by Adam Knight
Mark’s face twisted. “I’m gonna have to bug Aaron and see if I can do any extra work around the club for a bit.” He met my gaze wryly. “Turns out you are the only bouncer between us with a day job at the moment.”
Shit.
“Dude, I’m sorry.”
“Are you all right?”
Tamara stepped forward into a hug for Mark as he grimaced up at me, his free arm circling her body with his hand resting just above her ass. Comfortably resting just above her ass. Dammit, Joe. Stop being an idiot, this was going to happen.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Comes at a shitty time is all.” He shrugged and gave a small laugh. “Not that there’s really a good time to get fired, I guess.”
“You going to be okay?” Tamara asked up at him concerned, her face open and earnest. “I mean, when’s your rent due?”
Mark shook his head with certainty, which was a good thing. I might’ve drilled him right in the teeth if I’d thought for even one second that he was going to accept money from Tamara.
“Hell no, I’m all good.” My fist unclenched. I shook my fingers out to loosen them. Deep inside I felt a caveman chuckle. Stupid caveman. “I got this month covered for sure, I should have a new gig by the end of the week I figure.”
“Well that’s something at least.” Tamara’s phone alarm started beeping and she jumped in surprise. “Crap, that’s my class. I have to go!” Her eyes went from Mark’s briefly to mine, where they held for a moment, her lips quirked in a smile only for me. “See you tomorrow?” She asked.
I nodded. “Sure.”
With a last quick squeeze for Mark she disengaged herself from his arms and bounced away down the hallway to the YMCA foyer. Mark and I watched her go.
“For real. You gonna be okay?” I asked him.
Mark shrugged. “Yeah. Just a piss off is all.” He adjusted his gear bag and took note of mine. “You coming or going?”
“Going. Been down here a few hours already. Just walking Tamara back to class.”
“A few hours?” Mark looked at me again, peering more closely. Then he shrugged. “Well if your doc’s cool with it, why not right? Looks like you’re bouncing back quick, though. Looked jacked buddy.” He punched me lightly on the arm.
“Yeah right,” I muttered.
“Seriously bro, you’re looking leaned out some. Must be all that hospital food and bed rest.” Mark adjusted his bag again and adjusted his stance, turning towards the gym. “Well, I’d better hit it. I wanna try to catch Aaron tonight at the club. See if he needs another guy for the private parties he’s running this week.”
“Private parties?”
“Yeah man, he’s got … Oh shit, I guess you wouldn’t know.” Mark lowered his voice suddenly and stepped in closer. “Yeah, he mentioned it to a couple of the guys after we closed on Saturday. David told me about it after. Aaron and Parise – you know, the cop? Yeah, apparently they’re hosting some kinda VIP deal this week.”
“Huh,” I grunted. Remembering the odd meeting behind the locked double doors and the shouting. “Which night?”
“Every night apparently. It’s some kind of ongoing business deal to woo new investors.”
I frowned. “I didn’t think Aaron was looking for new partners. I mean, I know Parise and his crew are involved off the books. Are they wanting out?”
Mark shook his head. “Don’t know, don’t care. All I know is they’re offering extra shifts this week for guys available to work who can keep their mouths shut. And right now …”
“Cash is King,” I finished for him. “Right, I gotcha.”
Mark’s expression got hesitant. Concerned. “You want me to see if Aaron needs another guy?”
You want to try and take this spot away from me when I need the cash?
“Hell no, man. I’m not ready.” I pressed my hand up to my chest and winced melodramatically. Well it felt melodramatic to me. I hoped it just came across like a regular old I’m-in-a-bit-of-pain wince. “It’s only been a couple weeks.”
Mark failed to hide his look of relief. “Cool, man. What time you here tomorrow? Wanna work out together?”
“Tomorrow?” I said hesitantly. A mental image of Mark trying in vain to keep up with my lifts flashed into my mind. I tried not to smirk at him. Shit, Joe don’t be an asshole. This guy’s your friend.
“Hey, I’m unemployed now. Tons of time.”
