Karma (29 page)

David Abbott sat in his study, going through his files
and laughing his ass off. Real life was so much more amusing than anything he
saw on TV or read in books.

David was a cheerful man who liked being on his own. His
business, 'Abbott Investigations' had prospered. He had put money away to the
point that he could take whatever case interested him, or ignore that ones that
didn't.

He and his wife had divorced a few years ago, and now
they got on better than ever. His kids were fine, and he had a couple of
healthy grandchildren.

He took a pull on his beer, and grinned. The re-investigation
of Trent Berger was now concluded. For his own entertainment David had
investigated John Cooper and Martin Quinn, his two new clients as well.

Talk about a small world!

Debra Berger was Trent Berger's wife. Twenty-five years
old, she was sweet, naïve and very Christian. How had she ended up with a
complete asshole like Berger? Yet Debra had apparently recently fallen in love
with the pool guy, Martin Quinn.

Martin Quinn was finishing his veterinary degree this
year. Clean record, top of his class. Martin was a genuinely nice kid from
everyone David had spoken to. Martin cleaned the Berger's pool and also went to
Debra's church.

Debra's father, John Cooper was a tough customer, a
dangerous man with a murky history. When Cooper found out about his son–in-law,
shit was going to hit the fan. Berger was not only cheating on Cooper's only
child, he was also stealing money from the business.

The business Cooper owned half of.

Mike Thompson, David's old school friend had started this
whole thing off. Mike was in love with Berger's ex-wife, but, he also knew
Martin Quinn as Martin was his pool guy, too.

Vegas it seemed, was really a very small world.

Did Mike know that Martin Quinn, his pool guy, had fallen
in love with Berger's wife? David had found no evidence that Quinn and Debra
Berger were banging each other, but that didn't mean anything. When Martin Quinn
received the information on Berger, what would he do? Tell Debra for a start. But
what would happen next?

David Abbott stood up and made a phone call to Martin
Quinn. He would give the kid a head start on this information. At least a week
or two ahead of Debra's father, John Cooper.

It would be fun to watch the results.

Light the match, and throw it in the ring. See what, if
anything exploded.

