by Hodgson, Jim
Her phone buzzed, and her heart leapt. Buck getting back to her already? She looked. Nope. LeMond.
“Can you meet?” it said. She typed back that yes, she could. At least it would give her something to do. He wanted to meet at a coffee shop on the west side of town. That was a bit peculiar, but she did have the time. She said she’d be there in an hour.
When she got out of the shower, her phone showed she’d gotten another text. This one was from that Buck guy. He thanked her graciously for congratulating him and said he couldn’t have done it without her. That was nice. She should probably leave it there. Should definitely leave it there. Don’t make it personal. Definitely do not send anything even remotely personal to this man.
“What are you up to today?” she replied. Balls. That might have been crossing a line. They didn’t really have a personal relationship, did they? I mean, she’d seen some pretty personal parts of him, but that was on accident. His answer came back in just a few seconds.
“I’m headed to meet with LeMond. He won’t tell me what about. But he said you’re coming.”
She stared at it. Was she coming to meet LeMond? Oh yeah, she was.
“See you there,” she replied.
Chapter 10
Buck had never been to the coffee shop where LeMond had asked to meet. Meeting there didn’t make much sense, as it was on the west side of the city. Maybe the CrossFit girl lived over on this side of town. But for a building whose business was selling coffee and pastries to the public, it wasn’t particularly welcoming. The doors and windows were darkened with tinting of some kind. The front door had an image of a horned bull on it with the words “se habla español” near the bottom. The French might command that all official business be completed in their native language, but they couldn’t do much about the population of Spanish speakers already living in the former US when they conquered it.
The space inside was as dim as you’d expect a room whose windows were tinted so deeply to be. But it looked like your typical café otherwise. People sat here and there, drinking coffee. An enormous man in a filthy white shirt was sitting sideways at the bar so he could still see the door. He glanced at Buck then shifted his eyes around the room to land on LeMond sitting at a brightly colored table with the CrossFit girl. Buck felt his heart racing a bit. Was he that excited to drink some coffee? Sheesh. It wasn’t like he’d never been to a café before.
LeMond gave a nod at the huge man at the bar, and the man went back to working on a piece of paper with a pencil. Buck couldn’t see whether it was a Sudoku puzzle or a crossword, but the man appeared absorbed with it in either case. Buck sat down at the table and said hello. Cute CrossFit girl—Faith? Yes. That was it. Faith— nodded back.
“Don’t worry,” LeMond said. “We can talk freely here.”
That struck Buck as a bit odd. “Is there somewhere we can’t talk freely?”
LeMond made a shrugging motion and one hand teetered side-to-side. “What I’m about to tell you is, well . . . Just let me tell you. But it’s good news. Well, mostly.” At this last part he flicked his eyes to Faith, who looked down at the table. “Why don’t you tell him, honey?”
Faith was sitting with her elbows crossed on the table. She crossed them a bit tighter around her body and nodded. “I’m engaged.”
Buck felt slightly cold. They really needed to put the heat on in this place. “Congratulations.”
Faith took a sip of her coffee. From her face, it wasn’t very good coffee. “You don’t congratulate the bride,” she said quietly.
Buck barely understood the words over the sound of a futbol game playing on a TV screen behind the bar. “Don’t congratulate?”
Faith shook her head, probably to get over the taste of the coffee. “Just something my grandmother used to say. But yeah. No. I’m engaged, and my gym is closed.”
“Oh, wow. So you’re marrying up, then? Who’s the lucky guy?” Buck said, smiling.
LeMond broke in before Faith could respond. “Remember Barker? From last night?”
“The asshole future Mayor of New Lyon who closed our cycling program? Yeah, I remember him. I’d like to ride right over his nuts, I’ll tell you that.” Buck noticed LeMond was staring at him for some reason. Wait. No. Surely not. “Surely not,” Buck said.
Faith nodded. “So you’ve met my fiancé.”
“You?” Buck started. “But,” he said. “Um,” he said. “Buh?” he said.
“He also closed my gym,” Faith said.
“Closed your gym? But that’s your life!” Buck said. LeMond made a patting motion in the air to indicate he should chill out. But what the hell? Why would a nice girl—well, nice for one of those CrossFit weirdos anyway—marry a dream-wrecking merde-face like Barker?
Faith looked like she might cry. Buck had gone too far. He felt shame, reached a hand out to put on her shoulder, but stopped himself. He didn’t think he knew her that well. He reached out anyway. Touched her shoulder. She didn’t seem to mind, but LeMond was smirking oddly for some reason so Buck removed the hand.
“It’s my brother,” she said. “You remember? He’s in trouble. He could be executed. Barker says he can help him, get him released. But now I’m out of work and the city is contacting me about going to work for the dairies or a winery. Just my luck. Cheese doesn’t fit my primal diet at all.”
Buck couldn’t help himself. “Hah, yeah, primal,” he said with a chuckle. Faith glared at him. “Oh, you were serious.”
“What’s wrong with eating primal?” she said.
“Nothing if you want type II diabetes. Gotta eat Paleo.”
“Guys,” LeMond said.
“I don’t have type II diabetes,” Faith said.
