by Adam Knight
“Not a cop. A protector.”
I scoffed.
Parise smiled wider. “It is true, Joe. You and me are much alike. We both put ourselves at risk to help others. Often for very little reward.”
“That’s silly,” I said with a barked laugh. “You guys do real legwork and track down criminals.” Parise nodded, accepting the statement. I motioned out towards the dance floor with a disdainful flick of my fingers. “I hang out here for a few hours every weekend watching fools get liquored and occasionally get into fights.”
Parise nodded again. “There are similarities though. In both instances we serve the public, to keep them safe.”
I stared down at my beer bitterly for a moment. “I’m just here to serve myself, man. Pay my bills.” I looked him dead in the eye. “I could give a fuck about the drunks who come in here.”
“If that were true,” Parise said quietly. “You wouldn’t have needed me to save your life.”
Yeah, I had no response to that.
Aaron joined us a few moments later, carrying an envelope in one hand. He handed it to me, it felt thick. Heavy.
“Am I your mail boy now?”
Aaron laughed lightly. “Not at all. That’s for you. Consider it an advance on your next few weeks of work.”
I hefted the envelope slightly, curious to open it but at the same time hesitant. “You don’t need to do this, man. I knew the risks.”
“Take it, Joe. You’ve more than earned it.” He smiled and motioned to Aasif. “You’re the most level headed bouncer I’ve ever had and you’ve always done the right thing. This isn’t hush money. It’s gratitude.”
I thought about it a bit. Something felt odd in my gut about accepting it. But then the thought of bills piled on the kitchen table at home overrode my concerns. I pocketed the envelope.
“Thanks.”
“Aasif, another round.”
Parise pushed off the bar with a sad smile. “None for me, thank you. I am still on duty after all.”
“Right, of course.” Aaron looked at me. “Just you and me then.”
I eyed the beer already in my hand, figured that I still had to walk a few blocks back to the mall to snag my van from the lot. Grab a little food as well (my stomach rumbled at the prospect of that). I’d be good to drive. “Sure, one more.”
“Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me…”
“What happened with the kid?” I broke in as Parise tried to take his leave.
Parise froze, glancing quickly at Aaron. “The kid?”
“Yeah. The one who shot me.”
Aaron’s lips pressed tight together and he looked away. Parise to his credit met my gaze head on.
“You heard then?”
“What happened?”
Parise took a moment to collect his thoughts, something he’d likely done dozens of times in court when helping out the prosecution on cases he’d made arrests for.
“Keimac Cleghorn was released today because we screwed up. Badly.”
I blinked in surprise but said nothing.
“After the shooting occurred,” Parise continued. “Don, Gerry and – pardonnez moi. Officers Mackie, Miller and myself arrived on the scene and assisted in restraining the attackers.”
Aaron nodded. “It was a good thing they were there, Joe. Things went haywire in a hurry.”
“Unfortunately after all of the Native Posse members were restrained Officer Miller took things too far. Too personally. He assaulted the accused when he was no longer a threat.”
“Kicked his damned head in or near enough,” Aaron chimed in.
“As a result of those actions, and because the officers on scene making the arrest were both off duty and refused to take a breathalyzer test….” Parise grimaced sourly at that point and trailed off.
“Seriously?” I muttered.
“I am afraid so.”
I took a swig of beer and looked at Aaron. “So what about the footage?”
“What footage?”
“The footage from the front door camera. Surely that’s got to count for something.”
Aaron shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “Apparently it’s all inadmissible.”
“We’re doing everything we can to get that scum back behind bars,” Parise assured me, his face grim. “Fortunately, Mr. Cleghorn’s prior arrests sheet is very long. Odds are good that we’ll be able to pick him for something very soon.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I mumbled, my guts sour and achey. Ashes in my mouth. My abdomen aflame with bruising. “This guy nearly kills me and you’re hopeful to get him on a future carjacking charge?”
Parise and Aaron exchanged another look.
“If there’s anything I can do, Joe” Aaron began, reaching out a hand to my shoulder.
I shrugged him off. Angry and sullen.
