Beach Murders

The Beach Murders

By R. Richard ©

Published by R. Richard at Smashwords

Copyright 2023 R. Richard

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The Beach Murders

By R. Richard © 2023

Chapter 1: Genesis

If you're going to understand what happened, you have to first understand a few facts about me.

My name is Jim Holt. I appear to be an average sized individual. (Actually I'm five feet ten and one half inches tall and a smidge over 190 pounds.)

I play Kung Fu and I work out, day by day.

I'm inhumanly strong for a man my size and I can use the strength, because of my workouts and my Kung Fu techniques.

My skin is very white, in fact so white that I don't buy white sheets, because I like to see where the sheet ends and I begin. (For whatever reason.)

I, at some point in time, became involved with a porn star lady and I know quite a bit about the porn industry.

I'm a speculator in the stock market.

I'm as good a real-time programmer as anyone I have ever met and quite a bit better than most.

Chapter 2: San Diego

I'm working as a real-time programmer in the City of San Diego, out in California.

San Diego is a really nice place to live, with good weather, great beaches and even most of the trappings of a big city.

However, there are a lot of politicians in San Diego and I'm not a politician. Worse yet, I'm never gonna be a politician, because I'm too valuable as a worker and the powers that be won't let me play politics. I'm caught in a trap and I can see no way out.

I’m working as a real-time programmer, on site at a military base in San Diego. The work isn’t going well, mainly because I need to use input from a signal processing unit and the signal processing unit must be run by a trained operator. I can’t get the operator that I need to help me, mainly because of politics.

One day, the big boss comes out to find out why the work isn’t going as per the schedule. As usual, Fat Freddie, the Project Manager tags along with the big boss.

The big boss asks me, Mr. Holt, why is your work behind schedule?

I tell the big boss, I need to use input from a signal processing unit and the signal processing unit must be run by a trained operator. I can’t get an operator out here to support the signal processing unit, despite my requests.

Fat Freddie, the Project Manager has no real answer to my statement, so he uses what has always worked in the past. Fat Freddie says, Oh, my poor baby! He then spreads his arms to give me a big hug and perhaps slobber a kiss on me.

I black out during violence, such as Fat Freddie's sexual assault. Fortunately, the military base has a security camera on duty. It's later determined that I hit Fat Freddie with a straight blast right hand, that's also later determined to have broken his jaw and knocked out four of his teeth. I then hit Fat Freddie in the solar plexus, with a monster left hook. I finish Fat Freddie with a right forearm to his ribs and Fat Freddie goes down, like the sack of excrement that he is.

Despite the fact that I was the victim of an unprovoked, sexual attack, I get fired from my job and the police arrest me.

The big man has a version of what happened between me and Fat Freddie. That version lands me in the Metropolitan Correctional Center (MCC), the San Diego city jail.

I have no version of what happened between me and Fat Freddie, except that he attempted sexual assault on me and I want to arrest Fat Freddy, citizen’s arrest. I have no version of what happened between me and Fat Freddie, because I black out during times of violence.

The military base security camera has a version of what happened between me and Fat Freddie. The security camera proves that Fat Freddie attacked me and perhaps shows that he attempted sexual assault on me.

I have my lawyer get to the security camera video tape before the San Diego police can ‘lose it’.

Once my lawyer has the video tape, all of a sudden, it seems that my incarceration in the MCC was all a misunderstanding, well, more than that, it never really happened. The San Diego police release me. However, the police don't arrest Fat Freddy.

I have a long talk about the situation with my lawyer.

My lawyer tells me that my ex employer is in big trouble. He tells me that my ex employer is on the hook for big time damages. He also tells me that I’ll never get another job in San Diego, ever, if I sue my ex employer.

I tell my lawyer, Sue my ex company. Get me as much money as you can. You don’t negotiate a settlement, I negotiate a settlement as co-counsel. I negotiate the settlement in your office, with your secretary as a witness. I’m a computer programmer. Do you know what I do when I find a bug, an error, in a program I’m working on?

