Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One

by Adam Knight

  I sighed quietly. Score one more for the insensitive douchebags of the world.

  Tamara’s eyes got very deep then. “And then, you weren’t here. You were gone. Almost for real. And I realized that I talked, but you never said anything. Not about yourself. Nothing real.”

  I shrugged, a bit uncomfortable. “Well … What’s to say?”

  Tamara’s lips pressed into a line. The moment passing. “You tell me.” Her smile was faint and a touch wistful. “When you’re ready.” Then her phone beeped again. She waved it at me regretfully. “I gotta go.”

  “Sure,” I said, relieved. And confused. Then as she turned away I remembered. “Thanks, by the way.”

  She paused. “For what?”

  Sour grapes hit my empty and kicked at my bruised stomach spitefully, but I kept the poker face up. “For keeping my van from getting towed. How’d you know it was mine?”

  “I saw you drive it into the parking lot. That thing is unmistakable.”

  “Admit it, you’re stalking me.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “That would be awesome.”

  She smiled, but carefully. “So you talked to Mark?”

  I nodded, poker face firmly in place.

  Tamara pressed on. “Things are … okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?” I said, lying to myself. I made a shooing motion. “Go on, we’re both gonna be late.”

  She waved again with her phone, a big smile. “I am glad you’re okay, Joe.” Then Tamara whirled away and walked quickly down the hallway to work.

  Denial. It ain’t just for weird feelings and coincidences.

  Chapter 15

  I ‘d never been to the downtown CTV studios before.

  Back when I was still a wide eyed youth my Cub Scout troop had been given a chance to tour the old facility near Polo Park Shopping Centre. The studio had a primo location right across the street from the old Winnipeg Arena on Maroons Road. The place where Bobby Hull, Dale Hawerchuk and Teemu Selanne used to play for the Jets. I ‘ll never forget being so fascinated by all of the equipment, the cameras, the lights. There had been a huge storage room in the basement loaded with Hollywood style film cans of TV shows that I loved to watch. The A-Team. Dukes of Hazzard. The American Wrestling Association. Plus all of the archived footage of local news casts, street reports and sports highlights.

  The studio itself was off limits at the time, but we were given permission to watch the evening news being filmed from the safety of the control room. I remember watching legendary newscaster Sylvia Kusyk sitting at the news desk with her big smile facing the camera, telling all of Winnipeg about something important that I couldn’t understand. Probably just a recap of the city’s snow removal schedule or something equally useless to eight year old me. There were six different people working all of the Star Trek bridge style equipment, with their blinking lights and dials. Everyone wore a headset as the director sat in the back, monitoring the action.

  We toured the production room where even though it was dark out, there were several men and women sitting at their desks working on their high tech Commodore sixty-four computers and word processors putting together upcoming newscasts and special presentations.

  It had been a real eye opener for young me. I had known my whole life how exciting TV was, Lord knows I watched my fair share of it growing up. But now I knew that this was something I could be a part of.

  For years going through school I had dumb fantasies about working in a side office somewhere on the second story of that tri-level building. Hammering away on some big piece involving the Jets advancing to the Stanley Cup Final, or the City Electing a new Mayor amidst controversy. Going over it with Sylvia Kusyk and telling her how important the piece was for the people of Winnipeg on CTV’s six o’clock broadcast.

  Years passed. The Jets traded Teemu just before the team was sold to some morons in Phoenix. The Old Barn got torn down in favor of an addition to the shopping complex. Ms. Kusyk retired to the private sector and the CTV studios were abandoned in favor of their new location in the heart of downtown.

  Way back in the day this building on Graham and Carleton had been an old power station. The steam stack is still in place today. The top floor had .been gutted in favor of a new open concept studio for the much reduced CTV. What once had taken up three whole floors and a cool, dry basement to store archived film was now jammed tight into a twenty-five hundred square foot space. When watching the news these days, viewers at home were treated to open concept style studios where the anchors’ desk now sat in front of the production pit where writers and other newscasters were often seen hard at work in the background. It was a creative solution, making it seem like an inclusive choice that CTV was making as opposed to a concession because they were terribly cramped for room.

  They even had to share the building. On the main floor beneath the studio was a trendy sports pub that also extended to the rooftop directly above, where the summertime patio was a huge hit with the professional party goers looking for something a bit tamer than a regular nightclub. When Cathy did her rooftop weather hits she couldn’t do them when the pub was open for fear of drunken fools causing a scene.

