Dark Waters, page 2
After he closes his laptop, he stands tall behind his desk. Polished and well-dressed, Judge Waters heads out of his chambers and into the hallway. He exudes wealth, success, and stature as he confidently walks to the set of elevator doors carrying his black leather briefcase. In the elevator, he hums to the Gladys Knight song lightly playing from the speakers above. Once he reaches the lobby, he sees the fresh two dozen long-stem roses and imported chocolates he paid his clerk to pick up for him on her way back in from lunch. When she stands up, he steals a quick look at her ass in her tight tan work pants. Then, he gives her a pleasant smile when she turns and hands him the candy and flowers on her desk.
“Here you are . . . Goodnight, sir.”
He nods at the young woman. “Enjoy your evening, Monica. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, sir, seven a.m.”
“Seven a.m. sharp.”
When she says, “Happy Anniversary, Judge Waters,” he smiles, nods again, and walks out the glass door.
The soles of his shoes clap on the concrete as he heads to a shiny black Escalade parked in the first parking spot in front of a sign that says JUDGE WATERS. When he starts the engine, the LED bulbs pierce the night, making everything in front of him crystal clear. Then, once he’s good and comfortable, he drives away with the candy and roses on his passenger’s seat.
Thirty minutes later, he’s out in Chestnut Hill. The neighborhood is pristine, without so much as a blade of grass out of place. Historic manors and Victorian townhouses are throughout the city’s garden district, making the scenery lush and green. When he gets to his destination, Judge Waters turns into a stained concrete driveway. After he parks, he gets out and grabs the long-stem roses and chocolates, leaving his suit jacket hanging on the hook in the back. As he’s making his way up the brick walkway, the front door opens, and there she is, or instead, here she comes, full speed ahead toward Judge Waters. It’s Mia Thorn, a busty, light brown-skinned female with big hair and a big ass, still claiming she’s in her late 30s. She’s not. Mia is Judge Waters’s semi-animated, Botox-filled, nipped, and tucked, wannabe real housewife kept mistress.
Mia and Keenan Sr. met ten years ago in an upscale gentlemen’s club on South Christopher Columbus Blvd. When Judge Waters first walked in, his eyes went right to her. Mia was one of the top high-priced escorts in the classy establishment, prancing under the fluorescent lighting as if she didn’t get paid to have sex.
When she saw Judge Waters for the first time, she smelled money, which led her right to him. She approached him and said, “Why are you looking so angry? You’re in this beautiful place surrounded by beautiful people like me; you should be smiling, now scowling.”
After a long day in court, Keenan Sr. was in no mood, but he played along with his eyes ogling her body. Then, after he threw the whisky to the back of his throat, he said, “I agree with that.”
Once he bought her a drink, she told him her story, which was she was broke, hated stripping, and was down for anything. Mia then looked at his jewelry and suit with the eyes of a golddigger as Judge Waters looked at her with the eyes of a man that wanted her badly.
That night ten years ago, Keenan Sr. took Mia out of the strip club and gave her a brand new life. After that, all she had to do was sell her soul to the judge, which she gladly did before she traded her Toyota Highlander for a Benz.
Mia is one bounce away from jumping up and down when she runs out to Judge Waters. She instantly throws her arms around him with his arms tightly hugging her tiny waist.
“Keenan, hey, I’m so happy to see you! I wasn’t sure you would be able to make it tonight.”
With his head resting in the crease of her neck, Judge Waters says, “I’m here, Mia . . . I’m here.”
He then kisses her at the front door of a beautiful three-story colonial revival home he purchased for her last winter. “Here you are, sweetheart.” He hands her the flowers and chocolates before they passionately kiss again.
She’s genuinely happy when she says, “Thank you so much! I love you, Keenan.”
Judge Waters is happy also. “Mia, I love you too . . . Happy Anniversary . . .”
