Kharma's Pursuit: Blunt Force Kharma, #3

By M.E. Purfield

He hides in plain sight.

He's waits for her.

He wants her dead.

 

On a distant planet, private investigator Kelly Kharma wallows in a pit of depression. The love of her life left her and society grows worse. She keeps moving forward, though. To keep her sanity, to fix society.

 

When she's asked to recover a stolen artifact and protect a dancer from a stalker, she discovers that moving forward might not be the best option. 

 

Old enemies and an old love still won't let her go.

 

Join the readers of this sci-fi urban noir where the bodies drop and questions arise in the darkest of mysteries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: trash books
• Release date: Jul 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386595069

M.E. Purfield

M.E. Purfield is the autistic author who writes novels and short stories in the genres of crime, sci-fi, dark fantasy, and Young Adult. Sometimes all in the same story. Notably, he works on the Tenebrous Chronicles which encompasses the Miki Radicci Series, The Cities Series, and the Radicci Sisters Series, and also the sci-fi, neuro-diverse Auts series of short stories.

Book preview

Part 7

She stared out at the world moving on the other side of the large picture window of her office. It was lunchtime and working-class men wearing denim and flack jackets walked by to the Heritage bar and diner on the corner where they would stuff their faces full of synthetic burgers and curly fries. A few women meshed with them; secretaries, assembly-line workers from the cell phone factory, and the occasional mother pushing a stroller. Hover cars parked up and down on the cobblestone, never staying too long since there was no parking allowed. She didn’t see any of this action. It was all a blur. What was going on inside herself was too distracting.

Kharma sat behind her desk. The report she just finished for her last case glowed on the flat screen monitor. Another runaway. A fourteen-year-old boy. He was missing for three days when his parents came into her office. Before they talked to Kharma they went to the FOP and filed a missing person claim. As usual, it would take them weeks before they could even start their search. The dad was so upset he screamed at the FOP officer, What the hell am I paying premiums for if you can’t go out and do the job? Kharma was sure that the FOP officer didn’t want to find the boy. The company worked on claims as they received them and finding a person, let alone a crafty kid who usually didn’t want to be found, used a lot of resources that took a lot of time and money. And like most companies, the FOP had budget shifts and cuts that affected how they served their clients.

The parents were so relieved when Kharma said she could start right away. She found the boy in two days. He was with a group of other runaway and homeless kids who camped out on the west side border of the Central District. All the kids huddled between makeshift walls and campfires to block the cold desert wind that blew against them and the city. Kharma didn’t understand why they chose the west side when if they chose the east, they could be nestled between the city and suburban sections where the wind wouldn’t be that rough.

The boy didn’t return with Kharma right away. He didn’t run either. She urged him to talk and found out that he left because he was scared his parents would find out about a bad grade on a big test. Kharma shook her head and assured him that there was no way they would be mad now. She promised to be there when he told them the news and protect him. The boy agreed to return with her.

Before they left, Kharma took one last glance at the dirty young faces to make sure they didn’t match any of the cases she had open for missing kids. She thought that she should take a picture of them with her tablet and analyze it later, but then the kids might run off into the shadows and she may never find them again.

When Kharma returned the boy to his parents and he told them why he ran away, they took the boy into their arms. They gushed how much they were worried about him and how there was no test grade to make them hate him.

Kharma hit save on the report and emailed it to the parents along with an itemized bill of her services. After she pressed send, she planted her elbows to the desk and rubbed her eyes.

The front door rang. Kharma glanced up at the man in his late thirties wearing a suit and tie. His light blue eyes rested deep in a clean-shaven face. Right away Kharma thought: lawyer. She stood as he approached her.

Kelly Kharma? he asked.

That’s right.

He offered his soft manicured hand and shook hers. She noticed how he didn’t flinch at her appearance. Not that she was wearing shabby clothes today, just that her dark skin had patches of missing pigment making it look like pink blotches; on large one the ran from forehead to chin and spots on the other side. Usually people off the street would react to her face, trying to decide if she was African or Caucasian. Unless they were referred. In that case, whoever referred Kharma would mention her appearance to help identify her.

My name is Alphonse American.

Kharma motioned to the most comfortable chair in front of her desk. He nodded and sat, crossing his skinny legs and placing his clasped hands on his knee.

She sat down with him.

Are you a lawyer, Mr. American?

Yes. How did you know?

Kharma shrugged.

I guess we lawyers have an air about us, hm? Must be the slime in our aura.

He smiled. Kharma smiled back, genuine.

Did someone refer you to me?

Not exactly, he said. The last few years your name has been mentioned in passing with other representatives. I so happen to need someone now, so I let fate bring me here. You ever have times like that? It’s like, if you hear the word shrimp all day and finally, at dinner, you eat a plate of shrimp.

