Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One

by Adam Knight

  That’s what Tamara said. Not a drop of it remained in front of me. Scrubbed clean. Possibly by the weather, but more likely by Aaron’s cleaning crew. Nothing turns off party goers more than bloodstains at the main entranceway.

  I stood there for a long time. Staring down at the pavement. The mid-afternoon crush of people flowing around me, paying me no mind. I paid them less.

  Pain.

  Shouting.

  Light.

  “Stay down, asshole.”

  “Joe!”

  Pain.

  “Joe!”

  I turned.

  Aasif stood in the entranceway to the club. Astonishment on his skinny face.

  “My God, Joe!” He opened the door wide and motioned me forward. “Come in, man. Come in.”

  I nodded and let him usher me inside.

  It was dark, and quiet. The old bank was practically a tomb when the lights and music weren’t blaring at top levels. The air smelled of alcohol, both the cleaning kind as well as the stuff found in bottles behind the bar.

  Aasif wasn’t alone. A few of the bar backs were in early with him, doing the frantic last minute tidying and restocking before the Friday night open in a few hours. Aaron was very particular about cleanliness, at least in the hours before people crowded in. Once the hundreds started packing the joint from wall to wall rules tended to get situational.

  The bar backs waved at me from the side, a few of them coming over for handshakes and pleasantries. I didn’t know these guys all that well but they all knew me, which wasn’t really a surprise I suppose.

  Aasif clapped me on the shoulder and turned me into a bro hug, which is always more awkward with a narrow shouldered and skinny dude. Less beef to keep the belt buckles twelve inches apart. Still, well intentioned.

  “Damn, man. Mark was saying you were up and about, but look at you.”

  I gave him my small smile and shrugged slightly. “Go right ahead.”

  Aasif laughed and led me over to the bar, motioning me to take a lean as he went around back. “You want a beer or something?”

  “If it’s cold I want a beer.”

  He dug into the fridge and pulled out my favorite.

  Frosty cold Corona, no lime. Clean, crisp and delicious.

  It had only been two weeks but it tasted like forever.

  I pounded half the beer in one draught, then paused to press the cool glass bottle against my forehead. A genuine smile on my lips. Amazing what the simple pleasure of a cold beer does to my demeanor.

  Don’t judge me, I’m Irish-Canadian. If our blood alcohol level drops too far we get ornery.

  “It’s real good to see you, Joe.” Aasif said, leaning towards me on the other side of the bar. “It was a scary night.”

  “Tell me about it,” I muttered.

  He nodded. “People were real freaked out. We had to shut down early and everything.”

  I raised my eyebrow at him. “Well, I should hope so.”

  “No no, of course we were going to do that,” Aasif said apologetically. “I meant that it turned into a real scary scene trying to hold people inside so that the paramedics and police could do their jobs. Questioning witnesses and the like.”

  I could easily imagine it. Trying to keep people inside the club when something violent happens is a nightmare. Everyone’s first instinct is to run for safety, unaware of how badly they were getting in other peoples way. Being able to keep a crowd calm meant the difference between life and death for victims of a beating. Giving people space to work, to breathe and the like.

  “Like you said,” I muttered, taking another sip of cold Mexican perfection. “Scary stuff.”

  “No doubts.” He leaned back, letting one of the bar backs pass by carrying two cases of beer. “At least you’re okay, man. Seriously. You’re looking good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “When do you think you’ll be ready to get back to work.”

  I chuckled and sipped more beer. “I’ll let you know when I know. But not soon.”

  “No, of course not. Just know we’re always happy to have you back, man.”

  “I bet.” I drained the beer gratefully. “I need to talk to Aaron. Is he here?”

  Aasif motioned behind me with his head. “Yeah. Upstairs. But he’s in a meeting, so give him a few.”

  I looked back over my shoulder to the marble staircase to the penthouse area.

  “Okay,” I said pushing off the bar. “Beer me, I’ll wait over there.”

  Aasif laughed and dug out another Corona for me before turning back to the job of getting the club ready for the night’s festivities.

  Strolling across the empty dance floor I eyed the staircase askance, trying to enjoy my beer. At the foot of the staircase I paused, leaning against the cold stone wall.

