8. Walkie Talkie

Chapter Eight

Mercedes, Number One

Roanoke City, Strike County

The black triangle that represented Mercedes was a full four blocks ahead of the rest of the pack as he skirted the outside of Roanoke City. The volume on his police scanner was low but not muted. He knew that, as the race’s bookie, Buster would be listening to a scanner in order to warn the participants, but Mercedes wasn’t keen on trusting a new bookie to watch his back. He hadn’t made it this far by doing so. The headset hung around his neck.

“You’re only four blocks up,” Splinter’s voice said over the car’s speakers. “Guess you’ve gotten rusty since the last time I seen you race.”

Mercedes smirked and thumbed the nitrous knob on his steering wheel. “To be truthful, four blocks allows me to see all of you on the screen with my current zoom settings,” he said.

Nerve laughed and Mercedes could hear Splinter growl underneath the sound.

He slammed on the brakes and pushed in the clutch as he navigated around a turn at the end of the street. As he came out of the turn, Mercedes flipped the shifter into the appropriate gear, shifted his foot from brake to accelerator, and jabbed the nitrous knob. His Corvette kicked forward as Mercedes eased his foot off the clutch and mashed the accelerator to the floor. Two moments later, he was back at full speed, cruising down Ray of Hope Boulevard on its continued route along the perimeter of the city.

Mercedes almost wished he could feel the wind through his hair but it was exhilarating nonetheless. Racing through the streets of Raymond was one thing he never felt the need to smoke while doing.

The headset around his neck crackled and Mercedes heard the whisperings of police codes for street racing. It had taken them long enough to realize what was going on. Races along the boulevard typically elicited such a molasses response.

“Watch out, guys,” Buster’s voice said. His voice had returned to the innocent fanboy tone he had before hitting on Mercedes. “The task force is dispatching.”

“Roger that,” Raw said. “Contingency, Mercy?”

“Bah, I wouldn’t expect one of those from him,” Splinter said. “He sicced the fuzz on my Czar Challenge.”

“Such is the nature of the Czar Challenge,” Mercedes said.

“Yeah, I heard that,” Nerve said. “Never had a desire for that myself.”

“You just don’t want to move,” Steel said. “Because you can’t be czar here.”

“Yeah, well,” Nerve said as a flashing blue and red triangle appeared on the map a few blocks behind the group of them.

“No contingency,” Mercedes said just because he wanted to see Splinter sweat. Splinter was a man he could never trust to be czar anyway, not with his relationship to Pop. “Stopping the race is a forfeit. You can evade the cops after you cross the finish line.”

“Roger,” Raw said.

Mercedes heard Splinter grumbling to himself. Likely the man would’ve quit if he wasn’t seven grand into the race.

“Guys,” Buster said. “The task force lead is dispatching.”

“That guy’s relentless,” Steel said. His triangle was lagging at the back of the group. “I’m out.”

The speakers beeped as Steel disconnected from the circuit.

“Ooh, so close to winning by default,” Raw said. His triangle shot to the front of the pack. “Wahoo!”

Mercedes shook his head and lifted one side of the headset to his left ear. He could hear the back and forth of the officers in pursuit, including discussions of a roadblock on Ray of Hope.

“Do we know they’re going straight?” Corey’s voice crackled.

“It’s an assumption,” another officer replied.

“What of the Reporter?” Corey asked.

Mercedes’ knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, and he began to feel that burning desire to light up.

“He’s not calling in this race, sir,” the officer said.

A few more flashing red and blue triangles appeared on the map on streets that intersected the boulevard between Mercedes’ black triangle and the other three racers. Corey’s special icon had yet to appear on the screen.

“That’s fair,” Corey said. “The day I take Mercedes in, it will be a fair fight. Has he been located?”

“He’s about five blocks down from the roadblock,” an officer said.

That was annoying. They knew where he was. Likely, they had deployed a chopper. The Psypher network had yet to figure out how to get those to show up on the map. Mercedes eyed the screen and counted five blocks up from his position. The track swerved off Ray of Hope before that so the block wouldn’t be an issue, likely why Buster hadn’t mentioned it. That or he was sore over Mercedes’ rejection and was trying to get back at him.