Debra's father, John Cooper could wait. That man would
charge in like a maddened bull. The important question was, what would the
young lovers, Debra and Martin do when they found out the results of his
investigation?

~~~

Two
weeks later, on a Friday afternoon, Trent Berger was having an incredibly bad day.

He
had tried to use the credit in his account and the card had been declined. He
went to the bank, and found every penny of his joint account with his wife, Debra,
was gone. He had phoned her over and over, and each time his messages went to voice
mail.

In
a rage he left work early, and drove home to confront her. The bitch had packed
up her things. She was gone. He re-read the letter she had written him.

Trent,

I
am leaving you.

I
had a private investigator look into your activities. You have been taking our money
and siphoning it off to a personal off shore account. You have also been having
casual sex with two different women that I am aware of.

I
have taken all the money from our join account. You can have the offshore
account money. Daddy owns over half of your business. You can settle business
matters with him.

The
specifics are in the hands of my attorney, and my accountant. I have left a
Power of Attorney with daddy. If you have questions deal with him.

I
hope you do not intend to contest our divorce. If you do I will send the information
I have concerning your offshore account to the IRS.

Calamity
has come upon you,

Debra

Proverbs
6: 12-6 A worthless person, a wicked man, goes about with crooked speech, winks
with his eyes, signals with his feet, points with his finger, with perverted
heart devises evil, continually sowing discord. Therefore calamity will come
upon him suddenly, in a moment he will be broken beyond healing.

Fuck,
fuck, fuck, fuck!
Trent thought wildly.

What
was he going to do now? How could this happen to him? That treacherous selfish
bitch! Trent owned nothing except his car, and even that had payments due on it.
Even their house was in her daddy's name. It had been given to them to live in,
fully furnished. Trent couldn't sell it.

Stupid
fucking bitch!

What
would happen to his business? Debra's father, John Cooper, was a large, angry, serious
son of a bitch. He would destroy him! Jesus! Did Debra tell daddy that he had
cheated on her?

The
idea was terrifying.

Trent
poured himself out a generous glass of single malt scotch to calm his nerves.
There had to be a way out of this mess. Everything he had worked for was
turning to shit because of one stupid cunt! He only got married because it made
him look good, and for the financial security that came with her daddy. Not to
mention her father's contacts.

He
took another big gulp. The scotch went down smoothly, putting a fire in his
belly.

Trent
began wandering around the house, figuring out what he could take with him, and
what he could sell. The bitch had taken her jewelry. He packed his clothes,
golf clubs, and computer, but couldn't think of anything else. If he even took
a painting to sell, her daddy would prosecute him for stealing.

No,
he would have to move into a hotel using his credit card for now. He could
contact his lawyer on Monday, and instruct him to try to cut a deal with daddy.
Would daddy respond to blackmail? He wouldn’t like nasty rumors to go around
about his little girl.

Maybe
daddy would settle with him financially as long as he divorced her and left
town?

Defeated,
Trent poured himself another drink and sat down. He deserved better. In another
two years he would have been rich! This was all that treacherous slut, Debra's,
fault.

Wasn't
that just like a woman? She envied his success. She was jealous because she
wasn't good enough for him. Debra had never been supportive.

Trent
reclined back on the couch, drank scotch and felt sorry for himself.

After
awhile he began to cry. Why did this happen to him? Everyone was jealous - that
had to be it. He was powerful, good-looking and smart. They all tried to take
him down. He was the victim here. He had been working his fingers to the bone
to make a good living for his wife, the ungrateful bitch, and what did she do?
Run off like a thief in the night.

Angry
once more, he stood up and had one last look through the house. There was
nothing here for him now. At least he had some money put away in his off shore
account.

Trent
left the lights on, locked the door, and got into his car.

He
decided that he would drive to the
Super 8 Motel
on Las Vegas Boulevard.
The place was $55 a night. Trent had stayed there a few times, for a cheap
place to fuck. It would do until he figured out a way out of this mess.

Officer
Joseph Loughlan of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department sat in his
black and white patrol car with his partner, Max Lemming.

Trent
Berger wasn't the only unhappy man in Vegas. Officer Loughlan was having a
rough day too.

Officer
Joseph Loughlan's wife was pregnant.

That
wasn't the problem. Joseph was looking forward to having their first child. The
problem was that his wife, Tammy, was up all night, and complained all day.
First, it was the morning sickness, then the sore back, then came constipation,
headaches, and reflux and swollen feet.

The
list went on and on.

Her
emotions were all over the place, too – she cried over anything, she cried over
everything. To Joseph, nothing was worse than a woman's tears. He felt totally
helpless when Tammy cried.

Last
night he woke up to the sound of the vacuum cleaner at two am. The crazy woman
had decided that she needed to clean the house. At two am!

Rational
conversation seemed to be out.

Frankly,
right now, Joseph was a little afraid of his wife and her moods. He decided
that it was best to humor a woman that was four weeks away from giving birth. He
gave Tammy whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted it.

He
had to wonder, was all this trouble normal? He hadn't gotten laid for months. Sleep
was difficult while sleeping next to a woman who looked like she had swallowed
a giant beach ball. It was uncomfortable.

When
Joseph talked to other married men, they just laughed at him and said supremely
unhelpful comments like, "If you think that's bad, then wait until the
baby is born!" or "Once you have a baby you're not getting sleep,"
or "You won't get laid then either."

It
was while in that mental turmoil that Joseph saw Trent Berger's white Lexus RX
350 cross the double lines. "Heads-up, Max," he said. "Dangerous
driving – see that?"

"Yeah,
I saw."

Joseph
turned on the siren, flashing lights, and gave pursuit. "Check out that
license plate. What a load of shit."

Robust
snorting laughter filled the car. "Seriously? Who puts something like 'Top
Doc' on their license plate? Oh, this guy is going to be an asshole
alright."

The
car pulled over after awhile, and Joseph and Max got out of the black and white.

"What
do you want?" the driver said belligerently. "I didn’t do anything
wrong."

Officer
Loughlan didn’t like his attitude, but he hadn’t been at all surprised by it. "License
and registration, please," he said.

"Do
you know who I am?"

"No
sir, I don't. License and registration, please."

"Listen,
to me. I'm an important person. I'm powerful and rich. You don’t want to mess
with me."

Joseph
Loughlan felt that on the contrary, he really did want to mess with this
entitled yuppie jerk. Particularly since he could smell the idiot's breath from
outside his ritzy high performance vehicle. The dumb fuck was drunk.

"Step
out of the car, please, sir," he said.

The
driver slid out. Late thirties, he was a tall white man. Despite his inebriated
state, he had a natural inbuilt, 'look at me I'm so important' swagger. He wore
a polo shirt, with an expensive yellow sweater thrown casually over it. Chino
pants, and tan leather boat shoes finished the male model lifestyle look. He
was tan – probably from playing golf. His teeth were a fake, brilliant white.
His watch was a Rolex.

Entitled
yuppie asshole
, John Loughlan thought.

"Sir,"
Officer Loughlan said, "Have you been drinking?" When the driver
didn't reply he added. "Sir, I need you to breathe into this device."

"I
don’t have to," Trent said, in the loud, demanding voice that usually
worked for him.

Trent
hadn't wanted to step out of the car. In fact, he didn’t want to do anything.
In Trent's drunken confusion, this police officer was just another jealous
person, trying to stop him from being at the top of the food chain where he
belonged.

Stupidly,
Trent took a swing.

Trent
Berger was thrown again the side of his car, professionally searched, and
cuffed. Officer Loughlan took a look at the man's wallet.

"Mr.
Trent Berger, you are under arrest for attempted assault on a police officer
and driving under the influence of alcohol," Officer Loughlan said.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used as
evidence against you. You have the right to representation by an attorney.
Should you be unable to afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you by
the State of Nevada free of charge. Do you understand these rights?"

"Fuck
you asshole! I make over five-hundred thousand a year! I could buy you! I could
buy your whole family! I spent more on my tennis shoes than you spent on your
wife's engagement ring."

Loughlan's
jaw tightened as he stopped himself from opening his mouth to reply. The entire
conversation was being recorded. He calmed himself by deciding to put this
lowlife in a police cell over the weekend with the roughest cell mates he could
find.

Maybe
after some thug showed this jerk a little rough love, Mr. Trent Berger wouldn’t
feel so important. Bringing the pompous asshole down a peg or two sounded just
about right.

Max,
his partner opened the back door of his black and white, and pushed the suspect
in. Trent's car was locked and left on the side of the road. Officer Loughlan
would have it towed away later. For now, this yuppie prick, this dickless piece
of shit, was going to jail.

It
seemed that Trent's really bad day was about to get even worse.