Dave Zeltserman - Bad Karma

He called Susan on her cell phone.

“Hi hon,” she said, “I’ve been missing you. I’m back at the hotel room now practicing with a couple of pom-poms and getting ready for later. Think you’ll be back soon?”

“Hey, babe, I’ve been missing you too. I’m going to stop by the apartment to check email and I’ll head over to the hotel after that. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure, why do you ask?”

“You sound like something’s wrong. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“It’s just been a long day and my throat’s a little dry, that’s all. Keep practicing with those pom-poms, okay?”

Susan told him she’d use the extra time to work on some advanced moves, and that she was looking forward to seeing him. There was a hesitancy in her voice. Before hanging up she asked him not to be too long. Shannon knew she could sense something was wrong, but she didn’t push it. He drove to his apartment building. It seemed quiet from the outside, nothing appearing out of place. A wave of relief washed over him when he saw that his front door was in one piece. He had convinced himself that Paveeth had used the opportunity of his visiting True Light to send the Russians to his apartment, and had an image stuck in his mind of them busting their way in. He checked the locks and saw that they hadn’t been tampered with. When he opened the door, his eyes went directly to a gaping hole in the wall that had been carved out next to the hallway closet. The hole revealed two video recorders his spy cameras were connected to. When he checked them he saw that the tapes had been removed. He looked around the living room. Books had been thrown onto the floor, but nothing else looked out of place.

He moved next to the kitchen. All of the drawers had been thrown open and papers tossed to the floor. Shannon felt a coolness driving into his skull as he walked to the bedroom. As he expected, his computer was gone. Then he saw Emily. She was lying on her side next to the bed, her frying pan laying a few feet away from her. The coolness was now more like ice cubes being pushed into his eye sockets. He got on one knee and felt her pulse. She was still alive. Blood had congealed on the back of her skull above her ear. A stain the shape of a large melon had leaked out onto the carpet from her wound. Shannon’s vision blurred as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. He told them to send an ambulance, that he had a head trauma victim needing emergency care. He then called Daniels, gave him a quick rundown of what happened, and asked if he could meet him at his apartment. He struggled over whether to call Susan. He didn’t want her hearing about Emily over the phone, but he remembered her talking about homeopathy being used to help accident victims. He called her, his voice sounding distant and tinny to himself as he told her about Emily.

She asked whether Emily was making any noises.

“No, nothing.”

“How is she breathing?”

“Very shallow. Barely at all.”

“Any movement?”

“None.”

“Bill, this is very important. Go to the cabinet in the kitchen where I keep my remedies. Find one labeled ‘1M Opium’. Shake out six pellets and place them in her mouth.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Try and do it as quickly as you can. Call me back when you know what hospital they’re taking her to.”

“When I find out, I’ll pick you up and we’ll drive over together. I’m so sorry about this, Susie.”

“It’s not your fault, love, but please, get her the remedy now.”

Susan hung up at her end. Shannon went to the kitchen. Her remedies had been tossed onto the floor with the papers. He searched through them until he found a package labeled ‘1M Opium’, then went back to Emily. He stood frozen as he looked at her. This went against all his years of training as a police officer. Over and over it’s drummed into you not to touch an unconscious body unless CPR is needed. As a cop you’re supposed to wait for the EMT workers. The last thing you’re supposed to do is put what amounts to snake oil into someone’s mouth.

The sound of a distant ambulance knocked him out of his trance. Although what Susan did remained as much a mystery to him as voodoo, he had seen small miracles come out of her work. Les Hasherford was just one example. He tapped six pellets into his palm, each one the size of a pinhead. Kneeling by Emily, he gently opened her mouth and placed the pellets in it. He said a silent prayer over her body, then got to his feet.

He walked outside to wait for the ambulance. The noise of a siren was getting louder. He lit a cigarette and tried to pull some comfort from it.

When the ambulance arrived, the EMT workers moved swiftly and within minutes had Emily on an IV and were monitoring her vital signs.

“How’s she looking?” Shannon asked one of them.

The EMT worker didn’t bother to look up. “Blood pressure’s low. She has a fractured skull and probably swelling around the brain. We’ve got to get her to the ICU right away.”

They stabilized her head, then one of the EMT workers lifted her up enough so the other could slide a stretcher under her. Shannon asked which hospital they were taking her to and he was told Memorial.

They were loading Emily into the back of the ambulance when a police cruiser arrived. Two uniformed patrolmen got out, talked briefly with the EMTs, then approached Shannon with their poker faces firmly intact. One of them introduced himself as Officer Robideau, the other-the larger of the two-didn’t bother giving his name, but Robideau referred to him as Jenks. Shannon explained what happened and his relationship with the victim. Both officers were young, maybe late twenties. Both had short buzz cuts and sunburned faces. Neither of them looked like they believed him. Jenks peered at Shannon with a distant look in his eyes, almost as if he were waiting for an excuse to be able to unload on him with his nightstick. He asked Shannon to show them where the attack happened.

Shannon led the way to his apartment. When the officers saw that his front door was unmarked, Robideau asked whether the attackers had a key to the apartment.

“I hope not,” Shannon said. “My guess is they’re good with locks. These were pros.”

When he opened the door and the two officers saw the gaping hole in the wall, their skepticism faded. Robideau let out a low whistle. “It looks like they had a crowbar with them.”

“What are those recorders hooked up to?” Jenks asked.

“Surveillance cameras.”

“Tapes missing?”

“Yep.”

He gave Shannon a look indicating that he was just itching to smack him with his nightstick. “How do you suppose they knew you had video surveillance?”

“Don’t know. They probably found one of the cameras, then looked for the recorders. As I said before, these guys are probably pros.”

Jenks had small, almost baby-like ears, and as he stared at Shannon the tips of them turned a bright fire-engine red. “Do you mind telling me why you have this system?” he asked.

“I was on the job for ten years.” Shannon held up his right hand showing his missing two fingers. “I was a Detective First Grade when I lost these and had to go on disability. Now I’m a licensed private investigator, and have a surveillance system for my safety, okay?”

“There’s no need to take that tone,” Jenks said, his manner more subdued. “Under the circumstances that was a more than reasonable question.”

“Agreed. Let me show you where I found Emily.”

Shannon led the two cops to his bedroom. While they were staring at the blood stain on the carpet, a hard knock came from the front door followed by Daniels yelling through it to announce himself. Robideau joined Shannon, and when Daniels was let in and he saw the patrolman, he nodded brusquely to him and asked who he was partnering with. Robideau told him Chris Jenks.