2
Lillian
In the Uptown neighborhood of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, sits The Waters Mansion. It’s a sprawling impressive brick estate Keenan Sr. purchased for himself and his family weeks after being appointed judge. When Lillian first walked in, she said she didn’t like it because the foyer echoed when she talked. She even told Keenan Sr. the skylights in the kitchen made her dizzy, but he still insisted this was the house he wanted. Of course, the whole skylight thing was bullshit, but Lillian had to give her husband a reason why she didn’t want to live here other than the house feeling cold and drafty. She wanted to finish raising her children in a nice cozy home like where they came from in Old City, not a two-million-dollar former governor’s mansion. But twenty years later, here they are.
Judge Waters’s long-suffering wife, Lillian, sits at her makeup vanity putting on makeup. She used to be such a sweet, gentlewoman who would always put her family and their needs before hers. Now Lillian Waters is a multiplicative bitch with a controlling side from hell.
Her older sister, Jeanine, dated Keenan Sr. all through the eighties while she was in law school. Everything was okay with them until Jeanine finally brought him home to meet her little sister, Lillian. From there, it was love at first sight for Keenan Sr. Lillian felt he was too short, and it looked like he colored his hair jet black; she thought to try and look cool, while he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But, the way the story goes, it was over for him and the older sister once Keenan Sr. laid eyes on Lillian. So when Lillian started seeing him behind her sister’s back, it was all good until Jeanine found out. Furious, she swore she would never speak to Lillian again for stealing her boyfriend. And thirty-seven years later, Lillian found out she meant that.
At fifty-four, Lillian is aging gracefully but getting tired. She’s five foot five, even brown skin tone, with a nice medium build. In her day, she was fine . . . Keenan Sr. even considered her hot, but now, under her expensive MAC makeup, her face is painted with misery and years. The affair Judge Waters is having is killing her—faster than what she leads on to. Lillian is in constant pain over the shame and embarrassment he’s putting her and their family through. She feels like she’s a laughing stock to all her arrogant, stuck-up friends because she knows how they are. Those women gather up as much dirt and gossip as possible and meet at some overpriced restaurant once a month and share stories.
Whichever wife is not around anymore is usually the one they’re sitting there for hours talking about. In the past, Lillian had seen pictures of husbands doing some pretty nasty things, heard voicemails, and even sat and watched a sex tape of an ex-senator and his lover doing cocaine before they started screwing on camera. Shit like that was funny to her until the man she started seeing in the gossip pictures with other women was her husband. Then, for Lillian, the laughter stopped right after she scolded her friends for sitting around and being a part of such filth. She said, “We are women, strong, powerful women! We are supposed to stick together, not rag on each other’s husbands with this mess! She asked, What is this? holding a black-and-white picture of Keenan Sr. in a strip club.
When one of the women yelled out, “He went in but never came out!” that was it. As they laughed in her fucking face, Lillian quickly grabbed her bag, bolted from that seafood restaurant, and never returned—to that restaurant or around her ex-friends’ sewing circle. Since then, barbiturates and her daughter-in-law Taylor have kept Lillian from killing herself or her husband.
Sitting there in a stunning black sequin gown Lillian is all dressed up. She looks beautiful. Once she gives herself another look over in the mirror, she starts to spray perfume from a fancy bottle. Right then, her eyes become sharp. Her lips frowned. She appears even unhappier than usual as she sits in a bedroom fit for a palace.
Lying on her makeup table in front of her is a new diamond necklace and a 35th anniversary card with her name scribbled on the front of the envelope. Opening the card, she becomes optimistic, reading her husband’s words: I love you, My Love. Forever & Always. I got those opera tickets you’ve been asking for. Happy anniversary! She ignores the so-called lovely words Hallmark printed on the left side of the card because she knows Judge Waters didn’t mean any of them. Besides, all she cared about was him coming his ass home.
“So, you are coming home tonight . . . good.” As she latches the Blue Nile diamond eternity necklace around her neck, she thinks about her husband. Wow, the opera, Keenan? You are going all out this year. He made her night so much brighter as she was thankful she hadn’t gotten all dressed up just to sit in the house alone as she did last year. And the year before that. Lillian even managed a smile as she was now hopeful Judge Waters would show up this time.
