The Big Black Bag: A Novel

By Barbara Karen Sherman

Joe De Killer likes keeping everything in his life under control. As a ruthless partner in a prominent law firm, Joe uses his power to verbally abuse his staff, dresses in a mix of leather and Yves Saint Laurent, and believes that no one is indispensable, including his lover, Ingrid. Now he is secretly developing a narcissistic plan to live in luxury for the remainder of his life.

To carry out his plan to embezzle funds from his law firm, Joe enlists the help of Ivan, a lawyer acquaintance, to keep the money hidden from the prying eyes of his fellow partners and Ingrid, who is becoming more of a hindrance with each day. In their mad scramble from the law, the two associates in crime suddenly find themselves caught in a series of adventures that take themand Ingridback in time where supernatural forces add to the suspense and intrigue. But what no one knows is that the golden boy, Joe, is full of interesting surprises.

In this legal thriller, a law firm partner attempting to fulfill his egocentric dreams is transported back in time where he proves that he is smarter, shiftier, and more selfish than anyone could have predicted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524618667

Barbara Karen Sherman

Barbara Karen Sherman has always been interested in writing from the time she was in grammar school, where she wrote and illustrated her own short stories.  While there, she won a special award for her writing.  When she was an undergraduate at the University of Pittsburgh, one of her short stories was chosen for submission to the Atlantic Monthly Short Story College Contest.  After receiving her Master of Arts degree in 19th-Century American Literature, she become a writer/editor for Good Housekeeping’s Special Publications, where she and another editor wrote and put together two entire issues.  From there, she went on to become writer/editor of 12 beauty magazines, then publicist for the Chesebrough-Ponds beauty accounts, for which she wrote a home-permanents manual and television commercials. She now resides in West Orange, New Jersey.  This is her first novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

JOE DE KILLER was happy. He had just replaced his legal secretary with a paralegal. This was the thirty-third replacement in his department. He never knew or cared what happened to them once he fired them. As long as they were out of his sight and didn’t bother him anymore—that was all he cared about.

He couldn’t help chuckling over the new paralegal he had just hired, Miss Madison. She was the proud graduate of a course in paralegal studies and over-eager to please. He remembered how she came to his office as soon as she got his call, documents piled up to her chin.

You rang for me, Mr. De Killer? she asked, her voice as well as her knees shaking.

Yes, Miss Madison, he said, his laser-sharp eyes taking in his latest employee from top to bottom. How are you doing with that brief? It was supposed to be on my desk by five o’clock.

I’m sorry, Mr. De Killer, Miss Madison said. I couldn’t get to it today. There were so many other things that kept on coming up that interrupted me.

Like what for instance? Joe De Killer asked, tapping his fingers impatiently, which only made Miss Madison even more nervous.

Like calls from attorneys and the court among other things, Miss Madison said in a voice so low that he had to lean forward to hear her.

Then when do you think you can get to it? By next year? he barked.

Miss Madison summoned up the courage to look him straight in the eye. I’ll have it to you first thing in the morning, nine o’clock at the latest, she promised.

I’ll let it go for now, he said, leaning back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying himself. But I’m warning you! The next time you miss a deadline, out you go—no excuses.

Yes, Mr. De Killer, Miss Madison said, by this time almost dissolving into a pile of jelly. Is there anything else you need?

Joe De Killer paused, savoring the moment that he kept Miss Madison at his mercy. Then he favored her with one of his malevolent smiles. Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Give me a cup of coffee before you go. Strong on the cream and sugar.

As soon as he got Miss Madison oriented to her new job, he was ready for his vacation. He always took a couple of weeks off to stay at his house in the Bahamas whenever the mood struck him and then come back to torture his staff.

And how he enjoyed seeing the fear in their eyes and watching them cringe when he yelled at them! They never failed to displease him—that’s for sure. But if they displeased him too often, he just replaced them. And none were that good or indispensable, even though they worked all hours to try to get the work out to his satisfaction.

And the work was never finished. Nor could it ever be—not unless he hired someone who could do it faster. Lord knows he tried. But he couldn’t find anyone who could finish the piles and piles of work he heaped upon his staff. Their desks were buried in it. Well, why worry about it? He didn’t have to do it. He had already paid his dues twenty-seven years ago.

