Authors: Gail Koger
Copyright © December 2015 by Gail Koger
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Editor: Kierstin Cherry
Cover Artist: Syneca Featherstone
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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
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
CATCHING DRAGOS | 3
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
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.
CATCHING DRAGOS | 5
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.
In my line of work, a proper disguise is a necessity. Letting the prey know what I
really look like could lead to unexpected confrontations, fights, or heaven forbid, police
involvement. Law enforcement officials consider me a menace and are actively hunting
me. Thanks to my magical family, most information the authorities manage to gather
mysteriously disappears from their computers and paper files. Unfortunately, some
agencies hired witches to protect their officers and headquarters. It was a good thing I
belonged to the Vizzini clan. Not only could they deal with the witches, they kept the
world safe from demons.
I opened my box of stage makeup and started painting my face. I added wrinkles,
zits, and a big black mole above my upper lip. Hmmm. I needed something more. I
plucked two long black hairs from the box and attached them to the mole. They
protruded outward like antennae on a roach. Yep, those lips were definitely not
Adjusting my weapons belt, I eyed myself in the mirror. The ponytail had to go. I
scraped my long blonde hair into an unflattering bun. Much better. The security
uniform was a horrible shade of neon red that gave me the pallor of a long-dead corpse.
A satisfied smile curved my mouth. My own father wouldn’t recognize me.
Beep. Beep. Beep
. I reset the timer on my watch and quickly popped in brown
contact lenses to hide my lavender-hued eyes. Fabian should avoid me like the bubonic
plague. But then again, he had switched from young nubile women to old wrinkly
grannies. So maybe he would find the mole a turn-on.
The Perfect Girl’s Night Out showroom was swarming with giggling, excited
women of every age. All of them had paid good money to see Fabian’s dance moves. It
was my job to keep rabid fans off the stage and gather intel on Fabian. Should be easy.
The lights dimmed.
A husky male voice sounded from the speakers. “Are you ready to meet the man
of your dreams? Fabian!”
In unison the women screamed back, “Yes!”
Fog rolled down the catwalk.
Six pirates leaped out of the darkness.
The cannons boomed again.
Six redcoat soldiers complete with those funky white wigs charged onto the stage.
The pirates attacked them. Their swords clashed loudly as they broke into a
choreographed dance routine. I had to admit they were pretty good for male strippers.
A spotlight blossomed, and there was Fabian, hanging from a rope twenty feet
above the showroom. A sword clenched between his teeth, he slid down and dropped
onto the walkway.
“Fabian. Fabian. Fabian. Fabian,” the women chanted over and over again.
He bowed elegantly to his giddy fans and prowled down the catwalk.
Yeow. The man was sex on two legs. His red satin pirate’s shirt was cut to expose
his muscular chest. Those skintight black leather pants cupped his great ass, and the
knee-high black boots emphasized his massive thighs.
CATCHING DRAGOS | 7
Fabian raised his sword and shouted. “
!” Flames shot from the tip.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was an enchanted sword. Nah. It had to be
some kind of special effect. There was no way that doofus could battle things that go
bump in the night. His ass would be crispy fried in less than a minute.
The redcoats morphed into pretty realistic-looking demons complete with red
eyes, scaly skin, and sharklike teeth. They charged Fabian.
The fight sequence was straight out of a Hollywood movie. The man-whore
ducked and dodged their six-inch claws while wielding his sword to devastating effect.
The demons’ roars of fury echoed around the room. Fabian laughed and swung
his blade faster and faster.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh
. One by one, he lopped off the
monsters’ heads. Poof! They disintegrated into stinky black ash.