Oh, What a Tangled Web

By Brian Brady

Set in San Francisco, "Oh, What A Tangled Web" is a story that navigates the criminal underworld that exists in the City by the Bay. It follows the twisted mind of a predator and an accomplice, who agrees to become to his crime partner, without knowing what he is really in for. This book uncovers the cruel world of organized crime and explores how vulnerable young women are caught up in sex trade, exploited, and more. After coming across an unexpected discovery in their storage unit, a couple enlists the help of the SFPD's Homicide Bureau to decipher their findings. The case becomes part of the workload for a two-officer team, Inspectors John O'Neill and Liam Donnelly, who follow a broken trail to find the criminal. With the help of Inspector Kathy Sullivan from Vice, the inspectors uncover the recent disappearances of girls in the escort and mail order bride services. The question remains – who is the man behind all this? This novel is an unraveling of twisted events that shakes up the SFPD and the city's justice system, with everyone involved giving it their all to solve this intriguing case.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Brady
• Release date: Nov 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781801280150

Book preview

Acknowledgments

I would like to acknowledge my family and friends whose memories and recollections made my book come alive.

I also thank the cops I've had the pleasure to know and work with, on whose collective experience I've drawn for content and characters. I am especially grateful for Inspector Jack Cleary, SFPD (retd.), whose memory and storytelling made it all more interesting.

In every piece of fiction throughout this book, there is an element of truth.

About the Author

Brian Brady is an upcoming author who belongs to the City by the Bay, i.e., San Francisco. Oh, What a Tangled Web is the first novel by Brady that lets him use his experience as a former police officer to illustrate the story of a criminal mastermind and how three determined police officers bring him down. His talent of storytelling is present throughout the book as he pieces together a series of unconnected events in a simple yet intricate manner. His witty dialogues and characters that subvert clichés keep the plot engaging and depict the honest lives of people serving in law enforcement.

Preface

Set in San Francisco, Oh, What A Tangled Web is a story that navigates the criminal underworld that exists in the City by the Bay. It follows the twisted mind of a predator and an accomplice, who agrees to become to his crime partner, without knowing what he is really in for. This book uncovers the cruel world of organized crime and explores how vulnerable young women are caught up in sex trade, exploited, and more.

After coming across an unexpected discovery in their storage unit, a couple enlists the help of the SFPD's Homicide Bureau to decipher their findings. The case becomes part of the workload for a two-officer team, Inspectors John O'Neill and Liam Donnelly, who follow a broken trail to find the criminal. With the help of Inspector Kathy Sullivan from Vice, the inspectors uncover the recent disappearances of girls in the escort and mail order bride services. The question remains – who is the man behind all this? This novel is an unraveling of twisted events that shakes up the SFPD and the city's justice system, with everyone involved giving it their all to solve this intriguing case.

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Preface

––––––––

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Page Left Blank Intentionally

Chapter 1

Neon lights lined the streets of the notorious Broadway Street in the city of San Francisco. The old signage on the strip club revealed a slender blond woman with her red cabaret dress pulled back to reveal her porcelain thighs. A man with a cigarette in his mouth stood in a black tux and white hat a couple of steps behind her, clutching a machine gun in his hands - a throwback to a previous occupant. Broadway Street used to be the epicenter of the topless dancer movement, home to the legendary Carol Doda, and the piano suspended from the ceiling at the Condor Club.

All the great old clubs started here - the Roaring 20s, Big Al's, The Condor, all dragging in the truckloads of tourist dollars. Nothing like this back in Des Moines. Now it's a collection of run-down, second-rate sex shops, with no class. Nothing like the old days. After topless dancing became routine, there were nude dancers everywhere. There was nothing left to the imagination anymore. Now, as you walk along Columbus Avenue, you have to watch your step. The plague of homeless people has created a minefield of used syringes, human waste, and garbage. The streets are littered with filth, with no one to clean it. Broadway would now qualify as a Level 3 toxic dump. Just past Broadway and down Columbus Ave, you enter the timeless North Beach world, which is home to San Francisco's Italian community. The place is known for its exquisite restaurants and bars, and the fact that it was home to the Yankee Clipper, Joe DiMaggio. Across the street is China Town, home to the largest Chinese community outside of Asia. The two neighborhoods go back for centuries and are separated by culture, language, and a single city street. San Francisco is the perfect mosaic, with all its different communities existing together in their little bubbles. It is a place where you can sit down to a Dim Sum Delight and then cross the street for Tiramisu and a Sambuca for dessert.

