17. Brothers

Chapter Seventeen

Ranger, Number Three

Waspwood, Locksley County

Ranger studied the packet of paper. His legs were crossed at the knees as he leaned back against the tail of his yellow Corvette. He was parked in an alleyway a few blocks away from one of the more obscure payphones on the streets of Waspwood. The article discussed the roadblock in vague details. Something about tollbooth-like checkpoints on every street in the state to prevent rogue motor vehicles from speeding down them. The article also cited the Roanoke City Senior High School mascot, which was listed as the racer, the RACE assessment, and that Tenth County had taken its name from the racers’ ten-digit mobile numbers—even though there were only seven counties in the state—as ways that the citizens of the “barbaric fifty-first state” have turned the “dangerous and despicable” criminals into heroes and idols.

The whole thing was a load of hogwash. If he didn’t need the article for a jumping point of his research, Ranger would’ve spat on it and thrown it away.

A few lonely raindrops began falling from the sky as Ranger folded the article printout back up and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled his mobile out of the other pocket and dialed 2123.

“What do you want?” Cat’s voice demanded after only a few rings. The sound echoed oddly around him.

“Good afternoon to you too,” Ranger said.

“What?” Cat asked. “I’m busy.”

“With what?” Ranger asked. “Crawling through the sewers? We Waspwood racers are more refined than that.”

“Looking for Mercedes,” Cat said and Ranger was disappointed when he didn’t argue. “Shit what if Curse caught up with him?”

“Cat? What’s going on?” Ranger asked.

“Mercedes was involved in a high profile chase earlier,” Cat said. “And no one has seen him since.”

“Did he get away?” Ranger asked.

“According to the news, yeah,” Cat said. “I’m on my way to his safe houses now.”

“Aren’t you lucky?” Ranger said. “You get to be all up in there.”

“Jam it,” Cat said. “Now why’d you call?”

“Have you forgotten that we’re on the roadblock committee together?” Ranger asked. “I just wanted to know if you had any success in finding information. When’s that report of yours due?”

“At the end of the term, so in a few weeks,” Cat said. “The internet doesn’t have much other than the article I gave to Mercedes and the campaign promises that Cherrywood and Chase made.”

“Have you called Senator Chase’s office?” Ranger asked. “He’s still in Washington right now but I saw somewhere that he was still taking office calls.”

“I’m not going to call the state senator’s office for a school project,” Cat said.

“It’s not for a school project,” Ranger said. “It’s for Mercedes. And, wouldn’t you get serious bonus points at school for going above and beyond like that?”

“This is high school, not college,” Cat said. “And I only care about getting a diploma so I can be a street racer.”

“You’ll probably be the best educated out of the crew,” Ranger said though he wanted to laugh at the suggestion. “But seriously, I hear the senator talks to students. Just give his office a call. Tell him you’re some kind of poli-sci student at UR or something conducting some research.”

More rain began dropping on Ranger’s head. He glanced backwards to make sure his sunroof window was closed. It wasn’t.

“Why don’t you do it?” Cat asked.

Ranger straightened and climbed into the car. “Can’t,” he said, thumbing the button to close up the glass. “I’m a terrible liar. Look, it’s like four thirty. Give him a call and let me know.”

“Oh yeah, that’s more important than Mercedes’ life,” Cat said. “Besides, I don’t have his number.”

“You said he got away, right? So don’t be so worried about it,” Ranger said. “In his fourteen years of racing, Mercedes has never been caught. I’m sure there’s a good reason why you’re not hearing from him now.”

“Okay, okay,” Cat said. “I’ll call him but I’m not going to promise anything.”

“Good,” Ranger said and promptly gave Cat the office phone number.

“I hope there’s actual cell reception in the sewer,” Cat said before hanging up.

Ranger had to release a breath when the kid didn’t ask how he knew the senator’s number off the top of his head. While he waited to hear back from Cat, with the rain tap-tapping on his windshield, Ranger tried to put together a script. What would he say if he had to call Melvin Chase? Was there a right way to say anything? After everything that had happened and Ranger’s complete radio silence over the years, he had to doubt that the man would even want to take a call from a guy like him.

Ranger hissed air through his teeth just as his mobile began ringing again, this time through the Corvette’s speakers.

