The country club
I had pulled off of Interstate 5 (I-5) near Sacramento and was following my GPS to a country club restaurant that was supposed to be an excellent dining experience.
For a Wednesday night the parking lot seemed abnormally full, so I self parked just shy of the boon docks and walked to the club house.
The lobby was mostly empty as I walked up the reservation desk. The Maître ‘d looked at me and I said, “Dinner for one please.”
His soft but pleasant reply was, “It will be about 10 minutes sir, if you wait in the lounge I will come and get you when your table opens. Your name please.”
He smiled as he made a note on his seating chart.
As I turned and headed toward the lounge a very striking lady was headed from the restroom back toward a banquet hall.
Her left hand was devoid of rings on the third finger but sported a quite large evening ring on her middle finger.
Without confronting her I said, “Good evening my lady. I would be honored if I could buy you a drink.”
She stopped, looked at me with a somewhat startled stare and said, “Do you know who I am?”
I replied, “No, but if we could share an after dinner drink I would be glad to learn all about you.”
She seemed a bit flustered but replied with absolute certainty, “No.” as she walked into the quite full banquet hall.
“Well,” I thought to myself, “Ya gotta swing in order to hit. Strike one for today.”
I looked back at the Maître d’ as he had observed the entire exchange. I shrugged my shoulders and gave him the “Oh well” look and slight hand gesture that accompanies that thought.
He smiled back. I went into the lounge and sat at the bar. I ordered a vodka tonic with a lime twist and settled in watch a large flat screen that had a basketball game playing.
I was half way through my wait time and my drink when a fucking 18 wheeler ( a semi-trailer and tractor for long hauls in US and Canada) hit me in my left side chest. It hurt so much that I couldn’t even breathe.
I collapsed down and in and the next thing I remember was laying on my right side with a whisky breath snarling,
“Well let’s see Mr. Jack from Seattle. I don’t want some old skank like you bothering any of the ladies in MY town. So you get your ass back into your car and get the fuck out of Dodge. If I see you again I’ll make your life miserable. Got IT?”
Then it must have been a small dump truck that hit me on my left cheek.
It got quiet for a long time until I was aware of a couple of Emergency Medical Technicians (EMTs) loading me into an ambulance.
Shit, that hurt.
I woke up to a smiling young Candy Striper that said, “Good morning. I’ll go get your nurse.”
I laid waiting for the nurse when the Maître d’ from the country club appeared at the foot of my bed.
“Good morning Jack. May I call you Jack?”
My jaw was uncomfortable to move so I just gave a mini nod of my chin.
“I’m sorry for what happened last night. The temp barman filled me in. You had a bad reaction to an asshole named Detective Brian Mumber.
The lady that you asked for a drink must have told him about your kind offer and he probably wanted to make sure that you knew where the butter was on the bread.”
“Yeah, he did suggest I get on the first stage out of town.” I mumbled.
“He is one mean crooked son-of-a-bitch! The lady was one of our cities finest (he did air finger quotes during the word finest) judges. Judge Madeline S. DeRobio. What I’m going to tell you right now will be the best piece of advice you ever get.”
I focused and squinted a bit and he continued.
“Leave it go. You can not get justice or even the score with that animal in this town. If you try, you may well just disappear like some other people have.
The club has covered your accident’s hospital bills. There was no permanent damage except maybe to your ego. So I say again, my friend Jack, let it go.”
I started to tear up at the thought of being so impotent that I could do absolutely nothing after being beaten by a drunken cop. Fuck justice, I wanted revenge now.
“So how do I get the son-of-a-bitch if he owns the town?” I asked.
“You can’t. But I will give you a telephone number to call when you get discharged. Maybe he can help. Call from a phone that has absolutely no connection to you. That is important, understand?”
I nodded my understanding. He turned and went to the door. “It’s just best to let it go.”
He disappeared into the hall and I never saw him again. I was left with my pain, anger and hate.
I vowed to get the son-of-a-bitch.
Two weeks later I bought a cheap phone from WalMart and made the call and set up a meeting at a coffee shop back in California.
I told my story
to Paul Ingles. “I want nothing to do with this.” He said. “I will do the detective work but there will be nothing EVER in writing tying the two of us together. Cash only, we meet here at this coffee palace, 10:00am on the third Tuesday of the month. bahis firmaları You never call me, you never come by or ever admit that you have ever seen me.”
