Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One

by Adam Knight

  I sighed again. “It’s hard to explain.”

  More silence. I waited her out.

  I could hear her sigh.

  “Why are you coming to me?”

  “Because I know you’re more than just the weathergirl. Because I know you’ve got a file with all recent police reports listed somewhere. Itemized by crime type and location.”

  “You know that?”

  “I do.”

  “You’re sure?”

  A mental image flashed to my forefront. A much younger Cathy acting as group leader for our college magazine creation project, micromanaging everyone else’s assigned duties with a smile. Knowing exactly where each of us were at any given time. Able to step in and finish a piece or a design should any of us fall behind.

  “Absolutely.”

  She laughed ruefully.

  “I’ll check my notes.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I’m coming with you.”

  Shit.

  “Cathy, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “I thought you were just going to talk?” How does one make it sound like they’re raising their eyebrow mockingly at you? Cathy did it with ease.

  “Well that’s my plan. I can’t predict what the gang members are going to do.”

  “For the record, you make lousy plans.”

  “I’m out of practice.”

  “You want my help or not?”

  Shit.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Fine. Pick me up from the studio at seven. We’ll go together.”

  A horrible mental image erupted behind my eyes. Not a memory. Cathy laying in a pool of blood surrounded by guys wearing Native Posse colors.

  I closed my eyes desperately and willed the image away.

  “Joe?”

  “Yeah, seven’s fine. I’ll go for a later workout and pick you up.”

  “Okay,” she said her voice sounding tentative but excited. Being on the hunt of a news story used to get Cathy all worked up. Apparently going on a street gang hideout hunt also does the trick. “I’ll see you then.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  I hung up the phone, the image of Cathy shot to pieces back behind my eyes. I gritted my teeth.

  Not going to happen.

  Chapter 27

  “Do you have any clothes that fit you? Like, at all?” Tamara asked with sarcasm heavy in her voice.

  I gave her my best mocking glower and hitched up my track pants irritably as I arrived at the Fitness Desk. Ever since the surgery and my hospital stay I was having more and more difficulty with the clothes in my closet. None of the damned things seemed to fit right anymore. These track pants were well worn and had seen me through dozens of workouts. Now for some reason I had them laced as tight as I possibly could and they still weren’t sitting quite right.

  “What can I say?” I grumped, readjusting my heavy grey sweater that hung off me like a tent. “Messy is the new chic.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yup. I’m doing a shoot for GQ this weekend.”

  Tamara laughed and came out from behind the desk, clipboard in hand.

  “Surprised you’re here so late,” she said, whispering conspiratorially. Her bespectacled gaze peering about none too subtly. I sighed. Add spy movies to the genres of film that Tamara had chosen to ignore. “I was expecting you a few hours ago.”

  I rolled my shoulders and neck to loosen them up. “Yeah, sorry about that. Turns out I’ve got a thing tonight. Made more sense to come now.”

  Tamara peered up at me. “A thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Tamara primly adjusted her glasses as she pursed her lips in obvious disapproval. “A nothing thing that forced you to push back your privacy preferred workout? Sounds like a something thing to me.”

  I blinked. “You okay there, Dr. Seuss?”

  At Tamara’s size it is apparently still socially acceptable to stamp one’s foot in frustration. On a lumbering clod my size it would likely appear foolish and weird. At Tamara’s more Lilliputian level? Kinda cute to be honest.

  She held the clipboard before her in both arms and gave me a level stare. “I thought you trusted me?”

  I gave her me small smile and rested one hand on her shoulder, more or less engulfing it. “Of course I do,” I said while a small part in the back of my head held reeled in astonishment at the verbal admission. I really did trust her. Astonishment aside it was a good feeling. “I wouldn’t have come to you if I didn’t.”

  “So why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Because right now, I need to get my workout in. Also you’ll still be working when I have to go and do my thing.” I eyed the gym warily. It was getting on to five o’clock and the post work rush was just beginning. Business types of all ages were starting to filter into the gym and occupy cardio equipment and resistance machines.

  Tamara’s lips looked like they wanted to pout but sadly she wasn’t going to give my fantasy filled brain the satisfaction. “Fine. But you’re going to tell me later.”

