Chapter 12

Day 12 (19 October 2018) Notes for Taxi Driver Task Force initiated on 8 October 2018 (Detective Trish Cavanaugh Badge 3446 SFPD)

A quick reminder that this entry for day 12 of 19 October 2018 will include the victim case files for Taxi Driver killer Victim number 13 only.

Doug came into San Francisco like one of those sudden rainstorms off the Pacific Ocean that seemed to be drawn to the city by the Bay with the power of some unknown magnetic force outside the bounds of nature.

I first became aware of this fact when I came home totally dog-tired after a long seminar on the habits of serial killers at the police training facility inside the old Presidio. The building was beginning to show the signs of disrepair that were customary with city owned property. Our city spent more maintenance dollars on operational costs than you could shake a stick at but it didn’t seem to make a dent in the leaking pipes, the leaking roofs and the slow disintegration of the well-maintained Federal property or the other reclaimed real estate they could get their hands on to feed the need for square footage of a growing municipal powerbase.

Someday, they would probably discover that it was all some sort of scam to siphon off taxpayer dollars for personal use by those in power.

They certainly hadn’t been allocating much of the added tax revenue into law enforcement compensation because our best employees were deserting like rats on a sinking ship in the middle of the ocean.

Even though I was in the midst of a “nowhere to go” career due entirely to my own shitty attitude, I had no choice but to go down with the ship because I had no other feasible option.

Anyway, no sooner had I taken my key out of the door, when my trusty hound Otto was all over me like a ball of furry fury. I finally got him settled down with a bowl of food and a promise to take him for a walk just as soon as I could go potty and change into something more comfortable. For some strange reason, I sensed that this supposed dumb animal understood me better even though he couldn’t talk human.

The sounds from upstairs sounded familiar and then I realized it was my daughter’s in need of repair bed being banged into the wall with a force that sounded like some female was getting her ass pounded about as hard as one could hope for on a rainy Friday afternoon. Being a trained detective, I immediately deduced that my daughter was doing something with her afternoon that was a lot more constructive than anything I had in mind at the moment.

The hat on the hallway table told me it was the expected Doug coming to pay a call on his supposed “true love”. I knew that Diane was a complete phony in that regard but she did put up a good image when push came to shove. I figured she was doing the “head down, ass up” routine that seemed to work well when she didn’t want to engage in conversation when getting humped from behind. I suspect she got that from me but it was virtually impossible because she was adopted and I didn’t have her as a witness to my carnal mistakes. Maybe all us females were inclined along those lines but hated to admit it because it sounded so much like lust or porn and took away our feminine claim to romantic inclinations.

I tip-toed up the stairs and paused outside Diane’s door putting my ear up to the smooth surface like some pervert ass-hole in a Sorority House. I could hear Diane grunting in that familiar sing-song rhythm of a woman getting pretty hard from behind. The bed was on its last legs and it was creaking like it was in danger of collapsing any moment.

Diane’s vocabulary was limited to simple phrases like... “Oh my God!”... “Yes, yes, right there!” ... and the quite appropriate, “Oh, Shit!”

I scampered down the stairs and hooked up Otto to the leash and ran up and down the sidewalk on the outside of the park more times than I could possible remember. All the time all I could think about was if Doug was doing my Diane in her womanhood or in the “Coola” as they say south of the border. I hoped they were using the condoms I had purchased for her as soon as I saw her with the black boy with the look of a basketball star.

Otto looked up at me and I could tell from his expression that the he was disgusted with the entire human race because he knew we were all doomed to being prisoners of our own perverted flesh.

At least a dog knew it was a dog and he simply let instinct tell him when to do what he did without whining over the small stuff like us humans are wont to do ad infinitum.

When I got back to the house, Diane was gone and Doug told me with a sheepish look,

“Sorry, Ma am, she had to go to some study hall for a big test tomorrow.”

Of course, I knew that was all bull-shit because Diane hated those frigging study halls with a passion because some other student would hit on her and make her lose her concentration.