Bad Karma by Dave Zeltserman Page B

said. “For a while it looked like we were all going to make millions. But it was an illusion. There was nothing backing these companies up, no real fundamentals anyway. So when nine-eleven happened, the whole damn bubble burst.”
    The pink in his cheeks dropped a shade as he thought about it. “While it looked like everybody in my industry was making millions, the reality was most of us made nothing. Worse than that, a lot of people got wiped out buying worthless stock options and then having to pay taxes on paper gains that never existed. The small startup I was at had an offer for two billion before nine-eleven. The greedy son-of-a-bitch founders and venture capitalists turned it down thinking they could go IPO and make ten billion. Want to guess how much I would’ve made if they took that two billion dollar offer?”
    “A million dollars,” Shannon said.
    “Try six million. Instead, the company goes belly up. They closed their doors the day before Christmas Eve, 2001. I didn’t even get a severance package out of the deal.”
    Maguire became quiet, appearing to lose himself in his thoughts. After taking a deep breath and letting it out in a long exhalation, he went on, “At that time there was nothing in Massachusetts. The job market for guys like me was completely dead. Worse even than in California, which was a nuclear meltdown. It took me nine months to find a job here in Boulder and I considered myself lucky to’ve found it. A year later that company went out of business. But for once my luck didn’t completely stink and six months after that I was able to find another job down the same street from where I was working. At least I didn’t have to pack up and move again. With all the outsourcing going on, it’s looking like my days as a software engineer are winding down.” He showed Shannon a half-hearted smile. “C’est la vie,” he said. “Maybe my next career will be doing PI work like you. I’m always reading PI novels. I can’t get enough of that stuff, and I’d have to think I’d have a blast being a PI.”
    “It’s a little different in real life,” Shannon said.
    “Maybe.” Maguire pulled onto US 36 heading to Denver, his smile hardening as he stared straight ahead. “But it still has to beat sitting at a desk twelve hours a day working on the most bore-ass software imaginable. After twenty years, it gets old.”
    As Shannon waited for Maguire to start up his monologue again, he saw what looked like a group of dogs off in the distance. Even though they were too far away to make out any details, he could tell by the way their backs were hunched and the feral way in which they moved that they were coyotes. He watched them until they faded from the horizon. When it became clear that Maguire had talked himself out, he asked how long he had lived in his condo.
    “Time for the questioning, huh? Since we moved here. I guess almost three years.”
    “How about Taylor Carver and Linda Gibson?”
    “What about them?”
    “When did they move into your building?”
    He thought about it. “Over a year ago. Probably the beginning of last summer.”
    “Did you know them?”
    “Not really.” He showed a pained grimace as he thought about it. “They were sort of standoffish,” he said. “Not the friendliest types. Plus they were students while me and my wife are past forty. I tried inviting them over a couple times for barbecue, but they didn’t seem interested. Then school started for them and work got crazy for me, and I just didn’t bother after that. I guess I could’ve put in more of an effort. I feel bad about it after what happened. Terrible thing.”
    “Any of your neighbors friends with them?”
    “I don’t think so. Most of us living there are working types. These were college kids. They seemed to want to hang out with their own kind.”
    “A lot of people going in and out of their apartment?”
    “I don’t know if I can answer that. Tonight’s pretty unusual for me.