Twenty-seven years ago he’d been just a kid from Hoboken, New Jersey, the very same neighborhood Frank Sinatra had come from. Frank had made it as a singer, and Joe had made it as a partner in one of New Jersey’s most prestigious law firms, the token Gentile in a long list of Jewish names who looked down on him for his lack of polish. He knew they laughed at him behind his back for the toothpick he always chomped on, a habit he’d carried from Hoboken, and his black leather jacket, which he thought nothing of mixing with a Yves Saint Laurent lavender silk tie. He had the requisite Mercedes, but he also owned a motorcycle. He couldn’t bear to part with those parts of himself that reminded him of the good old days before he’d come to their law firm, a kid they were forced to sit up and take notice of in spite of themselves because he had brought a lot of clients and money to the firm after all. He enjoyed watching them raise their eyebrows at some of the uncouth remarks that couldn’t or wouldn’t stop coming out of his mouth.

A few weeks’ vacation in the Bahamas didn’t stop Joe De Killer from calling the office, much to his staff’s dismay. He took a sip from his lime daiquiri before getting down to business. His first call of the day was to Miss Madison.

How are you doing with that brief? he asked. You promised you would have it in my office bright and early on the morning before I started my vacation, he reminded her.

Yes, Mr. De Killer, she replied. I didn’t forget. I almost have it ready.

As soon as you finish it, Miss Madison, he said, I want you to fax it to me immediately. If you don’t have it already, you can get my fax number in the Bahamas from my secretary."

He then hung up his iPhone and took another sip from his lime daiquiri before proceeding to the next call on his list. His office away from home was at the side of his pool. It was shaped just like a shark because he loved the way sharks got things done—quickly and efficiently like he did.

Just as he was about to chew out yet another member of his staff for falling down in the line of duty, who should walk in but Ingrid! Ingrid was his companion away from the office. She sauntered insolently into view to await the orders of her lord and master, flaunting her brand-new bikini in periwinkle blue, which matched the color of her eyes exactly. She was so much more fun to be with than his staff—a bunch of scaredy-cats who were too afraid to talk back to him. (They knew he would fire them if they did.)

Ingrid was all the things he wanted in a woman. She was young, still in her twenties. His staff was a bit long in the tooth. Most of them were maybe in their forties or fifties. He would have liked a better-looking staff, but he was forced to hire them on their qualifications.

Ingrid also was thin, something his staff was not. Poor thing had to eat a Spartan diet to keep up her looks, but he wouldn’t allow it any other way. Not even a piece of cake for dessert. That might make her gain a couple of pounds. Then she wouldn’t be so distracting, and he would be forced to let her go. Also, Ingrid was blonde—a natural blonde. That much he knew for certain.

While it would have been too much to expect from his staff to have both looks and qualifications in one package, it proved to be a blessing in disguise. Otherwise, it would have been too distracting.

Ingrid, on the other hand, was distracting. But that’s what she was there for. However, today she was a little too distracting, for her bikini was skimpier than usual.

Your bikini makes it hard for me to concentrate! Joe De Killer commented.

Ingrid just laughed it off. Isn’t that what I’m here for? she asked. And to make her point, she walked back and forth several times in front of him, giving him a good look at her bikini from all angles before diving into the shark-shaped pool.

So everything in Joe De Killer’s life was very much under control, running as smoothly as the billable hours he piled up on his clients. He expected nothing else. If anything ever clogged up the works, he would just get rid of it and replace it with something that was more to his level of satisfaction.

Chapter 2

IN EVERY LIFE, however, even Joe De Killer’s, a little rain must fall. It started as a trickle, hardly perceptible at first because it was done so furtively—and by Ingrid of all people! Who would ever have thought the perfect, lovely Ingrid would harbor any nugget of secret rebellion?