“Why?” I asked.
” Detective Brian Mumber is a mean crooked smart son-of-a-bitch. I don’t want anything that I find coming back on me.”
“Five thousand dollars, cash up front and I’ll begin my investigation. It’ll probably cost you twice that by the time that I’m done.”
I put 5K into his hand and said, “I’m going to trust you on this one.”
He replied, “Your trust is well placed.”
Now you probably wondered how I happen to have an extra 5K hanging around. I own six truck rental companies spaced out between Seattle, and San Ysidro ( at the Mexican border).
I have lots of money and land holdings where I do business and store my vehicles. One of my rental yards in California is run by Miguel and his family. Miguel, clearly an illegal immigrant but I put him to work cleaning up around the shop. He was eager and wanted to learn. His wife was born in New Mexico and they had four kids.
The college aged daughter was running the office, While her mom went out into the Spanish speaking community and drummed up a fantastic amount of business. I moved the family into the residence at the rental yard and picked up Jessie’s college expenses.
They were loyal employees.
It was a month later on the second Tuesday and I had flown down to California to meet with Paul Ingles.
“I need another 5K”, he said.
“Ok, what do you have to report?” I asked. “Nothing final, but we’ve got a good lead.”
I gave him the quizzical look and he simply said again, “Trust me on this one. I hired some young legal beagles and they’re just about done. I think we got him.”
The next month I was setting in our meeting place and a courier handed me a large flat package and asked me to sign for the unit.
I signed and was handed a thick envelope that contained just an E-pad.
Paul’s report was the only file on the tablet.
I took the tablet and left the coffee house and flew back to Seattle. The next day later I read and viewed the entire file.
I read the text report complete with video files and prints. I was seething with anger when I was done. I went outside and split wood for over an hour before I soothed my savage soul and came up with
I knew what had to be done.
Paul scheduled us a meeting in exactly one year at the coffee shop.
From the report:
Possible victim? Mrs. Betty Newcastle and her husband Douglas. Definite victim: Mr. Jack Maloof and his wife Maggie.
Paul’s team did a personal interview with Mrs. Betty Newcastle. The ruse was “Community Policing”.
An interview with Mrs. Betty Newcastle regarding Detective James Terwilliger .
The summary: Mrs. Betty Newcastle said “Detective Terwilliger was such a nice guy. He helped her after her husband was sent to prison. He got her a job, an apartment and helped her get into a community college training program.”
Detective Terwilliger glowed from her eye’s view.
She did not mention the weekly sex scissions the two engaged in. Paul’s team slipped into her apartment while she was gone and hid video cameras in her bedroom and taped about three hours worth of them having sex.
They also did the same to Mrs. Maggie Maloof.
I watched video clips from each lady’s apartment.
The trial transcripts summary tied everything together. Paul’s team had done a through job. I had a pretty good view of the two crooked cops.
The rumor was that Detective Brian Mumber was fucking the judge and was directly responsible for her husband’s going missing in Mexico seven years earlier.
The husband had flown to Cabo San Lucus but for some reason rented a car and boarded the ferry to Topolobampo. He was never seen again but his rental car was still on the ferry when it pulled into port.
Step One, The taking of Detective Mumber.
I hired two tough guys from a Soldier of Fortune type website. They weren’t cheap, but I figured they would be worth the money. That was a story in itself for another time. How do you cover your ass if you’re hiring two unknowns to do criminal work and are leery that they might be FBI informants?
I claimed to be Mrs. Maggie Maloof’s brother. I told them as much info as I could without them getting a clue as to who I really was. I met separately with each .
I armed each of them with industrial strength Tazers but asked them to provide their own personal defense weapons. They did not meet until the action day.
If I could not capture Detective Mumber I would just kill him. He was that big of a pariah.
Early the next morning , I backed one of my cube rental vans into the parking slot at the bottom of the stairs leading to Mrs. Maloof’s apartment. This is where Mr. Dumber usually exited the building after raping Mrs. Maloof.
I had Louisa, a shapely little thing, dress up in a short skirt, heels and white nylons to distract Mumber as he came down the stairs. kaçak iddaa
She was up in the truck struggling with a large box near the back end of the cargo bay. The rollup door was wide open and the hydraulic lift gate was down.
