Hearts Racing
Page 17
From there, Buck reflected, things had happened quickly. Barker had emitted some kind of wordless scream and made to slap Warden Voigt in the face. The guard at the desk leaped to his feet and restrained Barker, who devolved into his now-familiar routine of screaming, turning red, and distributing spittle. The warden threatened to have the guard arrest Barker, at which point Barker shouted something along the lines of, “I’d like to see him try,” at which point the guard did more than try and hustled Barker into an interrogation room. They left him in there to calm down.
Buck could still hear him shouting through the door, though, demanding his orders be followed and that Michael must be executed today.
Warden Voigt shook his head. “He is making a disgrace of himself. I apologize on his behalf.”
“It’s okay,” Buck said. “I’m sort of used to him acting like that.”
Voigt nodded in a way that gave Buck the impression that the warden was also used to Barker acting like that. “So, tell me everything.”
Buck thought about it. How had he come to be here? He thought about training using CrossFit, about being with the Miami riders under the protection of Miguel. He thought about riding in the van overnight from Denver, and then about the van’s failure and the team time trial down the interstate, but he figured he’d better talk about the most important part of the equation first.
“Well, sir, as you know, New France is close to surrender to the Mexicans. You have Michael Racing here, who is the brother of Faith Racing, who is my, um . . . Well, she’s my friend. I have documents that should enable his release, if you’ll just take a look at this.” Buck held the phone up to show Voigt the documents, but the warden put up a hand and waved him off.
“Yes, okay, we can work all that out politically,” he said. “Do not worry, no one is getting put to death at my jail today. And anyway, that’s not what I meant.”
Buck felt his brow bunch up. “Well, what did you mean?”
“I meant,” Voigt said, smiling, “how did you beat that asshole Polini?”
Chapter 25
Faith, LeMond, and Miguel ended up walking down the highway a few miles to an exit. There was a gas station there with a café. The sun was just coming up, and the café was, thankfully, open. A few people were inside, having a bite to eat. The scene seemed odd to Faith. Then she realized it was odd because there’d been no cars in the parking lot. Then she felt dumb because of course there weren’t any cars. They’d walked too, after all.
A man who’d been standing behind the grill took their order. He said the staff hadn’t made it in because gas was so short, but he did most of the cooking anyway. As he was headed back toward the grill, he stopped and stared at a television mounted near the ceiling then shushed everyone with a hissing noise and wave of his arm.
He hurried behind the counter, fumbled around for the remote that went to the television, and turned up the sound.
The President of Mexico was on screen.
“ . . . have a long history of alliance with the former United States, which we expect will continue in the future. As of now, if you are seeing this, you are no longer New France. The New France Prime Minister surrendered control of New France this morning to me.”
He paused a moment to let that sink in, as if anyone could absorb this information in a few moments, then went on. “The French made a mistake when they attempted an attack on Mexico, a mistake they have paid for with the loss of your great nation. We have no desire to rule over you, as they did, only to protect ourselves and you from further French hegemony.
“The coming weeks and months will present challenges. Challenges we will work hard to overcome, with your help. But I know we will prevail. You are strong. We are strong. And now we are together.”
Everyone at the table looked at one another. Faith looked from LeMond’s exhausted face to Miguel’s. Miguel was beaming. He clenched a fist and shook it at his side in victory then he and LeMond slapped each other on the back. Faith could only hope Buck made it in time. By now he should be close to the jail. Her brother could be walking free this very moment.
“So, wait,” said the café owner. “No more French? We’re Mexico now?”
“No more French,” Miguel said, loud enough for everyone to hear. His smooth accent gave his words gravitas, as though he were speaking on behalf of all of Mexico.
At this, everyone cheered. The owner jumped up and down, making his apron flap. An elderly couple eating pie in the corner reached for each other’s hands.
The owner then ran to the end of the counter to a pie case, and flung open the door.
“Do you know what this means?” he asked, sounding a bit manic. “I can stop making quiche!” He pulled several pies from inside the cache and dumped two out on the counter. He grabbed one in each hand and smashed them together, making an eggy mush in his hands. He laughed like a schoolboy then yelled:
“I fucking hate quiche!”
