Dave Zeltserman - Bad Karma

Jesus, he wanted a cigarette badly right then. A tremor shook his hands as he thought about it. He got in his car and sat immobilized. For several minutes all he could think about was lighting up a cigarette and breathing the smoke into his lungs. Deep down in his throat he could almost taste it.

Then he started laughing bitterly, disgusted with himself.

It must’ve been the incense. The smell of it must’ve triggered something in him.

He stared straight ahead and tried to clear the impulse to smoke from his mind. After a minute or so of deep breathing, he felt calmer, the impulse gone.

He had turned off his cell phone earlier when he entered the True Light compound. He turned it back on and saw he had a message from Maguire wanting to let him know that the second round of photos came off without incident. He got in his car and headed towards downtown. On the way, he called Maguire back.

“I’m at my condo,” Maguire told him. “Right now I’m printing out the photos. Same number of women left the place as went in. I hung around until three thirty when a black Mercedes 500 SEL pulled up in front and picked up three of the girls from inside. The car windows were too dark for me to get a good picture, but I think the driver was one of the Russians you warned me about.”

“Any chance you took a picture of the license plate?”

“Let me check.” The phone on Maguire’s end was put down. A minute later he came back on, his voice more downbeat. “I didn’t get the license. Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll be waiting.”

Shannon did a U-turn and headed back to True Light’s compound. He pulled up in front looking for a black Mercedes, but the driveway wrapped around the building. Most likely there was a carport behind the compound, and if there was a Mercedes parked there he’d have no way of knowing it. For all he knew there could’ve been a helicopter pad back there.

On his way to Maguire’s condo, he called Pauline Cousins at the Best Western and told her that he had talked with Melissa.

“My daughter is alive then,” she said, her voice faltering and sounding as if she were on the verge of tears.

“She is and she appears healthy.” Shannon hesitated. “She refuses to see you, though, which is what we should’ve expected. Pauline, I’ve dealt with cults before and this is common.”

“But she does seem healthy?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God for that,” she said. “What next? How do I get Melissa out of there?”

“I have an idea of something to try, but you’re going to have to be patient.”

“What could you possibly try?”

“It’s probably better if I don’t tell you about it. Please, trust me about this.”

“But what if it doesn’t work?” she asked. Panic had crept into her voice. “What do I do after that? Do I need to hire someone to kidnap and deprogram her? I’ve found ads for people who do that. Oh God, is that what I need to do?”

“Right now you need to take a deep breath, try to relax and give me time to see if what I have in mind works.”

Pauline started sobbing then. Listening to her breaking down brought a knot to his stomach. He didn’t want to tell her that kidnapping Melissa wasn’t even an option-that that only worked when cult members were brought into the public, usually to panhandle for money or recruit new members. With Melissa locked away inside True Light, there would be no way to get to her.

“At least we know Melissa is alive and healthy,” Pauline conceded when she could, still sniffling heavily, her breathing ragged as she tried to hold back more tears. “At least that’s something.”

“It is,” Shannon said. “It’s more than we knew yesterday. And keep the faith. I’m not abandoning her. I’m not abandoning you.”

She told him she would try to, and thanked him for everything he was doing for her and Melissa. “We still haven’t talked about your fee. I’d like to pay you for what you’ve already done.”

“We can talk about all that later,” Shannon said. “After Melissa is out of there and safe with you.”

Maguire was grinning from ear to ear when he greeted Shannon at his door. Perspiration showed on his forehead and neck, his shirt looking soaked around the collar and underarms. “I’ve got some pictures for you,” he said with a wink.

Bob Segar’s ‘Her Strut’ played in the background. When they got to the living room, Shannon saw that the room had been cleaned up. It still needed work, but the litter had been picked off the floor and trash bags were stacked in a corner. Windows had also been opened to air the place out.

“You’ve been busy,” Shannon said.

Maguire’s grin turned self-conscious. “Yeah, well, I decided to turn over a new leaf. And you were right. When I was cleaning up in the kitchen I saw some mouse droppings. I’ll buy traps later.”

He stopped suddenly, his head cocked to one side as he listened to Segar belt out how they love to watch her strut . Then at once he started playing air guitar, his face straining and contorting with the music. He finished his rift with several exaggerated strumming motions and pumped his fist in the air.

“I love that song,” he said. “ Against the Wind might just be the best album of the last twenty-five years.”

“You’re one of those guys, huh?”

Maguire gave Shannon a questioning look.

“Air guitar player,” Shannon explained.

Maguire laughed at that. “Yep, I’m one of them. Ultimate Frisbee, hackey sack, air guitar, all that stuff. At least I used to be before I started having my life sucked out of me writing code fourteen plus hours a day. But that assignment you gave me today jazzed me right up. To quote a former Patriots head coach, it left me ‘pumped and jacked’.”

He moved into the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator, took out a beer and held it against his neck to cool himself off. He looked over at Shannon, started to ask if he wanted one, then slapped his forehead. “Doh! Sorry man, forgot. You don’t drink.”

“Not usually, but I’ll take one.”

“You sure? I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not an alcoholic. I can handle a beer. Just not the one you’re sweating over.”

Maguire eyed him suspiciously, but tossed him a can of Guinness. Shannon’s hands shook slightly as he opened it. It had been five years since he’d had a beer, and he found himself wanting it now more than he would’ve guessed. He took several gulps of it, then wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand. He craved a cigarette badly. For several seconds he stood paralyzed by the thought of it. He fought back the urge to ask Maguire if he had any, and instead joined him at the kitchen table, leaning to look over the photos.

“You still haven’t told me what’s so important about a yoga studio,” Maguire said.

“This one’s run by a cult,” Shannon said. His voice cracked. His mouth had gotten so damn dry. He took a long drink of beer, then pushed the empty can away from him. “They use it to recruit new members.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I were.”

“Shit. You’re serious?”

“Yep.”

Maguire’s cheeks flushed red with excitement. “Holy fucking shit,” he muttered as he searched through the stack of photos in front of him. He found the one he was looking for and handed it to Shannon. “I know her. Damn, I can’t believe she’s into a cult. She seems so normal, so together.”

The photo Maguire had handed him was of Susan. “You know this woman?” Shannon asked.

“Yeah. I’ve been seeing her for this sinus infection and nasal drip I’ve been having. She does something called homeopathy. It’s kind of an alternative approach to medicine. A little out there if you ask me, but the damn thing seems to work. At least I think it cured me.”