Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (36 page)

Guilt hammered
at me harder with each syllable she spoke.

“I’m sorry,
Cathy.”

“You’re sorry?”
Her voice was deadly quiet. “Is that supposed to make it
better?”

My guts twisted
again, reacting from the second verbal kick to the balls I’d taken
in under an hour.

I couldn’t meet
her stare.

“I ...” Where
are the words, smart guy? Usually you’ve got a comeback for
everything. “I didn’t want you to …” I trailed off.

“What?” Her
voice hardened. “Didn’t want me to what?”

Jewish girls,
they know from guilt trips.
“Didn’t want me to what? Find out about your dirty little secret?
Is that it?”

Wait. What?

“Cathy? What’re
you…”

Her fist hit me
hard on the arm. Really hard, all knuckled up and digging into the
spot beneath my bicep.

“Ow!”

“Don’t you cry
out to me!” she hit me again, harder than before. Her voice firing
up, getting very upset. “You and that club, luring in girls.
Putting them to work! How dare you?’

“Cathy, I … Ow!
Stop that. …”

“You son of a
bitch! How could you be involved with something like this?”

“Involved? How
could you … Ow!”

Her blows
became more rapid and frantic as her emotions overtook her. Her
voice completely broke and tears began to fall. I managed to
pullover at that point, Cathy’s strikes becoming too frantic to
shrug off and continue driving safely. We had a brief and awkward
tussle in the front seat as I tried to catch her wrists as gently
as possible while she went into a full post-traumatic stress
meltdown.

I’ve been there
before. It passes.

Cathy screamed
and hollered at me for a few moments, thrashing and wailing. It was
getting really loud in my suddenly tiny van and I was terrified
that a police officer might drive by, see what was going on and
assume a domestic issue of some sort.

I couldn’t wait
her out.

“Cathy!” I
bellowed, the sheer force of my voice in the confined space giving
her pause. “I’m not involved!”

She thrashed
against me a little more, her fury not yet abated. I held her
firmly but gently waiting her out.

“Why?” she
spat, her face a mess. Her TV makeup all smeared from salty tear
tracks. “Why should I believe you?”

“I came to
you!” I retorted, my guilty feelings now at war with the sense of
betrayal at her lack of faith in me. “If I was involved with
something like this, why would I come to you?”

“To throw me
off the trail? Because you couldn’t find your targets?”

“Do I look like
a mafia hitter to you? I nearly wet myself when those guns came
out!”

“Then why are
you so sorry?”
“Because they hurt you!”

Cathy paused in
her movements, her eyes wide and wet. Hair still out of place from
being held captive.

I released her
wrists as gently as I could, lowering my hands to my lap. My eyes
following suit.

“What?”

“You weren’t
supposed to be there,” I muttered, disgusted with myself. “I knew
it was stupid, that’s why I didn’t want you there. I promised
myself you wouldn’t get hurt. And you did.” My hands, my big
calloused and heavy hands opened and closed uselessly for a moment.
My head still awhirl.

“That’s why
you’re sorry?”

“I would never
hurt you, Cathy.” I raised my eyes to hers carefully, afraid of
what I would see there. Afraid of what she might see in mine. “I’d
rip out my own arm first. I swear it.”

Cathy’s eyes
slowly became softer. Her face was still a blotchy mess. She
brought both hands up and scrubbed at her eyes. She cried some more
then, not frantically anymore. But from a necessary release.

It happens to
people in stressful situations. Sometimes you gotta break down
before you can deal.

I let Cathy get
it out of her system in silence, rolling my right shoulder slightly
and feeling the bruising beginning to form. She’s got some sharp
knuckles dammit.

“God,” Cathy
moaned wearily finally coming around and bringing her hands down
from her face. That was it for her makeup job, the smears and
streaks now making a right mess that only a proper cleaning would
fix. “Oh God am I sorry, Joe.”

I shrugged and
muttered. “S’okay.”

“No. No, it’s
not.” Her eyes may have looked like a wet raccoon’s by now but they
still managed to pierce mine with her intensity. They were so red
and raw, it made me feel lousy to see her like that.

You sure know
how show a girl a good time don’t you, dipshit?

“Sure.
Whatever. Don’t worry about it,” I muttered, turning in my seat to
get us back on the road my hands reaching for the wheel.

Cathy’s hand
reached across and gripped gently at my arm, the same one she’d
been hammering on not five minutes before.

“It’s not
okay, Joe.” Cathy’s voice was firm. Regretful. “I was scared.
I
am
scared. That stuff in the
house … “ she trailed off for a moment, her eyes fading back in
thought. Her lower lip trembled briefly, but she got it under
control. Keeping her emotions back in check like a true TV Pro
should. “What they said, what they accused you of. I should’ve
known you aren’t a part of things. Shouldn’t of
suspected.”

I shook my head
slightly. “I swear. I don’t know what’s going on, Cathy.” My voice
was soft, barely audible even to me. My eyes kept drifting to her
fingers on my arm, where they gripped at me gently. Comforting.
Something real in this unreal situation I found myself in.

“Is there any
truth to what they’re implying?” Cathy prodded, gently this time.
No more accusations in her voice. “Are girls turning tricks in that
club? Going missing from there?”

My shoulders
shrugged minutely. “I remembered Candace but only after the fact.
She was there a few times for sure. One other one was absolutely
there as well. Maybe two others from what I saw on that wall.”

“So what does
that mean?”