  “Sure,” I lied, heading towards the staircase to the free weight zone. “Let’s go and see what I’ve got in me today.”

  Tamara followed. Though her expression left no question about how she felt about being left out.

  The weight pit was a shit storm of crazy and just looking at it made me rub at my temples.

  People of all shapes and sizes occupied the benches and heavy machines in groups of two and three. Dumbbells were unsorted on all the racks when they weren’t strewn about the floor at random. Barbell plates were completely unsorted, stacked in piles and leaning against the walls. Even worse some leaned against the expensive wall length mirrors.

  “I seriously hate weight room, pigs.” I muttered.

  “Tell me about it,” Tamara agreed at my elbow. I gave her a look. Her expression was decidedly grumpy. “Who do you think gets stuck tidying this place up when the crowd bails?”

  I surreptitiously let my eyes wander over her lean compact frame again, then checked out the massive amounts of displaced weights.

  “What?” she asked.

  “At least you get your workout in.”

  “Yay me,” Tamara muttered looking around at the grunting and sweating mass of humanity with a grim expression.

  I led the way. Weaving past a couple of guys going over something on their smartphones as they monopolized the incline bench press. Stepping around the middle aged gentleman sitting at the overhead press station in his ancient volleyball shorty shorts doing ten pound dumbbell curls. Past the group of dudes chatting loudly about the ladies they “totally nailed at the club on Saturday” and made my way over to the old school deadlift rack.

  Where of course there was a group of younger “tough guys” hanging around, looking self-important and defiant. Wearing their blingy jeans and so-fresh-off-the-rack tee shirts and ball caps that they still had price tags on them. Trying so hard to look like their heroes from the rap videos they see on TV.

  I try not to judge. Somewhere at Mom’s house there’s a collection of pictures evidencing my love of hair metal bands and their questionable fashion sense. Complete with mullets, wrist bands and pouty expressions.

  And no; no one gets to see those pics.

  “Guys,” Tamara said wearily to the kids as they eyed us both warily. Only a few of them actually bothering with weights, the rest just indolently lounging around and taking up space. “You know you’re not supposed to be up here.”

  “Aw come on, girl,” said the lead thug-tastically attired boy who may have been all of sixteen years old. He even completed his self-conscious look with the failed young man’s moustache that transcends generations. He made a motion to his friends. “We ain’t doin’ nothing.”

  “That’s the point. You aren’t doing anything.” Tamara shook her head and stepped towards them. “If you’d
at least have some gym clothes on and were attempting to work out like everyone else, I would leave you be. But as it is …”

  “You got a problem with our clothes now?” Said another boy indignantly. Puffing up his insubstantial chest for the two fourteen year old girls hanging out with them to be all impressed by. They never looked up from their cell phones. “We got a right to wear what we want.”

  “Of course you do. But the gym’s rules say …”

  “Your rules suck. And you fucking suck as well, bitch.” The first one spat.

  Tamara’s face went very still.

  It took an awful lot of effort not to step in at this point. I know very well from all my years working security how important it is to respond appropriately when your authority is challenged. People like to push buttons, they like to see how much they can get away with. Tamara had the greatest opportunity in the world to simply look back over her shoulder at me for help. I could’ve sent the kids packing with little more than a snarl and a few barked words.

  But what would she do the next time when I wasn’t around?

  So I waited and did nothing.

  For the record: doing nothing is just about the hardest thing in the world for this guy to do.

  Tamara took a few moments to visibly compose herself. Her teeth clenched as she reached back and handed me the clipboard. I took it wordlessly and watched her walk towards the young man who’d just lipped off to her, getting right in his personal space. She still had to look up slightly to meet his eyes but it didn’t matter. The kid sneered down at her, his expression not nearly as confident as it was a moment ago.

  “Do you have any idea how often I have had your back, Joshua?” Tamara began, her voice low. Determined. The boy – Joshua, apparently – said nothing. “How often I’ve been asked by members of this gym about why I let you and your friends hang out in here at all? About why I don’t come down harder on you guys for being in the way? For when you’re hogging the basketball courts before league play?”

  “I don’t care about your ...”

  “I’m speaking now,” Tamara cut him off sharply. Her eyes blazing. She raised a finger and pointed it right in his face. “And you are going to listen to me.”