San Francisco's nightlife, however, doesn't shy away from a little mix-up. You can find girls from every corner of the world working the clubs here. Many of the clubs are run by men with ties to several underworld activities. Ivan is one such guy who takes care of it all. The Russian is well connected and has a steady flow of girls coming in from all over the country and distant parts of the world.

Ivan is touring around one of the strip clubs he manages on Broadway Street. It is an old, run-down joint frequented mostly by local, aging men who have no other way to spend their money and time. The girls are no better; time is up for them; stripping is now a way of life. Their obnoxiously tattooed skin hangs loose on their body; whatever cosmetic work they had done in the past, badly needs a touch-up, but now they only make enough money for their coke fix. You see, the club profits from all kinds of addictions, both customer and performer, and the money was rolling in, and Ivan and his associates were happy. He had other clubs he managed where the real money was made, where the night was young, and the girls were fresh.

Ivan sat at the bar, a lit cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other, talking to someone with his guttural Russian accent grating off his tongue.

Yeah, we have girls for escorting... no, they come to you. No, they no do extra work at the club, only do extra work away from the club. Too much police. No, you pay me, not the girl.

The man on the phone had a new request, which Ivan thought was unusual.

You want to take picture.... cost more... What you mean, did I take picture? Oh, you mean picture in paper, picture of girls for club... yes, yes, I take picture. OK. You want girls for pictures, and you want me to take picture. That will cost you much more.

The man on the phone took a slight offense to Ivan’s incessant mentioning of the price of his services. So, he assured him that money was not going to be an issue.

Ivan replied, You have money...is good. Meet tomorrow morning at 10, Café Broadway. OK. Having finalized the deal, Ivan hung up the phone.

***

Ivan arrived at the little cafe conveniently located at the corner of the street, giving him a view in two directions. The day outside was beautiful and sunny, with people going on about their daily routines. Ivan ordered a coffee for himself and settled down comfortably with his legs spread on his side of the booth. Within five minutes, the man on the phone appeared in person. He sat opposite Ivan and got straight to the point.

Do you want anything? Coffee, pancakes, bacon, and eggs? Ivan asked.

No, I’m good. Listen, I want to take some photos, very special photos... the kind you took for the S&M clubs. Though his tone was calm, Ivan could detect a certain amount of impatience in it.

Ivan got the point. This man had specific fetish he wanted catering to. You mean pictures of girls who look hurt? He asked to make sure.

Exactly. I have a select group of customers who very much enjoy these photos, the man clarified.

Good. All I need is my camera, makeup person, and props. You supply location.

All right. Give me your cell number, and I will call you with the time and location. By the way, how do you and your partners split this little venture? The man asked.

Ivan thought this question a little intrusive, but none-the-less he answered. No partners. This is how you say, ‘off book’ deal with you and me.

The man seemed satisfied. Sounds just perfect.

OK. How many girls?

Two... two should be fine for this session. The man told Ivan. After this brief exchange, they went their separate ways.

***

The location was given to Ivan, a day later over a rushed phone call. It was a secluded warehouse located in a dilapidated area, in the southeast section of the city. The man had an area within the warehouse, draped with curtains, and flooded with studio lights. A small office was attached to the rear of his spot.

Ivan arrived with the girls and the makeup artist in his car. The girls accompanying him were good-looking. The blonde one was in her twenties, and the other one, the brunette, was barely 19.

Ivan saw the man already waiting in the middle of his impromptu studio, with the bright studio lights on him.

See, Ivan announced his arrival with a devious grin on his face, I brought variety, blonde, and brunette. He gestured to the seemingly disinterested looking girls. How do you want the girls made up?

The man looked up from where he was sitting and answered flatly. I want them to be bound, naked, with whip marks on their backs and leather masks on their faces.

Slow down, Ivan exclaimed. Girls, come here and take off the clothes.

