by Adam Knight
To them the news was work. It wasn’t something that happened to them or even really affected them at their core anymore. It was a headline. A ratings point. Just another day on the job.
But not to me.
Not this time.
More than one CTV employee was giving me a funny look as I approached. Given that I looked like a recently unearthed caveman probably contributed to those glances. Funny thing, I was certain I’d seen more than one of these reporters running stories about the plight of the downtrodden and homeless in Winnipeg, but now that – as they saw it – one of those downtrodden was upon them, the look of disdain and fear was hard to ignore.
Listen to me, getting all philosophical and shit in my old age.
One of the male reporters – Jordan something or other – started to make his way over to where I stood with Jimmy but stopped cold when I met his eyes. Clearly he wanted to look all macho in front of the pretty TV staffers but decided it wasn’t worth the potential violence hiding just out of sight behind my gaze.
After he turned away I forced my fists to unclench themselves. The veins in my forearms began letting blood flow again, reducing the cramping sensation I had been feeling.
Jimmy no longer tried to engage me in talk. He merely stood off to the side with a smartphone in his hand going through items or apps or whatever the hell people went through on their smartphones.
Visuals flickered on a screen in the distance. I turned to look. Editors were skimming over the footage from the recently completed broadcast, likely looking for ways to repackage it for the late news.
On the screen was Keimac’s angry face, complete with the dream catcher tattoo.
I strolled across to the editing bay, keeping a firm grip on the tingling sensation at the back of my skull. As I neared the computers and editing equipment the thrumming sensation in the air around me got thicker and more tangible. I gritted my teeth and continued until I was standing behind the skinny young man sitting in front of the screen and making notes on his time card.
On the screen was Jordan Scaredypants standing in a grassy park, buildings and police tape behind him.
“…all that is known for certain at this time is that Mr. Cleghorn’s body was found here in Central Park at around six o’clock this evening. While Winnipeg Police have not yet confirmed cause of death, sources close to the situation have indicated that this was most likely a gang related incident. A result of some initiation trial gone wrong.”
My blood ran cold as B-Roll footage showed images of EMT’s loading a shrouded form into the back of an ambulance. A left to right pan of the scene revealed displaced grass underneath a dense shrubbery surrounded by yellow tape and evidence ground markers.
The audio shunted over to an on the scene interview with one of the witnesses but my ears tuned it out.
The spot where Keimac’s body had been found was maybe ten feet from where I’d woken up after my own spectacular beating.
Give or take a couple of feet.
Gang initiation?
Hell no.
Shit.
Was this Parise and his crew trying to send me a message? Were they trying to outright kill me that night and Central Park is just a good place to dump a body?
My could feel my fingers trembling again. I clenched my fists to keep them under control.
The tingle at the back of my neck nearly got out of my control when Parise’s face appeared on the screen. I didn’t think it was possible for my fists to clench any tighter.
“There is very little information that we can share at this time. This incident is part of an ongoing investigation into the ground swell of violent street criminals calling themselves the Native Posse. When we have more news for you we shall …”
“Okay buddy, it’s time for you to go.” Said a gruff and bombastic voice from behind me just before a hand clapped me on the upper arm.
I spun away from the contact, my arm flashing up and smacking the hand away. The skinny kid at the editing suite jumped up out of his chair with a yelp. Behind me was Jordan McWhatshisname putting some distance between myself and him, holding his smacked hand up against his chest. Fear in his face.
Cameraman Jimmy came rushing over, followed by Kurt and a few of the other staffers.
“Seriously, what do you want here?” Jordan asked, his voice strained and more than a little scared. Seeing we suddenly had an audience consisting of technicians and attractive female reporters he cleared his throat and tried to regain some composure. “This is a TV Station, not a soup kitchen. If you need help we can …”
“I’m waiting for Cathy,” my voice growled.
Silence.
Complete and uncomfortable silence.
Jimmy and Kurt came over and got in between me and Jordan. Uncomfortable glances were still being exchanged amongst the gathered crowd, though Jordan’s expression regained confidence once his skinny cameramen suddenly became an obstacle for me to overcome.
