Bad Karma (27 page)

Shannon nodded towards a monitor and DVD player in the room. “I’d like to look at them first before buying.”

Starks’ eyes glazed. He smiled at Shannon. “Yeah, sure, friend, if that’s what you’d like. I’d have to ask for a small rental fee. Thirty bucks per DVD. Cash only.”

Shannon was tapped out at a hundred and fifty cash. Maguire came up with the rest. Starks took the cash and gave both men an oily smile. “Knock yourself out, boys,” he said before leaving.

There were a couple of chairs by the monitor and DVD player. Shannon and Maguire both elected to stand. Shannon went through each DVD as quickly as he could, fast-forwarding through most of it and stopping only to try to recognize the women involved. They all started off the same, with Linda taking one of the cult members to the bed, the two women undressing, engaging in different sex acts, then later Carver joining in. Through all of it either heavy metal or grunge music blasted in the background. Nirvana and Metallica were used a lot. A few times instead of Carver, an ugly skinny kid with tattoos took his place. After a couple of times coming across this same kid, Shannon realized he was Carver’s brother, Randall.

As he fast-forwarded through the last of the DVDs, Maguire elbowed him. “Back it up a little and play it again at normal speed.” Shannon did, and he caught what Maguire had seen. The woman in the shot glanced towards a corner of the room and smiled vacantly. It seemed like an odd thing for her to do, as if she were subserviently acknowledging someone. Shannon went back through a couple of the other DVDs looking for the same gesture and found that all of the women in them did the same thing. He realized why. Paveeth must have been sitting off camera observing.

By the time he was finished viewing the DVDs, he had matched three women to the photographs Maguire had taken, and, along with Melissa Cousins, had recognized other women from his time in the True Light compound. He was also pretty sure he had seen the redhead that Eddie had described to him.

“Why do I now feel like scrubbing myself with sulfuric acid?” Maguire remarked.

“I don’t know, but save some for me.”

“Do you think any of the girls knew they were being filmed?”

“No.”

Maguire thought about that, his eyes dull as he shook his head. “I still can’t believe those two were making videos like that right next door to me.”

Shannon shrugged. Watching the DVDs didn’t leave him in much of a mood for small talk. He tried the door, found it locked and banged on it. Starks opened it and walked in. The two farm boys who’d been milling about the store followed behind him.

Shannon handed him the stack of DVDs and told him which one he wanted to buy. He needed one of them to prove the connection between Paveeth and the murdered students, and he chose one which didn’t feature Melissa Cousins but where he was able to recognize most of the women as cult members. Starks checked all the DVD boxes to make sure that nothing had been taken. Shannon asked him whether he took credit cards.

Starks smiled amiably and raked his fingers through his long hair. “Sorry, friend, these items are cash only. Can’t afford to leave any sort of paper trail. You understand.”

Maguire offered to go to a cash machine. Shannon gave him his car keys, and Starks opened the door to let him out. The next ten minutes waiting for Maguire were long ones. Starks, along with the two large farm boys stood silently smirking at Shannon, as if he were a member of their fraternity. And they smelled bad, Starks with his heavy musk cologne and the two farm boys smelling like onions and sweat. When Maguire returned with the money he was out of breath, a sheen of perspiration covering his face. Starks counted the money and stepped aside to let them pass.

When they got in the car, Shannon headed towards 36 West to take them back to Boulder. Neither of them seemed in much of a mood to talk. After about twenty minutes Maguire commented that it didn’t seem like Starks had any idea that the ‘two honeys’ were the college students who were killed.

“I don’t think he did either, which is just as well. Otherwise, he would’ve jacked up the price.”

There was another long period of silence before Maguire asked whether the DVDs would tie the cult to his neighbors’ murders.

“I’m hoping so. It pretty much shows that Paveeth, Carver and Linda Gibson were partners in making these films. I’m also now having second thoughts about whether the killers knew about the hidden camera. Paveeth would’ve known about it and so would his Russian muscle. It could explain why the killers were lucky enough to stay out of the video.”

Shannon’s cell phone rang. It was Susan. In a rushed breathless voice she told him she was in trouble. That she was at True Light’s compound.