  The best thing about the new CTV Studio was its proximity to the MTS Centre. News crews didn’t even have to go outside as the new home of the returned Winnipeg Jets was directly across the street where the ancient Eaton’s building had once stood. Seeing that tradition carried over from the old studio made me smile wistfully. Both the arena and the studio were connected by covered walkways that acted as wintertime sidewalks for the people of Winnipeg.

  As I was led through the entry lobby I passed the small cubby area where the administration and sales team worked away. A forty foot square area jammed tight with desks and people practically sitting in each other’s lap, trying to keep the station in the green financially.

  The young intern led me past the main studio where reporters and camera people hung out, going over the latest news feeds coming out online. It always amazes me how much social media had taken over the news industry. I don’t think it’s a bad thing overall as it definitely gives more of a voice to the average citizen. But I always think it’s goofy when respected and educated news professionals went on about “what people were saying on Facebook about the news.” If I wanted to know what Billy McNumbnuts thought about stuff, I would friend him.

  For the record, I’m not on Facebook.

  The intern motioned to an area off to the side that looked suspiciously like the set for the CTV Morning Show. Complete with a small coffee table and two uncomfortable looking living room chairs. I nodded to the intern and opted to stand, my stomach still gurgling uncomfortably after the two cheese and bacon burgers I’d wolfed down on my way over fought for supremacy. I dropped my gym bag near the left chair and shoved my hands into my pockets, checking surreptitiously to make sure I didn’t spill any grease on my hoodie. It was a collector’s item after all.

  Sure was a lot of expensive looking equipment in here.

  The tingle behind my eyes at the back of my neck started again.

  I clamped my eyes shut, clenching my fingers tight in my pockets and forced myself to breathe slowly.

  Not for any particular reason.

  Why would there be a reason?

  Nothing weird was going on.

  Nope.

  Voices behind me. I focused on them while I breathed. Helped distract me.

  “What do you mean you’ve never seen, True Lies? That movie is classic.”

  Scoffing laughter. “Classic garbage. No interest.”

  “Seriously man, the camerawork and action are way ahead of its time. Cameron was at his film making best.”

  “Cameron should’ve stopped after the original Terminator. That film was a masterpiece.”

  “Oh for sure. Razor sharp screen play. Terrific action and set pieces. Plus, Linda Hamilton got all kinds of naked.”

  “Way naked. The only negative of that movie is how it
started the whole sci-fi trope of the female heroine.”

  “True enough.”

  “Hold on, wait.” I broke in, snapping my eyes open and looking back over my shoulder. Two cameramen stood nearby looping cable, blinking up at me.

  “What’s up?” asked the younger one.

  “You got a problem with female heroines? I know several ladies who would kick your sexist asses.”

  “No no no, I love female heroines.” This was the older guy. Graying heavily and lean with an easy smile. “But for every Riley and Buffy there’s a Red Sonja or Lara Croft.”

  The younger guy blinked. “I liked Lara Croft.”

  “Oh yeah, Angie’s hot. But those movies suck.”

  The chatter of the studio hummed in the background as we made introductions. Jimmy was the older guy who would be shooting the interview with me for Cathy. Kurt was the younger guy and was helping with the lighting and audio set up. I was immediately jealous when I saw his media pass and learned he was also the stationary camera operator for all Jets home games.

  “It’s a pretty sweet deal,” Kurt admitted with a smile. “Pay’s decent and it’s a steady side gig. Given how any moron can shoot things using their smart phones these days you gotta jump on the good jobs and hold’em tight.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said sympathetically, thinking about the time I spend paying the bills between both of my jobs. “But if you wanna trade, I think you’d make a great bouncer.”

  All hundred and fifty-ish skinny pounds of Kurt laughed hard at that one.

  “Cathy’ll be with us in a minute,” Jimmy said checking his phone. “She’s running late in her meeting. We’re supposed to get you all set up.”

  “Cool.”

  Getting set up was actually pretty neat. Cathy had expressed my desire to remain relatively anonymous to Jimmy who worked hard to make it happen. He and Kurt set up a dark curtain behind one of the living room chairs and had me sit in it. For the next few minutes Kurt ran back and forth from the control room, testing lighting settings and levels.

  Jimmy set up a monitor off to one side so I could see the results. Somehow, despite all of the light glaring down at me, he’d managed to keep my face in shadow. You could clearly make out the shape and outline of my face, but it was dark enough to be indistinct.

