Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (30 page)

“I’m sure.”

Long pause.

“So why do you
want to talk to him? He’s must know by now.”

“I know.”

“So why?”

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.