Hard Revenge Page 5

  “I try.” Michelle grinned.

  “As a reward, I have a sweet job coming up next week. It’ll take you to Paris, researching some war a long time ago. Fly over and get some French guy to do you good while getting the job done.” Keisha winked. “You know those French been eating pussy forever, so they’re the best in the world. I hear French dads teach their sons when they’re little boys.”

  Michelle arched an eyebrow.

  “Save it.” Keisha gave a dismissive wave. “You know what I mean. Point is, you can get some good sex and make a bit of cash, as well as see Paris.”

  “Sorry, girl. I’d love to go, but I can’t. I’ve made some commitments for the next few weeks, so you’ll have to count me out. Damn, I hate to miss out on Paris.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Keisha said. “There’ll be other good gigs. I’ll be sure to swing some good ones your way.”

  “What about you?” Michelle asked. “You still with that White guy you were doing?”

  “Naw, I hated to give that up, too. Talk about the cunning linguist—”

  “The what?”

  “It’s an old joke. The cunning linguist, meaning ‘cunnilingus’?”

  “Nope.” Michelle shook her head.

  “Oral sex, eating pussy.”

  Michelle laughed. “Well, hell, just say it. Was he good at eating pussy?”

  “Oh damn, girl.” Keisha rolled her eyes. “He was the best I’d ever been with. He made me come like a goddamned freight train! He screwed up when he started talking about having babies and taking me back East to meet his family. I’m not ready for that, so I cut him loose. Speaking of freight trains, you’re looking real pleased, yourself. What’s up with that?”

  Michelle smiled. “I met a fine man at the gym yesterday — he was strong in bed all night. Oh yeah . . . like a freight train! But he was a jerk, so I ditched him this morning. Ain’t no thang. There are always men looking to prove they have the best dick in the city, and I’m happy to let them try to prove it to me. But for me to be with a man, he’s gotta have a lot more than good sex going on. He has to be about something. Can’t be no punk-ass momma’s boy, fronting like he’s somebody. I see that shit all the time, and it pisses me off.”

  “Yeah, I hear that shit. Men can be such a pain in the butt.” A light blinked on Keisha’s desk phone, and she placed her hand on the receiver. “Let me know when you’re ready for another assignment. I’ll be looking to hear from you.”

  “I’ll call as soon as things are tied up,” Michelle said. “You take care of yourself.”

  “Mandatory.” Keisha winked and picked up her phone.

  .

  Seven: Get It On

  WHUP! — MICHELLE’S ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-TWO POUNDS hit the mat.

  Whup! — Her one hundred sixty-five-pound partner hit the same mat.

  Whup! — Test, move — whup, whup!

  And so the morning session went as Michelle and the man she frequently trained with went through their routines, testing strengths and exploiting weaknesses in their jujitsu sparring workout.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Michelle grunted out through locked teeth while she wrested herself free of her partner’s triangle choke hold. After thirteen more minutes of grunting, sweating, and straining, the match was over.

  Michelle’s overall agility, excellent conditioning, and leg strength almost made up for her partner’s upper body strength and superior grappling skills. She liked working out with him; he was better than she was, and he’d never tried to hit on her. Some guys would give up a better anchor point to go for the free feel, which made them bad partners. Plus, he was okay with practicing holds that weren’t strictly legal.

  “Osu. Good match today.” Michelle bowed to her partner. “You have taught me much in a brief time. I am indebted to you.” He’s getting better, but I’m improving faster. I’ll be able to match him soon. No killing spirit. He does this for fun. I don’t have that luxury.

  “Osu, Sensei,” Michelle said, turning to bow to her teacher. “Thank you for your patience, teaching me the way. I am grateful for your guidance.”

  “Osu, Michelle,” Mr. Kobayashi said. “It is my honor to teach one as dedicated as you. You work harder than any student ever to come to my dojo, though I fear there is a darkness within you that will someday bring tremendous pain and suffering.”