Of course she was bent over and showing off her red satin kick pants. Detective Brian Mumber fell for the ruse and approached the back of the truck.
As he stepped up onto the lift gate, my two Soldiers struck with their tazers and he crumpled onto the steel platform.
Louisa, rotated the empty box down onto the lift gate and covered the fallen man. She pulled the lever and brought the hydraulic lift and it’s three occupants, up even with the truck’s floor.
Under the cover of the cardboard box.. Detective Brian Mumber was moved into the front of the truck’s cargo area.
Mumber was stripped of his cell phone, two pistols and handcuffs, He was hog tied and locked into a steel cage that was just big enough for him to lie prone.
His ass was mine. Beat me you fucker! Paybacks a bitch isn’t it?
Louisa, stepped onto the lift gate with my two other agents and pulled the roll up door down. The lift gate took all three down to the ground and they walked away in three different directions.
I walked back and put the lift gate up into a vertical position. I slid back into the cab of the truck and drove steadily south on Highway 99 until I ultimately came to Dumber’s home for the foreseeable future.
My five acre back storage lot had several old (steel) truck body boxes just sitting idle. One of them was sound proofed and dug into the earth about four feet. A toilet was installed. It had an attached chain link exercise yard complete with a hoop and ball.
Detective Brian Mumber was chained inside. Like I said, his ass was mine. Not a word was ever said to him about his situation.
He yelled and screamed for a while, but Miguel did a good job of drowning out his noise with some loud Mariachi music.
with Detective Terwilliger was scheduled for the next day.
I hired a quite good looking young lady to go to the police department and leave a message for detective Terwilliger. I figured if he was a panty hound, I’d temp him into my trap.
Two days later he showed up at the place on the invite but late enough to tell me he was in charge. I faked a business card for Angie Glyl (good looking young lady) and offered her up as an insurance investigator.
Miss Glyl; “Detective Terwilliger, I am so glad that you could make it. Come with me and have a seat while I get the file.
Detective Terwilliger, “What’s this all about?”
“Give me two minutes and I will answer all of your questions, OK?”
She led him into a lavish and soundproofed back office and offered him an executive chair and a file to read.
“Please sit down here and review this file while I get the other two.”
He sat down and started to read as Miss Glyl left the room quickly and closed the door.
Fifteen seconds later I opened the door to an observably irritated police detective.
“What the FUCK is THIS?” he demanded.
“Blackmail, detective, blackmail.” I answered sternly.
“You scumbag piece of shit! If you think you can blackmail me and get away with it you’re badly mistaken! Got that mother fucker?”
He headed for the door and I calmly said, “Don’t you want to see the pictures?”
He yanked the door open and came face to face with two rather large men. One held a nickel plated .44 magnum at his face and the other was kneeling with a short barreled 12 gauge Mossberg aimed at his nuts.
I emphasized, “Be Careful detective, these men have been paid to kill you! You can avoid a most certain death by just listening to my presentation.”
“Do I have a FUCK’n choice?”
“Put your guns and cell on the table, come over here sit down and listen. You’ll live longer.”
“You scummy little old fucker! You don’t know who you’re dealing with! I will kill you when I get the chance.” He snarled.
“You may be quite right, however for now, put your guns on the table, come over here sit down and listen. Like I said, you’ll live longer.”
He did as requested. My hired men took his pistols, cell phone, handcuffs and stepped out the and closed the door.
“You are familiar with Mr. Douglas Newcastle’s file are you not?”
Without looking down at the file he said, “Yeah I’m familiar with it! So fucking what?”
“Who was the arresting officer?” I asked.
Without looking down he said, “Detective Mumber .”
“Your former partner, correct?” I asked.
“Are you familiar with Mr. Newcastle’s criminal history?”
“Yah, so what? Muther fucker!”
“Are you aware that he had numerous domestic assault complaints against him filed by his wife?”
“Yah, so what? Muther fucker!”
“Drug charges? How many?” I asked him.
“Quite a few,” He replied
“To me it looks like Detective Mumber did the community a service when he sent him to Vacaville (Solano sate prison).”
“Yah, kaçak bahis so what? What the FUCK’s it to you?”
“Well, you’re fucking his wife Betty every Thursday afternoon before she picks up her kids from school.”
