Dave Zeltserman - Bad Karma

“I should’ve given you a heads-up.”

Maguire took a small bite of his food, but seemed barely aware of it. “I still can’t get over a camera being hidden there.”

“Yeah, caught me a little by surprise too.”

“And it didn’t pick up a single shot of the killer? What a lucky sonofabitch.”

“It probably didn’t. It’s possible the FBI can process it and find a reflection somewhere. I don’t think they will, but it’s possible.”

Maguire pulled at his lower lip as he thought about it. “The whole thing’s unbelievable,” he said. “I guess we’ll be seeing some of that tape on the news, huh?”

Shannon shrugged. Even though it had been almost twenty-four hours since he had eaten anything solid, he didn’t have much of an appetite. He forced himself to finish off the pancakes knowing it was going to be a long day. Maguire appeared to have even less of an appetite, for the most part pushing his food from one part of the plate to the other, all the while shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe a video camera had captured the murders-even if only partially.

Rude stood at the corner of East Colfax and Nineteenth Street where Shannon expected to find him. There was no mistaking him given the description Shannon had. Late fifties, bald, with a thick gray mustache, and hard rubbery flesh which hung loosely from his body the way it does when someone has lost muscle mass in a short time. A number of bluish-green tattoos showed on his skin, all of which gave the appearance of being deflated. Like tires that had the air taken out. The man stared blindly off into the distance smoking a cigarette.

Shannon drove up to him and got out of his car. Maguire stayed seated. “Rude?”

The man’s eyes shifted to meet Shannon’s. Before he could answer he broke into a violent coughing fit and hacked up something red that could’ve been a small piece of his lung. He wiped pinkish spittle off his chin with the back of his hand. Looking past Shannon, he asked in a weak, raspy voice, “Who wants to know?”

Shannon introduced himself. “A friend of yours, Max Roth, thought you might be able to help me.”

“Let’s see some ID.”

Shannon showed Rude his PI license. Rude’s eyes remained vacant as he glanced at it. He lowered his gaze to Shannon’s damaged hand. “How’d you lose those fingers?”

“Line of duty. I used to be a cop.”

“Yeah, thought I smelled cop on you. Who’s the boy scout in the car?”

“An intern I’m training.”

Rude accepted that. “He’s no cop. That’s for fucking sure.” He took a long drag on his cigarette and flicked what was left of it onto the sidewalk. He lit up a fresh one, nodding towards Shannon. “Max Roth, huh? Denver’s most famous PI thanks to that crap newspaper column, “The Roth Report”. I end up doing his dirty work and never get a fucking mention. Just like with the asshole before him, Johnny Lane. Ever hear of Lane?”

For the first time some life flickered in Rude’s eyes. Shannon nodded. “Yeah, I read about him.”

“Rotten sonofabitch,” Rude said, his eyes glazing over. “I hope they’re toasting his balls right now wherever he ended up.” He started making a wheezing sound, and Shannon realized the guy was laughing. The wheezing turned into another coughing fit and more pinkish stuff being spat out. Rude’s eyes shone as he looked at Shannon. “I got the big C,” he said. “In the lungs. According to the doctors I should be dead now. Bad enough I went through chemo, fuck if I’m going to live out my last days in a hospital bed. Not after spending three years in the jungles of Cambodia. So what the fuck you want with me?”

“I’m trying to find someone who sells porn tapes. The kind where one of the parties doesn’t know they’re being filmed.”

Rude sucked hard on his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs before directing it out his nostrils. “Those are illegal. You could go to jail selling those.”

“That’s why I thought I could use your help.”

“Why you looking for them? You a perv?”

“I’m trying to figure out a double-murder that happened in Boulder.”

“The two college kids killed?” Amusement shone in his eyes. “They were making these types of videos?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Rude considered it, nodded. “Sure, I’ll help you. Two hundred bucks. Something else too.” He looked away, took another drag on his cigarette. “If you solve these murders and give a story to reporters, I want you mentioning I helped you. If your name goes in the paper, I want my name there too.”

“Deal.” Shannon counted out two hundred dollars and handed it to Rude. Rude rolled the bills into a wad and stuck it in his pants pocket without bothering to count it. He stopped to fill up his lungs with cigarette smoke, then made a call on his cell phone and talked briefly, giving Shannon’s name. He told Shannon, “Go to Sex Emporium on Colfax and Fourteenth. Look for a punk with long greasy hair named Starks. Likes to think he should be a movie star, but he’s nothing but a perv. Every voyeur tape he’s got he’s seen. If you’ve got pictures of those two college kids, he’ll know if they’ve made any.”

Rude looked away then, his eyes focusing on something too far off into the distance for Shannon or anyone else to see.

It wasn’t difficult picking out Starks. Aside from some old men and a couple of large farm boys walking around the sex shop, the place was empty except for a guy in his late thirties standing behind the counter who fit Rude’s description. He had a medium build, brown hair that fell inches past his shoulders and reasonably good looks that were ruined by dark, hollowed-out eyes. No matter how much he might want to look like a movie star, those eyes would be his downfall. Shannon approached him and asked, “Are you Starks?”

Something close to amusement flickered in the dark hollows of the man’s eyes. He smiled amiably at Shannon, “You the PI Rude sent over?”

Shannon nodded, showed him his license. Starks seemed satisfied with it. He nodded towards Maguire. “What about him-your friend along for the giggles?”

“I’m training him in the business.”

“Yeah, well, you and Junior PI follow me.”

Starks got out from behind the counter and led them to a backroom. “Okay, friend,” he said to Shannon. “Let me see who you’re interested in.”

Shannon handed him pictures of Carver and Gibson. Starks smiled pleasantly at them. “Oh, these two honeys,” he said. “Yeah, they’re very active in the types of films you’re asking about. I’m a big fan of their work. I should be able to get you a complete collection.”

Starks went through several boxes against the wall. It took him a while, but when he was done he raked his fingers through his hair to straighten it and handed Shannon a stack of DVDs. Shannon counted seven of them. “A hundred and seventy-five bucks a piece,” Starks said. “And worth every penny of it. All the chicks in these are absolutely gorgeous. Nothing but honeys.”

There were no titles on them, but each DVD cover showed pictures of either Linda with another woman or a threesome with Carver joining in. Shannon could feel his palms sweat when he recognized Melissa Cousins in one of the pictures. Another showed the same woman who had confronted him at True Light’s compound. Others looked familiar.

“Any idea how much money someone can make producing these?” Shannon asked.

“Not my expertise. I’m only the little guy in the chain who sells them. But there’s big bucks involved. A large market for these puppies, and for good reason. They’re more raw, more alive than X-rated productions. And as you can see, much more expensive. But after a while you get bored with the studio releases, so what are you going to do?”