  I’d been working for Aaron off and on for a number of years. At other clubs he’d managed before he’d up and opened Cowboy Shotz. I’d been here with this crew for about two years and had never been up these stairs before. Not once.

  It wasn’t like forbidden or anything. I was just always working. And when working, this staircase perpetually had velvet ropes blocking the steps telling folks to go party elsewhere. Which was fine, most everyone did. For after parties, select bouncers had been asked to stick around and hang out upstairs in case of trouble. Like Aaron had asked me about the other night.

  Still.

  I looked back into the main bar. Aasif and his helpers were busy puttering around. Paying no attention to me.

  It was a long assed staircase. Two flights in one, over fifty feet straight up. I’d never noticed the artistic designs on the walls before, though since I’d never been up here before I don’t know why I was surprised. Again, this building is from the turn of the twentieth century and architectural standards back then were loaded with artsy-fartsy ideas and designs.

  They also built things to last, that’s for damned sure.

  There was a long landing up at the top of the stairs. A couple of small cocktail tables and chairs, for guests who liked to be above the action but still wanted the feel of the club. An honest to goodness red carpet covered the landing. Nothing plush or lavish. But definitely red and definitely carpeting.

  The double doors ahead of me were expansive and solid oak, complete with huge brass handles and an old fashioned key lock. Above the handle a more modern deadbolt apparatus had been installed. Odd. All of the sensitive papers and petty cash was kept downstairs in the office above the main bar. They have a safe for that.

  I shrugged it off and sipped some beer, reaching out to try to doors.

  Locked.

  Of course.

  Not knowing what else to do, I pulled out one of the steel chairs and sat my tired ass down. Trying to relax against the balcony railing near one of the cocktail tables. Patiently examining the door and the landing.

  I stayed there a good ten minutes. Nursing that beer but good.

  I scanned all over, trying to keep my mind busy and off the weirdness of the day. My abdomen still ached from where it hit the treadmill and was likely bruising up something fierce. And then that whole weirdness at the studio. The thrumming. The tingling.

  My head started to hurt faintly.

  I gripped my bottle tight and chugged the rest of my beer. It was piss warm now. But it was still beer and that meant it was good.

  Feeling more calm I closed my eyes and tried to relax. I needed to talk to Aaron before heading home. Mom would be fine for another few hours. Hell, I would normally be stuck at work until after five o’clock taking pharmacy orders from American patients.

  It was nice to just relax some. Enjoy the cool air of the ancient stone building.

  No noises, aside from the faint sounds coming from the boys tidying up downstairs.

  No distractions, no people asking me questions or needing my help with things.

  No bright lights, the old school chandelier hanging from the ceiling was dimmed to the lowest setting.

  Just �
�� peaceful.

  For a moment I almost fell asleep in the uncomfortable steel chair, my arm resting on the landing’s railing.

  Then I felt a thrum.

  Very tiny.

  Like a tickle in the back of my head.

  I snapped my eyes open. Terrified. Sitting up in my chair like a shot.

  Still nothing around me. No people. No nearby sounds.

  So what was causing ….

  You ever played with magnets in school? Really basic science classes as a kid? I remember being given those old silvery, polarized ion rocks. One end stamped N and the other stamped S. While most kids had a terrific time trying to force the ends with the same polarization together (and failing of course) I was always fascinated by figuring out the range of attraction for the metal filings we got to play with. Trying to determine just the right range before the pieces would begin to tremble and slide across my desk, increasing in speed until they would smack into the lodestone.

  I would do that over and over, pretending I was Luke Skywalker in the Wampa’s cave on Hoth. Imagining the magnet was my outstretched hand, desperately trying to access the Force to bring that lightsaber to bear.

  Yes, I’m a geek. Let’s move on.

  The thrumming sensation made me feel like one of those metal filings. It was very faint, but pulling at me.

  I scanned the landing again, still nothing stood out to me. Skimming my eyes over the huge double doors the thrumming suddenly increased slightly, pulling my gaze upwards. To a spot directly above the doors.

  Standing up out of my chair, I walked up to the doors. My eyes locked on the spot just at the very center of the doorframe.

  Something glinted at me.