When the doorbell rings, Lillian chuckles, thinking it’s her husband trying to surprise her again. “I guarantee that’s Keenan standing there with gifts like he did on my birthday.” She then gets up and glides down the marble spiral staircase from the second floor. As she makes her way down the stairs, she can see the roses through the glass of the big cherry oak double doors. She smiles. “I knew it.”
Lillian opens the front door to see the roses in front of his face. Then, after a few seconds, she sees a clipboard come out as the flowers lower. Lillian immediately realizes the man behind the flowers is a middle-aged skinny black delivery guy asking her to sign for her roses and chocolates. It’s not her husband standing behind the large bouquet, as she thought. When she looks at the delivery guy, she inhales surprise before she exhales disgust.
Once she signs her name on the bottom of the receipt, Lillian dismisses the delivery guy and rushes from the front door, upset. When she storms into the kitchen, she goes for the pair of red handle shears on the counter. She’s furious as she cuts all the roses and steams up over the garbage can.
“You nasty son of a bitch!”
She then darts to the stainless-steel sink, yanks the new diamond necklace off her neck, and turns on the garbage disposal. When she drops the expensive necklace into the disposal, it makes a bad crunching sound, almost like it’s about to jam up. The gears grind so loud as it crunches the necklace into pieces, but Lillian doesn’t care. If the shit breaks like the last time she put one of Judge Waters’ I fucked up gifts in it, so be it. Once the grinding sound stops, Lillian stands there crying with her hand over her mouth, shaking her head.
The doorbell rings as she stands there distraught, but Lillian doesn’t move. She pretends she doesn’t hear it the third time and stands right there. She knew it wasn’t Keenan Sr., so what was the use of going back to the door? He did again this year what she knew he would: stand her up. She thought, And to think he thought some gift would make me feel better? Well, it doesn’t, you lying asshole! She dries her eyes when her shaking voice says, “He cared enough to send me jewelry but not enough to come home?” But Lillian had it all wrong because Judge Waters doesn’t care at all.
When Lillian heard the front door open, she turned toward the sink and tried to dry the fresh tears still falling from her eyes so whoever walked in wouldn’t see her this way. She knew it was one of the children, so she pulled herself together as best she could, but this lady was a wreck.
“Mrs. Waters? Are you in here?” It’s Keenan Jr.’s wife, Taylor. Since Lillian parted ways with those snobs she used to be close to, Taylor has been her best friend—the white daughter she never had. As soon as Lillian got over the fact that the first and only girl her eldest son brought home had blonde hair and blue eyes, she fell in love with Taylor.
Lillian calls out, “Taylor, I’m in here.”
Taylor stands in the kitchen doorway when she looks at Lillian standing at the sink with her back turned. “Mrs. Waters, are you ready to go?” When Lillian turns around, Taylor could tell she is crying. She rushes over to her and wraps her arms around her shoulders. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Lillian wastes no time pouring her guts out about Keenan Sr. and how much of an ignorant bastard he is for not coming home. Then, as she curses the day he was born to Taylor, she stops herself long enough to ask, “Wait . . . what did you mean am I ready to go? We had plans tonight?”
“No, not you and me.”
Lillian studies Taylor before saying, “You’re right; my husband and I did.”
“Well, he . . .”
“He what, Taylor?”
“Mr. Waters originally asked Saint Kenny to take you to the opera tonight. He agreed, but then Saint texted me, said he had a lot of work to do tonight for a new case, and asked if I would take you instead.”
Lillian’s eyes get big. “WHAT?! It’s our anniversary, Taylor; he should be here! Not you. Not Saint! HIM!”
Taylor really doesn’t know what to say as she could see the raged-filled tears in Lillian’s eyes about to fall with each sharp word she spoke. She looks at her mother-in-law like she wishes she can do something to take some of her pain away, but she could do nothing unless she came in here with Judge Waters walking right behind her.
Taylor quickly takes out her phone and pulls up the QR code for the opera tickets. “We can still go. The tickets are already paid for, and we have the best seats in the house. So let’s just go, Mrs. Waters. It’ll be fun.”