  Joshua closed his mouth sullenly. His friends also looking slightly cowed.

  Tamara continued on. “You guys need this place. Need this place to hang out. I know you all live downtown and it can be really rough out there. Drugs, gangs and crazies. I get it.” She motioned around the weight pit, encompassing the entire facility with her gesture. “You are your friends are welcome to be here. This place is safe for you. You can have fun and relax so long as you follow the rules.”

  “But who cares what we wear?” One of the girls asked.

  “Outside of this facility no one cares. As far as I’m concerned, you can wear whatever makes you feel good.” Tamara took a moment to stare each of them in the face before continuing. “However, the rules are very simple. The YMCA wants all members using the fitness facilities to be dressed appropriately for safety reasons among other things. Heck, they want all members to be over the age of eighteen unless accompanied by a parent when they use these facilities. Those are the rules that I am supposed to enforce.”

  “So?”

  “So when you call me a ‘bitch’ when I am giving you every opportunity to stay in here it shows just how little you respect me and this place.” Tamara shook her head sadly. “These rules aren’t hard. We’re happy to have you here. But if you can’t respect the little we ask in return then you will not be welcome anymore.”

  Silence reigned as the kids thought about that for a long moment. Nearby members around us had stopped what they were doing, obviously eavesdropping.

  “Do you want me to kick you out, Joshua?” Tamara asked quietly.

  He shook his head. Sullen. But compliant.

  “The rest of you?”

  More quiet head shaking.

  Tamara nodded to them all and stepped back, giving them a path out of the weight pit. “Then go home and get a change of clothes. If you want to come back later and play some basketball when the court is clear, you can. But not dressed like that.”

  They stood there for a moment longer trying to regain some shred of their dignity. Or their street cred I suppose. But as requested they shuffled away and headed out of the weight pit.

  Tamara stared after them for a moment, her expression sad. Around us, other members resumed their activities. Within moments it was business as usual in the crowded facility.

  I handed her the clipboard. “You good?”

  She nodded sadly and adjusted her librarian glasses. “Yeah.” Her feet shuffled a bit as she fidgeted with the board and her notes. “I hate having to do that. I just wish they’d just listen the first time.”

  “Did you listen much at their age?”

  Tamara laughed. “Oh yeah, all the time.”

  I grunted. “Yeah. Me too.”

  I began loading up the Olympic sized bar with plates as Tamara stared after the kids, as if mentally watching them make their way home. Her face concerned.

  A lot of folks just work a job. Show up. Punch in. Take their breaks at the same time every day. Never get involved. Do the bare minimum.

  Other people care. They get involved and want to help.

  I can relate.

  Both of my jobs bother the shit out of me and are lucky if I give ‘em the bare minimum.

  My gunshot scars ached for some weird reason.

  “You okay?” Tamara asked as I winced, rubbing at my chest.

  I shook off the feeling. “Yeah, all good.” Then I shook out my fingers and did a couple of deep knee bends. My bad knee made some crackling noises as I did, but no pain. So I clapped my hands together once and gave Tamara a wink. “Let’s get to work, I’ve got a thing.”

  Chapter 28

  Turns out that people notice when you start lifting big weights.

  Given my regular working schedule this was my usual time for hitting the gym so I saw a lot of familiar faces. No one I really knew, just faces I recognized. We all were the after-work-weightlifters and so often had to lift around each other while trying not to get in each other’s way.

  Generally we kinda ignore each other wrapped in our own egos and efforts.

  But apparently once you start loading up Olympic bars until they can’t hold any more weight people tend to pay attention.

  Thankfully it didn’t get weird. There was no cheering section or anything kooky like that. But there was definitely a hushed silence every time I stepped up to the bar, gathered my grip and started firing up reps.

  I could feel myself getting used to the sensation. Like before, I could feel a cooling rush trickle down from the back of my neck all the way to my extremities. Feeding me energy and fuelling my confidence.

  “Do you want to keep going, Joe?” Tamara asked quietly, her eyes were wide with excitement and yet still concerned. We’d gotten past the shock from the previous day. What I was doing wasn’t impossible to her anymore. Now she was keeping an eye out for signs of failure and waiting for the fatigue to hit me. Standing by with my pre-loaded protein shake and a smile of encouragement.