When in doubt, make up a reasonable lie. “Not sure yet. Gotta take Mom to the docs tomorrow morning. Could take all day.”
“Okay, cool.” He made a fist, I bumped mine off of his like two guys stuck in a mid-nineties movie. Mark started towards the foyer calling back over his shoulder. “See you soon, bro. For real. You’re looking good.”
“I’m feeling good,” I replied.
It wasn’t a lie.
Chapter 25
Tuesday morning found me at the dining room table with another huge breakfast and the daily paper in front of me.
One article caught my eye.
MISSING WOMAN FOUND IN RIVER
Members of Street Gang Implicated
By: Grant Nordman, Crime Beat
Joggers made a grisly discovery early Sunday morning along the Riverfront Trail near the Forks. The sodden body of one of Winnipeg's Missing Women was found stuck on a fallen log near the shoreline in the Assiniboine River.
"We were rounding the corner when I thought I saw someone in the water," said one of the joggers who asked to remain anonymous. "I stopped and went to the shoreline to help. That was when we realized the person wasn't alive."
Police and Medical Examiners arrived on scene shortly thereafter and closed off the area. As of press time very little information was made available to the Press.
"All we can confirm at this time is that the victim is on the list of missing women," said Sergeant Chris Parise of the WPD. "We will be releasing more information when we have it to share without compromising the investigation."
The victim was identified by her family as nineteen year old Candace Cleghorn, of Portage La Prairie. She had moved into Winnipeg with friends just over a year ago in the hopes of saving money for a Nursing Degree. Several weeks back she didn't return to her apartment after a night out and was declared missing by her roommates.
The story went on for another three or four hundred words. Detailing patterns of behavior from the roommates and broken hearted quotes from the family.
My eyes were stuck on the pictures accompanying the story.
Images from the scene.
People hugging and crying.
A picture of the victim taken from a social media site. Candace Cleghorn with a group of friends at a local nightspot. Drinks in hand and wearing questionable attire.
She was a pretty girl. Dark haired like every Native person I've ever known. A huge smile and dark eyes. Full of life. Zest. Energy.
I'd seen her before.
At Cowboy Shotz.
The picture in the paper had been taken at my club, right in front of the main bar. It was hard to be certain given the lousy picture quality, but one of the people off in the background might’ve been Mark. Definitely one of my security crew.
There was no doubt. She’d been in the club. And I’d seen her there before.
She’d been one of the VIP girls. I was sure of it. Sure of it. A memory of her in an elegant green dress, escorting a local big wig up those marble stairs was burned in my mind.
“Shit,” I muttered from my seat at the dining room table skimming over the paper.
More to the point, I'd seen her brother.
“Shit.”
I’d seen her brother on the night he’d tried to kill me.
“Shit.”
He had to be her brother. The resemblance was unmistakable. Even with the dream catcher tattoo on his cheek.
My stomach dropped away from me, leaving behind a cold pit.
Where’s my sister?
“Shit.
What was left of my gun shot scarring a
ched faintly in memory.
We’re not good enough to get in but my sister is?
“Shit.”
I crumpled the newspaper up into a ball and shoved it aside before burying my face into my hands. Memories swirling. My emotions set on tumble-dry. Images flashing into my head.
You think you can just take our women and keep us outside?
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Chapter 26
“You want to know what?”
“Look, it’s not that big a deal.”
“Oh? If it’s not a big deal why are you asking me for help?”
“Well …”
It had been a long time since I’d done any proper research into anything more complex than flipping through the Yellow Pages hunting for pizza coupons. During that time things had gotten a bit ahead of me as far as the whole “online search engine” thing went. Don’t think I’m an idiot, I know what Google is and I know how to use it to look up simple things. Like an address or a burger joint.
But to track down gang members?
Yeah, not as easy.
So, it was time to phone a friend.
“Honest to goodness , Joe. Why on earth do you want to where the Native Posse hangouts are?” Cathy asked me incredulously, her voice strained on the other end of the line.