Lillian looks around the kitchen before her eyes land back on Taylor. She then stands up, takes off her block pointed-toe slingbacks, and is about to head out of the kitchen. With her shoes swinging in her hand, Lillian stops beside Taylor, sitting at the island. She says, “Taylor . . . one of these days, I’m going to kill Keenan Sr., and I’m going to get away with it.”
“ . . . Uh, Mrs. Waters, I-you shouldn’t, um . . .” Taylor fumbles over her words with Lillian walking up the stairs and quickly out of sight.
3
Keenan Jr.
The Next Morning
The oldest of The Waters’ three children is Keenan Waters Jr. He’s thirty-four years old, brown-skinned, and attractive. He’s a conniving, sneaky district attorney who will prove he’ll do anything for money. Like his father, he also graduated at the top of his class with a sparkling law career soon to follow, but unlike his father, his balance sheets don’t always add up. His hands are full of dirty money that belongs everywhere, from children’s charities to the people of Philadelphia. His predecessor called Keenan Jr., a leader in the community. Which he is, in a way. He gets the job done and does a lot of illegal shit too.
Keenan Jr.’s office is a shrine to his career accomplishments, with too many degrees and awards on the walls to count. Some he earned, some he didn’t—it depends on how close you’re looking and who you ask for clarity. He sits at his desk wearing a navy-blue suit, sky-blue shirt, and striped blue tie with a sweeping panoramic view of the city behind him. As he sits there, he thinks, I’ll have Shelia’s stupid-ass open the evidence locker and look the other way for five minutes. That way, Sergeant Johnson could grab the DNA evidence deposited inside that prostitute before she was killed. His name won’t be near the release, so he should be good. He chuckles. Did the fucking police sergeant really take this woman’s life after he let off inside of her? I don’t care if he did; he just better have my money for doing this shit for him.
Keenan Jr. signs the chain of custody when his assistant breaks his concentration. “DA Waters.”
He presses the small black button at the bottom of the intercom. “Yes, Julie?”
“Your wife is on line two.”
Keenan Jr. turns off the intercom and picks up the receiver. He’s already smiling before he answers. “Good morning, honey.”
“Good morning yourself, Keenan. I couldn’t believe you were already gone when I woke up at six.”
Keenan Jr. loves his wife, Taylor, and for good reason. She’s a dutiful wife that takes care of him, their home, and their daughter impeccably. Even with a BA degree in business, for now, she stays home and cares for Kennedy while Keenan Jr. kicks ass in the courtroom.
Taylor Christine is a thirty-four-year-old blonde, ex-cheerleader, politician/trophy wife type. After a successful fat transfer in 2021, she has bigger breasts, a perfect pear-shaped ass, and a flat stomach.
She and Keenan Jr. met eleven years ago at the gym. He was lifting weights as she ran around the track. When she stopped to take a quick breather, their eyes locked. Before she could sprint off, Keenan Jr. walked up to her and introduced himself. At first, he was ready to use her as just a piece of easy ass since she sucked his dick the first night they hung out, but before he knew it, he was falling for Taylor. They started spending every night with each other and then every day. Before long, they were living together. That’s around when Lillian stopped calling Taylor that white girl and welcomed her to the family with open arms.
For the most part, Taylor is a decent, kind, smart woman though she doesn’t always make smart choices.
Once she reaches the kitchen, she turns on the Keurig Express and talks more to her husband. “Babe, it’s Friday! I didn’t get a chance to make you breakfast or do that other thing you love so much after a long work week.”
Keenan Jr. smiles and chuckles as his wife coos in his ear. “Come on now, Taylor, don’t tease me like that. You know how much I love your flapjacks, but baby, I have a case in less than an hour, so I wanted to get to the office extra early today. You know, to make sure I’m prepared.”
Slight attitude comes from Taylor as she thinks about Keenan Jr. never being home with her and their daughter. “You’re always extra prepared and on top of your cases, Keenan”—more attitude—“Your absences from Kennedy and me this past week prove that.”