“He wasn’t available,” Cat said as soon as Ranger picked up the line. “His secretary said he’d call me sometime.”

Ranger clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Sure,” he said. “Important political types always say that. They never do it. Okay, well, thanks for trying.”

“Wait, that’s it?” Cat asked. “What happened to this being important to Mercedes’ life or some shit?”

“Fine, fine,” Ranger said, having already resigned himself to this eventuality. “Let me try something, okay? I think I can get a greater lead on some information.”

“How?” Cat asked. “Do you even know how to use the internet?”

“Believe it or not, I did go to school for a while,” Ranger said. Like for a master’s degree while. “Not everyone is the street racing prodigy son of a world champion circuit racer.”

“You don’t even know if Mercedes’ father was a world champion,” Cat said.

“I like to think we’re pretty close,” Ranger said.

“Well, think it all you like, fanboy,” Cat said. “You’ll never be as close to Mercedes as I am.”

“Did you find him?” Ranger asked.

“No,” Cat said. “But I have a few more places to search.”

“Okay, I’ll pursue the roadblock,” Ranger said. “You let me know if Mercedes turns up.” Ranger hung up with that, not giving Cat the chance to respond.

Ranger climbed back out of his car and into the rain. He walked to the end of the alley with his head ducked down, trying to keep the water out of his face. Then he turned and began up the sidewalk, towards the payphone.

He could say, good evening, how are you? How have you been?

Or, good evening, how are you?

Maybe just, good evening.

Ranger could say nothing at all. Just dial the number and let dead air come through the line. He could let Melvin speak first and respond to whatever bullshit came out of the man’s mouth.

The clouds shifted in the darkening sky as Ranger reached the phone booth. Glancing around a moment confirmed that he was alone on the block. He stepped inside, pulled the door shut, and fed some loose change into the machine. He took the black receiver off the hook and dialed the last number to Melvin’s cell phone that Ranger had been aware of.

Rain water cascaded against the glass outside. Ranger twined the cool spiraled cord in one hand while the receiver buzzed in his ear. Biting his bottom lip, he moved the receiver away from his head. It had rang five times with no answer. As he was about to replace it on the hook, a voice crackled through the other line.

Ranger froze in the phone booth, staring at the shiny black device. He couldn’t believe that his brother had answered an unknown caller with a Raymond area code placing a call to his personal cell phone. Swallowing, Ranger returned the device to his ear.

The only thing he could manage to say then was, “Hello.”

“Who’s calling?” Melvin’s clear voice asked.

“Mel, it’s Cal,” Ranger replied, glancing through the glass over his shoulder. The sidewalk was still deserted.

“Cal?” Melvin repeated as if he didn’t wholly believe what he had heard.

“Yeah,” Ranger said. It had been his intention to keep this brief. He didn’t want to exchange pleasantries with his brother. He only wanted to probe him for Mercedes’ sake. “I was following your race.”

There was silence on the other line for a few seconds. “Really?” Melvin asked.

“Yeah,” Ranger said. “Congratulations, Mister Vice President.”

“Oh, Cal, thank you,” Melvin said. “You know, I didn’t expect to hear from you, you know, since you didn’t call when I won governor or senator. It’s been years. How are you? How’s Merrimack? You guys still in Locksley County?”

Ranger frowned. “I’m okay,” he said. “And your guess is as good as mine on Merri. He disappeared after graduation over a decade ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Melvin growled into the phone. “Tore our family apart,” he said. “But don’t you worry, I’m going to fix it. Taurus and I are working on one of our campaign promises. You heard that right? We’re writing legislature to save Raymond from its infection. I’ve nearly convinced him to make it an executive order.”

“You plan on doing what about the street racers that the FBI hasn’t already tried?” Ranger asked, slightly annoyed by his older brother’s enthusiasm. It was one of the traits he had often admired in the man as a child. He released the phone cord and leaned his shoulder against the glass enclosure.

“I don’t want to spread the details just yet,” Melvin said. “But let’s just say that it is a massive roadblock.”

“With tollbooth-like checkpoints, according to an article I saw. You’re making it an executive order?” Ranger asked. “So it won’t have to go through the House and the Senate?”