This was also something I hadn’t done in a long time. Come up with a plausible reason for awkward questions.
“Honestly?” I began trying to think of a good lie, my fingers crossed behind my back.
“That would be my preference, yes.”
I did have a lie. It was a lame and barely half-baked story. Just when it was about to tumble past my lips I stopped myself. Some people might suggest I had “an attack of conscience,” and they might be right. My conscience has often gotten me in trouble given my inability to walk away from things. Logically it’s always a better idea to fudge the truth and make excuses to people when you need something for a dumb reason.
Sadly I’m no good at making excuses or fudging the truth.
“Joe? Are you still there?”
I sighed.
“I need to find Keimac Cleghorn.”
“You what?”
“You know, the kid who … “
“I know who he is, Joe” Cathy cut in, her voice intense but lowered. Strangled to a hush all of a sudden. I had a mental image of her covering the phone with her free hand and peering about all sneaky-like. Normally this mental thought would make me smile.
I wasn’t in a funny mood.
“So yeah, where do they like to hang out? Is there a clubhouse? A bar?”
Cathy sighed heavily into the phone. “Hang on,” she muttered. I heard some muffled conversation that I couldn’t make out in the background. Another reporter? Her boss? Faintly that turned into the sound of heeled footsteps on the studio floor. They echoed faintly.
“Are you out of your mind, Joe?” Cathy’s voice was more distinct but still quiet. Found a private corner of the tiny studio I supposed.
“Depends on who you ask really.”
“Why do you want to go looking for the man who shot you?”
“I want to talk to him.”
She scoffed. It sounded harsh and mechanical over the phone line.
“Talk? You want to talk?”
I rubbed a palm down over my eyes and sighed heavily. “Yes, Cathy. I need to ask him a question.”
“Let me guess, ‘Why did you shoot me?’ ”
“Cathy…”
“Joe, this is a terrible idea.”
“Cathy, I don’t want to spend hours wandering through the West End looking for gang colors.”
“Then stay at home! Watch the news.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
My teeth ground in frustration but I managed to keep my voice level. “Because I have to find this guy.”
“I thought you didn’t want to worry your mother anymore, Joe?” Cathy spat over the phone, playing the dirtiest card in the deck. I felt it in my gut like a stiff punch. “Remember? That’s why we didn’t show your face on camera.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I muttered.
“That was for your mom. For you. For your privacy.” Cathy’s voice started to wind up, getting more and more anxious. “But apparently you just wanted to keep it private so no one would recognize you when you decided to go all vigilante on the streets of Winnipeg!”
“I’m not … I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just …”
“Why else would you ask for privacy then? Didn’t want to wear a mask with your cape?”
The handset in my fingers creaked audibly under the pressure of my tightening fist. With an incredible effort of will I choked down my sudden and instinctive reaction to bark angrily over the phone at my old friend. The one who ultimately was just worried about me.
And who was also likely the only one who could help me find the Native Posse in a short amount of time.
“Well, Joe? Is that what this is about? You about to saddle up on your stallion and clean up this one horse town?”
“Did you read the paper today?” I muttered through gritted teeth.
Silence on the other end. The vitriol fading away in a hush of silence.
“What?”
“Today’s paper.”
“What about it?”
“You read it?”
“Yes.”
“The story about the girl in the river?”
“That’s our top story tonight at six. What about it?”
“What’s her name?”
“Who?”
“The victim. What’s the victims’ name, Cathy?”
“Hang on,” she replied faintly. Paper rustled somewhere nearby in the background. Probably her notebook. “Hang on, I should know this. Candace something …” More rustling. “Okay, I’ve got it right here. I was right, it is Candace. Candace Cleghorn.”
Silence.
I gave it a moment to sink in.
“Oh God,” Cathy gasped. “Candace Cleghorn.”
“Yeah.”
“And your shooter. Keimac Cleghorn.”
“Yeah.”
Long pause.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Where’s my sister?
“I’m sure.”
Long pause.
“So why do you want to talk to him? He’s must know by now.”
“I know.”
“So why?”