“Something? Nothing? I don’t know.” My guts twisted with
indecision, uncertainty and hunger. “
Cowboy
Shotz
is the hottest club in town, Cathy. Everyone
goes there eventually. Bankers. Celebs passing through town. Sports
people. That sort of buzz brings in the crowds, makes it an event
every night. The place to see and be seen.” I met her eyes. “It’s
why you and the Captain go there, right?”

Cathy’s face
flushed slightly at that though it was mostly hidden by the smeared
remains of her makeup. Then her eyes widened intently, shocked.

“Oh no!”

“What?”

“Max!”

I blinked.
‘What?”

Her hands
fluttered about as she began rummaging around at her side,
searching frantically. “My phone. Have you seen my phone?”

“I … uh …
No?”

“Shit.” She
swore precisely, with inflection. Cathy’s search broadened, turning
about in the seat to look behind her chair.

“What’s
the matter?”

“I was still on
the phone with Max when … When those guys grabbed me. He must’ve
heard me scream over the phone before they took me.”

“Oh,” I
muttered. “Okay yeah, that’s bad.”

“Just drive,
Joe. Get me back to the station while I look. For all I know he’s
gone full Amber Alert and alerted the entire city about me going
missing by now.”

I slipped the
Windstar into drive and eased her gently back into the light
traffic on Main Street while she leaned over the middle partition
and grabbed at her purse from the back seat. Despite the craziness
of the evening I had to work hard at ignoring her shapely posterior
right next to my elbow as I drove back downtown.

Don’t judge me.
Cathy’s got a great ass. You’d be distracted too.

“Got it!” She
declared, sliding herself carefully back into the front seat and
trying to bring up her call screen.

“Well call him.
Get him to call of the dogs.”

“I’m trying,
hang on. I have to get a good signal here before … Wait, hello?
Max?” Muffled shouting on the other end of the line, definitely
male. “No, I’m all right Max. I promise. I’m safe.”

My stomach
clenched and unclenched as I drove on, listening to Cathy soothe
her frantic local sports hero boyfriend as I replayed the events of
the evening in my head. Thoughts sliding every which way.

They’re our
girls. Our Posse.

Parise and
Aaron, shaking my hand. Inviting me to stay for the after party.
Business to discuss.

Everyone knows
those pigs are evil.

Hidden camera
at the door at the top of the stairs.

For the love
of God, Chris. This is going to seriously impact business.

Girls in the
VIP, always dressed to the nines and always available.

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

The
lights were on at
Cowboy Shotz
as we drove past but there was no lineup out
front.

Private parties
every night this week. New clients or partners, isn’t that what
Mark said?

My stomach
rumbled as we cruised by. My jaw clenched and the tingle in the
back of my neck started up again faintly despite the fatigue in my
limbs.

Looked like I
was crashing a party.

Chapter
34

Apparently when
the Captain of the local hockey team is in a panic mode he can make
shit happen in this town.

After making
the turn from Main Street and looping up the one way street towards
the CTV Studios it was easy to see the red and blue flashing lights
bouncing in the evening’s dark. Cathy had managed to chill Max out
enough over the phone to keep the Mayor’s office from being alerted
but only just barely. As we were pulling up to the curb a small
crowd of people was waiting anxiously.

Cathy had
managed to make her face look less like an Alice Cooper band member
with a discarded wet wipe she found in an old
Taco Bell
bag from the back seat. While her skin
was a bit red from the scrubbing and no one could mistake that
she’d been crying, at least it was a bit less of a horror
show.

“You want me to
take off?” I asked with hope in my voice as I eyeballed the
scene.

Cathy shook her
head, running fingers through her hair in an attempt to restore
order. “Don’t you dare. Stay until I get everyone calmed down.”

The
Posse
members’
pistols hidden in my glove box seemed to glow in my mind as the
flashing police lights got closer.

Great.

“Right.” I kept
my eyes on the road, my neck still tingling slightly in time with
the rumble in my belly. I ignored the impulse to keep checking that
the glove box was shut as my baby slowed and rubbed up against the
curb. I flicked on my hazards. For real, the cops were right there.
Last thing I wanted was freaking ticket or something.

Max Poulin
quickly distanced himself from the small crowd of people as he
rushed towards the van, heedless of the springtime muck in his
expensive leather shoes and slacks. He looked like he’d been in a
late meeting or dinner possibly before rushing across town to the
TV studio. His short hair was a bit wild, as was the worried
expression on his earnest and open face.

Max opened the
door to my van in a rush and gathered Cathy up into his arms,
whirling her around in a small circle before setting her down
gently on her feet, his hands running over her face and hair.
Concern and care evident in his every action.

Shit.

The only thing
worse than a successful, handsome and ridiculously rich athlete?
One who is also genuinely a good guy. You couldn’t even be jealous
without feeling like a dick.

I grimaced
slightly and slid out of the van under my own power, relegated to
my familiar chopped liver status. The rest of the crowd of people
moved forward as I rounded the front of my van. Two uniformed
Police Officers and CTV cameramen Kurt and Jimmy, the latter of
which was holding a massive ENG camera over one shoulder with the
mini spotlight flared up and pointed directly at the happy couple.
Cathy smiled briefly at her fellow employees, but tried to wave
them off as they started rolling.

“What
happened?” Max asked, his voice strained as he stepped back
slightly, hands still protectively on her upper arms. “You said
something on the phone about an investigation you were on, then you
cried out and the line went dead.”

I leaned
against the passenger side of my van and crossed my arms casually,
trying to disappear into the background as much as a six and a half
foot bruiser possibly can.