2. The Reporter

Chapter Two

Mercedes, Number One

Roanoke City, Strike County

“Beautiful day to be tearing up the streets.” Charm’s voice crackled through the car speakers.

“Quit admiring the scenery and get your ass ready for this race,” Splinter’s voice replied.

Mercedes lifted the large puffy headphones to his left ear as he spun the dial on the police scanner with his right hand. The leather seat of his Corvette was pushed all the way back from the steering wheel. His long legs were crossed at the knee as he leaned back. His car sat on the roof of the tallest parking garage in Roanoke City. He had only to turn his head to peer over the side of the two-foot-tall cement guard rail.

“I don’t need to pay attention to get in front of you,” Charm said.

Mercedes reached forward and thumbed the mic mute button on the steering wheel to unmute his audio feed. “Scanner’s quiet,” he said.

“Awesome,” Splinter replied. “We ready to get this thing going?”

“Only you would be dumb enough to challenge Charm,” Mercedes said. “But yeah, I’m ready. What about you, Mister Czar?”

“Tch,” Charm said. “I’ve crushed this guy in my sleep.”

“Because your dreams are the only place you can beat me, old man,” Splinter said.

“Go challenge the czar of your own city,” Charm said. “Oh, right, you can’t beat him either.”

Mercedes drummed his fingers on the paneling of the car door. “I recognize this to be an official challenge by Splinter for the title of Czar for the town of Peace Harbor, Strike County,” he said, tone projecting more boredom than he intended. It was pointless. Charm was too good for him. “Do you accept this fairly spoken challenge as current Czar, Charm?”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Charm said. “I’d like to get down to the Kegasaurus while I’m in the city.”

Mercedes looked over the edge of the garage at the state capital’s busiest street. It had five lanes—two going in either direction and a left turn lane with a protected arrow where Oregon Avenue intersected South Street. The light had just changed to red, and cars were piling up. A purple Dodge Challenger sat in the left turn lane, heading north. A blue Toyota Celica was next to it, in the middle lane heading south.

“When the light turns green, the race begins,” Mercedes said. He leaned toward the screen console in the middle of the dashboard. It was black, so he tapped it twice. White letters like tread marks flashed across the screen, spelling “Psypher,” before a map of Roanoke appeared. “Then I’ll forward the track to your units. A Czar Challenge never uses the same route, to keep things fair for a first-timer like you, Splinter.”

“Roger,” the two racers chimed at once.

Mercedes glanced back at the street below. The South Street intersection with Oregon was notorious for stale red lights. It was the perfect starting line. As he watched, the Oregon light bounced to yellow then red. A few heartbeats later, the South Street light and the left turning green arrow jumped on.

Engines roaring, the two racers rocketed forward, the Challenger careening out of the turn lane to duck between the Celica and a car in the oncoming traffic lane. Mercedes glanced to the screen long enough to hit the send button on the map. Drivers below honked their horns when they realized that another of the infamous Raymond street races was underway.

It wasn’t long before Mercedes could no longer see the two racers. The triangles on his screen indicated that they were still neck and neck. Maybe Splinter was better than Mercedes gave him credit for. And Mercedes despised Splinter bad enough to give the man no credit in anything. Regardless, Mercedes would still be more comfortable if his adoptive father, Charm, held onto the czar title.

“There’s gonna be a new czar at this year’s winter events,” Splinter said. His purple triangle nudged just ahead of Charm’s blue one.

The winter events, Mercedes thought. This would be the first time the events would take place without Bronze since Mercedes became a racer.

“Oh?” Charm said. “Are you planning on making a challenge against another city’s czar before then?”

Splinter’s snort dispelled the regret that was beginning to settle like a storm cloud around Mercedes’ lungs. He didn’t have time for that now.

The police scanner was starting to get some action, but only a vague notion of where the two cars sped to. This was a Czar Challenge, so it wasn’t going to be easy for either of them.

“Caller reports that they were last seen heading south on South Street beyond the intersection of Oregon Ave,” the dispatcher’s voice said near to Mercedes’ left ear.

He thumbed the mute button on his steering wheel, turning his car mic off. “Not for long,” he said, taking a pay-as-you-go phone out of his glove box. Poor Splinter didn’t know what he was in for. This was his first time challenging one of Mercedes’ city czars. Some would call it an unfair advantage that the incumbent had, but Mercedes needed his czars to be able to multitask and follow directions.

“Catch ya later, Charm,” Splinter sneered. Mercedes saw the purple triangle barrel ahead of the blue triangle as they made the next turn.

“You’ll wish you weren’t out front when they set up a roadblock,” Mercedes said to himself.

On the throwaway phone, he dialed 0-1-1, the state of Raymond’s emergency line that directed callers straight to the special police units who handled street racing crimes.

“Street racing hotline,” a woman answered. “What is your street racing emergency?”

“I have two known suspects racing down Washington Avenue going towards Elmer Street North,” Mercedes said.

“Please stay on the line,” the woman said. “I’m sending officers.”