A slow panic took over as Susan’s words made sense to him. He thought about the Russians being in his apartment, about them seeing pictures of Susan and knowing who she was. He could hear himself asking her to tell him what happened.

“I went back there. Now don’t get mad at me! I know I shouldn’t’ve but I wanted to get some of that incense so you’d be able to have it analyzed. Two men came into the cult–”

“Wait a minute. Describe them.”

“I think they were both cult members. They were both young, bald, wearing white robes.”

“Yeah, okay, I know who you’re talking about.”

“Bill, I think they were looking for me. It was the way they were staring at me. I’m not sure, but I think they might’ve had a picture of me. They selected some of the other women there to meet Vishna. Before I knew what was happening, they grabbed me also. They took our backpacks and pocketbooks from us and herded us into a van. The other women went willingly, but there was nothing I could do, it happened so fast and I was just dragged along with them!”

“Where are you now?”

“They separated me from the rest of them. I think I’m in the same room you were locked in. There’s no handle on the door. Thank God they didn’t search me, otherwise they would’ve found my cell phone , and thank God they’re making them so small these days! I’m scared, Bill–”

Shannon heard a door being opened, then Susan demanding that she be released. A vaguely familiar voice hushed her, telling her how much he’d been waiting to meet her. The phone went dead. Shannon realized the familiar voice was Dmitry’s.

He was fifteen miles from the True Light compound. Tossing Maguire his cell phone, he told him to call both 911 and Lieutenant Mark Daniels and tell them that his ex-wife’s been kidnapped and taken to True Light. He pushed hard on the gas pedal until his foot pressed against the floor of the car. The car jerked forward, accelerating until it topped out at one hundred and ten miles per hour. The traffic was light but Shannon still had to weave between cars, and at one point, squeezed between two trucks. He ignored both of their horn blasts and Maguire’s yelling, his knuckles a hard white as he gripped the wheel, his leg muscles straining to keep him in his seat. He didn’t let up on the accelerator until the True Light compound came into sight. There were no police cruisers there. He had beaten them to the place.

He skidded to a stop by the main gate, got out and found the .38 snub nose in his trunk. Taking a running jump, he was able to get halfway up the metal fence and pull himself over. On the way down, he ripped his hand on the spike topping one of the posts but ignored it and raced to the side of the building where he knew the solarium was. A dozen or so women in white robes sat inside. A few of them noticed him and gawked. He shot one bullet through the glass pane to structurally weaken it. That got the dozen or so cult members inside screaming and scurrying from the area. Shannon shoved the revolver in his waistband, found a small boulder, maybe thirty pounds, and slammed it against the bullet hole. The pane shattered into a hard rain of jagged glass. Taking the gun in his hand, Shannon ran through the opening. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur of motion, and dropped quickly to his knees. The larger stooge, Curly, tumbled over him as he ran to throw a haymaker and lay sprawled on the floor. Shannon flipped him over and grabbed him by the throat. Pieces of broken glass had sliced the stooge’s face up and he was bleeding from dozens of wounds. He also looked like he was about to go into shock.

Shannon slapped him hard across the face. That brought his eyes back to life. His little mouth screwed up and he spat out that he would live his life in bliss.

Shannon slapped him again. “Where’d they take her?”

“Bliss!” the stooge yelled at him.

“Forget bliss, you’ll be lucky to get Centennial Prison. You tell me where they took her, or I’ll start knocking your teeth out. And Curly, that will make you a popular guy at Centennial.”

“Bliss!” the stooge yelled.

Shannon whacked his mouth with the butt end of the gun knocking out the stooge’s front teeth. He showed the stooge one of them, and the stooge’s mouth puckered up as if he were about to start bawling. “The dungeon,” he cried when he saw the gun lifted again. “They took her to the dungeon!”

“Where the fuck’s that?”

The stooge started bawling. Shannon slapped him again in the face, but saw it was useless. He wasn’t going to get anything more from him. As he stood up, he saw the smaller stooge watching from a distance, a tentative look on his face. Their eyes met and the stooge started running. Shannon chased after him. All around him women in white robes were wailing away. He pushed his way past them. The smaller stooge led him down a hallway he hadn’t seen before. Almost as if it were happening in slow motion, a panel in the wall slid open and Dmitry appeared. The Russian moved faster than he did, raising a .45 caliber automatic and firing. Shannon threw himself to the floor. On his way down the bullet tore through his right shoulder. He landed with a thud, got his left arm stretched out in front of him and fired off two shots leaving red dots on Dmitry’s chest. The Russian looked curiously at the expanding dots, then his knees buckled and he fell dead.