“Guys, please can we stay on track here?” LeMond asked, trying again. “It’s not really the time to argue about your ketogenic diets.”
“Keto’s a different thing entirely,” Faith and Buck both said at the same time. They shared a look. Buck smiled.
LeMond put his hands up again for calm. “Okay, fine, whatever. Listen. Faith needs a job or she’s going to have to go to work for the French.”
“Shame we don’t have a cycling program anymore,” Buck said. His smile faded at the memory. It was his turn to look down at the table now. It was covered in a cracked tile mosaic depicting what was probably meant to be the sun.
“Ah, but we do,” LeMond said.
Buck looked up. “We do?”
LeMond nodded. “The three of us are now on the Miami Cycling Team.”
Buck laughed ruefully. “Yeah, right.”
But LeMond had his no-really-I-mean-it face on. Eyebrows up. “The three of us are going to start this week, training and healing you to race at Nationals.”
“Nationals?” Buck asked, but then he thought about it, and said, slowly, “Yeah . . . Nationals!”
With the New Lyon cycling program closed, there might not even be a series of regional races to determine the first and second place regional teams who could compete in the Tour de Neauvelle-France. The second-place team would automatically be Miami, as the largest city. Each region got to bring two teams. But the Miami cycling program was a joke. “But how can we compete as Miami?”
LeMond did a little side-to-side movement in his seat. “It’s going to take some work. They have a couple of riders, but Florida is completely flat, so they aren’t much good at climbing. And we’ll have to train in secret so they don’t find some political way to shut us out.”
“LeMond is going to get me employed as his assistant,” Faith said, “training some athletes down near the coast. Hopefully Barker goes for it.”
Buck’s mouth worked without checking in with his brain first. “Wait, you expect to train a team of unknown riders to protect me, at Nationals, using CrossFit?”
“And why not?” Faith asked, sounding a bit offended.
Now Buck’s hands went up. “I’m not being mean. I’m just asking. Cycling training is all about, well, training on a bicycle. Has nothing to do with jumping around and pullups and whatnot.”
“There is a lot more. To CrossFit. Than jumping. Around,” Faith said, speaking the words precisely to indicate that she meant every one of them.
“Circumstance demands that we go at this totally sideways,” LeMond said. “All the usual methods are out the window, and that means we need an ace in the hole. And there it is.” He pointed at Faith, who looked defiant. Her eyes flashed and her nose faired. Her face flushed, too, but not in an embarrassed way. More in an if-there’s-going-to-be-a-fight-I-want-to-be-in-it sort of a way. Buck couldn’t help but notice that her lips were finely sculpted. It would probably be kind of not bad to kiss her—
“Buck?” LeMond asked.
“What? Shit. Yes. Ace in the hair. Okay, fine, whatever. I’m just saying it’s irregular is all.”
“Ace in the hair?” Faith asked.
“I said whatever! How do we do it?” Buck said, sounding a bit more demanding than he probably should.
“Leave all that to me,” LeMond said. “You just concentrate on healing and being ready to ride. For now, I want you to meet someone.” LeMond looked around then waved at the man at the bar. Buck was prepared to stand and shake the man’s hand, but the man didn’t move except to reach into a pocket and withdraw a phone. He made a call, said a few words, then nodded and went back to whatever he was working on at the bar.
Momentarily, a man appeared from behind the bar. He was trim, athletic-looking, and had intense eyes that peered out of a brown complexion that was like fine wood. He came over to the table, and LeMond introduced him. “This is Miguel Costilla, our patron from Miami,”
Miguel Costilla smiled. “Actually I am not from Miami, but I am representing certain interests there in this venture,” he said, holding out his hand to Buck. “You must be Buck Heart. Such a pleasure to meet you, señor.” He spoke with a refined Spanish accent that made Buck want to say “Wow! Nice accent.” He resisted the urge.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Monsieur Costilla,” Buck said.
Costilla smiled again, showing perfect teeth. “Please, please. Call me Miguel. And you must be Faith Racing. I have heard much of your training. You certainly look effective.”
“Thank you, Miguel,” Faith said, smiling. “Won’t you join us?”
“Unfortunately I cannot,” Miguel said, looking genuinely disappointed. “I just wanted to meet you and let you know that you will have everything you need to succeed. I personally guarantee it.”
“Thank you, Miguel,” LeMond said. “We will do our best.”
“I know you will,” Miguel said, smiling again. “Now I must take my leave, but we will see each other again in a few days at the facility.” He gave another smile and looked at each of them, deftly taking his leave. Buck had met few people that polite in his life.
When Miguel had disappeared again, the table was quiet a moment. Then Faith said, “What facility?”
“We have a new facility, where we’ll do our training for the next couple of weeks. A couple of riders are already down there getting things ready for us.”
“In Miami?” Buck asked. That would be troublesome. A long drive all the way down there. What would that take? Fourteen hours in the car?
LeMond was excited. “No. Near Valdosta. Well, sort of near. Far enough away that we’ll be out of sight from prying New Lyon eyes, anyway.”
“How am I going to get permission to be in Valdosta? Barker—I mean, my fiancé, will never go for that,” Faith said.
