Dave Zeltserman - Bad Karma

The big guy who had gotten in Maguire’s face earlier, leaned towards him and smiled sympathetically. “Hey man, lost your wife and job same day? That’s cold, man. I’m sorry about before, but you were just acting too obnoxious. But, shit, I don’t know what I’d do if I had your type of day. No hard feelings, okay?”

He held out his hand. Maguire stared at it coldly before taking it. “Your Rockies team still sucks,” he said.

The big guy pulled his hand away. “Fuck you. They’re still beating the shit out of your Red Sox.” His face turned even redder as he looked away from Maguire and stared back at the screen.

Shannon asked Maguire why he was looking so hard for a fight.

“You know what?” Maguire said, a thin smile showing. “That’s a good question ’cause I’d get my ass kicked if I got in one. I haven’t been in a fist fight since 5th grade.”

The waitress brought over another draft beer and took Shannon’s order for a club soda. Maguire lifted his pint glass to the light, studied it for a moment before drinking down half of it, then wiped his hand across his mouth.

“What happened today?” Shannon asked.

“Not much. Just your typical rotten, miserable day. I showed up at work this morning and found out I’d been downsized.” He shrugged, made a face. “The VCs forced my company to cut twenty percent of the payroll-if they didn’t they’d have their funding pulled. I think I was included ‘cause I didn’t show the proper dedication by taking last night off.”

Maguire lifted his glass, drank down the rest of the pint. He caught the waitresses’ eye to signal for another. Turning back to Shannon, he smiled wistfully.

“I should marry that girl,” he said. “No fuss, no arguments, no games, all she does is bring me beers when I ask for them. My wife, on the other hand, Jesus Christ. The last few days I really thought she was sick. It turned out to be nothing but an act while she planned her great escape. Before that, for a whole goddamn year, she does nothing but mope around and complain about how much she hates it here, how much she misses it back home and all the rest of that crap. As if there were anything I could’ve done about it. When I got home today after being laid off I found her note waiting there for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, not your fault.” He put a hand up to his eyes and rubbed them, then stared bleary-eyed at Shannon. “Not my fault either,” he said with a hard smile. “If I could’ve sold my condo a year ago I would’ve. But I bought at the top of the market, and condo prices dropped twenty-five percent since then. I would’ve had to bring eighty grand to the closing, money I didn’t have. Nancy knew that. What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

He shook his head, a lost look in his eyes. The waitress brought over another beer and a club soda. Maguire slipped ten bucks on her tray to cover the two drinks and a tip. As she placed the beer in front of him, he leaned in close and told her they should get married. She gave him a diplomatic smile, suggested they wait until his divorce finalized.

He nodded with a silly smile stuck on his face, waited until she left, then told Shannon that he had left a message with Nancy’s parents. “When I find out where she is I’ll give you her number and you can ask her whatever you want,” he said. “But I don’t think she’s gonna help you. She spent the last year too depressed and drugged up on sleeping pills to notice much of anything going on around her except how much she thought her life sucked.”

He lifted his glass and drained it about a third of the way down, then lowered it back to the table, pushed it away. “That’s it. I’m done for the night,” he told Shannon, his large round face shiny with perspiration.

Some hoots rang out from the crowd as the game ended. While several of the patrons glanced over at Maguire, none of them bothered to rub the Red Sox loss in his face.

“What a perfect ending to this day,” Maguire said, laughing sourly as he waved a hand towards the TV screen for emphasis. “How about you? You look like you were hit by a Mack truck.”

“Something like that,”

“Something like that? I bare my soul and that’s all I get in return?”

“I was in a fight with a couple of thugs.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“This over those murdered students?”

Shannon shook his head. “Different matter. What do you say I drive you home?”

“Hey, buddy, not necessary. I’m only a couple of miles away-”

“I think it would be better if I drove you.”

Maguire was about to argue the matter but shrugged instead. When he got to his feet and started towards the door, he moved with the slow measured pace of someone who was drunk but trying hard to look sober. After they got in his BMW, he told Shannon he wasn’t kidding the other night about doing PI work.

“I’m so fucking fed up with software development,” he said. “I’m not doing it anymore. No fucking way-not even if I could get another job. Shit, I think I’d rather get beat up by a couple of thugs than spend twelve hours a day beating my head in writing software. And for what? To get laid off when the company runs out of money. I’m sick of it. I’ve been sick of it for a long time.” He sniffed, rubbed a hand across his nose. “So what do you say,” he went on, his face pale in the moonlight. “You want an intern? You don’t have to pay me a dime. I’ll help out any way you want, and in exchange you teach me the ropes.”

Shannon laughed. “You’ll sober up. By tomorrow you’ll be looking for another high paying job.”

“I don’t think so.” Maguire slumped in his seat. “No, I don’t think there’s much chance of that. Fuck, I feel wiped. This whole rotten day must’ve just caught up with me.” Mumbling in a soft monotone, he added. “But I’m serious about the PI work. Sleep on it, okay?”

By the time Shannon got Maguire back to his condo, his eyes had closed and his chin had dropped to his chest. Shannon shook him until he opened an eye.

“Thanks, buddy,” Maguire muttered as he stumbled out of the car.

Shannon checked his watch, saw it was a quarter to ten. “If you want I’ll look things over in your apartment,” he said. “See if I can get an idea where your wife went. You can think of it as your first lesson in being a private eye.”

“Oh, man, I’d like to,” Maguire said, his shoulders stooped, his voice coming out as a low tired whisper. “Too fucking zonked. All I can think of right now is getting upstairs and lying down. How about you come by tomorrow and we do it then? I won’t touch a thing, promise.”

“I’ll be out of town tomorrow.”

“Next day then.”

“We’ll see.”

Maguire nodded, muttered something about the next day then. When he got to his door, he turned to give Shannon a half wave, then disappeared inside his apartment.

Shannon found Susan waiting for him in their hotel room wearing only one of his T-shirts. He cocked an eyebrow at her, told her he thought they’d go out to a jazz club.

She smiled. A nice smile. Mostly lips, just a flash of teeth showing. “Sorry, Hon,” she said, “but I have a different idea.”

Shannon swallowed hard as he stared at her bare legs, then reluctantly told her he was feeling too banged up right now.

She took hold of his hand and led him towards the bed. “That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll be gentle. Promise.”

And she was.

Afterwards he drifted easily into sleep, far easier than he would’ve guessed given all the thoughts that were bombarding him earlier. At first there was nothing but blackness, then, almost as if a switch had been thrown, he was aware of being back in his hotel room with Susan lying on her side next to him. He heard other noises and felt perspiration cover his back as he turned and saw the two Russians standing over him.