“They’ve engaged mutual aid,” Buster said.

Ah. So the bookie was monitoring all channels. Perhaps he wasn’t all bad.

Mercedes released his headset to grip the wheel with both hands. His turn was rapidly approaching and he could see the police SUVs composing the roadblock on the horizon. There was a gap in the middle of the street, leaving Mercedes to believe that they had spikes deployed as well.

“Ten blocks remaining,” Mercedes said. Maybe he could disappear before Corey appeared on the scene.

“We’re looking at fifteen,” Raw said.

Mercedes whipped around the corner. He heard a chorus of disappointment from his neck and couldn’t help but smile.

“Guys, they’re moving the block,” Buster said.

Being five blocks ahead of the competition had its advantages.

“Shit,” Splinter said. “Guess I’m bailing. I don’t need to spend the night in the Roanoke holding cell.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Espresso’s waiting for me, after all.”

“Thank you for stimulating the local economy, tourist,” Mercedes growled in response.

The speakers beeped as Splinter disconnected.

“Contingency,” Mercedes said. His car crossed the designated finish line. He glanced at the screen. Nerve’s triangle was half a centimeter ahead of Raw’s. “Nerve has second, and Raw has third. I’ll see you both at the Keg.”

Before either had the chance to respond, Mercedes jabbed the end race button on his console followed by the disconnect button. The speakers beeped in response.

Mercedes was about to turn down an alleyway when Corey’s triangle appeared on the screen a block behind him.

“Gotcha,” Corey’s voice said from the headset.

The chopper had to be above Mercedes. It wasn’t a surprise really. Mercedes often found himself the target of the chopper. He just had to navigate to the downtown area where the tallest skyscrapers would obscure him from view.

His mobile rang and Buster’s information appeared on the screen. Eyebrow raised, Mercedes clicked the accept call button.

“Yes?” Mercedes asked.

“Raw and Nerve split up,” Buster said. “All units have been turned on you.”

“Great, thanks,” Mercedes said. He heard a muffled voice crackling in his glove box.

“Oh, hey, is it true?” Buster said. “They said you were most wanted. Talked about calling in the feds.”

“Goodbye,” Mercedes said and hung up. Great. That was how rumors got started.

He whipped around a few more turns, watching officers peel off left and right. His glove box spoke again and Mercedes leaned forward to open it up. A small handheld gray and blue walkie talkie was lying there. Mercedes’ lungs burned with the need for cigarette smoke even as he smirked.

“I know you can hear me,” Corey’s voice said from the walkie talkie. His triangle was only half a block behind Mercedes’.

“I can’t believe you still have the stupid thing,” Mercedes said into the handheld as he shifted his grip on the steering wheel from his hand to his knee. He picked up his pack and grabbed a cigarette with his teeth.

“I can’t believe it still works,” Corey said as Mercedes lit up.

“Things that were built eight years ago tend to be more rugged than those built today,” Mercedes said, smoke huffing out with the words.

“You even keep the batteries operational,” Corey said.

“What do you want?” Mercedes’ triangle drew farther ahead of Corey, who was a block ahead of the rest of the officers. Mercedes was careful about driving straight on the same street for too many blocks.

“You going to stop at the Keg tonight?” Corey asked.

Mercedes took a drag and turned left then right. The buildings were getting taller and closing in on him. “Why would you think that’s any of your business?”

“Seeing you again last night,” Corey said, “it made me miss seeing you.”

Mercedes was tempted to believe him, having never exactly wanted to stop being with Corey, but he couldn’t. Corey had ended their relationship. Corey had thought it was for the best. And Corey had broken his heart.

All of a sudden Corey wanted back in? The same evening that Mercedes had been put on the most wanted list. Even as much as he wanted to, Mercedes couldn’t trust Corey again.

Corey’s triangle disappeared from the screen as Mercedes drew too far away. He scowled at the walkie talkie before throwing it back into the glove box. As he slowly blew out a puff of smoke, Mercedes drew the shade away from the sun roof. It was the only way he could tell if he had lost the chopper. No more police triangles were on the screen and there was no sign of the chopper in the sky. He lifted the headset to his ear in time to hear Corey say, “He’s gone. All units back in service.”