16. Train's Whistle

Chapter Sixteen

Mercedes, Number One

Roanoke City, Strike County

“And what am I supposed to do if Number Six issues a duel against Number Five?” Sheriff’s voice crackled over the speakers of Mercedes’ Corvette.

Mercedes exhaled smoke from between his lips. “Has he?” Mercedes asked. He leaned forward and peered through the front windshield. His car was sitting on the third story rooftop of a city parking garage across the street from the Roanoke City Police Department.

“I spoke to Legend but you know how he is,” Sheriff said.

“You haven’t heard from Taboo then?” Mercedes asked.

“Uhh, not yet,” Sheriff said.

“Then I wouldn’t worry about it,” Mercedes said. “He’ll contact you if he issues a duel. Then you can ask Legend if he’s willing to defend.” Mercedes snubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and sat back in his chair. The street below was quiet. It wasn’t such a huge issue that Taboo wanted to prove himself and rise through the ranks of the Numbers. Mercedes had seen him drive, so it hadn’t come as a surprise that he had been able to beat Blood. Legend was different though. “It isn’t anything to be concerned about right now. The guy just wants to swing his weight with the big boys.”

“Uhh, yeah,” Sheriff said.

“Do I detect a hint of fear there, Number Four?” Mercedes asked.

Sheriff snorted. “You know, I might just issue a duel myself,” he said.

“Taboo’s not going to stop until Wolfie puts him in his place,” Mercedes said. “So it isn’t going to matter whether you’re Number Three or Number Four.”

“What are you up to?” Sheriff asked.

“Now this is a social call?” Mercedes asked as he leaned back over to look down at the police department. It was one of the many police stations within Roanoke. This one just happened to be the home base of their street racing task force.

“Hey, well, you know,” Sheriff asked. “What do you have going on these days?”

“Aside from being the third most dangerous man in the country?” Mercedes asked. “Nothing.”

“That’s not the way I hear it,” Sheriff said. “What’s this about you hanging around Officer Curse?”

“A guy tries to have a private life and somehow everyone hears about it,” Mercedes said, shaking his head. “He came around the Keg the other night to question me. That’s all.”

“Mmhmmm,” Sheriff said.

“Did you get that from Ranger?” Mercedes asked.

The revolving glass doors at the front of the station below spun in the early afternoon sunlight. A single man emerged and began crossing the street to the first level of the parking garage. It was hard to tell from the distance who exactly the man was, but based on the timing, the way he walked, and the dark tone of his skin, Mercedes knew it had to be Corey.

“Like I’d give him a casual call,” Sheriff said.

“Oh but you guys were talking about me at the barn,” Mercedes said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I gotta go, you know, take a nap so I can run some races tonight.” He paused, watching as Corey disappeared into the parking garage. “Let me know what happens below you.”

“Uhh, yeah. Sure, right, right,” Sheriff agreed. “Later.”

Mercedes hit the end call button without responding to Sheriff. He started the Corvette and swung it around the rooftop and drove to the ramp leading down a level. Corey usually parked on the middle level. A ramp positioned nearby allowed for easy access to the street at the other side of the building. This section of the city was known for the few hills that left the streets uneven.

Corey wasn’t in sight when Mercedes pulled his Corvette down the roof ramp and parked in the opening to the ramp leading onto the street. Corey’s civilian car, a silver Chevrolet Cruze that the man had purchased within the last few years, was parked in a space only a few feet away with an empty parking space on either side of it. A few other civilian cars were scattered throughout the parking deck, all of which belonged to city employees who worked in the nearby buildings.

Mercedes left his car running but climbed out. He paced over to the Cruze and leaned back against its trunk, lighting up another cigarette as he waited. After only a few moments, he could hear the resounding echoes of a person walking through the parking garage. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette while his insides were screaming at him to get back in his car and leave. He had no business speaking to Corey and had no desire to see him again.

Yet here he was.

Mercedes looked up as Corey turned the corner at the end of the row. Seeing Mercedes leaning against his car, Corey slowed down but continued walking towards it.

“You’re like a drug,” Mercedes said. “Just when I thought to have kicked you, my system was given another shock.”

“Why are you here?” Corey asked. He touched a hand to his equipment belt, fingering the shiny pair of hand cuffs that were hanging there.

“That’s a good question,” Mercedes said. He blew his smoke towards Corey as the other man stopped near to him.

“I’m known for asking those,” Corey said. “So what is it? It’s rather ballsy of you to come by the station.”

“Almost as much as it was for you to come to the Keg,” Mercedes said. “Besides, I’m faster than any one here.”

“Not if they block off your escape route,” Corey said tossing his head in the direction of the ramp.

“You act as though I’ve never roof jumped my car,” Mercedes said. He paused, took a drag of his cigarette, before adding, “Or escaped on foot for that matter.”

