Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One

by Adam Knight

  I took a deep gasping breath. Then another.

  On the third the sounds of people and the crowds at the front of the building came to my attention as the thunder faded overhead.

  I pushed myself up off the wet pavement, jammed my sodden felt hat down tight onto my head and staggered away down the alley.

  Chapter 50

  “This is Cathy Greenburg reporting live on the scene of what at first glance appears to be a gang related vendetta against the owner of what used to be Cowboy Shotz nightclub.”

  “Ow.”

  “Quit it.”

  “Owwwww …”

  Tiny hands smacked at my fingers.

  “You’re being a baby.”

  “A what?”

  “Hush, I’m trying to listen to the news. Hold still.”

  “… For years the burning building behind me has been a place where people came to enjoy an evening out with friends. Blowing off steam with music, adult beverages and dancing. Now these same people are coming to grips with a more shocking reality ...”

  “Have they shown me yet?”

  “Hold still.”

  “Did they? Seriously, Tamara I need to know if …. Ow! Why does that have to sting so bad?”

  “It’s just rubbing alcohol, Joe. I need it to clean this cut.”

  “Does it have to hurt so bad?”

  “You are unbelievable. I pulled glass shards out of your skull without you making a peep, but now that I’m trying to clean you up ..”

  “Wait, there were glass shards in my head?”

  “Big ones.”

  “Man …”

  “… All we can say at this time is that we have reason to believe that there was more than liquor being served at this establishment.”

  “That was Constable Richard Simmons of the Winnipeg Police Service from earlier tonight. While it’s too early to know for certain, it appears that he will be taking over the media duties for the WPS from former officer Chris Parise as more evidence comes forward implicating him in this prostitution ring.”

  “Cathy, this is Gord back at the station.”

  “Go ahead, Gord.”

  “All of the evidence coming in seems unbelievable. Officer Parise had a stellar record with the WPS.”

  “Apparently appearances can still be deceiving, Gord. The most compelling piece we’ve been able to ascertain so far comes from the young woman rescued from the burning building.”

  “Did you rescue that girl?”

  I shrugged slightly, a bit embarrassed. “I guess. Sorta. Wait, what are you doing with those scissors?”

  “… members of the RCMP have taken the woman, identified by police as Jennifer Saunders was reported missing weeks ago by members of her family. Early information provided by the RCMP have confirmed that Miss Saunders was seduced by the allure of drugs and an affluent lifestyle which initially brought her into this world of sex and violence.”

  “Seriously, are you cutting my hair?”

  “I can’t quite see this gash to clean it. Your hair’s in the way.”

  “You’re training to be a massage therapist not a barber. Put the scissors away. I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “What can you tell us about how the night ended, Cathy? We have reports in front of us that suggest the Police were forced to employ snipers at one point?”

  “Shh hang on, I gotta hear this.”

  “Just would you …”

  “Shhh!’

  “ … show that one of the police snipers was in position across from the nightclub at this parking garage. Reportedly he witnessed the late Officer Parise threatening Miss Saunders and was forced to eliminate him.”

  “Just the girl? No one else?”

  “What’s that, Joe?”

  “As you can see behind me, members of the Tactical Unit are withdrawing from the scene at this time. While there will still be lots to clean up on scene and many questions that will need an answer, it appears for the moment that the danger has passed.”

  “Shit!”

  “What? Did I hurt you?”

  “What? No, I’m fine just … Shit!”

  “What?”

  I pointed at the screen as officers in black combat gear and armour loaded into the back of a large vehicle labeled TAC-1 on the side in big white lettering.

  “What?”

  I pointed more vehemently, my shoulder burning with fatigue. “There. That guy.”

  “The little dark haired guy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about him.”

  “That’s Sampson. Myron Sampson.”

  “Who?”

  I threw my hands up slightly. “He was one of them. One of Parise’s crew along with Miller and Mackie. Always the quiet guy off in the corner. Never making a noise, never causing a scene.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You think he was involved?”

  “I think he’s the sniper who killed Parise. Covering his ass and distancing himself from the club.”