He went to rise up out of his chair, but a simple hand motion reminded him that I had friends in the hall.
He sat back down and glared at me.
I asked again, “Do you want to see the video? Should I show it to your wife? Your captain? I’ve got quite a few hours in living color.”
“So what the FUCK do you want asshole?” He demanded.
“I told you. This is black mail, so here’s what I want …asshole. Loose the attitude and listen politely. Or do I need my friends to come in and sit on you”
“Ok, Ok. What do you want?”
“Read this file.” I handed him the file for Mr. Jack Maloof.
“I don’t need to read it, I know what’s in it. Now what do you want?”
“Read Mr. Maloof’s rap sheet, aloud to me. Right now.” I politely demanded.
“He doesn’t have any criminal history except For the one drug arrest two years ago” was his soft reply.
“Let me get this straight”, I summarized, “Two separate men, both in California state prisons based on a confidential informant’s say that they had large quantities of drugs in their home.”
“Detective Mumber arrested one and now you’re fucking his wife once a week. Then you arrested a man that has no criminal or drug history and Detective Mumber is fucking his wife once a week also.
Wow. What a strange coincidence. Wouldn’t you say?”
There was no response from the man with his head bowed.
“Who signed the warrants?” I asked.
“You know damn well who signed the warrants. Look, it’s not what you think. Betty feared for her life and her kid’s safety. Restraining orders did not work. He was an out of control crack head that I ‘m sure would have killed her sooner or later.”
A long silence before he continued.
“Like you said, Mumber did the community a service when he put Newcastle away.”
“I agree.” I replied. “He belongs there. But that was the leverage that Mumber had over you when he wanted to fuck the very pretty and personable Mrs. Maggie Maloof.”
He put his head down and his face in his hands
“The son-of-a-bitch lied to me. He told me that Maloof was cheating on his wife as well as physically abusing her. He faked up some ER files to convince me.”
He continued, “We pulled the same scam on him as we did on Newcastle and it worked. Except that Maloof was a straight arrow accountant. And yes, Mrs. Maloof was a nice lady and a college beauty queen that Mumber wanted to fuck.”
He waffled in the chair and continued,
“I didn’t find out the truth until half way through the trial. I was fucking furious, but what could I do. He had me by the short hairs and wouldn’t let go.”
“I changed partners as soon as I could. I hated Mumber for what he did to Maloof. But he was a good cop so I just walked away from the whole thing.”
There was silence until I said,
“Now you know that Mumber had Jack beaten while he was in county, (jail)” I said.
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Maloof was beaten on his face so that his wife could see the results of her not slipping out of her panties once a week for your buddy Mumber!” Ok, so my voice was a tad bit elevated.
“Shit! I didn’t know that. He said that Maggie was happy to entertain him in her bedroom.”
“I have video of her being raped by Mumber. She is not a happy camper and cries for a long time after he leaves. Do y’a want to watch the video?”
He shook his head for a ‘no’ answer.
“She lost her husband, her beautiful home and all of their savings and more. Defense attorney fees are high. She gets raped once a week by your ex-partner all because of you.”
I paused for effect then,
“Now who’s the scumbag detective Terwilliger.”
There was no reply.
“What does Mumber have on Judge De Robio?” I asked.
“You got that all wrong. She has something on him. He did a job for her many years ago. He cleaned up some witnesses that were going to get her ass tossed in jail.”
“And the Judges’ husband?” I asked.
“I’m sure he was in on it but he never said a word to me about what really happened. Just innuendos and the like. Shit! Who the FUCK are you anyway?” he demanded.
“You asked what I want. Well now I’m going to tell you what I want. I’m the guy that wants you to convince Judge De Robio to not run for reelection next year.”
I paused for effect and then added, “I’m also the guy that wants Jack Maloof out of prison.”
“How the fuck am I gonna do that?” he snarled back at me.
“Well, let’s see. You lied to get him put away. You just lie to get him released. It’s just that simple.”
“No it’s not just that simple, asshole.”
“Well, you know what I’ve got and I hope that you believe me when I say that I will use what I have to destroy you, your family and Mrs. Newcastle.
Remember, I have two men in the hall.
And if you come after me, the deal is off and I will use what I have against you. And I will have both you and Mrs. Newcastle killed. I’ll also make sure that your wife gets fucked by your brother in Santa Cruz.”