Parise put on his blazer and began to walk away. He stopped after a few feet and looked back at me.
“What?”
“Sometimes the Law isn’t enough, Joe. As a cop I know this very well. Rules and restrictions get in the way of right and wrong.”
I grunted sourly, pushing away the Corona Aasif had placed on the bar for me.
“It would be a shame if something were to happen to Mr. Cleghorn before we could arrest him again.”
Something in his voice.
I met Parise’s eyes again, a silent question.
Then he left.
Chapter 18
I’d never seen that many hundred dollar bills in my life.
I sat in the driver’s seat of my rumbling old van and started counting the cash in the envelope. Five thousand dollars in crisp, new bills. Might not be enough to retire on, but it sure did make the next few bill payments easier to manage.
Hell, it was more than double what I paid for my van.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
I stared at the bills for another few moments. Stunned. Then I snapped back to myself, tucked the envelope into the inside pocket on my hoodie and scanned the underground lot as calmly as I could. Last thing I needed now was to have a couple of goons attempt to rob me or be mistaken for a drug dealer.
Six hours of underground parking in downtown Winnipeg was cheaper than bigger markets like Toronto or Chicago, but eleven dollars was still a bit steep. Thankfully I’d just had a Monopoly style bank error in my favor so I didn’t even flinch as I handed over all the change in my pocket to the attendant and drove away.
My mind whirled on the drive home going over the events and news of the day. Trying to make sense of it all. The strangeness at the gym and the studio. Tamara and Cathy. Cleghorn being released. The club. The place where I’d been shot. Parise’s veiled message.
A full on weird day.
Thankfully traffic was pretty light in the pre rush hour so it’s not like I had to spend too much time trapped alone with my thoughts. A short twenty minute trip back home and my baby was clicking herself to sleep in Mom’s driveway.
Mom was awake when I got inside, working away at the stove for a pot of soup. With very little effort I persuaded her to take a seat while I finished up and threw together a few sandwiches for my rumbling belly.
We talked over my day, with me glossing over all details that I figured might upset her. Though I couldn’t exactly lie about the interview with Cathy. Mom got all excited and wanted to make certain we didn’t miss the news. So after barely settling in at the dining room, I helped her over to her couch and set her soup up on the side table for her. That done I settled my tired butt down in Dad’s ratty old recliner and tried to ignore the TV in favor of the house bills sitting in my lap as I tried to prioritize them.
“Good evening, Winnipeg. I’m Gord LeMert.”
“And I’m Sonya Kubrakovich. Tonight’s top story …”
“This is exciting, Joseph.” Mom said, a bit of life in her usually tired voice.
“Hmm?” Hydro before insurance? Do I give MasterCard anything?
“It’s exciti
ng to think you’re going to be on TV tonight.”
“I suppose, Mom.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I just hope this doesn’t upset you.” I glanced over at her sadly. “This might be more sensational than you’re ready for.”
Mom pressed her lips together firmly and turned back to the screen.
MasterCard would get a hit, something to get them off my back for a time. Everything else would get topped up and pre-paid for a month, just to get me some breathing room until I was cleared to go back to work. Leaving me a few hundred bucks of petty cash for day to day stuff.
Not bad.
“ …Violence in Winnipeg has reached epidemic levels according to some citizens.”
Cathy’s voice caught my attention bringing my gaze to the screen as well.
Visuals of various crime scenes from the last few weeks were shown, all with their dates and locations displayed. A car wreck surrounded by police vehicles. Another of a house in flames. Police tape in front of a mechanic’s shop. Mugshots.
“I am afraid to go out at night.”
“This used to be a safe place to raise your children, now it’s not safe to take the bus across town.”
“I refuse to go downtown at all unless there’s a hockey game on. That’s the only time I know for sure there’ll be enough police around to keep dangerous folks away.”
“Oh that is so sad,” Mom broke in wistfully, sipping at some honeyed tea. “Do you remember heading downtown on the bus with your grandmother? Going for lunch at the Paddlewheel?”
That made me smile. “I do, Mom.”
