by Adam Knight
“It was horrible. We were on our way back and it just happened.”
Jimmy and Kurt gave each other a glance and made faces, sharing a private joke. One of the police officers rolled his eyes and turned away back to their parked squad car, speaking into the radio pinned to his shoulder.
“That poor puppy,” Cathy cried softly as Max wiped at her cheeks. “I screamed and dropped the phone and …”
“Shhh …” Max said soothingly, wrapping her up in his million dollar arms. “Shhh … it’s okay. There was nothing you could do.”
Jimmy and Kurt sighed heavily, packing up the camera equipment and talking amongst themselves. The remaining police officer came over to Cathy and Max, made some enquiries about Animal Services and the Police Association Fundraising dinner in a few weeks. Max shook his hand, smiled widely with an embarrassed glance down at the weeping woman in his arms and made a few quiet promises I couldn’t hear.
I sighed quietly, watching the officers get into their car and prepare to leave. My eyes were tired and my belly continued to rumble as the shock and efforts of the evening started wearing on me. I scoured my brain trying to think of a good place to get rid of the guns where a bunch of hooligans couldn’t find them. The rest of my thoughts were occupied with Cowboy Shotz. Pictures of missing girls on a filthy basement wall. The look in the eyes of a devastated and troubled young man who’s sister had been murdered.
“Joe, I’ve got to thank you.” That was Max who had snuck over when I wasn’t paying full attention and grabbed my hand, reeling me into a hug.
Getting a bro hug from a millionaire athlete shouldn’t be different from anyone else, but it sure felt weird when Captain Max did it. Maybe it’s cause I was afraid of breaking him and being reviled by every hockey fan in the city. Having them hunt me down like a pariah, complete with torches and pitchforks.
Max might’ve been in peak athletic condition, but I still had at least sixty pounds on the guy. He pretty much had “handle with care” tattooed on his forehead as far as I was concerned.
Sue me, I’m a fan. And I wanted him healthy for next season.
“Thank you so much, Joe” Max gushed again over my shoulder, smacking my back firmly. “I was worried about her. I thought for sure something terrible had happened.”
I grimaced. It might’ve been a smile. “S’okay, Man. No problem.” I gave him a few gentle back thumps in return. This guy was a real hugger, no respect for belt buckle distance at all. “Just .. you know. Too bad about that dog.”
“I know man, I know.” Max stepped back, clapping me on the shoulder one last time before taking Cathy’s hand in his. Her smile was still tremulous, but her eyes were clear. Damn she’s good at that. “I’ve got three dogs myself and make donations to a few shelters here in town. It’s always horrible when this happens.”
Cathy smiled up at him and gripped at his arm with her free hand before turning her gaze back to me. Her eyes gave me the universally recognized “get the fuck out of here” look loud and clear when she knew Max couldn’t see.
My hands clapped together, loud in the cool night air. “Right, well. Cathy’s good. I’m good. Nothing crazy happening. So, I’m gonna take off.”
“Thank you so much, Joe” Cathy said, really selling her story. I gave her my small smile in return, images of her being held captive still flashing through my brain in vivid Technicolor. I hoped I was able to keep those thoughts off my face. “You let me know if you hear anything else about your friend.”
“My friend?”
“Yes. Your friend.” Cathy’s eyes widened slightly, her lips pursing out her dimples as she stared a hole in my idiot head. “The one we went to talk to. The one who wasn’t there.”
“Right. Yes. My friend. I will be sure to let you know.”
Yeah, that sounded like bullshit to me too.
I slid back into my Windstar and fired her up. Over on the sidewalk Max and Cathy had walked to where the cameramen were finishing up with their equipment. Max was doing a round of handshakes, placating them for his panicked reaction I assumed. Cathy turned her head my way, caught my eyes for a brief moment. She smiled very slightly, a genuine one. A shared secret.
I nodded my head once, my guts a swirling mass of emotions. Guilt. Jealousy. Rage. Confusion. Betrayal.
Cathy brought her hand up to her face and made the universal “call me” gesture, her eyes and smile getting a touch worried.
My baby roared weakly as I slipped her into drive, shuddering in place. I nodded once more and drove off.
Chapter 35
“Joe! What the hell are you doing here?” Mark asked in surprise, pulling me in for a bro hug. “Did Aaron call you in?”
It was odd being in Cowboy Shotz when it wasn’t open for regular business. Some of the lights were on and music was playing but it was clearly designed for background and ambiance as opposed to the full on move-your-ass grinding beats I was accustomed to.
“What? Can’t a guy pop in for a cold beer?” I asked, my eyes scanning over his shoulder and going immediately up the double wide marble staircase. People were up on the landing, lounging in the metal patio furniture there. Affluent looking men in suits and a number of young women dressed in high finery.
