I finished lacing up my boots and took a look at myself in the mirror. I had kept my promise to myself and had gotten that haircut and shave, and now when I stared at my reflection I saw a glimmer of the man I used to be. I checked out my side profile and was pleased to see that I had managed to fit comfortably into the old pair of black pants I was wearing. They were still tight and snug, but then again, they were supposed to be.
I looked at the clock. Five minutes to go. A wave of nausea washed over me and I ran to the washroom and braced myself against a sink. After a few moments the feeling passed, and I returned to the bench and took a seat.
“Ounstead,” he said, walking into the room. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“It’s fucking nuts out there.”
“Yeah, well, I’m going a little nuts in here.”
He took a seat next to me on the bench. “You regret your decision?”
“No.”
“Good. C’mon, it’s time.” I jumped to my feet and bounced on my toes, swinging my arms in circles and from side to side. Bert Grasby crossed his chubby arms over his belly and eyed me curiously.
“There’s still one thing I don’t understand about our arrangement,” he said.
“I thought it was pretty clear.”
“The SUV.”
“What about it?”
“Why did it have to be no older than 1998?”
“Airbags,” I replied. “That’s the year they became standard issue.”
Grasby smirked. “You know, if I had known what a crazy son-of-a-bitch you were I never would have come after you in the first place.”
“I guess I underestimated you too. That was a pretty shrewd move renegotiating our terms. I was dead set on this being a one-time only kind of deal.”
“So what’s a few more? Besides, it’s better for everybody. Wouldn’t you rather be here than that dumpy community centre?”
“I don’t care about the venue.”
“Well, I sure as shit do. I’m making such a killing off this whole thing it actually makes me grateful I took that beating.”
I followed Grasby out of the locker room and down one of the long dark hallways within the bowels of the PNE Agrodome. The rustic sports arena had a five-thousand-seat capacity when configured for the type of event it was hosting on this particular evening, and the musty air was still thick with smells of sawdust and horse manure from the previous night’s equestrian show.
An announcer’s voice boomed in the distance. The hallway around me seemed to constrict the closer I got to the red velvet curtain.
“ — and the reigning XCCW champion, hailing from Tijuana, Mexico, ‘The Original Baja Bad Boy’, ‘The Tequila Tornado’, the one, the only . . . EL GUAPO!”
Latino rap pounded out of the building’s sound system as the crowd erupted, a mixture of cheers and boos. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to ignore the hammering of my heart against my rib cage. I gripped the weakened two-by-four piece of wood in my hand tightly and waited for the announcer to continue.
“And introducing the challenger, a hometown boy, hailing from Vancouver, British Columbia, making his first return to the ring in nearly three years, ‘The Best From The West,’ ‘The Thunder With Lumber,’ the former Tag-Team and Intercontinental Champion of the world . . . ‘HAMMERHEAD’ JED OUNSTEAD!”
The crowd exploded into a thunderous ovation. Chants of “Ham-mer-head! Ham-mer-head!” broke out amidst the ravenous applause. The sound of Jeff Beck’s wailing guitar blared as his instrumental rock song “Hammerhead” stirred the wrestling fans even more. I waited for my customary cue, and when the song’s bass kicked in I gave Grasby the nod and he pulled back the curtain. I stepped out into the sports arena and strode toward the ring, just as I had done so many times before.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing this book, and being fortunate enough to get it published, has been the culmination of a long personal journey for me. As a result, I would be remiss if I didn’t take this opportunity to properly thank the people who were vital in making my dream of seeing the character of “Hammerhead” Jed Ounstead on bookshelves a reality. I have many more Jed stories that I would like to tell, and the ending of the book you just read also feels like a beginning to me.
The name Ounstead has a special meaning in my heart, as it was the surname of my grandparents neighbours and dear friends who spent many of my childhood birthdays knitting me sweaters or keeping me stocked up on socks and underwear. Phonetically, they pronounced their name “OW-n-STED,” so if I’m lucky enough to have you join Jed and me for future adventures I wanted to share how I hear his name in my head.
I must start by thanking my late professor, mentor, and great friend Leonard Schrader, to whom this book is dedicated. I would also like to thank his wife Chieko Schrader for all of her years of support. Leonard’s influence is all over this book and to this day I still hear his voice when I write. Without Leonard’s years of sharing his wisdom, nurturing my work, and collaboration Cobra Clutch simply wouldn’t exist. I would also like to thank Anna Thomas, as if it were not for her pushing me in her writing workshops at The American Film Institute many years ago the character of Rya would not have become the take-no-crap badass that she is.
