by B K Johnson
Sins of the Mother
By B.K. Johnson
ISBN 9781712218044
Copyright ©2019 by B.K. Johnson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except as provided by U.S.A. copyright law.
Contents
Title Page
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
PROLOGUE
Out early to capture pictures of the prey, the Watcher shivered in the cold and foggy San Francisco morning. Aware that running through the streets just before dawn was the unlikely victim’s routine, the Watcher anxiously awaited. Crouching behind a building, the predator spied the woman as she was jogging around the corner. Click, click, click. The digital camera snapped away. Moments after the jogger passed, the review of the photos proved the targeted woman was back to her regular schedule. The scent of the runner was intoxicating! Most other targets having been disposed of, the real fun could now begin.
CHAPTER ONE
Geoffrey Gage moved quickly along 3rd Street, just South of Market in San Francisco. A man with a mission, shouldering all others aside, he didn’t look in any of the windows of the new restaurants and other establishments in this redesigned section of town. If he had, he would have seen his reflection. The epitome of a successful, forty-something, handsome Caucasian with a strong jaw and short brown hair with glints of silver, Geoff scanned the Giants newly developed surrounding neighborhood. A few blocks further south he slowed and began looking at the signs in and on the buildings. He found the name “Duke’s” emblazoned in red and black on the window of a gym, black boxing gloves with red laces displayed on the sign hanging over the door. Geoff stopped and looked in the gym’s window long enough to smooth the wispy strands of hair, steel his gray-blue eyes, and square his broad shoulders. He checked the fit of his matching gray-blue jacket and the crease of the paired pants. Then he stepped through the door and politely, if somewhat abruptly, asked for Tommy O‘Malley.
His face registered absolute shock when one of the sweating male pugilists pointed to the ring in the center of the huge floor. There were two women battling for ascendancy in that ring, both decked out in boxing headgear, mouthpieces, and gloves. They were the only two women in the building that Geoff could see. He asked the guy again, “Is one of those women Tommy O’Malley?” The brawny Latino responded, “She’s the one in red.” Geoff looked at his watch and realized that he was a full 15 minutes early for his appointment. He edged closer to the ring, trying unsuccessfully to be inconspicuous amongst all the nearly-naked bodies. Most of the men just ignored him, and the women were intent on their match.
The woman closest to him was in matching black satin shorts and tank top. She had long blonde hair falling in a braid down her back. She looked to be 5’7” tall and carried about 200 pounds of muscle on her frame, all of it in constant motion as she jabbed and bounced her way around the ring. Tommy O’Malley in red was a 5’ 10” tall, lithe woman whose arm and leg muscles weren’t as big around as the blonde’s but were longer and firmer. Her dark red hair was banded in two short ponytails looped through a specialized headgear. She was using her greater height and reach to easily outmaneuver the blonde. The buff blonde was becoming exhausted with all of her punches that were blocked or casually avoided. She was gasping for air and moving more slowly. Tommy, Geoff decided, was the undisputed mistress of this ring. He hadn’t expected he’d be meeting with a woman today, especially one who could kick his ass. He idly wondered if she would be the mistress of his fate, as well.
Just then, a large, ancient, black man rang the bell and shouted, “That’s enough for now, girls.” His weathered face wrinkled up as he laughed while the women tapped their gloves to one another before removing them. Both of them then openly flipped him the bird. Tough women they were, and he knew it riled them to be called such a demeaning term as “girls”. But since he was Duke, this was his gym, and they were his students, he knew they would suck up whatever insults he threw their way. Learning to be the best boxers they could be was their primary motivation when they came to train.
Duke ambled first toward the blonde, and called, “Hey, Jennie, if you keep flailing like that all the time, all Tommy will have to do is touch her finger to your shoulder to knock you on your ass! You can’t use up all your energy flouncing around and throwing shit that doesn’t connect. Now get down here, toss your headgear and hit that body bag over there like it’s Tommy.”
Jennie tore the remainder of her gear off and flung it angrily in the corner. Upon one furious look from Duke, she hustled to grab it and carried it quietly off to the locker room. Tommy approached the ropes, affected a cocky stance, legs spread and hands at her hips. She looked at Duke, exclaiming, “I wouldn’t even have to touch her, coach. I could just blow on her and she’d come tumbling down.” Her right cheek lifted in an off-sided grin.
Duke replied, “Sooner or later, toots, you’re gonna have to throw a punch, and when you do, Jennie will be all over you. All she’ll have to do is connect just one time, and her power will teach you a different tune to sing.” Tommy just laughed her husky laugh, threw her equipment softly into the corner, and vaulted over the ropes. Her long legs almost struck Geoff in the solar plexus. She looked vaguely at him, apologized, and started toward her gear. He reached out to snag her arm. Shocked, she instinctively punched toward his face, willing her fist to stop two inches from his head. “Hey, Fuckhead, nobody grabs at me like that.” she snarled. “Who are you and what do you want?”
