Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (47 page)

Tamara’s hand
gave mine a gentle squeeze. Silently offering me her trust and her
support.

And in that
moment I had an epiphany. An honest to God epiphany. When I
realized the purest truth about this whole disgusting
situation.

I didn’t care
why it didn’t make sense.

It had to be
stopped.

And I wanted to
be the one to stop them.

Was it crazy?
Absolutely.

Was it smart?
Absolutely not.

Did any of that
matter?

“Hell no,” I
muttered as fire roared in my belly and electricity rushed through
my veins.

Tamara’s eyes
glinted then, sensing the change in my demeanor. She knew. Somehow
she knew what I needed to do. Hell, going by our conversation she
knew before I did.

“Joe?” her
voice was soft, not hesitant exactly but more than a little
nervous. “Joe, I didn’t tell Mark.”

I blinked at
her with confusion. “Tell him what?”

She chewed on
her lower lip for a moment which both completely adorable and
ridiculously hot. “About the other night. You coming over.”

Memories slid
through my brain at that point, going over details. “Oh,” I
replied. Still confused. “Why not?”

Tamara shrugged
this time. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem … I don’t know.”

Well, that made
two of us.

“You think he’d
be mad?”

She shook her
head. “I also didn’t tell him about what happened to you at the
club.”

“Yeah, said he
heard it from Shelby.”

Tamara’s face
twisted, eyes glistening. “I should’ve told him. Before he went in.
But I was mad, I thought he knew about what happened to you.
Thought he didn’t try to stop it.” She scrubbed at her face with
her free hand, wiping carefully at her eyes.

A number
of confusing thoughts and emotions swirled through my head,
conflicting with the sudden resolve and determination I was
enjoying. The combination made me
lightheaded.

“It’s not your
fault.”

Tamara glanced
up at me. “How is it not?”

I shrugged, my
lips giving their first small smile in a few days. “Mark’s like me.
Whether you told him or Shelby told him, he still woulda confronted
Aaron about it. Miller and Parise still woulda been there.” I
squeezed her hand in return. “Nothing you could’ve done woulda
changed this.”

“You can’t know
that, Joe.”

“You can’t know
any different. It happened as it happened. We all have to live with
it.”

Tamara’s face
remained twisted, but at least she looked a touch less upset.

Okay. Enough of this.

My feet slid
under me and I stood. The fact that my bad knee didn’t protest this
move at all no longer surprised me. Adrenaline was starting to
trickle its way into my system adding the familiar rush of
excitement to the mix of energies I was dealing with. It took a bit
of effort not to fly into motion right then and there. Just let the
feelings take me over and go purely on instinct.

That way leads
to mistakes, Joe. You can’t afford mistakes.

Use your fool
brain.

But when the
time is right …

My stomach
rumbled suddenly. I exchanged an embarrassed glance with Tamara who
tried very hard not to laugh.

We both gave up
on that, letting the moment over take us.

It felt good to
laugh. Deep, full throated belly laughter. The last two days had
been brutal on my self-esteem and confidence. The simple ability to
laugh at myself after the suffering I’d let myself wallow in was so
refreshing.

I wiped away at
a tear that had formed at my eyes. I know, how lame. My stomach
rumbled and I cracked up laughing. Hardly high comedy. But hey, it
had been a shitty few days.

“You gonna stay
here?” I asked.

“For a bit
longer. Visiting hours don’t end until almost ten p.m. I think.
I’ll head home after that.” Tamara reclaimed her cooling food from
the floor and glanced up at me. “Why? What’re you thinking?”

Loaded
question.

Dammit, Joe.
Stay focused.

“You might want
to be near a TV.”

“Why is
that?”
My head swiveled around on my neck, cracking loudly in the empty
stairwell with an echo. “Just keep an eye on the late news. There
might be a breaking story.”

Tamara
blinked at me, concern creeping into her expression. She shuffled
her tiny feet slightly. Her voice was very small. “No matter what I
said you know you don’t
really
have to do this, right? People get away with horrible things
all the time.”

“Not tonight
they don’t.” My voice was filled with a confidence I needed to
feel. Eventually this rush would come down. I needed it to come
down. I had to be in control. What happened last week with the
punks who broke into my van couldn’t happen tonight. If I lost
control of myself I could lose control of everything. People could
get seriously hurt.

Especially
me.

Tamara bit her
lower lip again. “I … Joe … “

I smiled.

Not my usual
small, quiet smile. But a full, excited smile. Tamara blinked at me
in surprise, seeing the light and energy in my expression.

God help
me but I wanted to do this. I wanted to get off my sorry ass and
make people miserable for having stepped on others. For having
stepped on me. For every horrible sacrifice and dream I had ever
given up on in my entire life, for every tragedy that I had endured
I
wanted
the chance to finally
release some of this pent up angst and aggression.

And the mere
prospect of doing so made me very excited.

Impulsively I
reached out and grabbed Tamara by the shoulders, gently pulled her
close and planted a reassuring kiss on the top of her forehead.
After that I gave her a confident wink, released her arms and
turned to head down the stairs.

“Where are you
going?”

“Home,” I
replied back over my shoulder. Well, home after I stopped in the
hospital food court and grabbed something to silence the ravenous
beast within. The Neanderthal roared his approval at that
idea.
Tamara’s voice was skeptical. “Just home?”

“For starters.
I gotta get cleaned up if I’m going out dancing tonight.”