“A pleasure,” Mercedes said.

The woman bumped him onto hold a moment before her voice crackled into his left ear. “Strike County 0-1-1, page for Roanoke City SR Task Force,” she said. “We have reports of two known suspects heading towards Elmer Street North.”

“Feel the pressure, Splinter,” Charm said as he whipped in front of Splinter as they turned onto Elmer.

“Sir?” the voice of the 0-1-1 operator said in Mercedes’ right ear.

“It’s a purple Challenger and a blue Celica,” Mercedes told her. “They just turned onto Elmer.”

“You’re the Reporter,” the woman said before he was put on hold again for her to speak through the scanner.

It was a moniker that Mercedes was devilishly pleased to bear. The Reporter. Dispatch thought he was a member of the press when he made these calls anonymously. He never gave them wrong information, leading them to believe he had a news helicopter following the scene. Mercedes didn’t view the act as being a snitch. It was more of a safeguard for himself to make sure an incompetent racer didn’t bear the title czar, reporting directly to him and therefore closer to him than was comfortable.

“Five oh, five oh!” Splinter shouted as two flashing red and blue triangles appeared on the map from the Washington Avenue turn.

Mercedes didn’t know how Stunt got the Psypher network to display cops like that but he was grateful for it.

He muted the phone and unmuted the car. “Dropping off is a defeat,” Mercedes said. “Keep going.”

“Sir?” the woman said.

Mercedes switched the mutes.

“We have two units on Elmer Street,” she said.

“They will be heading west on Fossil Street and then south on Guess Boulevard after that,” Mercedes said.

The phone went back to hold.

“I need all units around the intersection of Fossil and Guess to prepare a barricade,” the woman’s voice said in his left ear.

“Mercedes, what’s on the scanner?” Splinter asked.

Mercedes switched the mutes again. “They’re on Elmer but you should be fine as you proceed around the next few turns,” he said.

“Hmph,” Charm’s voice said.

“Mister Reporter?” the woman said in his right ear.

“I’m stepping out,” Mercedes told the racers as a line of flashing blue and red triangles appeared at the intersection of Fossil and Guess. He jabbed the mute button on the car before pulling the door open and stepping out. He thumbed the phone’s mute button. “Yeah, I’m here,” he breathed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

He pulled one out with his teeth and lit the end, taking a long drag before puffing smoke towards the afternoon sky.

“I’d set up another barricade where Guess crosses the railroad tracks at Broadway,” Mercedes said. “And Main Street will be hit after that.”

“Yes sir,” the woman said.

The dispatcher never questioned how the Reporter could see the future of the race.

“I want air coverage.”

Mercedes stiffened at the sound of the voice coming loudly through the puffy speakers sitting on the driver’s seat of the open car door.

“Officer Curse wants a bird’s eye view?” Mercedes asked as he puffed his cigarette. “It won’t help.”

“I want that Reporter found,” Corey Curse’s voice continued.

“Sir?” the woman said.

“E-excuse me,” Mercedes said and hung up the pay-as-you-go phone.

“If he’s up there, bring him down and bring him in,” Corey said.

Mercedes stared at the cell phone for a moment before hurtling it off the parking garage roof. He didn’t wait long enough to see or hear it smash in the street below. This hadn’t happened before, but Mercedes knew one thing. If the task force had copters out, they were bound to spot his distinctive black Corvette on the roof. He had to move. Hopefully the tips he provided to 0-1-1 were enough to derail the Czar Challenge because Mercedes certainly wasn’t calling back.

All he had to do was drive down a level to get out of view of the copters. Then he could watch the end of the race in safety. Mercedes took a final drag on his cigarette before throwing it over the edge of the roof after the phone. He grabbed up the headset for the scanner and dropped into the driver seat of the Corvette, pulling the door closed behind himself. The console screen was overrun with flashing red and blue triangles. Mercedes started the car and kicked it into first gear. He slung the earphones onto his neck and cranked the volume up.

“We have three birds heading towards the downtown region,” a male voice was saying. “They’ll start the search at South Street and Oregon Avenue.”

“Be quick about it,” Corey replied. “I will not lose him this time.”

“I don’t see you getting out of the station and off your lazy ass to help us,” a new voice spoke, chopper blades thwamping in the background.

Mercedes jerked the Corvette forward and sped down the parking garage ramp. He navigated to the middle level, the fourth story. Only once he was securely parked in the dark between a white Prius and a gold Grand Caravan did Mercedes check the map for any sign of his racers. A pack of flashing red and blue lights separated the blue and purple triangles, both of which were still following the route. Charm was in the lead, of course.

He clicked the mute button on the steering wheel. “Are you still up for the challenge, Splinter?” Mercedes asked.

“You know, I see that there’s about thirty cruisers between me and him,” Splinter said. “Even if I can get through them I guess it might be hard to catch Charm.”

“Challenge diffused,” Mercedes said. “I’ll catch you both at the Kegasaurus.”