  “What?”

  God, my head hurt. I rubbed at my temples lightly, ignoring the painful rumble in my belly. “What better way to show his innocence in all this? Shoot Parise dead when presented the opportunity. Claim ignorance to his designs. Appear remorseful and upset by the betrayal of your friends.”

  Small, cool fingers touched the skin at the back of my neck hesitantly. Cautiously. My skin prickled under her touch and then tingled more as Tamara slowly rolled her thumbs and fingers over the taut muscles in my neck.

  I groaned heartily, not even trying to keep it quiet.

  “Is this okay?”

  “God ... yeah.”

  “You just…” Tamara cleared her throat, her thumbs never ceasing their movements. “I just figured, you looked so tight. So achy.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  Tamara’s fingers worked their magic on my battered neck and shoulders as Cathy’s live report continued on screen.

  “We are now receiving reports that members of the RCMP have apprehended a Jar Shu-Phon, a foreign national and the executive assistant to South Korean Ambassador Mah-Jon Sun. Ambassador Sun has been in Winnipeg for the past week, meeting with Canadian officials to discuss everything from foreign trade to finding solutions to the international black market. Tomorrow night Ambassador Sun was to be the guest of honour at a fundraising dinner where the topic of Human Trafficking in his country was to be discussed.”

  “Are the RCMP thinking that Ambassador Sun was somehow involved in actions related to the nightclub?”

  “Time will tell on that score, Gord. Right now they seem more interested in his assistant who was seen fleeing the nightclub a few hours ago along with several of his countrymen. Reports at this time imply that they have someone in custody but are not at liberty to discuss the matter further.”

  “We’ll follow that story from our end here in the news room, Cathy. What can you tell us …”

  Tamara’s fingers began moving up the nape of my neck and into my hairline. I shivered as she drew a firm series of lines along my scalp into my soaked and admittedly filthy hair.

  My attention on the news immediately died. Every fibre of my body was protesting one sort of ache or pain, save for the areas directly under Tamara’s strong but delicate fingers. It became very difficult to avoid making completely inappropriate sounds of pleasure. I’m not sure I managed to succeed.

  A sharp buzzing sound cut into the air.

  Tamara jumped, yanking her fingers away from my aching head. I tried not to groan in frustration.

  “Pizza’s here,” I said, feigning excitement. It wasn’t actually hard to feign, my belly was ready to chew on my own liver by this point. Though given the choice between food and more scalp massaging I’m not sure I could’ve made an educated choice. What with the blood no longer hanging out in my brain.

  “Right. Yeah.” Tamara sounded flustered. I peered back over my shoulder at her as she adjusted her librarian glasses and looked
around her tiny apartment. The intercom buzzed again impatiently. “Okay, I’ll go get it.”

  My body protested violently as I stood up, thankfully facing away from Tamara. No need for her to see me readjusting my cargos. I fished out the last of the cash Aaron had given me for protecting his club and stared at it sadly for a moment.

  Dammit, Aaron. I thought you were smarter than that.

  Tamara found her purse and began rifling through it. I stepped over and handed her the cash. “Go. Least I can do.”

  She gave me a tiny nervous smile and nodded before punching the call button on her intercom, advising of the delay and heading out to the front door.

  I sighed heavily and stretched my hands up over my head, feeling every pop and crackle in my spine as I did so.

  Somehow, I didn’t die.

  Not sure if that ever entered my head as a possibility when I laced up my boots earlier in the evening.

  I staggered away from the door and stood in front of the TV. Shaky, low quality footage was being shown. Clearly shot by an amateur, likely with a smart phone. It showed a few youngish partygoers smiling and waving at the camera in front of Cowboy Shotz on an upward angle. The screen went white for a moment and thunder boomed loudly from the TV. When the image cleared smoke was rising from the back of the building near the roof and people were screaming in fright all around the image.

  “Cathy we’re not sure you can see this footage from your location, but this video was sent to us by a patron who was outside of the nightclub a few hours ago. It appears that on top of everything else a lightning bolt struck the building. What are the odds of that?”

