Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (40 page)

No one said
anything.

Shit.

“So, what
happened? Candace overdosed during a party? A client got rough? She
started a fight?”

No one said
anything. But their expressions got darker.

Shit.

I closed my
eyes, my stomach rolling but from a different kind of nausea
now.

“Goddammit, you
guys really did it.”

When I opened
my eyes again the scenario had changed. Parise and Aaron still had
a grip on each arm but Miller had repositioned himself until he was
standing right in front of me, his face a glowering mask. All three
of them were crowding me until my back was against the bar.

I scanned each
of their faces carefully. Parise remained expressionless save for a
tightening around his calculating eyes, you could practically see
the wheels turning inside his skull. Aaron was visibly sweating
now, moisture rolling down from his bottle blonde coif and under
his chin. His expression was the guilty one, completely resigned
and open. Miller’s nostrils were literally flaring as he readied
himself for violence.

It took more
effort than I’d care to admit but I managed to stare them all right
back.

I should have
been sweating buckets but my skin was slowly getting hot and
uncomfortable. My head continued to throb, any relief I had gotten
from the food and water was evaporating by the heartbeat. My
stomach felt like I was about to vomit up every meal I’d ever eaten
all at one time despite being practically empty.

“Guys?” Shelby
asked timidly from just behind me on the other side of the bar. “Is
everything okay?’

The tension
rose. No one looked at her.

“How many?” I
managed to ask through my dry throat.

Parise blinked.
‘What?”

“How many girls
had to die to keep you in the pimp game?”

Breath exploded
out from my lungs as I collapsed to the hard floor, a huge Officer
Miller sized bruise forming just below my solar plexus. My head
screamed in agony as I hit the ground choking and unable to
breath.

“Joe!”

“You dare to
question us?”

“Miller, that’s
enough!”

“Joe! What are
you doing to him?”

“Shelby, please
stay back this doesn’t concern you.”

“He took a
bullet for this club! For all of us!”

“It’s not that
simple …”
“Shut up, bitch.”

“Miller, I said
that is enough!”

“You ungrateful
son of a bitch I am gonna …”

“Enough!”
Parise snapped.

Air. Sweet air
filled my lungs in a rasp.

One arm was
braced on the floor while the other pressed firmly to where Miller
had hammered me. The desire to throw up had increased tenfold and
my head hurt so badly that I couldn’t see clearly. My splayed
fingers on the floor before me were a blur and not from tears. My
body didn’t seem to have any moisture left in it.

I could faintly
hear Shelby’s stillettos echoing on the floor as she came around
the bar. I felt more than saw Aaron cut her off and block her
path.

“What the
hell are you doing to him?”

“Honey you need
to go now,” Aaron said worriedly. “This isn’t anything that
concerns …”

“Joe took a
bullet for this club and everyone in it. And now you’re letting him
get beat by that pig?”

“Watch your
mouth, girl.”

“Get rid of
her, Aaron.” Parise said, his voice still calm.

“Shelby I need
you to …”

Flesh cracked
in the relative silence and Aaron cried out. A brief scuffle broke
out that I couldn’t see or do anything about. It literally took
everything I had to keep breathing and remain conscious from my
position on the floor.

It was about
here that I realized I wasn’t feeling anything from the spot at the
back of my neck. No tingle, no chills, no rush.

Just piercing
agony behind my eyes.

I must’ve
blacked out briefly then.

A pair of rough
hands seized me by the arms and hauled me back to my feet, slamming
me painfully against the bar. Though whether the impact hurt more
than my head was completely debatable.

My vision
cleared momentarily. Miller had one beefy paw on my chest holding
me in place while Parise stood directly beside him. Aaron and
Shelby were nowhere to be seen. Actually no one else was to be
seen. The main room had cleared.

“
No
witnesses,” my lips mumbled. “Great.”

“You don’t know
what you’re doing, Joe.” Parise said regretfully, removing his suit
jacket as he spoke. “Things are never as simple as they
appear.”

“Oh no?” I
muttered. Trying to focus past the headache and keep my eyes clear.
Where the hell did Mark go?

Miller’s
expression was cold. Dangerous. “Told’ya we couldn’t trust this
guy.”

“Guess …” I
coughed, grabbing at Miller’s extended arm weakly with both of
mine. “Guess you aren’t as dumb as you …”

It was
apparently possible for my head to hurt even worse. My eyes lost
all focus and I felt my face slam heavily to the smooth surface of
the bar. The skin around my left eye pinched and began to swell,
pulsing in time with the ice pick jabbing into my skull.

“That’s enough,
Miller.”

“Fuck off, I
don’t have to take that shit from anyone.”

“I said that’s
enough!” Parise’s voice cracked like a whip.

Silence, save
for the harsh rasp of my breathing.

I was turned
around again and forced into a stool, still leaned up against the
bar. Parise stood in front of me, rolling up the sleeves to his
expensive dress shirt. The image of a man preparing to work.

“You must
not think badly of me. Of us,” Parise said in his accented voice,
sounding more than a little regretful. His eyes not meeting mine,
focused on the delicate task of precisely rolling up his cuffs.
“When we were presented with this opportunity, well …
Mon dieu
no rational man could have
turned it down.”

Blood was
filling my mouth. Apparently I’d bitten my tongue when Miller
smashed my face. I tried to spit it onto his too white shirt but it
just dribbled down my chin in gruesome stream.

Parise didn’t
seem to notice.

“It was so
easy,” he continued, unbuttoning the top tabs on his shirt. “These
girls, already they were used to it. To being pimped out. Whores
for their family. Whores for their gangs. But this …” he motioned
around the main room expansively. “To young women used to turning
tricks in dirty alleyways and in the back of cars, this is a
paradise.”