Fellow Chapman University alumni, Schrader protégé, and award-winning crime writer Theresa Schwegel has been unbelievably generous to me over the years, and I am indebted to her for her astute guidance as I followed in her footsteps and navigated my way from screenwriting to crime writing. Author David Russell has been a stalwart friend who has helped me acclimate to Canadian crime writing, and his witty protagonist Winston Patrick from his own series of mysteries was also an inspiration for Jed’s sense of humour.
Thank you to BC crime authors Sam Wiebe, Cathy Ace, R.M. Greenaway, Elle Wild, Sheena Kamal, Eileen Cook, Debra Purdy Kong and all my Canadian crime writing colleagues who have been so supportive and patient, despite me spending years popping up at author event after author event, peppering them with questions or simply learning by their example. Thank you to Crime Writers of Canada as well as everyone who read and wrote a blurb for Cobra Clutch and I hope to return the favour in the future.
Thank you to Sean O’Brien, my long-time best friend and ambassador of my quan, whose friendship has never meant more to me than it does now. Thank you to Andrey and Nina Schmidt, Andrew Huzar, Nancy Johnston, Caleb Harder, Mike Smith and everyone who read early drafts of Cobra Clutch and gave me valuable feedback. And a special thank you to Darren “The Rocket” Stein, “Hammerhead” Jed Ounstead’s biggest fan, whose continued support and passion for the character motivates me so very much.
Thank you to my amazing publisher NeWest Press. It’s an honour to be part of the NeWest family and I will do my best to make you proud. In particular, thank you to the talented Claire Kelly for the endless amount of effort she puts forth for her authors as Marketing and Production Coordinator. Thank you to my outstanding editor Merrill Distad, whose unparalleled experience and sagacity immediately elevated my work to another level (there’s another Scrabble word for you, Merrill!). And a monumental thank you to NeWest Press General Manager Matt Bowes, who believed in Cobra Clutch from the start, and saw something when other agents and publishers did not.
Thank you to my friend and neighbour, retired VPD Sergeant 1314 Joel Johnston. Not only was Joel’s input absolutely invaluable with regards to accurately depicting the Vancouver Police Department, but also the ride-along I took with him and the VPD Beat Enforcement Team around the Downtown Eastside was a remarkable experience that allowed me to better understand, capture, and reflect the city in which Jed lives. Thank you to my cousin Jamey Gillis and Rob Ancell of Ancell Marketing for helping me with my social media (#ajdevlinauthor) and designing my website (ajdevlin.com). And thank you to my photographer Gina Spanos, who made taking
author headshots as much fun as when my family and I take our annual photos.
Thank you to the world of professional wrestling, particularly indy wrestling. Thank you to pro-wrestler Tony Baroni and ECCW in Vancouver for putting on regular shows that I could attend for research and for inspiring the creation of XCCW in Cobra Clutch. Thank you to every pro-wrestler out there who pulls up his or her tights, night in and night out, only to beat the hell out of their bodies just to entertain the fans.
Finally, thank you to all of my friends and family for the never-ending love and support. Thank you to my sister and parents for never giving up on me, and a special thanks to my Kindle-loving mother Dianne who takes it upon herself to keep me apprised of the latest in crime fiction (whether I ask her to or not). Thank you to my late grandfather Bill Gillis, who took a chance on a naïve but hungry nineteen-year-old kid and cut a tuition cheque because he didn’t want his grandson to ever look back and regret not having chased his dreams, despite how improbable they may have been. Thank you to my two beautiful children, who not only make me a better writer, but who also truly give my life purpose. And last but not least, thank you to my wonderful wife Susie. I love you and our children so very much, and while I will spend the rest of my life trying, I can never fully repay you for the years of support, encouragement, faith, and patience that you have so generously and lovingly shown me.
— A.J.D.
A.J. Devlin grew up in Greater Vancouver before moving to Southern California for six years where he earned a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Screenwriting from Chapman University and a Master of Fine Arts in Screenwriting from The American Film Institute. After working as a screenwriter in Hollywood he moved back home to Port Moody, BC, where he now lives with his wife and two children.
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