“You boys loved that trip.”
Visuals on the screen changed again. Police tape all over the curb, the light posts and the front entrance to Cowboy Shotz. Close ups of squad cars. Blurred out faces of people being loaded into cars.
Blood.
“Oh dear, God.” Mom gasped, her hands to her lips.
“I’ll shut it off,” I said, reaching for the remote.
“Don’t you dare.” Her eyes filling with tears.
“But, Mom...”
“Don’t.”
I leaned back slowly, reluctance heavy in my heart.
My silhouette was on the screen, no details visible. The wording underneath read simply Recovered Nightclub Security Guard.
“Of course it’s scary,” silhouette me was saying. “But all things in life can be scary. People look to cause trouble until they’re told they can’t by someone bigger and stronger than them.”
“This brave man’s words are echoed by members of the Winnipeg Police Service.”
“These days the power is in the hands of the criminals more often than not,” Officer Parise’s image popped on screen, graphics beneath his immaculate features identifying him. “There’s only so much officers can do to protect citizens when the legal system fails to back us up and keep criminals behind bars.”
“These words are in light of the lead suspect in this nightclub shooting being released today with charges stayed due to improper arrest procedures and claims of police brutality.”
“My God, no.”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“How could they let him go?”
“It’s okay.”
Cathy continued, her voice serious. “ … Officer Parise, also the lead inspector on the recent string of missing women reports has his hands full these days.”
“It is a trying time for Police and the citizens of Winnipeg. All we can ask is for people to be careful, be diligent and be conscious of the fact that we are doing everything we can with the restrictions placed upon us.”
Mom had tears rolling down her face.
My hands clenched in frustration.
Cathy appeared on screen, her expression firm. “This weekend CTV will be running a full report on crime in Winnipeg; featuring an in-depth interview recap with the heroic nightclub security guard, more from the Winnipeg Police Service, quotes from City and Provincial officials about the red tape obstructing justice and more…”
I shut off the TV.
Silence.
Blissful silence.
Perfect for wallowing in my guilt.
Mom just cried.
Shit.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” I mumbled, my sandwich half eaten and forgotten off to the side.
“What?”
“I … I didn’t want this for you. To upset you.” I fiddled with the bills in my lap. “I shoulda just …”
She turned to me, her expression firm. “The only thing you should have done was not go into work that night,” her voice was heated. Broken. “I never wanted you to do that sort of thing. You were meant for so much more than that.”
“Mom, come on ...”
“It sickens me. Sickens me to see you go off to that horrible job and put your life at risk. And for what?” Her voice started getting tight, her Mom-stare becoming accusatory. “Answer me, Joseph. For what?”
I said nothing. Not trusting myself. I buried my gaze into the bills, my hands clenching them into crumpled garbage.
She turned away, reaching for tissues. Dabbing at her eyes carefully.
“You have to find other work, Joseph. It’s not worth it.”
I glanced over to the closet where my hoodie was hanging, an envelope filled with cash hidden there. The relief to months of bills hidden just out of sight.
Worth it?
Shit.
Chapter 19
When you never get weekends off you don’t have an appreciation for the little things that everyone else deals with.
Like just how damned busy the malls are. Or how slow the lines move at Tim Horton’s. Or just how packed the grocery stores are on a Sunday afternoon.
“Seriously, don’t you people go to church?” I growled quietly, loading the last of my grocery bags into the back of my van.
Returning my cart to the corral was harder than fighting my way through packed dance floors. Cause’ at least then people paid heed to my presence and attempted to get out of the way. Here in this lot cars tried to zip past people who meandered by in the dozens. Unless they were waiting for their chance to score a primo spots and idled in the way of families trying to load their groceries as quick as possible. Whole families just doing their shopping in wandering packs, lumbering along like lazy manatee.
This is why I usually shop on Wednesdays.
I drove away in aggravation, after of course taking fifteen minutes to navigate my way out of the damned parking lot without backing into or running over anybody. My mood was rotten. Though how much of that was actually reflected by the crowded streets and store was difficult to say.