  Michelle remained silent. However wise and insightful her teacher might have been, his sensing Michelle had something important to do didn’t mean she’d talk about it. Not with him. Not today, not ever.

  “I see you have also signed up for sparring with Muay Thai,” the sensei said. “I do not think that is wise after such a strong grappling match.”

  “You are right. My arms are shaking from working so hard. I think I should cool down and hit the showers.”

  Michelle came to the gym this morning to help keep her mind and body busy. She had too much nervous energy for sex — maybe later — and a long run on the beach would have given her too much time to think. But now, after that hard workout and long shower, a little something to eat sounded good.

  * * *

  With a playful smile, he slid his hand up Michelle’s thigh. She arched her left eyebrow, responding to his touch with the barest nod of assent. Wordlessly, they slipped off the stools at the Denny’s lunch counter and headed to the hotel next door.

  “I’ll meet you back here in fifteen,” Michelle said. “I’m going to run to the store and pick up some Trojans. I don’t do bareback.”

  “I appreciate that. You’re a woman after my own heart.”

  “Let’s start somewhere else and see where the heart takes us.” She winked and closed her car door.

  Twenty-five minutes later, she pulled up at the hotel’s front door where he stood up from his spot in the lobby. Wearing a happy smile, he waved and went out to her car. “If you want to leave the top down,” he said, “you can park it here under the arbor out of the sun. I told the lady my wife would appreciate being able to leave her car in the shade.”

  “That was thoughtful. Thanks. Did you say wife?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Quan Smith. A first-floor room with a king bed was the best I could get. They don’t have a honeymoon suite, but I did get a laugh asking for it.”

  “Well, Mr. Smith, let’s go find out what a first-floor king bed has to offer.”

  Quan opened the hotel room door and stood back for Michelle to enter first. She waited.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I see your mother taught you how to treat a lady, but aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “Yes!” Quan bowed deeply, formally. “I don’t have a broom to jump over. Will carrying you over the threshold do?”

  “Why, Mr. Smith, that would be wonderful.”

  “Please allow me, Mrs. Smith.” He scooped her up and carried her through the door.

  * * *

  After a delight-filled afternoon, and still covered in a light sheen of sweat, Quan propped himself up on his elbow and asked, “Can I say something?”

  “Sure.”

  “This may sound totally corny, but then, I’m pretty much a nerd anyway. At the risk of having you kick me out: if I were capable of judging — which honestly, I’m not — I would have to say that was world-class sex.”

  Michelle laughed. “Yeah, I’d say we get high marks for a fantastic effort and pretty amazing results. Especially considering the equipment limitations.”

  “Too small?”

  “Men! Always worried about that. No, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s me — small tits.”

  “How about: petite and beautiful. It’s crazy. You have an amazing body. Your breasts are shockingly sexy, and you worry about them being small? At least you don’t have round shoulders and a high ass, like me.

  “High ass?”

  “From my mother’s side of the family. All of the Petersons have that high ass.”

  “I thought your last name was Smith.”

  “
Warren.”

  “Well, Quan Warren, as imperfect as we are, we still managed to get this far.” She breathed in deeply, rolled over, and traced her fingertips down his hairy chest, following her caresses with soft, nibbling kisses. He rumbled deeply.

  Rising to the occasion, Quan pulled her up and whispered in her ear, “No you don’t. My turn to start.” His beard tickled her neck, raising goose bumps as he trailed kisses down to, and past, her admittedly small, shapely, and oh-so sensitive breasts.

  A long while later, the two of them relaxed in the warm glow of an afternoon of spectacular lovemaking.

  “I’m going to hop in the shower. Feel like joining me?” he asked.

  Michelle rolled over and gazed up at him, wanton and catlike. “Is another shower really what you want right now? Bet I can interest you in a little something else.” She walked her fingers up the inside of his thigh.

  With a playful twinkle in his eye, Quan reached down to caress her warm, wet darkness. “Ms. Michelle Angelique, all I can say is: let’s get it on.”

  .