Geoff lamely let go of Tommy’s arm, and meekly apologized, saying, “I didn’t mean to startle or upset you. My name is Geoffrey Gage, and if you are Tommy O’Malley, I have an appointment with you just about now.” Tommy raked her gaze over the fancy businessman in his suit and told him to go take a seat at the snack counter. She looked down at her trusty sport
watch and informed him she still had 4 minutes before their scheduled appointment. “Just enough time to take a quick shower,” she scowled. With that, she stalked off to the locker room, punching Duke on the shoulder as she strutted by him. “Get the suit a bottle of water, or something, would ya Duke? I’ll be out to deal with him in a few.”
Geoff sat gingerly on a stool at the counter, after checking to make sure it wasn’t contaminated with sweat. “Whaddya want ta drink?” Duke asked him. Geoff saw Snapple bottles in the cooler door and requested a diet Snapple peach iced tea. He had just taken a swig of it when the stool next to him moved and the most arresting redhead he had ever seen planted herself on top of it. She looked straight at him, unnerving him to his core. Showered, with shoulder length wet red hair curling around her clean, makeup free face, Tommy was not model-perfect but commanded Geoff’s awed attention. A slight scar marred her high forehead, and her nose looked to have been broken at some point. Alabaster skin, decked out in freckles, was smoothed over high cheek bones. There was a faintly exotic air about her. She was now wearing an orange jumpsuit that accentuated her fair coloring and clung to her feminine but athletic figure. Her eyes were a mystifying hazel that in this light and with that color on her looked more gold than the green into which they could so easily morph. Her lips were full, glossed with orange, and sensuous. She looked little like that fierce warrior in boxer trunks and halter that Geoff had first laid his eyes on. As Tommy’s few real friends knew, her looks were deceiving.
The first words out of Geoff’s mouth, once he could form them, were, “How did a woman like you get a name like Tommy?”
“Easy,” she responded, as she had a thousand times to the same inane question. “My mother was a Cherokee, and the first thing she saw when I was born was a tomahawk hanging on the wall of our house. My middle name is Tomahawk, and Tommy is what all my brothers took to calling me. My full name, at my Irish father’s insistence, is Gillian Tomahawk O’Malley. I took more after his lineage than my mother’s, at least in coloring. I’m told that I look more like my Mom, physically.”
“Enough with the personal chit chat,” she stipulated. “Let’s get down to business. Why do you need a dick?” Tommy loved using that term for being a private investigator and enjoyed watching the different male reactions to it.
Geoff looked at her like he had no idea how to respond to her humor. He cleared his throat and stammered, “I think my wife is cheating on me.”
Tommy groaned, thinking that although cheating and divorces were the meat of her business now, they were her least favorite jobs _ too messy, too dramatic, too personal, too time-consuming, and too boring. She’d gone through her own personal saga, and that was enough. Nevertheless, she had to pay the bills.
“Okay,” she said, “I charge $700 a day and expenses, no ifs, ands or buts. That includes time spent in stake-outs. I’ll require a retainer of $5000 to cover the first full week. Do you have a picture of your wife you can give me?”
Geoff took out the photo of Samantha he carried in his wallet and gave it to Tommy, replying, “Keep it. If what I suspect is true, I won’t carry it anymore. And your rates are fine. I already know how stellar your reputation is in the Bay Area. I just didn’t realize you were a female.” With that, he filled out a check for $5000 and handed it to her.
Tommy chuckled, “Names can be just as deceiving as looks, Geoff. I’ll ask you the more personal questions behind closed doors.” With that, she gestured toward a door into her office adjoining the gym. They shook hands, and the deal was sealed. Just like Tommy’s fate.
CHAPTER TWO
With just a little trepidation, the Doer picked up the Federal Express envelope and walked out of the office door. It was locked and closed firmly. A moment was taken to observe the beautiful stretch of Jackson shining in all its glory in the morning sun. The paralegal had enjoyed this little town in Northern California and would be sad to have to leave it. The boss, Attorney Richard Locke, had already gotten the two-week termination notice, and today was the last day. Hawaii continuously called. At long last there would be a yielding to its siren song and a return to the islands.
A moment was taken to stop and smell the gorgeous lilacs growing in the yard outside the building. They were not as fragrant today, for some reason. This hardy plant was still admired for its delicate look and scent that withstood frost, rain and sweltering sun with little adverse effect. In this land, spring was the favorite time of the year. All of the flowers bloomed beautifully, which they did year-round in Hawaii.
Physically fit, the Doer still looked 10 years younger than 44. Attractive, sensuous, and articulate, most were taken in by the shy, smart act. With a mother who was Chinese-Hawaiian and a father who was Filipino, the shiny black hair and caramel skin hid the strong, determined core and evil intent beneath the enviable body.
