Dave Zeltserman - Bad Karma

Thoughts of one of Susan’s homeopathic patients also kept buzzing in and out of his mind-the psychic who was stuck in two worlds, the dead and the present. In some ways he could argue the same about himself. He had moved to Boulder for a fresh start, to heal himself, to live a different life than the one he had submerged himself in Massachusetts. Yet here he was, back investigating the types of crimes he’d thought he wanted to leave far behind. Like Susan’s patient, he found himself floating between two worlds, unable to fully commit to either one.

Focusing on his next steps, he decided he’d have to visit Linda Gibson’s family, which meant a trip to America’s Heartland. And he’d also have to find out how a college student was able to afford the purchases Taylor Carver had made for his mother. Especially if he wasn’t dealing drugs as Lieutenant Daniels claimed.

The Rockies made the final out by popping up harmlessly to second base and Maguire exchanged high-fives with a couple of other Red Sox fans nearby and traded a few more jibes with the Colorado fans he’d been engaged with.

“Another eighty-six years before they win another one,” one of them told him.

“Ha, want to bet eighty-six years before your team has another whiff of the playoffs again?”

“You’re still a bunch of chokers.”

“Like the last four years, with three Super Bowls and one World Series Championship?”

“And you won them personally, huh, asshole?”

“Hey, they’re the teams I live and die for. How have your teams been doing?”

That elicited a number of “Fuck you’s” and “Move back to Boston if its such a fucking paradise”. As they walked back to the car, Maguire acted animated, buoyant, but when he got into the passenger seat the life seemed to drain out of him, almost as if a switch had been thrown.

“Oh man, I’m wiped,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Sorry, any more questions you’re going to have to wait. I’m fucking exhausted.”

Shannon glanced over and saw Maguire’s chin moving slowly towards his chest, his eyelids mostly closed. “Lesson five, learn how to pace yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maguire mumbled as if he were talking in his sleep. “I’ll take notes later.”

“I have a few more questions,” Shannon said without much hope of getting anything more out of his companion. “And I still need to talk to your wife.”

“Tomorrow,” Maguire said, his voice slurred as if he were using the last bit of strength he had. “Give me a call tomorrow.”

The traffic leaving the ballpark was bumper-to-bumper and it took a while to navigate to I-25 North, but once Shannon pulled onto US 36 West he seemed to have the highway to himself-as if he and Maguire were the only people from Boulder to attend the game. More likely than not that was true. There wasn’t much interest for professional sports in Boulder, outside of some of the college students and transplants like Shannon and Eli. While you could stop almost anyone on the street and discuss the Tour de France endlessly, it was a tough town to talk baseball or football in.

As Shannon drove, he could hear heavy breathing coming from Maguire along with sporadic choking noises that would last for a few seconds before sputtering out, then Maguire’s heavy breathing again. There were moments where Shannon was afraid the guy was going to suffocate. At one point he glanced over and saw his passenger’s face dead still and lit up by the moonlight like something waxen, not quite alive. Then the heavy breathing and sputtering kicked in.

When he arrived back at Maguire’s townhouse, he shook Maguire until he opened his eyes. At first there was only disorientation and confusion in those eyes, then a heaviness fell over his face as he realized where he was. “Shit,” he moaned. “No way I can climb those stairs tonight. Too fucking tired. I think I’ll sleep here.”

“Your choice,” Shannon said. He folded the car keys into Maguire’s large pudgy hand. “If I left those in the ignition you could get picked up for DUI, even if you’re sitting in the passenger seat.”

“Much obliged.”

Shannon gave him a hard look. “If you want I can help you up the stairs,” he said.

“Oh man, like to take you up on it, but too tired for that. I’ll just put the seat down.”

He lowered his seat until he was mostly horizontal, then wet his lips as he started to doze off again.

“You were going to give me your cell phone number,” Shannon said.

“Yeah I was,” Maguire said, waking. He recited his cell number slowly, his breath heavy. Then, with his voice trailing off, said, “Tomorrow, call me tomorrow.”

Shannon opened both windows a few inches so there’d be fresh air coming in, then turned off the headlights and made sure the car doors were locked before he left.

When he got home, he found Susan curled up in bed. She stirred when she heard him, twisting her body so she could look back at him, and told him in a drowsy voice that she’d felt tired and had gone to bed early. “You’ll join me soon?” she asked, her beautiful brown eyes half closed as she smiled at Shannon.

He told her he would, then reached over so he could taste her soft lips and feel the moistness of them. Before leaving the bedroom, he checked his email and saw he had no messages. He moved to the living room where he sat cross-legged on a rug, slipped on headphones and played the cassette Eli had made for him. He had a hard time concentrating on it, his mind wandering over the same thoughts as before as he tried to figure out why he was taking this double-murder case. About the time he gave up on the cassette, he decided that it wasn’t a simple question. He had a host of conflicting reasons driving him, altruistic and not-so-altruistic ones, and seemingly every shade in between. When he got into bed, he continued to have difficultly focusing on both Eli’s exercises and his dream work, eventually falling into a fitful sleep where his mind raced down paths that he’d just as soon stay away from. He didn’t find any peace until he turned on his side and, in his sleep, drew Susan’s small body into his, her backside pushed hard into his stomach, his left arm draped around her middle.

Shannon woke early so he’d have time for a five mile run down Baseline to Flagstaff Drive. Even though it was only a quarter past six and there was a coolness in the air, he could tell from the cloudless sky and the warmth of the sun against his face that it was going to be another hot day. When he got to the beginning of Flagstaff and started the uphill part of his run, he pushed himself hard, trying to sprint up the Flatirons to his halfway point. By the time he reached a gnarled crabapple tree that he knew marked two and a half miles from his apartment, he was gasping in air, his chest aching as if it were going to explode. He turned and coasted down the mountain, letting gravity do most of the work as he took long, bounding strides and at times almost creating the allusion of flying. He tried to clear his mind and concentrate on his breath, fixing his eyes on the fields above Chautauqua Park. Off in the distance he spotted a hawk circling the plains below and watched as it made a quick dive to the ground. Chipmunks and squirrels rushed in the grass and underbrush nearby. Occasionally he’d spot one of them. By the time he returned to Baseline, he had his breathing back under control. A couple of other runners nodded to him as they passed by. He maintained a moderate pace on the mile and a half back to his apartment, trying to give the layer of sweat coating his body a chance to dry.

Susan was waiting for him at the small ceramic table they were able to fit in their kitchen. Even though the kitchen was tiny, it had a bright and airy feel to it, no thanks to Shannon. The day after Susan moved in, she painted the walls a bright yellow and added other little touches to give the space a country kitchen feel to it.