  A camera lens.

  I stared at it for a few minutes, my brain churning in thought.

  There were cameras all over Cowboy Shotz. This wasn’t a surprise. When that many people come into a place like this, you need cameras for security and insurance purposes. Only makes sense.

  But none of those cameras were hidden. Not like this. All of the other cameras were in obvious places. Wanting to be seen. An extra layer of security to remind fools that everything they do in the club will be recorded and used against them. Hell, that’s why I was here. Hoping to understand why the video footage at the main entrance wasn’t enough to keep my shooter in jail.

  This camera was buried. Hidden in a very delicate manner. There was a ridge in the doorframe, part of its artistic design that had a planned dip. At the very center of this dip a tiny camera lens was visible but only if you really looked for it.

  “Huh,” I grunted.

  The thrumming sensation abated somewhat but remained very faint in the background.

  Seriously, what the hell is going on with ….

  Voices.

  Muffled, but loud. Shouting?

  Not quite shouting. Heated for sure.

  And coming closer.

  “…did you expect to happen?”

  “That’s not the point, and you know it.”

  “Est’ce ti Tabernac, do not be such an imbecile.”

  “For the love of God, Chris. This is going to seriously impact business.”

  “Not if we keep our heads. We are taking care of things on our end. All you have to do is …”

  At the last moment I realized that the voices were right at the door. And there I stood like a teenaged peeping tom trying to catch a glimpse of the MILF next door.

  I took two long steps away from the door, snagged my empty beer bottle off the table and made a big show of looking out over the railing as the door opened behind me.

  “All right, we’ll maintain the status … Joe?”

  Miming one last sip of beer as I turned back, hoping my face wasn’t red in embarrassment. I gave my small smile.

  Aaron stood there, dressed casually in an expensive pair of jeans and polo shirt combo. His eyes were a little wild, but going by how his voice had just sounded it was clear his emotions were high.

  Officer Parise stood next to him resplendent in a shirt and tie with a matching blazer folded over one arm. His badge and gun were visible on his belt, his free hand making a quick twitch towards the pistol in surprise at my presence.

  I tilted my empty bottle to them both in a friendly salute. “Hey.”

  Both their faces visibly relaxed.

  Aaron stepped over first for the bro hug. “Goddamn, Joe. What are you doing here?”

  “Had some things to talk about, figured in person is always better.”

  Officer Parise stepped over and offered his hand politely, his eyes examining my face. “Good to see you on your feet. Been waiting long?”

  Subtext hung heavy on the innocuous question.

  Did you hear anything you weren’t supposed to?

  Again, what the hell is going on here?

  “Been waiting a few minutes,” I admitted. An easy lie to have discovered, so no point in hiding it. “No big deal. I guess Aasif didn’t tell you I was here.”

  Aaron blinked, fishing a smartphone out of his pocket and giving it a quick glance. He grimaced. “Shit man, sorry. We were having a discussion and I missed the text.’

  I shrugged again. “All good. Got a few minutes?”

  Aaron and Parise exchanged a quick look.

  “Sure, Joe. Of course. Chris why don’t you take him downstairs while I finish up here?”

  “Very well. Let’s get you another beer, mon ami.”

  Parise grabbed at my elbow gently and turned to lead me back to the main floor while Aaron went back through the doorway, shutting it tight behind him.

  Some silences are awkward. Others are bearable.

  This one was a bit tense.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He blinked at me. “Pourquoi?”

  I cleared my throat uncomfortably, genuinely embarrassed. “I understand you’re one of the guys who helped keep me going ‘til the paradmedics arrived.”

  Parise smiled at that. “But of course, my pleasure. That was a scary thing.”

  “Everyone keeps saying that.”

  “It’s true. I have been a cop for many years, but shooting scenes are always terrifying.”

  We crossed over to the main bar where Aasif already had another ice cold Corona waiting for me. I grabbed it gratefully and saluted the officer with it. “Well thanks again. I wouldn’t be here without your guys’ help.”

  Parise leaned against the bar casually, his smile faint but modest. “It’s what we do,” he said motioning with one hand between himself and I. An inclusive gesture.

  I frowned. “I ain’t a cop.”