Shannon’s shoulder felt like it was on fire. As if someone were jabbing inside of him with a red-hot poker. The room started to spin but he got to his feet and steadied himself, his right arm limp at his side, blood dripping down his fingers. He could feel a wet stickiness spreading down his body. He knew he was bleeding badly. Only half aware of it, he looked at his blood and gore splattered on the wall next to him, then pushed himself forward. He stepped over Dmitry’s body and went through the opening in the wall. This led him down a narrow corridor and into the dungeon.

He stood dazed for a second, not quite believing what he saw—it was like something out of medieval times. Manacles hung from the ceiling, swords, maces and other similar-type weapons were mounted on the back wall. Susan lay chained to a table in the middle of the room that was tilted at a forty-five degree angle. Her eyes were open and her head rolled slowly from side to side. She was out of it, obviously drugged. Standing next to her was a man wearing a black leather hood and nothing else. He was in the process of cutting off Susan’s clothing with a dagger. When he saw Shannon raise his gun, the man put the edge of the dagger to Susan’s throat.

“Put down gun,” he croaked out in a thick Russian accent, “or I cut her head off–”

Shannon shot him once in his left eye. The man fell backwards and the dagger clattered harmlessly to the floor.

“Susan, are you okay? Can you hear me?” Shannon yelled out. Her head rolled to face him, but there was no recognition in her eyes. He moved towards her, and only then noticed the tripod and video camera set up in the shadows of the room. Behind them Anil Paveeth sat in a chair, his face blank, his eyes darting from Shannon to the dead Russian on the floor.

Shannon pointed his gun at him and yelled for him to put his hands on his head. Paveeth complied. Keeping an eye on Paveeth, he made his way over to Susan. Both her ankles were manacled to the table, her wrists also manacled with her arms pulled over her head. Her shirt had been ripped open by the dagger. He pulled the fabric aside and saw that she hadn’t been cut. He put a hand to her cheek. Her skin felt cold.

“What did you drug her with?” The cult leader’s face looked small as it stared out from the shadows, his black eyes now darting from Shannon to the opening in the wall. “Rohypnol,” Paveeth said in a scared little boy’s voice.

Shannon examined one of the manacles. “Where are the keys?”

“I will give it to you.”

Paveeth started to stand. Shannon leveled the gun towards his chest. “Stay seated. I’ll get it from you.”

Paveeth lowered himself back down. Moving on pure adrenaline now and feeling his strength ebbing fast, Shannon made his way over to him. He transferred the gun to his dead right hand so he could take the key with his left. With his shoulder chewed up by a .45 slug, he couldn’t raise his right arm but he still kept the gun level with Paveeth. He could see the thought cross the cult leader’s dark face. “You can try it,” Shannon said. “But I’ll get a shot off.” Paveeth sank lower in his chair and handed Shannon a key.

Shannon walked back to Susan, all the while keeping Paveeth in his field of vision. He tried calling the police on his cell phone, but was unable to get a signal to dial out on. Gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the red-hot pain pulsating through his injured shoulder and the coolness pushing through his skull, he worked on the manacles. It was awkward, though, using one hand, and he couldn’t get them unlocked.

“You look very pale,” Paveeth noted, his voice more of the lyrical sing-song that Shannon had heard earlier. “I think you have lost a great deal of blood. Why don’t you sit and I will unchain her for you.”

Shannon transferred the gun to his left hand and waved it at Paveeth. “Get over here and take these off her.”

Paveeth moved like a ghost in his yellow robe as he glided from his chair to the table. Shannon handed him the key, took several steps back to watch as Paveeth removed the manacles. Standing there, he fought to keep his mind clear and to keep the room from spinning any further. Pain from his shoulder radiated down his arm. It pulsated through his wrist, his hand, even in his missing fingers. With his gun hand he touched his side, feeling the stickiness and dampness of his shirt. He knew if he looked down he’d see that it was drenched in blood. He didn’t want to look down…