His voice followed me as I was led away from the editing suite, something about “people like him need help” and “that’s guy’s lucky I’m a gentleman otherwise …” Typical preppie jock bullshit.
“Jesus, man. Are you trying to get yourself arrested?” Kurt gave a glance back over his shoulder at the gathered staffers. “You can’t just barge in here dressed like a hobo and start being all attitudinal. It makes people nervous.”
Jimmy chimed in. “People are jumpy enough now that we’re working downtown. Never know who’s gonna be around the corner.”
I held up both palms in surrender and forced out a calming breath. “Sorry. I’m cool. Where’s …”
“Oy Gevalt, Joe did you mug a derelict for that outfit?”
Cathy stood behind me dressed in casual street clothes, obviously done work for the day. Her eyes were tight and full of mixed emotions, an oversized handbag slung over one shoulder.
Cathy kept her voice overly cheerful, just shy of falsely so. “Between your van and those clothes you are seriously in need of a makeover Mr. Donovan.”
Over her shoulder I could see the crowd of CTV employees dispersing slightly but still keeping a close eye on me and now Cathy as well.
She was putting on a show.
“Yeah, well when the rest of the society pages catch up with me you’ll be calling my choices avant garde.” I replied, a touch louder than was likely necessary.
Cathy’s smile changed slightly, turning slightly more genuine. She stepped up and took my arm with one hand. “I’ll take it from here boys,” she said genially to her cameramen. “Thanks for babysitting.”
Kurt nodded warily but Jimmy frowned, looking back over his shoulder to where the administrative offices were located. “How did everything go with the boss?”
“Not now, Jimmy.“ Cathy’s tug on my arm became very insistent so I complied, and followed her back to the stairs at the main entrance.
About halfway there her voice dropped to a whisper. “What the hell happened to your face?”
I shrugged minutely. “I wasn’t that pretty to begin with.”
“Who’s dumb enough to pick a fight with you?”
“Lots of people are that dumb. I’ll be okay.”
“You look like hell.”
“I feel like it too. Don’t worry about it.”
“You fall off the map for two days, get your butt kicked during that time and I’m not supposed to worry?”
“I fell off the map for twelve years. Didn’t see you worrying then.”
“Back then you weren’t investigating a street gang’s connections to missing women. If I hadn’t talked to your mother and learned that you were safe at home I would’ve called the police.”
I winced. “That would’ve ended badly.”
“What?”
“How much about Keimac can you tell me that didn’t make the news?”
“Not much. Do you know something we don’t?”
I shook my head. “Nothing I can prove. Nothing I even know for sure.
But there’s no way this was some kinda gang initiation thing.”
Cathy nodded. “That’s what my Police sources are saying as well. But for some reason this is what the Police Brass are wanting to circulate, and it’s the story that my boss is insisting we go with.”
“Your source won’t come forward?”
“Not at this time.”
“Hence boss meeting?”
“Pretty much. He won’t take the chance.”
I paused at the top of the stairs, my mind racing in time with the conflicting emotions in my gut.
Cathy’s small hand touched lightly on my sternum. I blinked down at her.
“You have cheese dust or something in your beard.”
Shit.
I wiped away at my face embarrassedly. “Yeah, sorry. I shoulda gotten changed before rushing over here.”
“Why did you rush over? We could have talked about this on the phone.”
Huh. I guess we could have at that.
“I just …” This is what I get for trying so hard to remain stoic. When I’m looking for words they don’t wanna come out. “I don’t know. Hearing about Keimac just … It lit a fire and ….”
Cathy blinked up at me expectantly.
Shit.
“And I couldn’t sit on my ass feeling sorry for myself anymore.” Man that sounds lame. Sounds even lamer when you know it’s true.
Her dimples smiled up at me faintly. “We have to go. They’re going to begin pre-taping for the late cast in a few moments.”
I led her down the stairs out of the studio carefully as my mind whirled. Images flashing in my brain. Keimac’s face as he pulled the trigger on me. Aaron and Parise smiling, talking to me in the club after my release. The wall of victims in the Posse hangout.
“Joe? Joe are you listening to me?”
“Huh?”
She sighed. “I’ll take that as a no. I was just wondering if you had plans tomorrow night.”
