Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (29 page)

Mark shrugged.
“Yeah. Just a piss off is all.” He adjusted his gear bag and took
note of mine. “You coming or going?”

“Going. Been
down here a few hours already. Just walking Tamara back to
class.”
“A few hours?” Mark looked at me again, peering more closely. Then
he shrugged. “Well if your doc’s cool with it, why not right? Looks
like you’re bouncing back quick, though. Looked jacked buddy.” He
punched me lightly on the arm.

“Yeah right,” I
muttered.

“Seriously bro,
you’re looking leaned out some. Must be all that hospital food and
bed rest.” Mark adjusted his bag again and adjusted his stance,
turning towards the gym. “Well, I’d better hit it. I wanna try to
catch Aaron tonight at the club. See if he needs another guy for
the private parties he’s running this week.”

“Private
parties?”

“Yeah man, he’s
got … Oh shit, I guess you wouldn’t know.” Mark lowered his voice
suddenly and stepped in closer. “Yeah, he mentioned it to a couple
of the guys after we closed on Saturday. David told me about it
after. Aaron and Parise – you know, the cop? Yeah, apparently
they’re hosting some kinda VIP deal this week.”
“Huh,” I grunted. Remembering the odd meeting behind the locked
double doors and the shouting. “Which night?”

“Every night
apparently. It’s some kind of ongoing business deal to woo new
investors.”

I frowned. “I
didn’t think Aaron was looking for new partners. I mean, I know
Parise and his crew are involved off the books. Are they wanting
out?”

Mark shook his
head. “Don’t know, don’t care. All I know is they’re offering extra
shifts this week for guys available to work who can keep their
mouths shut. And right now …”

“Cash is King,”
I finished for him. “Right, I gotcha.”

Mark’s
expression got hesitant. Concerned. “You want me to see if Aaron
needs another guy?”

You want to
try and take this spot away from me when I need the cash?

“Hell no, man.
I’m not ready.” I pressed my hand up to my chest and winced
melodramatically. Well it felt melodramatic to me. I hoped it just
came across like a regular old I’m-in-a-bit-of-pain wince. “It’s
only been a couple weeks.”

Mark failed to
hide his look of relief. “Cool, man. What time you here tomorrow?
Wanna work out together?”

“Tomorrow?” I
said hesitantly. A mental image of Mark trying in vain to keep up
with my lifts flashed into my mind. I tried not to smirk at him.
Shit, Joe don’t be an asshole. This guy’s your friend.

“Hey, I’m
unemployed now. Tons of time.”

When in doubt,
make up a reasonable lie. “Not sure yet. Gotta take Mom to the docs
tomorrow morning. Could take all day.”

“Okay, cool.”
He made a fist, I bumped mine off of his like two guys stuck in a
mid-nineties movie. Mark started towards the foyer calling back
over his shoulder. “See you soon, bro. For real. You’re looking
good.”

“I’m feeling
good,” I replied.

It wasn’t a
lie.

Chapter
25

Tuesday morning
found me at the dining room table with another huge breakfast and
the daily paper in front of me.

One article
caught my eye.

MISSING
WOMAN FOUND IN RIVER

Members
of Street Gang Implicated

By:
Grant Nordman, Crime Beat

Joggers
made a grisly discovery early Sunday morning along the Riverfront
Trail near the Forks. The sodden body of one of Winnipeg's Missing
Women was found stuck on a fallen log near the shoreline in the
Assiniboine River.

"We were
rounding the corner when I thought I saw someone in the water,"
said one of the joggers who asked to remain anonymous. "I stopped
and went to the shoreline to help. That was when we realized the
person wasn't alive."

Police
and Medical Examiners arrived on scene shortly thereafter and
closed off the area. As of press time very little information was
made available to the Press.

"All we
can confirm at this time is that the victim is on the list of
missing women," said Sergeant Chris Parise of the WPD. "We will be
releasing more information when we have it to share without
compromising the investigation."

The
victim was identified by her family as nineteen year old Candace
Cleghorn, of Portage La Prairie. She had moved into Winnipeg with
friends just over a year ago in the hopes of saving money for a
Nursing Degree. Several weeks back she didn't return to her
apartment after a night out and was declared missing by her
roommates.

The story went
on for another three or four hundred words. Detailing patterns of
behavior from the roommates and broken hearted quotes from the
family.

My eyes were
stuck on the pictures accompanying the story.

Images from the
scene.

People hugging
and crying.

A picture of
the victim taken from a social media site. Candace Cleghorn with a
group of friends at a local nightspot. Drinks in hand and wearing
questionable attire.

She was a
pretty girl. Dark haired like every Native person I've ever known.
A huge smile and dark eyes. Full of life. Zest. Energy.

I'd seen her
before.

At
Cowboy Shotz
.

The picture in
the paper had been taken at my club, right in front of the main
bar. It was hard to be certain given the lousy picture quality, but
one of the people off in the background might’ve been Mark.
Definitely one of my security crew.

There was
no doubt. She’d been in the club. And I’d seen her there
before.
She’d been one of the VIP girls. I was sure of it.
Sure
of it. A memory of her in an
elegant green dress, escorting a local big wig up those marble
stairs was burned in my mind.

“Shit,” I
muttered from my seat at the dining room table skimming over the
paper.

More to the
point, I'd seen her brother.

“Shit.”

I’d seen her
brother on the night he’d tried to kill me.

“Shit.”

He had to be
her brother. The resemblance was unmistakable. Even with the dream
catcher tattoo on his cheek.

