joined because too many similar creeps lived in the hood. It was an idea whose time had come.

  Now, Miss Betty walked the room, refilling lemonades.

  “I agree with T‑Dog,” Michelle said. “Things are messy right now, and with all of the shit going on, it might be hard to clock what Jerome does. So you guys ask your crews to pay extra attention to anything they might pick up.”

  “One of my girls told me about something that sounded important,” T‑Dog said. “Some of the players from Long Beach were talking with guys on the local corners, acting real friendly‑like, but everyone thinks they’re sizing up the area to make a move. Might be a big problem; might be nothing.”

  “Did you find out who they work for?” Miss Betty asked.

  “Some guy named Trevon runs the streets in Long Beach,” T‑Dog replied. “Think it’s important?”

  “Could be,” Miss Betty said. “Depends on if he brings his crew up our way or not. Most of us don’t mess with drugs. Doesn’t matter if we do or don’t, though. Who’s running the show always makes a difference. If he runs a tight ship, things stay cool. If he’s mean, like Lewis was, then things will be edgy all the time. Not like we have anything to say about it. I just like to know how things will shake out, is all.”

  “What can anyone tell us about this Trevon?” Sugar asked.

  “Not much,” T‑Dog said. “Things have been pretty quiet down there for a while. I understand he’s an original gangster in Long Beach. Seems he’s been running a tight crew for the last few years. You guys think it’s worth checking out?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Sure won’t hurt,” Sugar said. “I’ll ask my girls if they know anything about him. If he’s OG, somebody will have the four‑one‑one.” She turned to Michelle. “What about you, Michelle, you hear anything on this guy?”

  “Nothing more than what you already told us,” Michelle answered. “Sometimes I hook up with a guy named Trevon from Long Beach. He’s a lawyer, and I don’t think he has a street crew. He grew up in the area. I’ll ask him if he knows anything. All right, back to talking about the real issue for us. Doesn’t matter if Jerome is a punk‑ass wanksta or for real. If he talks enough shit, some other baby‑g will back his play. If enough of them pull together, then they can cause some real trouble. How are we going to be ready for what Jerome’s up to?”

  “He’s always playing dominoes with a bunch of homies down at the park,” Miss Betty said. “Who else does he hang with? Sugar, can you check if any of your girls deal with Jerome? Those hooking at the park can probably tell you who else he hangs with. Same for you, T‑Dog. Can you check with your crew?”

  “If either of you learn anything, how about you give me a call,” Michelle said. “I’ll pass any information on to everyone else.”

  “Sounds good to me,” T‑Dog said.

&
nbsp; “Me, too,” Sugar agreed.

  *

  “Well . . . ?” Nikky asked.

  “Well what?” Michelle asked back.

  Michelle, Nikky, and Deja sat at a corner table in Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles. At midafternoon, between the lunch and dinner crowds, the place was almost empty, so with one whole end of the restaurant to themselves, they talked freely.

  “You know what I’m talking about, Nee‑gro.” Nikky did a neck roll and cocked her head. “Don’t even try to front. I’m talking about your new GFB. You said you wanted to find a good fucking buddy. Now dish the dirt, girl.”

  “What’s to say?” Michelle asked. “Is he good in the sack? Sweet Jesus, yes! Is he a good guy? Yeah, so far he seems like he is. Is he going to be my baby daddy? No. I don’t see him that way.”

  “Why not?” Deja asked.

  “I’m not sure. He’s just not the right guy. Truth is, I’m the one with the problem. Hell, I’m not even ready for a real relationship. I’ve never been with a man for more than two or three times.”

  “What about Phillip in your junior year?” Nikky asked. “You hooked up with him almost the whole year.”

  “I’m talking about since I grew up. Boys from high school don’t count. We were having sex, but it didn’t mean we had a future together. Are you getting with any of the guys from school?”

  “Naw,” Nikky replied. “They mostly come up to be no‑count losers or a token sell‑out at some big corporation. You know the type, thinking he’s all that and a bag of chips but not really knowing or doing anything real.”