Corey winced at the suggestion. “Have you come to give me the identity of the Reporter?” he asked. “He’s been quiet since our conversation that day.”

“I told you I don’t know anything about that,” Mercedes said.

“Why bother to come by then?” Corey asked.

To see you, Mercedes thought but he would not let the words come through his lips. “This,” Mercedes said, producing a folded up piece of paper from the pocket of his black zip up vest. He straightened off the trunk of the Cruze and offered the sheet to Corey.

Corey unfolded the page and glanced at it. “As if I don’t know about that,” he said. “You’re a few weeks too late to be discovering that now.”

“I knew about it a few hours after it happened,” Mercedes said. “You forget that Pop keeps tabs on the FBI.”

“Of course,” Corey said, pocketing the sheet of paper.

“Collecting finger prints now?” Mercedes asked.

“Mercedes, you can’t,” Corey said. “You can’t do this.”

You’re the one that started it. “Why not?”

Corey shook his head and moved around to the driver’s side of the car. Its lights flashed as he unlocked the doors. “Just stay away from me,” Corey said. “Starting the first of December, we’re going to have a unit of FBI agents joining the task force.”

“What? Are you afraid that they’ll find out you’re fraternizing with the enemy?” Mercedes asked. He threw his cigarette butt to the ground and stomped on it. “And that you’ll lose your job?”

“You need to stop littering too,” Corey said instead of answering the question.

“I’m up to $900 that you know about,” Mercedes said.

“Not about that,” Corey said. “Now, I’m going to get in my car and call into my colleagues that your Corvette is hanging around municipal parking across the street. I’ll give you three minutes to leave before I do that.”

“Wait,” Mercedes said. “Our huge winter events. They’ll be split between Lupine and Tenth this year.”

Corey lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sabotaging your own events?” he asked.

Mercedes swallowed and resisted the urge to take out another cigarette. “No,” he said. “I’m telling you, Corey Curse, as a person from me, Rye Curse, as a person. You asked, didn’t you?”

The color drained from Corey’s face as Mercedes said this. “Of course,” Corey said before dropping into his car and slamming the door closed.

Mercedes didn’t doubt that he was telling the truth about reporting Mercedes to his colleagues in three minutes’ time, so Mercedes turned on his heel and stalked back over to his car. He climbed in and sped down the ramp and out onto the street.

Before Mercedes had much time to contemplate what had possessed him to give Corey the information as Rye Curse, the Corvette was filled with his mobile ringing through its speakers. Mercedes glanced at the screen in his dashboard as he whipped around a corner at the end of the street.

It was a ten digit mobile number that he didn’t recognize. The caller’s name was unidentified since it was an out-of-county number that Mercedes hadn’t had contact with before. Mercedes had felt a knot gather in his stomach as he thought about the implications. Something was going on with Taboo, Sheriff had suggested as much.

Having nothing to lose, Mercedes hit the accept call button. “Good afternoon,” he said once the connection was established. After a moment, the screen flashed the name Arctic on top of the mobile number as the devices linked up.

“Shit,” a higher pitched male voice said before the call disconnected.

Mercedes almost stopped driving to stare at the screen. Why call to curse and then hang up? A flashing red and blue triangle flared up on the screen a few blocks behind Mercedes. So, Corey was true to his word. Mercedes whipped his car around the next corner, navigating down the city streets to put himself in the midst of the tallest sky scrapers. A few more triangles joined the pursuit and Mercedes cursed under his breath.

There seemed to be more of them than there should’ve been for a simple pursuit. Corey had indicated that the feds would be joining the task force next month, so they shouldn’t have been involved now. Mercedes eyed the Psypher screen, trying to pinpoint a route to get away to. Sliding open the sunroof revealed that there was no air cover on him, so it was just a matter of out-maneuvering the cops at the moment, a task Mercedes could do with his eyes closed.

So he called Arctic’s number back. The mobile rang and rang to the point where Mercedes didn’t think the man would pick up.

After a number of rings, that light male voice said, “H-hello?”

“Arctic,” Mercedes said.

“No, I’m sorry,” Arctic said quickly.

“Don’t apologize,” Mercedes said. He had the briefest notion that this man, Arctic, could be a federal informant, but he quickly swiped the thoughts away. That was Alcatraz getting to him. When he wasn’t at school these days, the kid wouldn’t let Mercedes go anywhere by himself. One of the reasons why Mercedes was now prowling the streets during the day more often than he had at night. “I don’t quite have an open door policy but you came by my number for a reason. What is it?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Arctic said again. “A friend gave me your number and told me to call it. He didn’t tell me who it would reach. It’s nothing. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Who are you, Arctic?” Mercedes asked. He rounded a corner and nearly crashed right into a police roadblock composed of unmarked black cars with flashing red and blue lights. Mercedes’ feet worked faster than his brain to slam on the brakes and the clutch, throw the car into reverse, and turn back the way he had come. This was Still Street and the Psypher screen did not have any evidence of a block on it. “Damn.”

