Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (22 page)

“Kicked his
damned head in or near enough,” Aaron chimed in.

“As a result of
those actions, and because the officers on scene making the arrest
were both off duty and refused to take a breathalyzer test….”
Parise grimaced sourly at that point and trailed off.

“Seriously?” I
muttered.

“I am afraid
so.”

I took a swig
of beer and looked at Aaron. “So what about the footage?”

“What
footage?”

“The footage
from the front door camera. Surely that’s got to count for
something.”

Aaron shrugged
his shoulders helplessly. “Apparently it’s all inadmissible.”

“We’re doing
everything we can to get that scum back behind bars,” Parise
assured me, his face grim. “Fortunately, Mr. Cleghorn’s prior
arrests sheet is very long. Odds are good that we’ll be able to
pick him for something very soon.”

“Is that
supposed to make me feel better?” I mumbled, my guts sour and
achey. Ashes in my mouth. My abdomen aflame with bruising. “This
guy nearly kills me and you’re hopeful to get him on a future
carjacking charge?”

Parise and
Aaron exchanged another look.

“If there’s
anything I can do, Joe” Aaron began, reaching out a hand to my
shoulder.

I shrugged him off. Angry and sullen.

Parise put on
his blazer and began to walk away. He stopped after a few feet and
looked back at me.

“What?”

“Sometimes the
Law isn’t enough, Joe. As a cop I know this very well. Rules and
restrictions get in the way of right and wrong.”

I grunted
sourly, pushing away the Corona Aasif had placed on the bar for
me.

“It would be a
shame if something were to happen to Mr. Cleghorn before we could
arrest him again.”

Something in
his voice.

I met Parise’s
eyes again, a silent question.

Then he
left.

Chapter
18

I’d never seen
that many hundred dollar bills in my life.

I sat in the
driver’s seat of my rumbling old van and started counting the cash
in the envelope. Five thousand dollars in crisp, new bills. Might
not be enough to retire on, but it sure did make the next few bill
payments easier to manage.

Hell, it was
more than double what I paid for my van.

“Holy shit,” I
muttered.

I stared at the
bills for another few moments. Stunned. Then I snapped back to
myself, tucked the envelope into the inside pocket on my hoodie and
scanned the underground lot as calmly as I could. Last thing I
needed now was to have a couple of goons attempt to rob me or be
mistaken for a drug dealer.

Six hours of
underground parking in downtown Winnipeg was cheaper than bigger
markets like Toronto or Chicago, but eleven dollars was still a bit
steep. Thankfully I’d just had a Monopoly style bank error in my
favor so I didn’t even flinch as I handed over all the change in my
pocket to the attendant and drove away.

My mind whirled
on the drive home going over the events and news of the day. Trying
to make sense of it all. The strangeness at the gym and the studio.
Tamara and Cathy. Cleghorn being released. The club. The place
where I’d been shot. Parise’s veiled message.

A full on weird
day.

Thankfully
traffic was pretty light in the pre rush hour so it’s not like I
had to spend too much time trapped alone with my thoughts. A short
twenty minute trip back home and my baby was clicking herself to
sleep in Mom’s driveway.

Mom was awake
when I got inside, working away at the stove for a pot of soup.
With very little effort I persuaded her to take a seat while I
finished up and threw together a few sandwiches for my rumbling
belly.

We talked over
my day, with me glossing over all details that I figured might
upset her. Though I couldn’t exactly lie about the interview with
Cathy. Mom got all excited and wanted to make certain we didn’t
miss the news. So after barely settling in at the dining room, I
helped her over to her couch and set her soup up on the side table
for her. That done I settled my tired butt down in Dad’s ratty old
recliner and tried to ignore the TV in favor of the house bills
sitting in my lap as I tried to prioritize them.

“Good evening,
Winnipeg. I’m Gord LeMert.”
“And I’m Sonya Kubrakovich. Tonight’s top story …”

“This is
exciting, Joseph.” Mom said, a bit of life in her usually tired
voice.

“Hmm?” Hydro
before insurance? Do I give MasterCard anything?

“It’s exciting
to think you’re going to be on TV tonight.”

“I suppose,
Mom.”

“Why do you say
that?”

“I just hope
this doesn’t upset you.” I glanced over at her sadly. “This might
be more sensational than you’re ready for.”

Mom pressed her
lips together firmly and turned back to the screen.

MasterCard
would get a hit, something to get them off my back for a time.
Everything else would get topped up and pre-paid for a month, just
to get me some breathing room until I was cleared to go back to
work. Leaving me a few hundred bucks of petty cash for day to day
stuff.

Not bad.

“
…
Violence in Winnipeg has reached epidemic levels according
to some citizens.”

Cathy’s voice
caught my attention bringing my gaze to the screen as well.

Visuals of
various crime scenes from the last few weeks were shown, all with
their dates and locations displayed. A car wreck surrounded by
police vehicles. Another of a house in flames. Police tape in front
of a mechanic’s shop. Mugshots.

“I am afraid to
go out at night.”

“This used to
be a safe place to raise your children, now it’s not safe to take
the bus across town.”

“I refuse to go
downtown at all unless there’s a hockey game on. That’s the only
time I know for sure there’ll be enough police around to keep
dangerous folks away.”

“Oh that is so
sad,” Mom broke in wistfully, sipping at some honeyed tea. “Do you
remember heading downtown on the bus with your grandmother? Going
for lunch at the Paddlewheel?”