“Better than
they deserve.” Miller growled. “Them bitches owe us, taking them
off the streets. Giving them clothes, a place to be safe.”

“And when
things got out of hand, who could blame us for trying to protect
ourselves and everything we created.”

Somehow I
managed to force a chuckle, my blood spattering off my lips. I was
so weak, so hurt. “Yeah. Best whorehouse I ever worked in.”

Miller reared
back his fist again but stopped when Parise held up his hand.

“How did you
see this playing out, Joe?” he asked me quietly. A sad expression
on his too groomed features. “Did you think you could come in, ask
some questions about our business? Accuse us of being pimps and
murderers and assume all would be well? That we would shake hands
and go on about our business.”

“Honestly?” I
croaked painfully as my vision blurring again. “I hoped you’d tell
me I was full of shit and we’d all have a good laugh over a
beer.”

Parise smiled
sadly.

And that’s when
things started to hurt.

Chapter
38

“Hello?” came
her static filled voice brokenly over the intercom. She sounded
tired.

I could
relate.

“Hey,” I
muttered as loudly as I could through my raw throat. “You
awake?”

There was a
hissing pause.

“I have the
cops on speed dial. So if you drunks don’t go away right now
they’ll come here and haul you away, just like last week!”

Maybe it was my
delivery.

“It’s Joe.”

“Joe?” More
static over the line. “Joe, it’s three in the morning.”

“Yeah.
Sorry.”

Another
pause.

“What are you
doing here? I thought you didn’t know where I … Wait… Is this a
booty call?”

Despite
everything I laughed. At least I think it was a laugh. My chest
rose and fell and sounds emanated from my throat. Every lurching
motion sending more shockwaves of agony through my body.

“Joe? You think
this is funny?”

“Not really,” I
croaked.

“Okay that’s
it, I am …”

The intercom
clicked off with a snapping sound. I don’t think it had anything to
do with me but frankly it’s impossible to be sure.

I leaned
heavily against the glass window of the old apartment complex and
closed my eyes. The cool glass felt good against my flaming hot and
agonized face.

Is it still
called “falling asleep” when you lose track of time in a
vertical-ish position? Or is that officially “passing out?”

And that sort
of question is why it’s a good thing I never even considered
getting into medicine.

That thought
made me laugh again. Which of course made everything hurt again.
Not that it really ever stopped.

The sound of
footsteps coming down a long hallway echoed to my ears through the
thick glass. With an effort I cracked open my swollen eyes and
peered into the gloom.

An interior
door leading to the main floor apartments swung open to reveal
Tamara’s tiny form. Without her librarian glasses I barely
recognized her, though her hair being in a wild state of disarray
certainly added to the lack of recognition. Dressed in an overlong
tee-shirt that hung on her like tent with a pair of fuzzy bunny
slippers and a furious expression she stomped up towards the
building’s entrance with purpose.

“What in the
hell do you think you’re doing?” she said to me with real heat in
her voice after opening the door. “I don’t know what you are
expecting to happen tonight but …”

My bad knee
chose that moment to give out on me, lurching my body down towards
the concrete steps. I managed to keep myself from face planting
with a last ditch effort of will and both palms pressed up onto the
glass.

And Tamara’s
tiny hands planted on my chest helped some too.

Her eyes
narrowed as she stared at me. Odd, I figured she was nearsighted.
Shows what I know.

“Oh my God,”
Tamara said quietly as she got a good look at me. “Oh my God, Joe.
We have to get you to a …”

”No hospital!”
I croaked, shuddering. Remembering what I was told.

“Joe! You’re
barely standing. You need a doctor!”

My head hung
low, chin drooped to my chest. Shame. Agony. Humiliation. Failure.
All these emotions churned in my belly. All of them accompanied by
the agony in my head and all over my flesh.

“Please,” I
whispered, my voice broken. I was shaking uncontrollably now. It
had taken the last of my strength to stumble the mere four blocks
to this spot. “Please.”

“Joe?” Her eyes
were very wide.

“Please.”

I don’t know
the details for how I made it up the short flight of stairs and
down the hallway to Tamara’s tiny apartment. What I do remember was
having a cup of cold water pressed into my trembling hands and
being helped to my split lips. I sipped gratefully, the cold wash
mingling with the dried blood in my mouth. The taste of liquid
pennies swirled down my raw throat like so much refuse down the
drain.

“Drink up,” she
said quietly, her voice soothing. Small fingers ran through my
shaggy and sodden hair. A shiver rolled down my neck at the touch.
How long since I’d been touched like that? Had I ever been touched
like that? “Drink. I’ll make some tea in a moment.”

My head nodded.
I no longer trusted my voice or the words that wanted to babble out
of my mouth. I’m not a babbler. I take churlish pride in my
stoicism. But the consideration Tamara showed me and the gentle
touch she gave nearly opened a floodgate of words that I might
never have closed again.

So I sipped
more water, reveled in the sensation it provided while washing away
my agony.

And said
nothing.

Tamara was
astonishingly patient with me all things considered. I had only
woken her from a dead sleep in the middle of a stormy night and
invited myself into her tiny apartment after the worst shit-kicking
of my life.

Somehow she’d
convinced me to take my shirt off and allow her to wash at my cuts
and abrasions with a cool cloth. It took a lot of trips to the sink
and back to get most of them clean. The peroxide stung deeply on
the cuts in my lower lip and under my eye, but the ones elsewhere
weren’t too bad.