Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (46 page)

I winced at
that, my fingers still scrubbing at my scalp. Debating what to tell
him. What not to tell him. I’d all but decided the other night to
stop thinking about this. Stop worrying about this. People would
get hurt if I didn’t let this go. People were still getting hurt
because of my nosey questions from earlier. Shelby quit a steady,
good paying job. Mark was laid up in the hospital, now completely
unemployed. Girls were still going missing. People were dying.

Deep in the pit
of my stomach a fire began to build. That primitive, overprotective
and childlike belief in “the right thing” that I often referred to
as my own personal Neanderthal had begun striking rocks over
tinder. Sending sparks of anger raining down onto the kindling of
injustice, blowing on those sparks until they began to smolder.

Shit.

“Joe?”

I can’t do
this.

“Yeah?”

Mom could get
hurt. Killed.

“Give me
something man.”

He was owed
something. No doubts.

“Aaron and the
cops are involved in stuff,” said the words coming out of my mouth.
I spoke quietly, but specifically. Keeping a firm lid on the heat
rising in my belly, on the tingling at the back of my neck that
threatened to race down my limbs.

“Stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Stuff???”

My fingers
clenched tightly in my hair, shooting pain down my spine.

“Real bad stuff
man.”

“Involving the
girls?”

I blinked up at
him, quirking my right eyebrow.

Mark rolled his
eyes. “Come on, man. I ain’t a P.I. but any moron could see that
something is going on with the girls in the club.”

Except
this
moron,
apparently. Not until it was too late.

“Well. Yeah.” I
cleared my throat. “But it’s more than that. People are getting
hurt.”

“No shit.”

“More than you.
More than me.” My hands came out of my hair and gripped the bed
railing tight, the smoldering fire in my belly began to flicker as
flames began to lick up at the branches of rage laid atop them.
“People have been killed, man. And more might end up dead.”

Mark closed his
eyes. “Fuck,” he whispered softly, running his hand over his
face.

“You sure?”

I nodded.

“Fuck,” he
repeated. “And the cops are involved?”

My shoulders
shrugged. “I’m pretty sure they’re the ones in charge.”

Silence.

The Neanderthal
began his little war dance around the tiny fire, grunting and
swaying to and fro, making my guts roll with self-criminations. Or
maybe that was just the beer and nachos.

“So what do we
do about it?” Mark asked.

“Do?”

“Yeah. Do.”

“Mark …”

He tried to sit
up. “Joe, if things are as bad as you say there’s gotta be
something that can be done to get these guys.”

I threw up my
hands from the railing. “Mark, they’re cops! They’ve been making
their problems go away this whole time! If I go to the police with
this, without any evidence or anything they will hunt me down.”

“You don’t know
that.”

“The fuck I
don’t! They threatened me. They threatened Mom. Hell, you got the
shit beat out of you for asking a question about me!” I scrubbed
both hands over my face. My neck tingled like mad and my guts were
so hot I thought for sure that Mark could feel it.

“So what are
you going to do?”

My fists
clenched tight. So tight I could feel my fingernails digging
painfully into the palms of my hands.

The overhead
lights began to flicker. Mark blinked up at them in surprise.

Shit.

I turned on my
heel and started away.

“I’m sorry,
man. I really am.”

“Joe? Where you
going, man? Tamara’ll be right back. She was really worried about
you, said she hadn’t heard from you in days.”

More fuel on
the fire in my gut. Guilt adding to rage, flames rose in a
kerosene-like flare up.

I shook my
head.

I can’t do
this.

“I’m sorry,
Mark. No one’s …. Shit. I’m sorry.”

I stalked
out.

Chapter
44

I was in a haze
as I stumbled away from Mark’s room, ignoring his voice behind
me.

Rage clouded my
vision, guilt hammered in my gut and my neck tingled like a live
wire. So distracted by the combative emotions swirling inside of me
that the hallway lights flickered over my head as I staggered by.
Cell phones rang and radios hissed static as I passed, leaving a
small wake of confused hospital staffers and family members behind
me.

Silence hit me
like a wave when I finally hit the double wide steel stairwell door
with my shoulder and slammed it shut behind me, walling off the
sounds to a low muffle.

It was just too
much.

Somehow I found
myself backed up against the concrete corner of the stairwell
landing. My legs gave way until I slid down and landed hard on my
ass. My legs curled up to my chest and I laced my fingers behind my
head, trying to bury my face in my knees.

God, he looked
awful.

I could picture
the whole scene in my mind’s eye. Mark facing off with Miller and
Parise. Miller losing his shit like the oversized hothead he is. A
scuffle ensues and suddenly Mark gets pitched down the stairs.

Attempted
murder at least, right? No way anyone can argue tossing a guy down
fifty marble stairs qualifies as simple assault. Right?

Shit.

He’s lucky to
be alive.

My memory
began flickering in time with the halogen bulb illuminating the
landing. Faces. Places. Fists. Shouts. Screams. Noise. All of it
noise. Candace Cleghorn. Her brother Keimac, his pistol flashing
bullets. Blood. Miller’s sneer as his fists pounded me. Parise with
his perfect composure, striking with delicate precision. Tamara’s
worried expression, wiping blood off my face. Asian businessmen
partying with the women. Faces on a wall. Pictures. Missing Women.
Cathy captured by
Native Posse
members, terror flooding her face. Keimac threatening to kill
me. His body loaded into an ambulance. Mom’s look of profound
disappointment.

All of this
flashed through my head in time with the accelerated pace of my
heart.