Unbeknownst to him, Ingrid would sneak a piece of cake at night. Her shapely, well-toned thighs were developing something they never had before—that dreaded cellulite, the bane of every woman. This did not go unnoticed by Joe De Killer, even as busy as he was. He first noticed Ingrid’s changing figure when she paraded herself in front of him in her brand-new periwinkle blue bikini. Therefore, it was inevitable that one day she and Joe De Killer would have a showdown on the issue. It happened in the study of his pink and white villa in the Bahamas.

The summons came one Monday night at seven just before the dinner bell. Ingrid had just changed into a tastefully tailored gown of periwinkle blue that completely covered her up and did not reveal one ounce of flesh. She made sure it matched her eyes exactly. She also wore the sapphire necklace studded with diamonds and the matching sapphire-and-diamond dangle earrings and bracelet Joe had given her on their third anniversary.

Ingrid timorously entered the study stuffed with legal books, chairs, throw rugs, and a baby grand piano, expecting fireworks. Joe sauntered in wearing a Ralph Lauren shirt and jeans and a scowl on his face that had become all too familiar lately. He plopped down in an overstuffed chair. Ingrid plopped herself in the other, bracing herself for a blistering lecture.

Joe delayed the inevitable by first jumping up and opening a bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream and pouring it into two goblets, offering one to Ingrid. She quickly jumped up to grab the sherry, grateful for anything to stall the confrontation that was inevitably coming.

After they had finished their drinks, he plopped back down in his chair, with Ingrid following.

He then cleared his throat before opening up his cross-examination with the caustic remark, So my Swedish rosebud, your figure has taken on new proportions. Could that be why you’ve taken to covering up those delightful curves lately? he asked, motioning with pointed displeasure to her tasteful but modest dress for the evening.

Ingrid fluttered her big periwinkle blue eyes in fright and stalled for a reply. She knew she was no match for Joe’s sarcastic remarks, which always felt like blows. She hated the way he made her feel during these moments—like she was at a definite disadvantage.

Well, uh, she began, it gets so cold in here at night. You wouldn’t want me to catch cold, would you? She regretted those words the moment they left her lips. She could sense what he would do with them and felt like one of his victims in the courtroom.

Joe made the most of the moment. He relished the discomfort in his lady love’s eyes and couldn’t resist a taunting grin. Are you going to take off that blasted prim and proper little dress you’ve decided to cover yourself up in, or do I have to tear it off?

Ingrid jumped up from her chair. She put down her goblet on the doily-covered cherrywood table nearby and backed up into a corner in front of his law library.

Joe De Killer also jumped up and moved slowly and menacingly toward her. He had her completely cornered. No doubt about it!

She tried to placate him by reaching out and touching his sleeve in a caressing fashion. Up and down his arm her hand moved. Then she looked up into his eyes. That hard look had somewhat softened. He couldn’t resist those big, wide, innocent blue eyes once she turned their full voltage on him.

I … I … I’m cold, she repeated. You always turn up the air conditioner so high in here. I have to cover up!

You never had to cover up before, Joe said. How come you all of a sudden have to cover up?

Ingrid saw that she was in for it, and there was no way out. She frantically searched for an excuse—any excuse—to keep both her dress and her dignity.

What’s wrong with something classy for a change? she asked. Why don’t you like it?

"You know why I don’t like it, he said with a snarl. You also bought that dress behind my back. I want you to return that dress for something—shall we say, less concealing …or else."

Or else what? Ingrid dared to ask.

Or else you can think of packing your bags.

What? You would actually think of throwing me out over a dress? Ingrid was mortified, but if she stopped to analyze the situation, she wouldn’t have been surprised. But analysis was not Ingrid’s strong suit. All she could think of was no more money in the bank, no more fabulous jewelry, clothes, or vacations, and worst of all, being out on the street again, begging for work, any work to keep the wolf away from the door.

She remembered how Joe De Killer picked her up at a diner in her neighborhood when she had only about two more weeks of unemployment left. She had even demeaned herself by asking for a waitress job in the diner where she was having a cup of coffee, and they had turned her down because she had no experience. Or was it that she was overqualified? She did have a college degree in art history, which qualified her for nothing.