  “So having a GFB is a big step for me,” Michelle said as a waitress approached their table.

  “What can I bring you ladies?” she asked.

  “Coffee for me and her,” Nikky said, nodding toward Deja. Then she pointed to Michelle. “She wants an A&W Root Beer with a lot of ice. And we all want a single waffle.”

  “One to share or one for each of you?”

  “Oh no, I’m not sharing my waffle,” Nikky said. “Everyone gets their own.”

  “Coming right up.” She set three tall glasses of ice water on the table and walked off.

  Michelle smiled. “You two can’t imagine how much I love being back home here with you.”

  “Yeah, we thought you were gone forever when—bam!—out of nowhere, you blow right in,” Deja said. “Then you tell us all kinds of crazy stuff about learning to fight in strange countries, talking about climbing the outside of buildings in Thailand.”

  “Don’t forget about running through the jungles in Vietnam like some kind of Tarzan,” Nikky added.

  “Oh, yeah!” Deja nodded. “That, too!”

  After her brother, Michael, and her cousin, Gabe Jr., were killed in her home, Michelle had spent three grueling years away from everything and everyone she ever loved while she trained to become a professional assassin for hire. She studied hand‑to‑hand combat, cat burglar climbing, and electronic surveillance, along with sniper training, and learning how to kill with short swords and knives. For two whole months after she returned home, Michelle had told no one, except for her uncle, G‑Baby, that she’d come back.

  During her last year in Asia and her short time back in the States, Michelle stretched and honed her assassin skills by accepting every possible contract given, building up a large bank account in the process. She did everything with one goal in mind: to hunt down Michael and Gabe Jr.’s murderers.

  She’d made an oath to God, herself, her dead parents, dead brother, dead cousin, and Uncle G to get revenge. And that’s exactly what she did. In the process, however, she’d eliminated the top management structure of the drug trade in Anglewatts.

  “I can’t tell you all of the crazy things I did overseas,” Michelle said. “I also can’t tell you what I missed most, because I missed a thousand things most, and one of them was a beautiful, tall glass of ice water. There’s only one place in the whole friggin’ world where you’re served a regular glass of ice water—here. And they give it to you just for walking into their place.”

  “What, there’s no ice water over there?” Deja asked.

  “Not like we have here. Over there, you can’t drink the water from the faucet. Do that, and you’ll be shitting for a week, or worse. Bottled water is the only real choice. Fair enough; I get that. But some of those stupid morons don’t seem to understand shit. Almost like they don’t understand on purpose, so they can make you to do stupid things.”

  “Like what?” Nikky asked.

  “Okay, here’s one: You go into a café and ask for water. They act like they don’t understand what you’re talking about. So you make your hand like a glass, and mime like you’re drinking.”

  Michelle held an imaginary glass and tipped it up like she was taking a drink. Nikky and Deja nodded.

  “Then, they still stand there with a stupid expression, like what you want is a big mystery. They put their hands in the air and wiggle them, meaning they don’t understand. So you act like you’re opening the top of an imaginary bottle and drink out of it. They do the hand wiggle thing again.

  “At that point, most times I just said, to hell with it, and tried to grab a bottle of water from behind the counter. They’d carry on, all loud and excited, because only employees or family can go back there.

  “Finally, after a bunch of my pointing and acting a fool, they’d act like all of a sudden they understood. They’d pick up a water bottle and stand there smiling like they’d discovered the joy of sex. Sometimes I could swear someone was in the back taking bets on how many ways they can make you look stupid. So, like I keep saying, it’s so good to be back with you guys.”

  “And we’re glad you’re back home where you belong,” Nikky said.

  Deja batted her big, brown eyes and nodded.

  The three women had grown up together in the hood. They’d gone through their first boyfriends and puberty together, had shared notes on their first sexual experiences, and they were all pretty in their own way.