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  “You’re the expert, but it works for me.” I nodded at him. “Sorry to be a pain in the ass.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Man, if I was you I’d never want my face out. Who knows if those gang members would want to finish the job? Make sure you couldn’t I.D. them?”

  Kurt chimed in from the side. “Yeah, no doubts.”

  “I guess that’s a possibility,” I conceded reluctantly, shrugging my shoulders. “But so what? They all got arrested on scene. There’s dozens of witnesses and the club has cameras right at the door.”

  They both nodded. Then Jimmy laughed. “You should get all Steven Seagal, grab a shotgun and head to their hideout. Kick some serious ass now that you’re back from the dead.”

  We all laughed. That was a good one.

  The clicking of heels on the studio floor interrupted our mirth. Cathy came onto the Morning Show’s mini set with a smile on her anxious face. I stood up out of my chair as she approached, which would have made my grandpa proud.

  “All right jokers, what’s so funny?” she asked, eyeing all three of us askance.

  “Nothing,” I started to say.

  Jimmy interrupted. “We were telling Joe he should re-enact the final scene from Hard to Kill.”

  “Yeah,” Kurt laughed, making a hokey kung fu gesture with his skinny arms. “Go all cowboy ending on those fools.”

  Cathy stared at her cameramen as they laughed amongst themselves. She turned to me and quirked her eyebrow questioningly.

  I shrugged.

  A few minutes later we were seated opposite each other. Jimmy and Kurt continued to test the lighting settings, now that Cathy was in frame it made things a bit more complicated. She sat primly, making innocuous small talk while flipping through her tiny note cards.

  There was a small continual thrumming sensation in the air. Kinda like when you’re at the symphony and all the string instruments are tuning up? When the big bass cello starts running scales and there’s a sense of tension and presence in the air?

  It felt like that. Only it wasn’t noise. It was a pressure, causing the tingling at the back of my neck to flare up.

  But it was different. Not staccato or pulsing. Just a steady thrum.

  “Are you okay?”

  I blinked, coming out of my reverie. Cathy was looking up from her note cards, her dark eyes wide. And tired.

  “Me?” I coughed into my elbow once, trying to cover my awkward moment. “Yeah. All good. You?”

  She pursed her lips, dimples forming as her eyes glancing back to her notes.

  “Cathy?” I pressed, eyeing the cameramen askance. They were arguing about white balance issues or something. Neither of them paying attention. I leaned forward. “What’s the matter?”

  She blinked a few times, looking down at her notes.

  “Cathy?”

  “My boss is an asshole,” she said quietly but with conviction. Cathy raised her gaze up and met mine, her eyes strained and tense. I knew the look well.

  “So’s mine,” I replied with my small smile. “That’s why they’re bosses.”

  “Well my boss just spent the last half hour giving me hell for this interview.”

  “Why? I was getting requests from CTV before you ambushed me in the hospital.”

  “I did not ambush …” Cathy glared at me briefly, her hands gripping her cards tight. “He wants this to be less clandestine and more traditional.”

  My stomach sank. “Oh.” The thrumming increased in tension. “What did you say?”

  Her eyes dropped again. “I told him that your safety was an issue and that you were uncomfortable with being too exposed by the media.” The thrumming decreased again as I released a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Cathy grimaced. “And then I reminded him that the only reason you’re here at all was because of me. He really didn’t like that.”

  “I bet.”

  She glanced to the side, Jimmy and Kurt were still deep in their own conversation. “He said a lot of things that were bullshit, but one that was true. He reminded me just how many young media students would love to be the weathergirl on Winnipeg’s highest rated newscast.” Her face fell. “And he’s right, I can’t coast on this gig forever. But if I don’t get some quality interviews and stories on my resume I’m not going to be able to move into another position. I need this, Joe.”

  I leaned back in my chair, giving it some thought. I glanced at the lighting set up from the safety of my shadows.

  “But,” she broke in, reaching over to grab my hand like she had at Sal’s. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Your safety is a concern, as is the health of your mother. And your right to privacy.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  Cathy leaned back again, looking as uncertain as I had ever seen her.

  “We’re ready if you are,” Jimmy broke in from behind his camera. Kurt stood off to one side, earphones on his head and a long boom microphone in his hands.

  Cathy’s smile was back in full force. “Sounds great, Jimmy. Thanks.” She leaned back in her chair, extending her smile to me. Suddenly all TV presence and brimming with confidence.