  Eight: Groundwork Meeting

  MICHELLE PARKED IN FRONT OF G-Baby’s house. Many years ago, for reasons nobody could remember, the neighborhood had been developed with larger lots than most of the surrounding areas, and a few of the original turn-of-the-century houses still stood. Michelle’s parents had owned one with a particularly tall wood pier foundation and, as young children, Michelle and Michael had loved to play in the cool shade under the house. G-Baby’s house, built later, sat on a cement foundation, giving it a much different style.

  Mature sycamore trees lined the road, with two in front of G-Baby’s home, and already their leaves were starting to turn brown with the approach of fall. Years ago, kids would have played in the big piles of leaves, but in the coming weeks, there wouldn’t be many piles for the kids to play in. People who now rented the houses didn’t care about things like dead leaves in the drive.

  Like they say, you can never go home again. Maybe not, but I can get even with those bastards for making that true for me.

  Michelle let herself in through the front door with her key. “Hello? Uncle G, it’s me! I have dinner.” She stepped in from the slight chill; the warm air felt good.

  From the back of the house, G-Baby called, “Hey, M’Shell.” He used her family nickname. No one else had the right to use it — ever. Some stupid jerk back in school tried. First time, she told him to knock it off. Second time, he got a busted lip. There was no third time.

  “Sup, Uncle G?” She gave him a hug.

  “What did you bring?”

  “Takeout from Roscoe’s: greens, baked chicken, potato salad, sweet cornbread, and a side of chicken chili over rice.”

  “Perfect. Here, let me take those bags.”

  Michelle sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

  “What smell?”

  “Like . . . something’s burning.”

  “Oh that. It’s the heater. First time it’s been turned on this year. Forgot to clean the filter. Sorry about that.”

  Michelle and G-Baby strode into the kitchen, where they sat at the gray Formica-top kitchen table on a matching set of padded chairs with rusted chrome legs. Michelle, Michael, and Gabe Jr. had all grown up eating at this table, while the adults ate at the “big people table” in the dining room.

  “This is it, right here.” With a big smile, G-Baby pointed to his plate. “They make the best greens in the city.”

  Although she was grateful for his smile, Michelle also noted a deep sadness still sat in his eyes.

  “All right, Michelle, you called this meeting,” he said. “Are we finally good to go?”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “Keeping it on the down low for the last few months has paid off. Everything’s finally set up. The fake creds, the contract business here in the States, and I’ve got a great connection for any hardware we might need. Plus, the fronting job with the studio is just what I needed.”

  G-Baby nodded. “Glad you have things set good. And I’m really happy to hear you say we’re ready to go. It was tough with you gone away, though waiting these last couple months with you just up the street was harder than I thought it would be. But I trust you know what you’re doing; it’s your show.”

  Several contracted jobs had earned the trust Michelle needed with the local suppliers of information and specialized equipment. Strengthening her stateside reputation for doing a job right had taken a lot of focused work. Everything had paid off in the end. Michelle was now a high-earning independent operative with a steady flow of contracts. She understood what it took to pull the trigger, which she would do without hesitation, making her fully ready and able to kill those she deeply wanted to see dead.

  “Thank God it’s finally time to put down those murdering bastards,” G-Baby said. “I’m bone-tired of waiting to get at them.”

  “First, we have to figure out all of the players,” Michelle said. “Three years have gone by, and a lot of stuff has changed. Some muthafuckas are dead, or have moved on. Doesn’t matter if they’re in or out of the game anymore, they still have to pay. We need to find out who did what, and who sent them. I hooked up with my rowdogs, Deja and Nikky, to get back in the local game; they always have something happening, and always have the four-one-one on who else does.”

  “How did that go?”

  “Great. They’re in. They’re as solid as I thought they’d be. I’m more than just a little sad that I’ve brought them into this mess, but I’m glad I don’t have to keep my life hidden from them. How about you? Any news?”