She remembered the moment Joe De Killer noticed her. He gave her an impudent grin, one that she found sexy and hard to resist. As was his usual fashion, he was dressed in his black leather jacket and unexpected mix of Yves Saint Laurent silk tie and Ralph Lauren shirt to let the world know that he was still, after all, a man of importance, even after office hours.

He brought over his coffee, and in that one brief encounter, he changed her world. No longer would she ever have to look for a job again. But little did she know the price she would have to pay when he walked into her life that fateful day.

Joe De Killer also made it a point to remind her of that moment. I picked you up when you had nothing. And for that you should be grateful. Where would you be today if I hadn’t picked you up? And now you start piling on the pounds. Is that any way to show your appreciation for all I’ve done for you? Don’t you think the least you can do is to keep up your appearance for me? Don’t you? Don’t you? Do I have to put you on a diet of bread and water? Do I have to tell the kitchen staff to watch your every move? He took her by both arms and shook her like a rag doll, leaving her in tears.

Now Ingrid was left with a dilemma. Should she give in and give up her integrity and pride to suit his whims? Or should she walk away with her integrity and pride intact and go back to that world of mounting debts and job interviews with no job offers? She decided the best course to take would be to play it Joe De Killer’s way—that is, until a better offer came along.

Then clear out of the blue, the phone rang. Joe De Killer asked Ingrid to leave the study, saying he would attend to her later. He also asked her to close the doors behind her.

Ingrid did as she was told, thankful for this unexpected reprieve. Now that she had the opportunity, she had time to think. If Joe De Killer persisted in his insane desire to throw her out, she could pack her bags and go, but she would not leave empty-handed. Oh, no! There was a savior on the horizon who Ingrid knew had had his eye on her a long time, Dennis, Joe De Killer’s dearest friend from Hoboken, where the two had grown up. He had also made good as a lawyer in another prestigious law firm just a few miles away.

Since Dennis often paid Joe De Killer a visit, it would be oh-so-easy to pave the way for a brand-new relationship … and new lease on life. Maybe it was for the best. He seemed like a nice man from what she could see. It would be wonderful to not only have money in the bank but a kind as well as generous benefactor.

But that all depended on how things developed after Joe De Killer was done with his phone call. If he insisted she leave immediately, she would have to pay a visit to Dennis herself. If, however, Joe De Killer gave her time to think things over, she could wait for Dennis’s visit and approach him then.

After what seemed like an innumerable amount of time, Joe De Killer was finally done with his phone call. He opened the doors to the den slowly and walked in but without his usual bounce, a changed man from only a short time before.

Something’s come up at the office, he said. So the plans are changed. We have to book a flight back immediately. Tomorrow morning at the latest! Then he called his butler over. Book our flight back to New Jersey immediately. By midnight if necessary!

The butler rushed out to obey his employer’s orders. Then he turned his attention to Ingrid. Let’s first have our dinner and then start packing our bags.

A quick thought flew into Ingrid’s head. She noticed the change in focus from her bags to our bags. What did this mean? That he had forgotten his previous threats? Or that he was postponing what would happen between them until the present crisis was over?

Joe De Killer pulled the cord to summon the butler to tell the kitchen staff that they could bring out the meal that had been warming in the oven all this time. They walked out to a table that sat twelve, but now it sat only the two of them. It was laden with a sumptuous array of goodies that could have easily gratified the appetites of all twelve guests—if they had been invited.

Ingrid always appreciated the pains that were taken to lay out the best damask tablecloth, topped by the best silver, china, and crystal, even though it was just the two of them. The chandeliers as well as the candelabra were also lit to their fullest wattage. Joe De Killer never tired of proving that the kid from Hoboken had made it with a vengeance!

Hurry up, my dear! We must catch that midnight plane, Joe De Killer said as they began their first course.

What’s the tearing hurry? Ingrid wondered. She knew he would never tell her, that he never discussed business, but she asked anyway. She was right. It has nothing to do with you, he answered. Just hurry up!

Ingrid’s bright blue eyes glazed over at the mountains and mountains of food being served by the kitchen staff. She was never allowed to finish the food—at least not under Joe De Killer’s watchful eye—while he downed every bit of his meal to the last bite. He polished off each course quickly and efficiently as he did with just about everything else that crossed his