That made me
smile. “I do, Mom.”

“You boys loved
that trip.”

Visuals
on the screen changed again. Police tape all over the curb, the
light posts and the front entrance to
Cowboy Shotz
. Close ups of squad cars. Blurred
out faces of people being loaded into cars.

Blood.

“Oh dear, God.”
Mom gasped, her hands to her lips.

“I’ll shut it
off,” I said, reaching for the remote.

“Don’t you
dare.” Her eyes filling with tears.

“But,
Mom...”

“Don’t.”

I leaned back
slowly, reluctance heavy in my heart.

My
silhouette was on the screen, no details visible. The wording
underneath read simply
Recovered Nightclub
Security Guard.

“Of course it’s
scary,” silhouette me was saying. “But all things in life can be
scary. People look to cause trouble until they’re told they can’t
by someone bigger and stronger than them.”

“This brave
man’s words are echoed by members of the Winnipeg Police
Service.”

“These days the
power is in the hands of the criminals more often than not,”
Officer Parise’s image popped on screen, graphics beneath his
immaculate features identifying him. “There’s only so much officers
can do to protect citizens when the legal system fails to back us
up and keep criminals behind bars.”

“These words
are in light of the lead suspect in this nightclub shooting being
released today with charges stayed due to improper arrest
procedures and claims of police brutality.”

“My God,
no.”

“It’s okay,
Mom.”

“How could they
let him go?”

“It’s
okay.”

Cathy
continued, her voice serious. “ … Officer Parise, also the lead
inspector on the recent string of missing women reports has his
hands full these days.”

“It is a trying
time for Police and the citizens of Winnipeg. All we can ask is for
people to be careful, be diligent and be conscious of the fact that
we are doing everything we can with the restrictions placed upon
us.”

Mom had tears
rolling down her face.

My hands
clenched in frustration.

Cathy appeared
on screen, her expression firm. “This weekend CTV will be running a
full report on crime in Winnipeg; featuring an in-depth interview
recap with the heroic nightclub security guard, more from the
Winnipeg Police Service, quotes from City and Provincial officials
about the red tape obstructing justice and more…”

I shut off the
TV.

Silence.

Blissful
silence.

Perfect for
wallowing in my guilt.

Mom just
cried.

Shit.

“I’m sorry,
Mom.” I mumbled, my sandwich half eaten and forgotten off to the
side.

“What?”
“I … I didn’t want this for you. To upset you.” I fiddled with the
bills in my lap. “I shoulda just …”

She
turned to me, her expression firm. “The only thing you should have
done was not go into work that night,” her voice was heated.
Broken. “I
never
wanted you to
do that sort of thing. You were meant for so much more than
that.”

“Mom, come on
...”

“It
sickens me.
Sickens
me to see
you go off to that horrible job and put your life at risk. And for
what?” Her voice started getting tight, her Mom-stare becoming
accusatory. “Answer me, Joseph. For what?”

I said nothing.
Not trusting myself. I buried my gaze into the bills, my hands
clenching them into crumpled garbage.

She turned
away, reaching for tissues. Dabbing at her eyes carefully.

“You have to
find other work, Joseph. It’s not worth it.”

I glanced over
to the closet where my hoodie was hanging, an envelope filled with
cash hidden there. The relief to months of bills hidden just out of
sight.

Worth it?

Shit.

Chapter
19

When you never
get weekends off you don’t have an appreciation for the little
things that everyone else deals with.

Like just
how damned busy the malls are. Or how slow the lines move at
Tim Horton’s
. Or just how packed the
grocery stores are on a Sunday afternoon.

“Seriously,
don’t you people go to church?” I growled quietly, loading the last
of my grocery bags into the back of my van.

Returning my
cart to the corral was harder than fighting my way through packed
dance floors. Cause’ at least then people paid heed to my presence
and attempted to get out of the way. Here in this lot cars tried to
zip past people who meandered by in the dozens. Unless they were
waiting for their chance to score a primo spots and idled in the
way of families trying to load their groceries as quick as
possible. Whole families just doing their shopping in wandering
packs, lumbering along like lazy manatee.

This is why I
usually shop on Wednesdays.

I drove away in
aggravation, after of course taking fifteen minutes to navigate my
way out of the damned parking lot without backing into or running
over anybody. My mood was rotten. Though how much of that was
actually reflected by the crowded streets and store was difficult
to say.

The extended
version of Cathy’s piece had been even worse on Saturday.

Thankfully it
aired while Mom was resting, avoiding more pain for her and guilt
for me.

Small
mercies.

But seeing the
greater details that Cathy weaved together was somewhat staggering.
Showing the levels of mismanagement within the police force.
Inadequate shelters and support groups for the downtrodden and
truly needy. Which lead to more poverty and more desperate folks
seeing the gang life as their only option. Watching the reports on
the missing women, the victims of violence and narcotics. The
number of people out on bail facing multiple open charges while the
sloth-like legal system waded through cases, entitling dangerous
folk to “time served” and “early releases” due to overcrowded
penitentiaries.

It was a
comprehensive piece. Tied together with the interview she’d shot
with me only the day before where she couldn’t have known what I
would say to help or hurt her special. Objectively speaking, it was
impressive. Very slick stuff.

And it made me
want to throw up.

It’s one thing
to know peripherally that there were people in danger. People who
are downtrodden upon and needing help. It’s another to acknowledge
that these people existed. People with real parents and real
families.