“That’s the idea,” Melvin said. “I’m hoping to get it into play on January 21. But, look, I don’t want to talk about this with you. I don’t get to hear from you. It’s been ages. Mom says that she doesn’t hear from you or Merri either.”

Ranger wanted to press Melvin more, but he heard the rapid approach of sirens. Red and blue lights flashed down the street and over the hill in front of the booth, three cops right on the tail of one of Ranger’s Waspwood racers.

Melvin heard them too. “What’s going on, Carlisle?” he demanded. “Are you alright?”

The racer’s car flew by followed by the two closest cruisers. The third one was a few car lengths back, sweeping the area with his spotlight. Ranger cursed as the cruiser barreled down towards him. There was no way he’d make it back to his car’s hiding place in time.

“I’m sorry, I gotta go,” Ranger said. “These racers crash into everything. I’m not safe.”

“Wait, Cal! Can I call you later?” Melvin asked. “I miss hearing from you. We need to talk.”

“I don’t have a landline or a cell. This is a payphone.”

“Are you…struggling?” Melvin asked.

“I have to go.” Ranger didn’t give his older brother a chance to respond before hanging up the phone.

He darted out of the phone booth and fled up the nearest alley. The spotlight scanned the sidewalk behind him. Ranger pulled out his mobile and dialed Knightmare. He could always count on the kid when he needed him most. Ranger preferred to ask the czar over anyone else when the kid was in town. Knight had been hanging around since the night of the campaign sign bonfire a few weeks ago.

“Yeah?” Knight answered, hollow voice telling Ranger that the kid was on his bike and using his mobile through the Bluetooth helmet.

“You gotta come get me,” Ranger said.

Knight paused then, clicking his tongue piercing against his teeth. “Again?” he asked as more sirens sounded on the street behind Ranger.

“Yeah, again,” Ranger said. “That’s what you get for hanging around. I’m at Wayward Street and am heading towards Thistle Avenue.”

“Right, I’ll be there,” Knight said and the line clicked dead.

Ranger sighed and pocketed his mobile. He could still hear the sirens echoing down the length of the alleyway. He glanced over his shoulder to see two more cop cars flying by.

His older brother wanted to put an end to the street racers. His older brother who had attended the most affluent private schools within the state of Raymond, graduated college with a degree in political science, and went on to serve in the House of Representatives, as the state governor of Raymond, and as a senator. Now he had been elected vice president of the country. If something happened to this Taurus Cherrywood, Ranger’s brother would be the most powerful man in the world.

And he had aims to destroy Ranger’s way of life.

Ranger kicked his way through a puddle of muck on his way to Thistle Avenue. He knew he’d have to call Melvin back, to try again. He couldn’t give up probing the man for information. There was no way he was going to let Melvin destroy Mercedes.

The siren noise was fading by the time a white crotch rocket pulled up to the curb of Thistle Avenue in front of the plaza where Ranger had decided to shelter from the rain. The kid offered out a helmet to Ranger as he came forward. Taking the helmet, Ranger swung his leg over the back of the bike. He was strapping it around his chin when Knight straightened the bike and accelerated away from the curb.

“Thanks,” Ranger said, knowing that his voice would be picked up by the helmet’s audio feed. “But don’t you have school to be attending rather than hanging around with me?”

“I drive into Kaymouth daily for school,” Knight replied. “Only to keep my mother happy.”

“What about the Raymond Assessment for College Entrance?” Ranger asked. “It’s time for that, isn’t it?”

“At the end of the semester, yeah,” Knight said. “But what do you know about the RACE?”

Ranger shook his head. “Nothing, I guess,” he said. Only that a certain Carlisle Chase had received a score in the top five percent when he had taken the exam about eighteen years ago. “You staying with Cobra?”

“Yeah,” Knight said. “You got a race going down soon?”

“Not tonight,” Ranger said. “I need to look farther into the roadblock thing.”

Knight tipped the motorcycle to the side as they navigated from one street to the next in rapid succession. “What about it?” he asked. “You think it’s serious?”

“I think the vice president-elect is serious about trying to get it set up,” Ranger said. He wondered if Melvin would be willing to disclose what he planned on doing about getting the funding for such a massive sounding project. With Mercedes’ new status, he didn’t imagine anyone in Washington being that resistant to the idea, though Ranger wondered if the government pursued Mullins and Marchesi as fervently.