The door at the top of the stairs was open, a warm yellow light spilling out and reflecting off the stone walls.
Mark laughed and clapped me on the arm. “Well, I don’t see why not. Shelby’s over at the main bar and I’m pretty sure you’ve got a few Coronas on credit.”
I nodded, stepping away from the door my eyes still scanning all around. “That’s what I figured.” Mark closed the main entrance behind me, resetting the lock bar as he did. I blinked at him. “Am I too underdressed for this party?”
He laughed, adjusting his sharp black silk tie. Full length black suit, crisp white cotton complete with cufflinks and freshly polished leather shoes. Good ones too by the look of them, no shoddy soles. Good in a scuffle as well as with fine clothing.
“Surprised me too,” Mark said with a chuckle, tugging at the sleeves of his coat primly. “Aaron sent me down to the tailors after I called him yesterday, asking for a spot. Got me this piece on the club’s dime. Custom fit and everything. Said it was a big week and we all had to look our best.”
“Huh,” I grunted, subconsciously wishing for even just a new pair of boots to hide my scuffed and crummy steel toes. “You clean up good.”
Mark smirked slightly. “Yeah, Tamara said the same thing.”
Some maniac sent me a mental email picturing Mark’s face under the heel of my boots.
I blinked, sending the image away.
“Never did like her taste in men.”
Mark laughed. “Go. Get yourself a beer. You’re looking for Aaron I figure?”
“Yeah. If he’s got a minute. Anyone else here?”
“Big Mike. Danny. A few of the newer guys. Oh yeah and the cops. Parise, Miller and one of the others. I don’t remember his name.”
“They all upstairs?”
Mark nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Except for the last cop. He’s at the bar staring at Shelby’s tits.”
I nodded sagely. “Who can blame him? I’ll be at the bar.”
As I crossed the barren dance floor I gave the room a once over no differently than any other night when I was on duty. The door to the office above the bar was closed but a light was under the door. Aasif was probably up there crunching till counts. Or snorting rails. Dude’s got a serious nose candy problem.
Over in the VIP section the gigantic and hirsute Officer Miller was deep in conversation with a couple of Asian gentlemen, I assumed Filipino descent given their high population in the city of Winnipeg though I honestly couldn’t tell. All three of them were dressed to the nines, though Miller had forsaken a tie in favor of having his dress shirt open slightly, his manly foliage peeking out the collar in search of freedom. Two young Aboriginal women lounged at one of the stand-up cocktail tables nearby, completely decked out in f
ancy party dresses and holding delicate champagne flutes. Their expressions were vapid, but pleasant.
My stomach clenched as I looked at them. Flashes flickered through my brain like a deck of cards, comparing their faces to the ones I saw on that filthy basement wall.
No matches.
As I approached the main bar I was surprised to get a big smile and little girlie wave from Shelby, assistant bar manager and alcoholic beverage slinger extraordinaire. When the club was open for regular business in the summertime Shelby exclusively worked the beer tubs dressed in full on “cowgirl” themed attire. Maybe “dressed” isn’t the right word. Attired? Costumed? Whatever, you know what I mean; Daisy Duke style cutoff jeans, leather boots, straw hat and a barely there bikini top.
Since this was apparently more of a classy event Shelby had her platinum blonde locks done up in a fancy wave with a shiny, strapless silver dress that had to have been glued to her nipples to stay up. Seriously, it’s the only way I can figure to explain how it maintained what was left of her modesty.
“Corona?” Shelby asked when I got closer and rested my palms on the bar, doing my very best to keep my eyes on her face.
“What else?” I replied with my small smile as my belly rumbled hungrily.
She laughed softly and walked down the bar, passing the only other person there without a glance at him. Officer Don Mackie was also dressed in an expensive black suit, only his tie was loose and the collar was unbuttoned to mid-chest. He was seated on a stool and leaning heavily on his forearms, his face unshaven with big black circles under his eyes.
Shelby reached the far cooler and purposely bent at the waist to open it as she rummaged for my beer. Both Don and I enjoyed the show, which is clearly what it was.
It would’ve been impolite not to enjoy her efforts, right? Officer Mackie could barely keep his eyes off her pert, swaying posterior.
Shelby stood upright and sashayed back towards me with a bottle opener in her hands and an impish smile on her overly red lips. Her fingers circled the neck of the Corona carefully. Teasingly. With a slight twist she popped the cap from the bottle and pursed her lips in “surprise” at the froth that bubbled over her fingers.
Unsurprisingly, Shelby usually made more money in tips working one night at the beer tub than I did in two weekends of tossing out drunks. Little tricks like that were the main reason why.