Over and over
again.

“Make it stop,”
I pleaded in a whisper. “Please, make it all stop.”

“Joe?”

Shit.

“Joe is that
you?”

And the parade
of guilt continued.

I peered up
over my knees and confirmed what my ears were telling me.

Tamara stood in
front of me her wallet in one hand, a steaming coffee and slab of
pizza in the other. My stomach rumbled as the aroma hit my
nostrils. She looked tired, which shouldn’t have surprised me given
our late night visit a few days back. She looked like she’d come
right from work, complete with dark yoga pants and her red YMCA tee
shirt and a gray hooded sweater over top of that.

Tamara’s long
lashed eyes blinked from behind her librarian glasses at me, her
expression unsurprisingly worried.

“Joe?”

“Is the
cafeteria still open?”

“Uhm ..” She
looked at the food in her hands and gestured to me with her
slice.

“Just
checking.” God, I was hungry. Again.

“Do you … Did
you want my …”

I shook my
head.

Silence.

Tamara adjusted
her food stuffs and wallet before pulling up a piece of stairwell
and parking her tight little butt – not that I was noticing, honest
– next to me. Our legs not quite touching.

More
silence.

Damn that pizza
smelled good.

“You didn’t
call.” Tamara’s voice sounded small, even for her. It echoed a bit
in the empty stairwell. “After the other night … I don’t know. You
just left and … I figured …”

“No number,
remember?”

“I left my
number with your mother each time I called.”

Shit.

“Yeah. About
that …”

I trailed off.
So much swirling in my head.

Tamara took a
sip of her coffee. She had faint circles under her eyes. I’d never
seen those on her before.

“I saw Mark.
Thanks for calling, telling me about him.”

She shrugged
slightly. “Said he had to talk to you. You weren’t returning his
calls.”

More guilt.
More flare ups on the fire in my belly. The Neanderthal
chuckled.

“If it makes
you feel any better I wasn’t returning anyone’s calls.”

“Why not?”

My shoulders
rolled slightly. Might’ve been a shrug. “Dunno.”

Tamara
eyeballed me quietly, her disbelief speaking louder in silence than
if she’d stood over top of me and pronounced me a liar. She sipped
more coffee.

“This is my
fault,” I muttered.

Silence.

My stomach
rumbled. Hunger or guilt. Hard to say.

“What’s the
verdict?” I asked.

“On?”

I motioned with
my head back towards the hallway. Towards Mark.

Tamara’s lips
pursed faintly. Concerned.

“Broken leg.
Dislocated shoulder. Cracked ribs.” She shook her head faintly,
staring down at her Styrofoam coffee cup. “Doctors say he should
make a full recovery. Though doctors are thinking he should be
pressing charges.”

“Normally, I’d
agree with the doctors.” I wondered if my voice sounded half as
bitter as it tasted in my mouth. Like sour fruit. “But given the
circumstances….”

We said nothing
for a long moment.

Tamara put her
coffee down on the floor, resting her pizza slice precariously on
top of it before turning slightly to face me.

Her gaze was
making me uncomfortable.

“What?”

“Something’s
got to be done about this, Joe.”

The Neanderthal
continued his slow war dance. I did my best to ignore him as I met
Tamara’s eyes. Her intense, angry eyes.

“These people,
what they’re doing … It’s wrong. And someone needs to stop
them.”

The tingling at
the back of my neck increased slightly. Little shooting sensations
began to race down the base of my spine.

“Someone.” My
voice was deep. Quiet. I was afraid to say the words out loud.
Terrified of the consequences. Nothing’s real in this world until
you acknowledge it by saying it out loud.

“Yes.” Tamara’s
eyes were so intense. So confident. “If the police are involved in
some kind of plot then someone needs to even the score.”

“Someone,” I
repeated, still quietly.

“Yes.”

I took a deep
breath. “You mean, ‘someone like me.’ “

She held my
eyes without blinking.

Just saying
those words opened a tiny crack in my self-control. The tingling
sensation increased tenfold sending gooseflesh down my spine,
flooding my limbs with a sudden rush of electricity.

It was
invigorating. It was terrifying.

It was
glorious.

The Neanderthal
raised his shaggy mane to the sky and howled in approval.

Tamara blinked
in surprise and rubbed at her forearms suddenly. Her cute little
bob of hair had a few strays suddenly rise to the ceiling as the
rush of static passed over her. The halogen lights above my head
flickered ominously and nearly snapped off permanently before
righting itself and continuing on.

She didn’t
flinch away. There was no fear in Tamara’s eyes at this sudden
tangible display of … well, of whatever it is that was going on
with me. The only thing that Tamara showed me was confidence.

Trust.

Her tiny hand
reached out and gripped one of my calloused paws.

This was
insane.

Certifiably bat
shit insane.

This was a
dangerously real situation. People were dying. Mom was in danger.
My friends; Mark, Cathy, Tamara .. all of them would be at
risk.

But the things
going on at the club – whatever exactly they might be – were
causing all of this grief. People were profiting off the lives of
others, taking advantage of their weaknesses and making them pay
the ultimate price so they could continue to get rich. Pimping
girls out. Having them entertain wealthy business types. Killing
anyone who gets in their way.

No. Something
about this still didn’t add up. I was missing a piece of the
puzzle. Something significant. Something that made this more than a
simple high class rub’n’tug operation. Something that made a guy
like Parise – one of the coolest and most collected people I’d ever
met – desperate enough to resort to assault and murder in order to
cover his tracks.