  “Definitely a night for the ages, Gord.”

  Well, that explains the blown out window.

  “We are looking at some other footage right now, Cathy. Of the man who reportedly set off explosives in the club and is credited with starting the fire.”

  My heart froze in my chest.

  It was the front of the club. Smoke outlined a tall, heavyset man carrying a passed out girl with a wide brimmed hat covering his face as two firemen approached him.

  “Can you see this footage, Cathy?”

  “I can, Gord. It looks very indistinct. All of that smoke and the dark shadows really obscure any details.”

  Is she hiding a smile?

  “What are you hearing from the police or the witnesses about this man?”

  Uh oh.

  “Honestly, Gord there is just too much conjecture at this point. With all the reports about an illicit prostitution ring, potential international human trafficking accusations and the involvement of police officers. Any speculation about this man is considered sketchy at best. And frankly a bit low on the totem pole for the investigators on scene”

  “Sketchy?”

  Sketchy?

  “We have heard he was a patron tonight. He was a football player. He was a magician getting on stage to entertain the crowd. He was one of the bouncers who lost his mind. He led a biker gang into the establishment and began shooting up the place.” Cathy shook her head sadly and looked directly into the camera. “Since all of the internal security footage seems to have been lost in the fire, it’s very likely that we’ll never know who this man was.”

  I felt a small smile creep onto my face.

  “Terrific work, Cathy. Thank you. That was CTV Correspondent Cathy Greenburg on the scene tonight of …”

  I flicked off the TV as the door to Tamara’s apartment opened again. I made my way over to her as quickly as my rapidly cramping knee and back would allow me.

  Two extra-large pizzas and a bottle of Coke takes a lot of arm space for anyone, never mind a five-foot woman struggling to open her apartment door. The relief in Tamara’s eyes as I saved her further indignity and snagged the pizzas away was palpable.

  The aroma of cheese, pepperoni and grease hit my nose like a hammer. Saliva flooded my mouth and made my empty belly growl in anticipation.

  We didn’t even bother sitting down. Or at least I didn’t. Cramming huge slices into my mouth with reckless abandon may have been somewhat uncouth, especially while leaning against the stove in Tamara’s miniscule kitchen. But the relief it gave my cramped and depleted system was flat out awesome.

  Tamara sat at her kitchen table, occupying the chair I had vacated only a moment ago. She picked at her vegetable laden slice tiredly.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled through another huge bite.

  She blinked at me tiredly. “For what?”

  I shrugged lamely. “I seem to keep doing this to you. Waking you up in the middle of the night. All filthy and beat up.”

  “Yeah. You should be sorry.”

  “I am.

  “Good.” Tamara took a small bite, chewed it carefully and swallowed before replying. “Next time you go out and take on a group of violent criminals with your bare hands at least have the decency to go to another ladies house to get cleaned up.”

  Warm Coke sputtered out my bruised lips.

  “Next time?”

  “Seems only fair.”

  “Next time?!?!”

  Tamara laughed then. A quiet laugh.

  I shook my head tiredly.

  Next time.

  Not fucking likely.

  “Did you call your mom?”

  “Yeah. She’s good. Worried, but good.”

  “Good.”

  “How’s Mark?”

  She grimaced. “Asleep when I left him. Doctors figure he’ll need two months to recover for sure.”

  “Hard to find work in that condition.”

  Tamara shrugged. “He says he’s got it covered. But I figure if he needs help I can always … Joe, what the hell?”

  “Sorry. Cup must’ve been broken. I’ll clean it up.”

  I grabbed a dishtowel and creaked my sore ass down to my knees, wiping up the spilled soda and hoping the flush on my face would be mistaken for fire burns. My back creaked with the effort, a far cry from the athletic displays I’d put myself through earlier in the evening.

  I stood up with another groan, dropping the filthy towel into the sink and resting both hands wearily on her countertop.

  Tamara came over on silent feet and stood next to me.

  “You stink.”

  “I know.”