Life. It’s rarely fair.
However, I always tip for excellent service. So I was surprised when Shelby frowned at me as I pulled a handful of bills out of my pocket.
“Don’t you dare.”
“What?”
She put the bottle down on the bar in front of me and leaned forward slightly making it nigh on impossible to keep proper eye contact. Somehow I managed.
Bless you peripheral vision.
“Your money’s no good here,” Shelby said, cocking her head at me slightly. “And even if Aaron hadn’t made that perfectly clear to us, I wouldn’t take it anyway.”
I blinked at her. After two years of working in the same club I couldn’t remember saying more than three or four words to Shelby at any one time. This sudden friendliness seemed a touch out of character.
Her glossy red finger nailed hands touched mine, and pushed them slightly away. “You saved all our lives, Joe.” Her eyes were very big, and a deep brown. Had I ever noticed that before? “Your money’s no good here.”
She held my gaze for a good second longer than she needed to. Was this a signal? Am I getting a signal? Dammit why can’t women just tell you what they’re thinking?
I nodded my head slightly and pocketed my cash, saluting her with the bottle before taking a long draught. The Corona was cold and delicious, hitting my empty stomach like rain on a parched desert landscape. It rumbled insistently at me as the beer poured down my throat.
After leaving Cathy at the TV Station I had rushed to the Forks Market along the river bank. In my haste to find a good place to toss the acquired Posse guns I had intentionally passed every food vendor on site. After finally finding a secluded spot underneath the Norwood Bridge I made sure there were no witnesses and hurled each gun as far as I could. They disappeared into the black water and with any luck were on their way out of the city by now, riding the current all the way up to Hudson’s Bay.
I made my way back to the van taking a different route through the trees, too busy looking over my shoulder in every direction to even acknowledge my rumbling tummy. Driving back up Waterfront Drive and finding a decent place to park, I forgot all about how hungry I was until the first taste of Mexican Magic hit my empty stomach.
And hit my head like a tap on the back of the skull.
“Wow,” I muttered, blinking rapidly. I stared at the bottle for a moment. Only about a third of it was gone.
“You okay?” Shelby asked, her smokers alto husky with concern.
I blinked some more to clear my head, then met her eyes confidently and gave her my small smile. “Yeah.” I took another sip, a much smaller one this time, savoring the flavor. The head rush was much more manageable. “Yeah. All good. Just haven’t eaten yet.”
Shelby cocked her head to the other side, her lips pursing slightly again. “They’ve got food upstairs for the guests. Sandwiches and stuff.”
My stomach rumbled in response. Loudly. Shelby blinked at the noise and gave another small laugh. I shrugged slightly.
“Sandwiches sound good.” I motioned my head behind me towards the stairs. “You want me to get you one?”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll go.” Shelby insisted coming around from the back of the bar her spiked heels clicking loudly in the mostly empty room. She threw another mysterious look over her shoulder that I had no chance of reading anything into as her impossible to ignore ass swayed away and started up the marble staircase. My eyes followed her until she was out of sight.
“Damn,” I muttered quietly sipping more beer. My head started to ache slightly, so I rubbed subconsciously at my eye for a moment.
It had been a long day.
“Bitches,” Officer Mackie said suddenly from off to the side. His voice slightly slurred and clearly bitter. “Bitches. All of them. Just … Just a bunch of fucking bitches.”
I eyeballed him from my perch. He wasn’t looking at me. Was barely looking at anything other than the item he was twirling in his fingers, still slouched over against bar.
“Beg pardon?”
“They’re all bitches,” Mackie repeated, still staring at his fingers. His voice louder, obviously bitter. “All they do is ruin your life. No matter how hard you work, how hard you try to … to provide….” He took up the glass tumbler next to him, tilting it back until the amber liquid was drained to the ice. He slammed it down on the counter. “Bitches.” He muttered again.
Over Mackie’s head I saw Officer Miller looking our way, still deep in conversation with the Asian gentlemen. His face was oddly tense.
My beer was getting warm so I finished it in one pull. It hit me harder than a single beer ever had before in my life, making me lightheaded for a brief moment. I put down the bottle and rubbed at my eye again, the ache I’d felt before started to get deeper.
“You shouldn’t drink so much,” Mackie said drunkenly, with sincerity. Opening my eyes I noted him looking at me, his fingers still twirling but his attention on me.
“What?”
“In your condition,” he clarified motioning towards me vaguely with his free hand. “The pain meds and stuff the hospital gives after surgery. Powerful stuff. Bad to mix in with booze.”
Huh. Drunken advice from the drunken cop.