Sure. I guess.

Anyway, I represent a client who has a problem and I hope you can help, he said. Recently he had something stolen and he would like to acquire it back.

If your client has you here now, then he must also be paying his FOP premiums. Why not get them involved?

He doesn’t want to involve the FOP.

Kharma sighed.

What was stolen must be illegal.

Oh, no, no, no, Mr. American said. Not at all. Just extremely valuable within the sentimental family context. An heirloom.

Okay. What is this heirloom?

I can’t say but I assure you it is legal to own and my client has full right over it.

Mr. American...

Please, call me Alphonse.

Alphonse, I would like to help but not knowing what I’m supposed to find will make the search extremely difficult.

I don’t see why. All you need to do is find the man who stole it. He should have it on him or know where he sold it to, if that is the case.

Kharma shook her head. She imagined facing the thief if she found him.

I want it back, Kharma would say.

Want what back? the thief would ask.

I don’t know.

Yeah, that should be fun.

Maybe if I talked to your client first? Kharma asked. What did you say his name is?

I didn’t. I made sure of that. My client wishes to remain anonymous. He values his privacy and does not want to risk information about this situation airing out.

So you want me to look for something for someone.

Precisely.

I’m sorry, Mr. – er – Alphonse. But I’m going to have to turn you down. In my line of work I need information to go on.

You will have access to the scene of the crime and you can ask me any questions as they refer to the crime and item. I know everything my client knows. You can question me as if you were questioning him. Plus, he said, my client would like to pay you for your extra work and patience. Would eight hundred thousand credits a week be adequate compensation?

Kharma noticed that her jaw dropped.

I have a feeling it would, American said. Just think of the small vacation you could take or perhaps all the divorce cases you could decline for a few months.

Eight hundred thousand credits a week? she asked.

Plus, expenses and a sizable bonus if the heirloom is found. I can have the first week dropped into your account by the end of today.

I guess I can give it a shot.

American gave Kharma the address of his client’s house and made an appointment with her to meet the next day. True to his word, the eight hundred thousand credits were in her account by five PM at the end of the day.

Don’t you want me to come out right away and get a jump on things? she asked.

I’m sure a few more hours will not hurt the matter anymore, American said. Besides, my client has meetings in his home today and wishes not to be disturbed with personal matters. So I will see you then.

The lawyer smiled and left the office.

Kharma opened her databases on the computer and ran a search on the client’s address. It was in the Suburban Section, which didn’t surprise her. The houses were more expensive and only the upper class was able to afford the high price tags. Oddly there was no name attached to the deed but a business: Lemming, Inc. She ran a search on Lemming and found that it produced bolts and screws and was founded out of Mars. Based on the information listed, Lars Reinhold was the CEO of the company. Did that mean he was the client? Maybe. Or maybe one of the other higher executives lived in the house; win the job and win a home kind of deal.

She tried finding out about Lars Reinhold and came up with just basic information. Date of birth, financial/security number, and hover car license number. Using the basic search on the Internet, his name came up for business news articles but nothing scandalous was reported. She clicked on every one of the articles. After a while she stopped reading them and hoped that a picture would come up. It didn’t. Maybe if she went back and checked the Division of Hover Vehicles she would find a picture but she doubted there would be one. When applying for a license, they gave you the option of having your picture taken. If the client was Reinhold, and was a stickler about security and privacy, he probably opted out of having his picture taken.

Kharma sat back and sighed. At least she had something more than before.

Kharma parked her hovercar across the street from the Mexican Diner. It was still open and filled with a few late night eaters. Through the laser proof window she could see a few old men sitting at the counter sipping caffeine or eating cake. A few couples, probably back from the movie theatre down the street, sat in booths by the window and ate their late dinners. She tried not to focus on them, but their happiness for each other distracted her.

The reason why Kharma remained in the car was behind the counter. A pretty blond waitress a few years younger than her with a delicate face, blue eyes, and a scar running down her cheek. She poured caffeine for the men and shared smiles with them. Kharma knew they were flirting with her. When the blond turned to walk away and her hips swayed under the uniform anyone in their right mind would want to be close to her.

Kharma continued to sit and wait for the waitress to smile at a customer since she would never smile for her again. Sometimes she spaced out and thought about the sweet times she had with her. Sometimes, she spent her time fighting back tears.

The next morning, Kharma drove out to the Suburban Section. She left the city through the East Side and traveled at a steady space over the few miles of a thin asphalt road that cut through the desert. She always thought it was funny that they created so much space between the city and the suburbs. Maybe the people who bought the