My lawyer says, Well, I assume that you fix it.

I lecture my lawyer, I wipe out the error, with no emotional response at all. Do you know what I do when I negotiate a settlement with someone who has done me harm?

The lawyer says, You wipe them out financially, with no emotional response at all. I’ll take the case, on your terms, but I get a third of the settlement money.

I say, Your third is your total compensation. I don’t pay for your billable hours.

The lawyer swallows hard but then says, Deal.

The lawyer draws up a contract and we sign the agreement.

The lawyer then asks, How will you live, while we pursue your lawsuit?

I tell the lawyer, I have some investments. I can survive indefinitely, on the income from the investments. I can also earn a bit of money from doing this and that. Not to worry about me.

The lawyer lectures me, Mr. Holt, you’ll never get another programming job in San Diego. Do you realize that?

I laugh and ask, Do you mean that there’s a black list in San Diego?

The lawyer recoils in fake shock, Oh, heavens to Betsy no! There’s no such thing as an evil, illegal black list in San Diego. It’s just the arrangement of the stars that makes it seem like there's an an evil, illegal black list in San Diego.

I say, That probably explains it. I live at the beach and it's overcast there a lot. Thus, we often don’t see the stars and we beach dwellers tend to overlook that influence.

The lawyer then asks me, Seriously, can you survive economically during a long, drawn out lawsuit?

I look the lawyer in the eyes and tell him, I can survive on the income from my investments. There are also certain money making opportunities available at the beach, that don’t involve programming.

The lawyer says, You do realize that the police will be very closely monitoring your activities, from now on?

I grin at the lawyer and tell him, That’s one of the money making opportunities.

The lawyer is puzzled, but he seems to realize that I’m not going to tell him any more about how I might make some money.

I then get a lift, from the lawyer, to pick up my car out at the military base.

The next day, as improbable as it seems, I have to go back to my not quite ex company.

I have a government security clearance. Since I have the security clearance, I have to formally sign out of the company. The company doesn’t want to deal with me and I don’t want to deal with the company, but the government insists. If I don’t go back and sign out, I never again get another government security clearance. If the company doesn’t sign me out, they could lose all of their government security work.

I go back and deal with just the lady who runs the security operation for the company. I fill out and sign quite a few forms that involve my former government security clearance.

The lady then has my final paycheck and the few other items that I have coming. She makes me sign for each item, which is nothing personal, just business. She then says, That should do it. You're now signed out. May I ask what you intend to do, James Holt?

I have some plans for my future, but they’re not for discussion.

She says, All I can say is that you certainly screwed yourself up in this town.

I look at the lady and say, Well, it could be worse, a lot worse.

The lady smirks at me and says, How so?

I reply, calmly, I could be Fat Freddie. I then get up and walk out. I didn’t leave my car in the company parking lot, in order to prevent possible vandalism. Thus, I have to walk maybe a half mile down to a small park. I get in my car and drive back out to the beach.

Chapter 3: The Beach

I get back to my place at the beach, park my car and then wander along the main street on foot, hitting a few bars.

The people at the beach see me wandering along the main street. They see and notice me because of my clothes. I have very white skin and I can’t take sun at all. I always wear a large, western type hat, when I’m outside. I also always wear a long sleeved shirt, long pants and gloves, when I'm outside. My clothes are sufficiently unusual for the area that people always notice me when I wander around outside at the beach, in the daytime.

As I go from bar to bar, the reception I get in the bars is chilly, to say the least.

No one wants to talk to me, at least until I get to the second bar. The bartender there tells me, You aint nothin’ but trouble.

I reply, Actually, I could be the solution to possible trouble here at the beach.

The bartender's eyes narrow and he asks, Yeah, how is that?

"You have to consider that the San Diego Police Department has just so many officers to keep things down at the beach. The