Chapter 26
Warden Voigt took Buck on a tour of the jail and even brought him to see Michael. Never having met, they didn’t know quite what to say to each other. Michael looked healthy enough, as though he’d been eating regularly and even spending a bit of time at the gym. Buck looked like he’d never slept in his life and had slid to the jail down a big hill using his face as a brake. The jail’s medical staff gave his cut a look, and they all had a bite to eat in the cafeteria. Buck asked if the Miami riders could come in and eat too, and Voigt sent for them.
Buck felt a bit awkward. But Voigt was a cycling fan, and he wanted to show off his facility. During the tour, they received the word that the French were no longer in control.
“Well,” Voigt said, “I hope the Mexicans let me keep my job. I like it here.”
Buck participated in the tour as politely as he could but was glad when he could finally take his leave. His body ached, his head throbbed, and he was as tired as he’d even been in his life. Voigt said he didn’t know how long it would take to process Michael’s release, but that he would do his best to make it as quick as possible.
As for Barker, Voigt couldn’t say what would happen to him. He did say the facility had a lot of video of Barker yelling at people.
“There are a lot of cameras in this facility,” Voigt explained. “Whenever he’s had an outburst at one of my people, I saved the video. I think I’ll show it to him and see how he reacts.”
Buck didn’t quite know how to process this information, so he just thanked Voigt and traded contact information with him. Voigt was thrilled at this.
“When you are in the Tour, I want a phone call. Promise me.”
Buck laughed. How was he ever going to get to the Tour de France? He’d probably never be allowed to set foot in the country, let alone race. But he said he would call anyway.
Outside, he had a startling realization. Again. There were no cars. As tired as he was, he had to ride back to his flat. All the way back through town. Ugh. He and the Miami riders rolled straight through New Lyon, looking at its streets empty of cars with new eyes. Buck wondered if the city would go back to being called Atlanta.
He hoped so.
Chapter 27
Plumes of red, white, and green smoke trailed behind the Mexican fighter jets as they drew a gigantic flag in the sky over the city. The sound was deafening and thrilling, like the jets were riding a wave of thunder. Faith felt like a kid, looking into the blue sky and saying “Wow!”
Lemond, Michael, and Buck all looked up at the sky, of which the rooftop deck provided a great view.
The sun warmed her face as they waited for the parade. If she leaned toward the railing, a few of the Miami riders could be picked out below on the street, slapping each other on the back and jostling for position along the parade route. Now and then, she thought she heard faint a “Vamonos!” float up.
“Wow?” Buck asked. “After all we’ve been through, that’s what you say? Wow?”
Faith made a motion to elbow him in the ribs, but remembered in time that he had a broken one. He put his hands out to defend himself, though, saying “Ribs! Ribs! Ribs!” anyway.
“Watch your mouth then,” she said, a smile make its way onto her face. She couldn’t help smiling at him.
“Jesus, would you stop smiling at one another?” Michael said. “It’s gross.”
“Hey, at least this is only now getting on your nerves,” LeMond said. “I’ve been watching these two giggle at each other like high schoolers for weeks.”
“Oh you have not,” Faith said.
“Yeah, we are the very picture of discretion,” Buck said.
“Blegh. I’m trying to enjoy my freedom here. You two can be all lovey on your own time,” Michael said.
Oh, we will, Faith thought. She slipped a hand under the table and squeezed Buck’s thigh, and he put an arm around her shoulders. She put her face against him, her nose grazing his neck, and gave him a good sniff, filling her lungs with his intoxicating smell.
“Oh, we will,” Buck said with a grin.
“Agh! Gross! Sister!” Michael protested, and they all laughed, the sounds of their enjoyment mingling with the cheers and applause as the parade drew near. The band ended a song, and a quiet fell, but seconds later they began another. Faith recognized the tune: La Cucaracha.
The horns and laughs washed over her, and maybe the beers did, too. But there was something else. Feeling Buck’s arm around her shoulders and the sun on her face made her feel lucky, hopeful for the future. The tension and terror of the last few months was all gone.
Her pulse quickened with thoughts of where it all might lead her. The feeling was delicious, so she savored it. She just sat there, smiling at her brother, smiling at Buck, enjoying the parade and her freedom, as she felt her heart racing.