I blinked. “Tomorrow night?”
Cathy nodded and reached into the side pocket of her gym bag. “Max and I were supposed to go to a Gala Dinner at the Winnipeg Art Gallery tomorrow but now we can’t make it. Max’s taking me to Calgary tomorrow morning so he can play golf with his friends and call it charity work. In exchange I get a weekend away and a full spa day.”
“Oh. So things with the Captain, they’re going well?”
Her smile was wistful as she fished out a pair of tickets, handing them over to me. “Same as before,” she said sadly, her dimples still showing. “He’s great, but almost too great to be true. I almost forget what it’s like to live in a real world when I’m with him.”
I took the tickets carefully. “Lots of girls would love to escape the real world.”
“I’m not lots of girls.”
My turn to smile wistfully.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I replied. “You need a lift somewhere?”
She shook her head. “I’m just parked in the lot. Don’t worry about me.” Cathy’s eyes met mine shyly for a moment. “Do I need to worry about you?”
“Nope.”
“You sure? You have a look on your face like someone about to make a difficult decision.”
I shrugged. “People make difficult decisions every day. Go. Enjoy Calgary. Let the Captain spoil you.”
Cathy smiled one last time before trotting away over to the TV staff lot adjacent to the studios.
I watched her go, making certain she arrived at her Passat safely. I folded the tickets up and jammed it into the front pocket of my track pants without really looking at them. Something was already in my pocket.
It was the note Mom had handed me after my beer run.
TAMARA CALLED. MARK IS AT ST. BONIFACE HOSPITAL ROOM FOUR-TWENTY-SEVEN. HE NEEDS TO TALK TO YOU.
I was in rushing to my van before I’d finished reading.
Chapter 43
I had wicked déjà vu while trotting up the steps to St. Boniface Hospital. It hadn’t been all that long since I’d bribed Cathy with an interview to help me sneak out of this place, but that wasn’t the déjà vu that hit me. It was vague, full of rain and thundershowers. Didn’t make any sense.
I shook my head out to clear it and jogged through the open doors.
It took me a few moments to make it past hospital security dressed as I was. Sadly they were used to turning back derelicts and panhandlers who would spend hours in the hospital lobby badgering patients and staff alike for change. I swear, next time I am faced with a potential crisis I will take the five minutes to shower and get changed.
Room four-twenty-seven was in the recovery wing of the hospital. Most people around here weren’t on life support or anything too technical thankfully. So the potential to seriously hurt someone should the machines go all screwy was low, however I still maintained a firm grip mentally on the tingling sensation at the back of my neck. Pushing it as far away from my consciousness as I could while I took the stairs two at a time up to the fourth floor.
Thankfully the signage was clear in this wing so finding the room I needed wasn’t too big a deal. Weaving my way past the occasional nurse and patient laid up in a hallway I soon found myself in front of the open door to room four-twenty-seven.
I peered into the room cautiously as I stepped inside.
Mark lay in the bed with the sheets up to his chest, sleeping. A bandage wrapped tightly around his upper left arm, bruising on his face and his left leg hung suspended in a cast up to his hip.
I winced at the bruising. Flashes of pain flickering over my flesh in memory. Miller’s beefy fists. Parise’s sharp knuckles. Blood. Swelling. Stars.
Get it together, Joe.
The visitor’s chair beside the bed was empty save for a tiny coat and handbag. Tamara’s I figured. Most likely gone for a coffee or something.
I ignored the chair and stepped up next to the bed.
Do I wake him?
Shit.
I scratched at my scruffy beard absently, trying to make some sense of things.
Thankfully, Mark didn’t make me wait long.
With a sudden startled breath he shifted position and winced, tried to move his broken leg in his sleep I figured. That’d wake anybody up. His eyes fluttered open with a groan as he took in his surroundings quickly. Seeing Tamara gone he continued around the room until finally noticing me standing at the foot of his bed.
“Hey,” he muttered wearily.
“S’up?”
He gave a very slight shrug. “Not much. You?”
“Same.”
“You look terrible.”
“That’s supposed to be my line.”
“Still true.”
“Been a rough week.”
