Catching Dragos:The Dragos Clan 02By: Gail Koger
This book is dedicated to my parents.
I wanted to express my appreciation to my readers. You rock!
My name’s Mariah Smith, but everyone calls me the Judge. No, I don’t wear a black robe or sit on a bench. Using my psychic and magical abilities, I provide a unique service to those who have been wronged. I’m in the business of paybacks.
How did I choose this career path? Justice. I wanted justice for my father. Dad was one hell of a cop. His partner, Dan Harvey, not so much.
Dan’s midlife crisis led him to dump his wife of twenty years and shack up with Bambi, a hot-to-trot teenager. When my dad found out she was only sixteen, he tried to talk his partner into stopping the affair. When that didn’t work, my father was forced to tell the chief of police what was going on.
That ended Dan’s career, his illicit affair, and their partnership. The court sentenced the idiot to a year in county lockup. The minute Dan got out of jail and found out Bambi had moved on to fresher game, he lost it.
He cleaned out his ex-wife’s bank account, shot my father, and fled. My dad survived but had to learn to walk again. The lame-ass detective they assigned to the case misplaced the evidence, and the county attorney refused to prosecute.
Using my rather awesome psychic abilities, I tracked the jerk to Mexico. While my dad recovered from a bullet in the back, Dan was having the time of his life in Acapulco.
He drove a flashy red sports car and had a luxury villa with a spectacular view of the bay. I was going to teach Dan a well-deserved lesson. First he would lose his libido, his looks, his money, the car, and the villa.
Dan’s oversexed libido was in high gear, and he wasn’t content until he had bedded at least five women a day. Did he practice safe sex? Hell, no. He liked going commando, and Senorita Clap soon had him walking like a bowlegged cowboy. It was a real shame his meds didn’t work.
Disguised as a maid, I soon discovered Dan took a popular baldness drug that had some rather nasty side effects. It caused men’s genitals to shrink, and within a month 80 percent of the users became impotent. I tripled his dose, and damn, it worked. He couldn’t get it up, and not even the little blue pill helped.
Dan was an extremely vain man. Instead of getting braces for his son, he blew the money on veneers for his own teeth. I added a mixture of nicotine, black tar, and a dash of magic to his toothpaste. Presto! Pearly whites gone. I hacked his bank account, sent the money back to his ex-wife, and reported Dan’s bogus credit cards to the Mexican Federales and his landlord.
Next, I hotwired Dan’s sports car and drove it down to the poorer side of town. I watched gleefully as it was stripped down to the frame. I had it towed back to his villa. Dan threw a hissy fit and unloaded his Glock into the remains. Sometimes getting your car back simply isn’t enough.
Dan’s expression when he got arrested for fraud? Priceless. He’s now doing time in a Mexican prison. That’s what I call justice.
As time passed, my reputation grew. I became very selective about the cases I took. I’m not a killer. My retributions were carefully planned out to expose the villains’ crimes and get closure for the victims.
My current target was the famous supermodel Fabian. Smoking hot body, the face of an Italian sinner, and dumb as a rock. His crime? Sticky fingers. The man-whore makes millions of dollars a year, but can’t resist seducing elderly women out of their jewelry? I’m not talking about mature women of fifty or sixty. I’m talking old. His latest victim, Ethel Rossi, was eighty-five, hard of hearing, and had a bad habit of misplacing her dentures.
Rumor has it, Ethel fell asleep during the act. Maybe Fabian’s not the fabled lover everyone says he is. The Rossi family hired me to retrieve the three-hundred-year-old medallion he walked off with and unmask him as the gigolo he truly was.
I observe my prey for at least a month before I decide how to tailor their punishment. My surveillance jobs have ranged from being a maid to a pilot to a dominatrix. For this gig I got to be a security guard.
Why? Fabian had joined a male dance revue billed as “The Perfect Girl’s Night Out.” The promoter promised chiseled bodies, seductive dance routines, and cheap booze. Which meant drunk, horny women. Whoopee.