“What will happen?” Knight asked.

“Only the future can tell you that,” Ranger said. “So you just gotta get there.”

“How profound,” Knight said. “I’ll drop you off at the bar but after that you gotta find your own way.”

“You know Cobra will probably be there,” Ranger said. He squinted his eyes against the rain flying into his face. They were only a few streets away from the bar at that point.

“No, he’s got a thing going on at the west side,” Knight said. “I thought I’d meet him there.”

“And you didn’t want to invite me to come?” Ranger asked, feigning disappointment.

Knight purposefully jerked the bike from side to side to the point where Ranger was frightened that they would fall over. He tightened his grip around the boy’s waist.

“You know you have better things to be doing,” Knight said.

“And the czar of Kaymouth doesn’t?” Ranger asked. “Like races to set up in your own town?”

“I didn’t set this race up,” Knight said. “And Cobra’s my closest friend.”

“If you can’t make time for your friends,” Ranger sighed as Knight eased the bike to a stop in front of the bar.

Even though they were parked, Ranger made no move to get off the bike.

“Locksley County should boycott the winter events,” Knight said then. “At least, the Tenth County portion.”

A small smile touched Ranger’s face. The Kaymouth Czar knew him well enough to guess at what was on Ranger’s mind without him having to say so. “I haven’t visited Tenth since the accident,” Ranger said.

“I know,” Knight said.

“I keep telling myself that I should take a trip to Suicide Road,” Ranger said. “I have to wonder what happened to Stefanie after that.”

“Do you even know what she looked like?” Knight asked. “Don’t answer that because I know you don’t. It’s been seven months. Why the hell would you think that she’s still hanging around a place like that?”

“Bronze told me he was going to be a father,” Ranger said.

“Shit,” Knight said. “Why didn’t you tell me that seven months ago?”

Ranger swung his leg over the side of the bike. His thighs were trembling from the experience as he stepped forward to face Knight’s full-faced helmet head on. Ranger considered the Kaymouth Czar one of his closest friends, a notion he found to be humorous in the driest of ways since he didn’t even know what the boy’s face looked like. “Why’s it matter?” he asked.

“That kid’s going to grow up without a father,” Knight said. He revved the engine on the bike. “You need to find Bronze’s girl before the kid is conscious enough to realize that she’s alone.” He half lifted the face shield on his helmet to reveal his mouth, the most skin Ranger ever saw on the kid.

Ranger frowned and pulled his own helmet off. “I didn’t think that was a good idea,” he said. “Finding Bronze’s girl. Fuel doesn’t even know where she disappeared to.” A few days after the crash, the older racer had found Ranger mourning on a hill just outside Waspwood. Fuel said then that he couldn’t stay in Tenth County and that Stefanie had disappeared. It reminded Ranger of what Merrimack did when they got their bachelor’s degrees and then what Ranger had done three years later after walking across the stage for his master’s. “Besides, she didn’t know me. Who am I to tramp into her life on the coattails of Bronze’s death?”

“His best friend?” Knight said. “If you really cared about Bronze, maybe you’d feel more obligated to make sure his girl and his kid are all right. Didn’t you say that Bronze wasn’t particularly close to many of the Tenth County racers?”

“He spent more time in Waspwood than he did Tenth County cities,” Ranger admitted.

“Trust me, Range, Stefanie and her kid need help,” Knightmare said. “Without Bronze to protect and support them? Who knows what kinds of hardships they’ll endure. Who knows if anyone is around to provide for them.”

Ranger didn’t doubt what Knight said was true. He stared at the younger racer for a moment, wondering if Knight was speaking from personal experience. Why else would a high school senior need to turn to a life of crime? Ranger stepped onto the curb and handed the helmet back to Knight. Knight attached it to the back of his bike before putting up a hand and driving away from the bar.

“I thought I heard that motorcycle engine,” Twister’s voice called from the doorway of the bar. “Why didn’t he stop in?”

Rain water dripped into Ranger’s face as he turned away from the street and began towards the bar. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he approached Twister. “Game of pool?” he asked.