It was now just a short walk up to the end of the block where the old Amador County Courthouse stood. A new one with better security and handicapped access was being built, but was not yet tenanted. The large, white FedEx envelope, which routinely served as briefcase, was carried under the arm. The task now undertaken had been repeated almost every day for the last two years. It held various pleadings, mostly either the complaint and summons of a divorce or civil suit over easements. Some were petitions for conservatorship and estate documents. All of them required filing with the Court Clerk’s office, a chore the Doer truly enjoyed undertaking. The packet also held the weapon disguised as a simple pen.
Though the daffodils were pretty, the Doer had an ulterior motive in pretending to examine them. There was a need to wait and enter the building just after anyone looking even the slighted bit suspicious. Moments later a nervous, skinny young man, obviously a stranger to the courthouse, mounted the steps. “He’ll do,” the Doer thought, following him.
Most of the clerks were very friendly, and the bailiff staff hale and hearty with their attempt at camaraderie. Scott, the 29-year-old newbie, immediately came over to open the door. Scott became totally absorbed in searching the stranger and waved the Doer through the metal detector, handing over the Fed-Ex envelope he had placed on the counter. This was routine, as well, since over the first few months the envelope had been checked thoroughly, with only legal papers, a calendar for scheduling hearing dates, and a pen being discovered. That made the bailiffs lax in continuing to examine it. The same things were in the envelope today, even though Scott didn’t bother to check. Trust had been earned, to enable the Doer to carry this off.
Having gained access to the courthouse proper, the Doer took the envelope into the restroom and an available stall. A simple swap of ballpoint to an insulin pen in the housing weaponized the innocent looking item. Leaving the bathroom quickly, the first stop made was the clerk’s office, where Tammy came up front to file the documents presented. They chatted amiably about the weather, Dandelion Days, and other community events that were held this last weekend. Tammy reviewed, initialed, and stamped this day’s date and Judge Olson’s name on the pleadings. Dates were calendared for each of the hearings. The documents were all returned and placed back in the envelope. This whole procedure took only 25 minutes. The Doer had allowed more time, but it was not needed.
The next stop was the Judge’s office. The Doer had made sure the Judge’s secretary, Lisa, was otherwise occupied this morning by calling her and pretending to be a secretary at the school. The request was made that Lisa come and get her son, who was ill in the nurse’s office at school. This left the Judge alone in her office, since the two other bailiffs beside Scott were performing the cattle call of jury selection. Over fifty people were in the courtroom, with their names being called out and their presence noted. Normally, one bailiff would act as a sentry for the Judge, if Lisa was not available–but not today! The Doer called out to Judge Olson’s chamber, “Judge Olson?” Judge Julie opened her door, dressed in a short skirt and blouse, as opposed to her robe. The Doer, staying out of view of the hidden camera, quickly stabbed Ju
dge Julie in the thigh with the insulin pen. Within seconds the Judge clutched at her chest and fell to the ground. Whispering, the Doer said “Paralyzed once, now paralyzed for all eternity.” Making sure that the skinny stranger was in the hallway, the Doer swiftly left the premises. The Doer had assured that all attention would be paid to the young man who looked suspicious, not the known paralegal.
Returning to the office building, the Doer once again stopped to smell the lilacs, only this time, they smelled delicious. Revenge is always sweet.
CHAPTER THREE
Tommy was relaxing in her executive chair with her feet up on the open desk drawer in her little office. It was on the other side of the ring’s snack counter. The office had a separate door from the sidewalk, which was where she hung her sign. It also an interior communicating door with Duke’s. She was sipping a cup of Bigelow Sweet Dreams tea to try to wind down after the hour-long private discussion she’d had with Geoffrey Gage. And her muscles were sore from her session with Jennie.
She and Geoff had finalized the additional terms for her hire, and he had signed the retainer agreement. Geoff had come prepared and given Tommy all the documentation he’d brought with him in his briefcase. Pictures of his trophy wife were strewn over the small conference table set up against the wall. Her vital statistics, circle of friends and known haunts were neatly jotted down on Tommy’s yellow legal pad. While she used her computer to record and save data, she preferred initially to write longhand so she could watch her prospective clients. She’d found that monitors were distracting and cold.
Here is what she learned from Geoff. Samantha Gage was 25 years old compared to Geoff’s 48 years. She was his second wife and had been for a short time his secretary at his successful architectural firm. After a six-month long affair with her, Geoff decided he couldn’t get enough of this beautiful blonde. Their wedding picture of 4 years ago said it all. There she was in a white off-the-shoulder Balenciaga gown custom designed for her. It maximized her creamy white Swedish shoulders, swelling large bosom, tiny waist, curvy hips, and long slender legs. Her long white-blonde hair hung straightly down, accentuating the sweet baby face with bright blue eyes and full, pouting lips.