  Deja was the knock‑out glamorous, gorgeous one who stood at a tall five‑foot‑ten with a small waist and a voluptuous body, light skin and good hair naturally thick and worn long. Around her, most women were envious and most men were horny. Always smiling and laughing, Deja loved to have fun, and with her sometimes naïve Bambi‑like appearance, she drove the men wild.

  Nikky had a Creole look with wavy hair and a striking, quiet beauty chiseled into her smooth, even features. Petite with a full figure, she barely hit five feet. She was as quiet as Deja was loud. Nothing slipped past Nikky; her eyes sparkled with intelligence, and she could ask a million questions and always remember the answers.

  Michelle had always been the average one growing up, though she’d developed into the strong leader of the group. Pretty, but not outstanding, she usually wore her tight, curly, almost nappy hair in a short afro, and at five‑foot‑five, she stood right in the middle. She had a slim, athletic figure—long, sexy legs and a round, tight ass—and her breasts, at an optimistic B cup, were an unfulfilled promise. As a teenager, Michelle dreamed of getting real tits, but her later assassin training squashed any of those thoughts. When hugging the outside of a building ten stories up, a large chest posed a problem. Besides, she found small tits had never‑ever, not once, stopped her from getting laid.

  “I’m happy you still think it’s a good thing I came back,” Michelle said. “After I pulled you into these crazy events over the past couple of months, I sometimes worried you’d regret it. It’s been a wild and fast ride. Now with those murdering thugs gone, I hope we can start getting our lives back to normal.”

  Nikky looked up and, arching one eyebrow, cocked her head.

  “Oh, we’re getting that rat bastard Jerome, that’s mandatory,” Michelle said to Nikky’s implied question. “I count taking down that cocksucker a part of normal life.”

  “Here you go,” the waitress announced as she brought over three plat
es with hot waffles. “Can I refill your coffee or bring you another root beer?”

  “Thanks. These look great.” Michelle smiled at her. “Yes, more coffee and another A&W sound good.”

  Deja leaned over her waffle and drew in a big breath. “Mmmm, smell that! I bet you didn’t get that hot‑off‑the griddle toasted waffle smell over in rice‑land.”

  “You got that right! One of the thousands of things I was talking about earlier. And these smell wonderful.” Michelle dug into her waffle dripping with melted butter and maple syrup. “Nikky, you asked about my GFB. What about you? You getting any?”

  “Mummffp meffen,” Nikky mumbled, rolling her eyes while she covered her full mouth with her hand. After swallowing, she said, “Why are you asking me questions when I’m eating? You know my mom taught me not to talk with food in my mouth. You want to learn about who I’m doing, you’ll have to wait until this waffle’s gone.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, girl. It’s a waffle, not a dick,” Deja teased. “You act like you’re sinning, talking with food in your mouth.”

  “Mummff ngennk,” Nikky mumbled again, and flipped Deja the bird.

  Everyone laughed.

  Three: Sugar’s Set‑Up

  DONTRICE PUSHED OPEN the door, knocking while calling out, “Knock, knock. Sugar? You in here?”

  “Hey, Dontrice,” Sugar said. “Come in, get out of that miserable heat.”

  She stepped in and closed the door behind her. “Oh my God, this cool air is a welcome relief. It’s gotta be over a hundred outside. Is D’andre here?”

  “No, it’s just us.”

  Dontrice scoffed. “What am I asking that for? Of course he isn’t here. He always keeps the door locked.” She pointed to a bright aquarium perched on a solid wood base and filled with colorful fish; a large tank that fit comfortably in the room. “New tank?” she asked.

  “D’andre bought it for me last week. One day, he complains about the fish; the next, he buys me this beautiful tank. He’s like that sometimes.” Sugar pulled a cord to close the cream‑colored drapes over the sliding glass door that led to the small, fenced‑in patio at the back of the apartment. “Sometimes the sun hits the tank and it gets too hot. I like the light, but I like my fish better, and the hot sun will kill them.”