LeMond gave a wry smile. “I think you might be surprised. He’s going to be very busy over the next few weeks. They’ll be grooming him for his election to mayor. Just tell him you’ll be working with me to train some geriatrics for a few weeks. He won’t know the difference.”
“Are you sure?” Faith asked. She didn’t look like she thought Barker would buy it.
“Positive,” LeMond said. “Miguel has . . . Well, he has access to information. We can trust him. And he thinks it’ll be fine.”
Buck felt a bit uneasy. That Miguel guy seemed plenty nice and all, but it sounded like they were trusting him with a lot of this operation. But if he could help get them on the road and riding in Nationals, it would be worth it no matter what it took.
“When do we start?” Buck asked.
Chapter 11
Faith hadn’t questioned LeMond further when he’d said that Barker would allow her to be gone for a couple of weeks. She’d thought LeMond simply didn’t know Barker that well and was talking out his ass. Now that they were engaged, Barker was simply fixated. He wanted to know where she was and what she was doing a couple of times a day. But she trusted LeMond enough to give it a try anyway. She’d lose nothing by asking. He’d already closed her gym. What else could he do?
To her amazement, LeMond had been absolutely right. She’d said she was going to be working to train some geriatrics out of town for a few weeks, and Barker had barely even looked up from his computer. She’d gone to his office to talk to him about it face-to-face rather than calling, thinking it might work better than a phone call. And she wore her beret and a nautical striped shirt so she’d look as French as possible and thus hopefully appear to be the future wife Barker wanted her to be. But he hadn’t even looked at her, really. She’d just said she would be out of town for a few weeks, and he’d said okay, fine, and that he’d miss her.
Maybe he hadn’t heard her. She’d better go on and get going before he realized what she’d said. She left, then went back to her own flat to pack, expecting the whole time to get a text or a call from Barker saying “Wait, what? Where are you going? No chance!” But the call never came.
She rode to the facility in LeMond’s car, with Buck’s bike on the back and Buck himself in the front seat.
The drive was nice, and the hours passed easily with the excitement of a new adventure and the possibility of a good result at Nationals.
“LeMond, have you seen the Nationals entry list?” Buck asked. “Do you know who we’re up against?”
“No one you can’t handle,” LeMond said. Faith noted to herself that he hadn’t really answered the question.
Buck noticed it too. “Heh, okay, but have you seen the list?”
“We’re here!” LeMond declared.
They’d been driving down increasingly worse roads for the last few minutes, LeMond steering the car off the highway to surface streets, then through a small town’s industrial area, out of the town on a two-lane road, then onto what was little more than a dirt track. They’d ended up at a fence across the dirt road that looked like it hadn’t moved in a hundred years. All around, huge trees and dense underbrush pressed close to the road. The trees were hung with a grey moss that looked like thick curly hair.
To the left of the fence, there was a box on a pole. On the front of the box was a keypad so old it looked like it couldn’t possibly transmit anything except possibly a skin disease. But LeMond jabbed at a few buttons anyway, and the gate began to draw to the side with barely a sound.
Faith was surprised that the gate moved at all, let alone soundlessly. Someone must be oiling it regularly, just not cleaning it. Maybe they wanted it to look old like that. Hmm.
LeMond drove through the gate, following the road as it took an immediate left to avoid a barrier of concrete. If someone tried to crash in here, Faith thought, they’d get through the gate but not through that barrier.
She began to feel a bit uneasy. It was as if this place were trying to look unused but was actually something else. She tried not to think about it. At least she’d be working again.
LeMond stopped the car in a courtyar
d surrounded by a few concrete buildings with corrugated metal roofs. They looked like they’d been built for purpose more than for aesthetics, but the huge, mossy trees arching over them gave the whole scene a look that was not without appeal.
Double doors in the building closest opened, and a man stepped out. He was thin but moved like an athlete. Faith spotted it at once. “He looks like a cyclist,” she said.
“Sure does,” Buck said.
“Why don’t you get out and meet him?” LeMond asked, smiling.
They did. He turned out to be Jose, one of the Miami riders. Jose’s English wasn’t great, and he spoke no French at all, but he smiled and waved them through the doors. Inside, Faith gasped. They’d just walked into a fully outfitted gym with gleaming top-of-the-line equipment she’d never been able to afford at her old place. Everything was there: Power racks, pullup bars, parallel rings, climbing ropes, and racks upon racks of free weights.
“I could train an army with all this stuff!” she said.
Jose looked wide eyed. Perhaps he hadn’t understood her.
LeMond laughed. “Well you won’t have to train an army,” he said with a chuckle. “Just a bunch of unruly cyclists. Might be worse! Come on, Jose, show Buck the cycling room.”
Through another door, there was a room more or less like the one Faith had seen at the old New Lyon facility. The racks of bikes here were smaller, and made of wood instead of the metal ones back in New Lyon, but there seemed to be every kind of tool you could ever want.
“Who’s going to be working on our bikes?” Buck asked.
“That’s one thing we weren’t really able to find,” LeMond said. “So, I’ll be your mechanic in addition to team director. And you do most of your own maintenance anyway, right?”