  “Yeah,” G-Baby said. “We already knew about that guy, Lewis, who’s the lieutenant running the area now, and how BamBam’s his number-one muscle. But there’s a new kid named Quincy who usually drives them. He grew up here, and might be on our list, might not.”

  Michelle shook her head. “We have to do this right. This is your home, and you’re OG here, so you need to stay. Well, you’re not really an original gangster, but I remember momma telling me, when you guys were teenagers, you were getting into the life. What happened?”

  “Your Aunt Sally’s what happened.”

  “How’s that?”

  G-Baby smiled like he always did when remembering his wife. “I didn’t know it then, but I sure do now. She saved me from a lot of misery. When I married her, she told me I had to choose. Said she wasn’t marrying no gangster who’d get his stupid ass killed and leave her to raise the kids alone. Wasn’t really a decision; it was an assumption. I told my guys I was out. They beat the shit outta me jumping me out, but they let me go. After that, I didn’t have any juice, but the guys respected me so I’ve been cool in the hood. At the shop, I still hear a lot of what’s going on so I can find out some stuff.”

  “Well, even though Aunt Sally’s gone, this is still your home” — she waved toward the kitchen — “and this is still where your life is” — she waved toward the street — “so that means we have to be clean. I’m outta the hood, and don’t plan on coming back, but I don’t need any shit, either.”

  “Nobody needs any shit. That’s why we’ve been careful and waited so long. Thank God, the waiting is over.”

  “I agree.” Michelle pushed away her still half-full plate, picked up her beer, and leaned back from the table. “Unc, this is it. Once we make the next move, there’s no turning back. I’ve worked hard and I know my business, but that’s no guarantee. One, or both of us, could wind up in prison, or dead.”

  “I know, baby girl, I know. My decision is as strong today as it was the night I took you down to Tuan’s. If you want to let it go, I’ll be okay. I can do this on my own.”

  “No disrespect, Uncle G, but if you try this on your own, I’d be attending your funeral, with two sets of people to kill. Good thing there isn’t a chance in hell I’m quitting now.” Michelle set her beer down and met G-Baby’s solid stare. “Not a single, solitary, little, tiny chance in hell.”

  G-Baby held her eyes with his, nodded, and l
ooked at the leftovers and dirty dishes. “Good. Let’s clean up this mess.”

  “Yup. It’s time to clean house.”

  .

  Nine: A Little Man Trouble

  IT HAD BEEN a few days since Michelle’s meeting with G-Baby, and everything was quiet. She spent the afternoon at the rec center catching up and talking about old times with an old friend from school who now worked there. Her friend said it’d been pretty quiet for the last few months. Even the courts were quiet; a few scuffles, but no serious problems in a while. The lack of violence wasn’t any reason for her to let down her guard though, and she hadn’t.

  On the way to Nikky’s, Michelle stopped by T-Bones for takeout and when she walked out of T-Bones with her packaged dinner, she walked into some stupid fool-style drama.

  “Check it out. Baby got back.” A young man, about twenty, winked at his friends, then said to Michelle, “Hey, ma, that’s some fine-looking ass you got there.”

  Michelle cast him a dismissive look and kept on walking toward her car.

  “Come on, don’t be that way, ma. I could put a smile on those lips.”

  “Go home to your momma before you get spanked in front of your friends,” she said, striding past the three guys leaning against a car.

  Michelle heard the same man’s voice and his steps as he came up behind her. “Now, you know you want me to dick you up.” He put his hand on her hip.

  Spinning, Michelle stepped into him, forced him to check his step, and like an awkward dancer, he stumbled back slightly.

  She stared into his eyes. “Last chance, baby-g. Be smart, drop the act, and step off.”

  But the fool, laughing, reached out and tried to grab her by the waist with both hands. “Don’t be like tha—”

  Michelle stepped in again, grabbed his left wrist with her right hand, pushed her left hand into his neck, spun right, and dropped her weight low. He was flat on his back in less than two seconds.

  She pushed her right thumb deep into the corner of his left eye socket, and he let out a shriek, which gurgled to a stop as her knee crushed his throat.