“I’m sorry,” Arctic said.

“No, not you,” Mercedes said, scrutinizing the screen again. He hadn’t even turned his police scanner on. Maybe he could’ve avoided nearly slamming into the block if he had been listening to the scanner. “My Psypher failed to pick up a roadblock.”

“You’re in pursuit?” Arctic asked.

Glancing in his rearview, Mercedes could count three cruisers following way too closely. Two were the familiar Roanoke City PD cruisers. The third was an unmarked black car. A check of the Psypher screen revealed that only two of the cruisers had triangles represented on it. So the feds were already there.

And Corey had lied to him.

“Yeah,” Mercedes managed. He reached across the car to pull out a cigarette. Before turning the next corner, Mercedes lit the cigarette and took a long drag.

“I-I can call you back,” Arctic said but Mercedes got the feeling that if he let the man hang up now, he would never call him back.

“No,” Mercedes said. “I can multitask. Who are you?” Mercedes wondered if he was a friend of Taboo’s. How else would he have gotten Mercedes’ number? Generally only Psyphers, Numbers, and former Numbers outside of Roanoke City had Mercedes’ personal mobile number.

Mercedes was not so sure about multitasking either now that he didn’t know where the cops were and where they weren’t. He wasn’t even sure if the feds would be available on the police scanner if he had tuned into it.

“Arctic,” the man said. “Of Tenth County.”

“You a racer?” Mercedes asked. He turned up another street only to dodge around a line of civilian cars, held up by a road shut down.

“I’m a czar actually,” Arctic said. “Lonephalt.”

Mercedes almost stopped on that. “Lonephalt, huh?” he asked. It was the city where Bronze had been a Number. Likely, Arctic was a fairly new czar appointed to fill the vacancy after Taboo became the Number since Taboo had been the czar of Starvale. As a czar, Mercedes could only assume that he was trustworthy, especially if Taboo had selected him himself. Not that Mercedes knew Taboo well enough to trust him as a person.

“Hey, I’m sorry I called and bothered you,” Arctic said. “You sound very busy.”

“I could be better,” Mercedes said. He turned up a street near to where Guess crossed Broadway and could hear the blaring horn of an oncoming train. “That’s it.”

“Huh?” Arctic asked.

“I’m being pursued by feds,” Mercedes said. “No air coverage, but I can’t track the feds on Psypher.”

“Shit,” Arctic said. He seemed to be loosening up and becoming more comfortable with the idea that Mercedes was just another person. “What are you going to do?”

“Train’s coming,” Mercedes said. “It brings cargo from Roanoke’s eastern port to the mainland. There’s a similar train running from your port in Lonephalt. If I can time this right, I’ll be able to get over the train track and leave the officers behind.”

“That’s gotta be dangerous,” Arctic said. “You done it before?”

A grin overtook Mercedes’ face as he turned up Guess Boulevard. “Only during a race or two,” he said. Well, really it was only once and up near Lonephalt. But once had been enough. Mercedes closed his eyes for a moment as his heartbeat echoed in his ears. The echo pulsed through his blood like the shaking ground, causing memories to shake loose in his mind. Memories of guilt he held in his heart every time he saw Alcatraz. “This should be the same.”

“Do you want me to stay on the line with you?” Arctic asked.

Mercedes slammed the accelerator to the floor and counted seven cruisers behind him as more turned up from adjacent streets. The railroad tracks were in view in front of him and as he rocketed towards them the warning lights began flashing red.

“Almost there,” he said. The tachometer of his Corvette approached the red line as the engine roared. He thumbed the nitrous knob on his steering wheel.

The train’s horn blasted again as Mercedes passed over the railroad warnings painted on the pavement. He slammed on his brakes as he approached the tracks, noting that the cruisers behind him had slowed as well. As the train charged towards the street crossing, Mercedes dropped down into fourth gear before slamming the accelerator again. The train blared as the Corvette flew over the tracks.

“Mercedes?” Arctic asked.

Mercedes slammed on his brakes and whipped his car to the right on the other side of the tracks. The train chugged along across Guess Boulevard, and Mercedes was alone on this side of the tracks. It would be at least five minutes before the caboose passed. And that was plenty of time for Mercedes to make a clean getaway. Every street that the train crossed over would be blocked, keeping the cruisers away long enough for Mercedes to find cover.

“I’m fine,” Mercedes said. He dropped the Corvette into first gear and eased up the street. An image of the train coming in the dark of night flashed across his vision. The blaring horn sounded the same then as it did now. He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Go for cover,” Arctic said.

“I will,” Mercedes said. He lit a second cigarette. “Look, I’ll call you later. You can tell me why you called then. But I can’t talk now.”

“Oh, okay,” Arctic said.

Mercedes pressed the end call button and continued driving up the road to find shelter.