“Dancing?”

“In a manner of
speaking.”

“And then
what?”

I stopped on
the next landing and turned to look back at her. Tamara stood
there, wallet and café food in her hands. Eyes wide behind her
librarian glasses. I smiled again, showing teeth.

“Do you know
what a ‘cowboy ending’ is?”

“A cowboy ….
What?”

I turned away,
still smiling. “Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out.”

Chapter
45

One thing Dad
used to stress upon me was the need to dress for success.

In the
years since his passing this was a lesson that became less
important and less relevant as time went on. I couldn’t really
justify getting all fancy to head into work at
Canada-Pharm
for two bucks over minimum wage and
no sick days. Every year that went by I became more and more
comfortable in worn jeans, baggy tee shirts and ratty old
boots.

I couldn’t see
the point.

But tonight I
needed to make a statement. One that made it clear right from the
get go that I was deadly serious and could not be negotiated
with.

It’s the reason
why bouncers are encouraged to wear matching uniforms and maintain
a clean cut appearance. It adds a level of authority and decorum.
It suggests to people on a subconscious level to be more respectful
and more gracious. Don’t laugh, it’s true. I’ve worked in a variety
of different clubs and every time I’ve worked in places where the
owners didn’t care about bouncer uniforms or appearance things were
rougher and less controlled.

So tonight I
took Dad’s advice.

After all, I
was looking to make an impression. Though I didn’t think suggesting
on a subconscious level would be quite enough.

Showers are
good for more than just cleaning the body. I find showers very
grounding and an excellent way to cleanse my mind. Hot water poured
over my head and down my back, loosening taught muscles and
soothing minor aches and pains that I’d been ignoring for two days.
The feel of that water cascading off my flesh, soaking my wild and
unkempt hair allowed me a momentary peace. A solace. A calm place
to center myself and regain some focus in my life.

The back of my
neck tingled in anticipation.

I explored the
feeling.

For the last
few days I had ignored this sensation. Pushed it aside. Told myself
“forget it, it’ll go away." Soon life will return to its normal
drudgery and tedium. The events since Keimac put three bullets into
my chest were an aberration in an otherwise unremarkable existence.
Nothing else will happen that would be considered abnormal outside
of these days for the rest of my life. Soon I would be back to
normal and nothing would have changed.

Denial. A
favorite crutch.

But things had
changed.

Situations had
become clear to me.

And someone had
to do something about it.

I snapped off
the shower and stepped into the steam filled air of my tiny
bathroom. I toweled off as best I could and wiped away the film on
my mirror. My reflection stared back at me. Familiar eyes on a new
frame that I simply would need a lot more time to get used to.
While I doubted I’d ever become an underwear model with rock hard
and chiseled abs there was no denying that my previously ponderous
gut was becoming a thing of the past. The double chin had dissolved
leaving a strong jaw and a grim mouth. The previously thick and
rounded muscles in my back and chest had filled out some, giving me
the appearance of a CFL linebacker as opposed to a mafia thug from
some gangster movie.

I reached for
my razor and shaving cream, spending a good ten minutes trimming up
my scraggly beard. Creating a firm line along my jaw and cleaning
up the strays high on my cheekbones. My hair brush had seen better
days but still managed to untangle the mess that was the curly mop
on top of my skull. Straightened out and wet I was just shy of
being able to try it back. Definitely time for a trim. Provided I
had time for that after tonight.

Stepping out
into the cool basement air I used a second towel to scrub away the
rest of the dampness covering my skin and began to dress in the
clothes I’d pulled out of my closet. An old pair of black cargo
pants complete with a leather belt and big assed buckle. All black
dollar store tee shirt that I barely managed to squeeze into
anymore. My dusty and well-worn black combat boots I’d picked up
from Army Surplus nearly ten years before for nine bucks. I debated
going with these over my well-worn steel toes for the extra heft,
but the better grip these boots provided made the decision
easy.

Taking a moment
to examine the look in my full length mirror I continued to breathe
calmly and explore the sensation at the back of my neck. Feeling
for the surge and tingle that was ready to flow down my limbs to
provide strength and energy.

My stomach
rumbled faintly despite the food I’d crammed into it on the way
home from the hospital. The rumbling prompted a vivid flashback to
the other night when the nausea and migraine hit me and my empty
stomach, completely incapacitating me as Miller and Parise took
turns teeing off on my skull and ribcage. Phantom pains made
themselves known, reminding me of the consequences I was facing
tonight.

But I’d made my
decision.

Mom was waiting
for me when I got upstairs. She’d cleaned up my mess of nachos and
empty beer bottles from earlier in the day while I was out. She’d
also been silent since I came home. Eerily so.

I scavenged the
refrigerator and threw together a humongous sandwich; salami,
cheese, loads of mustard and a huge glass of milk. I took my time
to eat. Not quite savoring every bite, but close. My stomach
gurgled contentedly as I chewed, a sensation that resonated with
the energy tingling at the base of my hairline.

Mom
watched me from the other end of the kitchen. At first there was a
tiny part of me that anticipated a scolding. I
was
leaning against the counter as opposed to
sitting down at the table. I had too much energy to sit right
now.

Her gaze was
inscrutable. And nerve wracking.

Or maybe that
was just my guilty conscience.

How do
you start the
I might not be coming home
tonight
conversation? Especially when it isn’t because
you’re crashing with a girl.

“You going to
be late tonight?” she asked, breaking the silence.