My stomach
dropped away from me, leaving behind a cold pit.

Where’s my
sister?

“Shit.

What was left
of my gun shot scarring ached faintly in memory.

We’re not good
enough to get in but my sister is?

“Shit.”

I crumpled the
newspaper up into a ball and shoved it aside before burying my face
into my hands. Memories swirling. My emotions set on tumble-dry.
Images flashing into my head.

You think you
can just take our women and keep us outside?

“Shit. Shit.
Shit.”

Chapter
26

“You want to
know what?”

“Look, it’s not
that big a deal.”

“Oh? If it’s
not a big deal why are you asking me for help?”

“Well …”

It had been a
long time since I’d done any proper research into anything more
complex than flipping through the Yellow Pages hunting for pizza
coupons. During that time things had gotten a bit ahead of me as
far as the whole “online search engine” thing went. Don’t think I’m
an idiot, I know what Google is and I know how to use it to look up
simple things. Like an address or a burger joint.

But to track
down gang members?

Yeah, not as
easy.

So, it was time
to phone a friend.

“Honest
to goodness , Joe. Why on earth do you want to where the
Native Posse
hangouts are?” Cathy
asked me incredulously, her voice strained on the other end of the
line.
This was also something I hadn’t done in a long time. Come up with
a plausible reason for awkward questions.

“Honestly?” I
began trying to think of a good lie, my fingers crossed behind my
back.

“That would be
my preference, yes.”

I did have a
lie. It was a lame and barely half-baked story. Just when it was
about to tumble past my lips I stopped myself. Some people might
suggest I had “an attack of conscience,” and they might be right.
My conscience has often gotten me in trouble given my inability to
walk away from things. Logically it’s always a better idea to fudge
the truth and make excuses to people when you need something for a
dumb reason.

Sadly I’m no
good at making excuses or fudging the truth.

“Joe? Are you
still there?”

I sighed.

“I need to find
Keimac Cleghorn.”

“You what?”

“You know, the
kid who … “
“I know who he is, Joe” Cathy cut in, her voice intense but
lowered. Strangled to a hush all of a sudden. I had a mental image
of her covering the phone with her free hand and peering about all
sneaky-like. Normally this mental thought would make me smile.

I wasn’t in a
funny mood.

“So yeah, where
do they like to hang out? Is there a clubhouse? A bar?”

Cathy sighed
heavily into the phone. “Hang on,” she muttered. I heard some
muffled conversation that I couldn’t make out in the background.
Another reporter? Her boss? Faintly that turned into the sound of
heeled footsteps on the studio floor. They echoed faintly.

“Are you out of
your mind, Joe?” Cathy’s voice was more distinct but still quiet.
Found a private corner of the tiny studio I supposed.

“Depends on who
you ask really.”

“Why do you
want to go looking for the man who shot you?”

“I want
to talk to him.”
She scoffed. It sounded harsh and mechanical over the phone
line.
“Talk? You want to
talk
?”

I rubbed a palm
down over my eyes and sighed heavily. “Yes, Cathy. I need to ask
him a question.”
“Let me guess, ‘Why did you shoot me?’ ”

“Cathy…”
“Joe, this is a terrible idea.”
“Cathy, I don’t want to spend hours wandering through the West End
looking for gang colors.”

“Then stay at
home! Watch the news.”

“I can’t do
that.”

“Why not?”

My teeth ground
in frustration but I managed to keep my voice level. “Because I
have to find this guy.”
“I thought you didn’t want to worry your mother anymore, Joe?”
Cathy spat over the phone, playing the dirtiest card in the deck. I
felt it in my gut like a stiff punch. “Remember? That’s why we
didn’t show your face on camera.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I muttered.
“That was for your mom. For you. For your privacy.” Cathy’s voice
started to wind up, getting more and more anxious. “But apparently
you just wanted to keep it private so no one would recognize you
when you decided to go all vigilante on the streets of
Winnipeg!”

“I’m not … I
don’t want to hurt anyone. I just …”

“Why else would
you ask for privacy then? Didn’t want to wear a mask with your
cape?”

The handset in
my fingers creaked audibly under the pressure of my tightening
fist. With an incredible effort of will I choked down my sudden and
instinctive reaction to bark angrily over the phone at my old
friend. The one who ultimately was just worried about me.

And who
was also likely the only one who could help me find the
Native Posse
in a short amount of
time.

“Well, Joe? Is
that what this is about? You about to saddle up on your stallion
and clean up this one horse town?”

“Did you read
the paper today?” I muttered through gritted teeth.

Silence on the
other end. The vitriol fading away in a hush of silence.

“What?”

“Today’s
paper.”

“What about
it?”

“You read
it?”

“Yes.”

“The story
about the girl in the river?”

“That’s our top
story tonight at six. What about it?”

“What’s her
name?”

“Who?”

“The victim.
What’s the victims’ name, Cathy?”

“Hang on,” she
replied faintly. Paper rustled somewhere nearby in the background.
Probably her notebook. “Hang on, I should know this. Candace
something …” More rustling. “Okay, I’ve got it right here. I was
right, it is Candace. Candace Cleghorn.”

Silence.

I gave it a
moment to sink in.

“Oh God,”
Cathy gasped. “Candace
Cleghorn
.”

“Yeah.”

“And your
shooter. Keimac Cleghorn.”

“Yeah.”
Long pause.
“Are you sure?” she asked.

Where’s my
sister?