The girls went and settled on the bench placed nearby and started stripping off their clothes, piece by piece...not their first rodeo.

Ivan approached the makeup man, who was unpacking his makeup items and the props he had been told to bring. The props included ball gags, ropes, shackles, harnesses, cuffs, and much more.

Listen, the man needs whip marks, blood, restraints, and leather masks. Make it look messy and real. I’m paying you good money for this.

You got it, sir, he replied.

The girls sat stark naked. Their original nonchalance stripped off just like their clothes in the studio lights, as the makeup artist fitted them with their bondage gear and applied bruises and cuts to their bodies. They modeled for a series of still shots in every pose the man asked of them, as he watched intently, noting every little detail. Once Ivan was done taking the pictures, he told the girls to wrap up so he could take them back.

You will have pictures and the disk day after tomorrow, he said to the man.

Good. No other copies and no copy of the disk. I want an original, no copies, the man insisted.

As you wish, Ivan complied.

The girls shifted to the corner of the room and started scrubbing off all the makeup and fake blood off their bodies.

What a freak, the tall blond said.

Yeah, but it sure beats having to fuck and suck your way through a whole evening with some equally screwed up freak, the brunette answered.

True. Just some pictures, cash, and we're gone, the blond sighed.

Ivan and the mystery man next met two days later, early morning, at the Café Broadway.

Here is your disk. Original, no copies and your pictures, Ivan produced an envelope from his overcoat and placed it on the table.

The man was elated but hid it very well. These are quite good. Can we do this again?

As long as you have money, I have a camera.

After a long pause, the man asked. Can you also do a video?

I can, but I will need a much better camera or better yet, two cameras and another person to use the second camera. Also, with video, you will need more actors. Cost much more, Ivan replied.

The man thought for a moment, then replied, I want two girls and only you and one camera. Money’s not an issue. My customers would love a video that looks homemade, more real, than those very bad commercial tapes.

Plus, makeup person. And you buy the camera, Ivan added.

Yes, a makeup person, and I buy the camera. Just add it to my bill, another pause, then the man continued in a hushed tone. And one more thing.... bring girls that are not afraid of a little adventure and a little pain.

Ivan smiled a sleazy smile, I know just such girls.

A couple of days later, Ivan was back in the warehouse with two new girls who were more experienced and professional than those he had previously brought. He was setting up the camera and lights, preparing to shoot his first video. The girls were prepped just as before, naked with leather masks on their faces and bound with harnesses, bruise marks, and blood.

Okay, we are ready to shoot video. What you want girls to do? Ivan yelled for the man to hear. They were all waiting for him to come out of his office in the warehouse's remote corner.

A couple of seconds later, the man stepped out of the office area. On his face was a leather mask similar to the ones the girls were made to wear. Wearing nothing except a pair of chaps, he carried a long black whip in his hand.

I will be the star in my video. The girls are going to be my sex slaves, and they will do anything I ask, and they will be whipped for real. Unless that's an issue? He asked as if he would be willing to accept any answer that contradicted his expectations. The man was obviously accustomed to never taking no for an answer.

Money talks. Just do not mark them up too much, they must dance later at the club, Ivan warned him, a cigarette hanging from the side of his lips.

As soon as the cameras started rolling, screams and cries of anguish mixed with pleasure filled the warehouse's stale atmosphere, the girl's anguish, and the man's pleasure. The filming lasted for about an hour. Once the filming came to an end, the girls were told to clean up and pack.

That was great, the man was thoroughly satisfied with the experience. When do I get my tape?

This time, it takes longer, about one week. Have to transfer to computer, then make CD. And I know, no copies, just original.

Not happy with the extended time frame, a little bit of the excitement drained from the man's face. Suddenly, he seemed impatient. Fine, he replied and walked back to his office, leaving Ivan alone to sort out his filming material.

***

Drifting smoke filled the air in a small run-down apartment in the Tenderloin District. It clung to the ceiling adding to several layers of nicotine already in place. Ivan was now keeping himself busy by reading up on S&M and going through commercial sex tapes for creative ideas for his next video. Through his research on S&M, he stumbled upon the disturbing myth of Jack the Ripper. The legend intrigued him, and he could not help but