Dead Run

by Sean Rodman

  “It was easy at first. But then his gang wanted me to move more and more packages. I couldn’t refuse. So I took their money and pretended I wasn’t a criminal. That I was still better than Niko. That I still had my honor.”

  I stand up. We just look at each other for moment.

  “I think this is true for you too, Sam,” Viktor continues softly. “Sometimes, you want something so badly that you make yourself blind. To reality. To the truth. You trade away your honor. Your freedom.”

  Maybe he’s right. I wanted the job. I wanted to be trained. I wanted to win. But what was the price?

  “You and I, we don’t have a choice. Do what Niko says. Give him the package, and get Robin back.”

  I look at the clock. It’s 11:20. I don’t have time to waste.

  “All right, I’m going. But you said it yourself—you’re just pretending. Pretending that you’re still a hero. And if Niko did this to you, you can’t pretend that he’s still your son.” Viktor looks away, and I can see a tear tracking down his craggy face.

  “You…we can’t keep doing the dead run,” I say. “We’ve got to get out.” I check the clock one more time. 11:21. Then I’m gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  My chest burns with every breath. I’m sprinting, cutting through the city like a laser, riding faster than I ever have before. I soar down Congress Avenue, sneaking a look at my watch as the street rushes by. Twenty-one minutes to midnight. I speed up, pushing each leg down like a piston. Again. And again.

  There is a chain of red lights strung out ahead of me—cars waiting at the intersection of Congress and 23rd. I pass each car, counting each push of my pedals, counting toward the intersection. I’m about to cut through when I see that there’s also a cop car waiting for the light to change. I look for another way out—but there isn’t one. I’ve got to turn onto 23rd. There’s no time to wait for the light. No time for a detour. I check my watch again. Seventeen minutes to go.

  I’ll have to take my chances.

  I sprint by the police cruiser, swooping left through the red light. Sure enough, a few seconds later I hear the cops hit their sirens behind me. Dammit.

  To make things worse, it’s not very long before I realize that they aren’t alone. I see more flashing lights ahead of me down a side street. With one cruiser behind and another coming from the front, they’re going to cut me off. I scan around.

  No alleys to duck into, nowhere to hide. Nothing on the street at this hour except a red streetcar rumbling down the middle of 23rd. That’s my only chance.

  I cut over hard to the left, bunny-hopping over the tracks. I pedal as fast as I can, finally catching up to the streetcar. I put the streetcar between me and the cop, then lean over with one hand. I grab at the side of the streetcar. I stretch, fingers almost brushing the black steel rail.

  Just a little farther.

  And I connect. The bike nearly wobbles out from underneath me, but I hang on, steering with one hand and holding on tight to the streetcar with the other. We accelerate away from the police. Beacuse I’m crouched over and hidden in the shadows by the streetcar, the cops can’t see me. I hope. My arms start to burn as we continue to speed up between stops. Just a little farther.

  I check over my shoulder as the streetcar comes to a stop—no flashing lights behind us anymore. I’ve lost them. I unclench my hand and let the streetcar pull away from me. Then I cut over toward Industry Row. A few more blocks, and I’m there. I look at my watch. A couple of minutes left. I drop the bike and start running for the door. Then my phone rings. What the hell? I’m not stopping. I tap in the code to open the lobby door with one hand, fumbling to answer the phone with the other.

  “Do you know when the best moment in your life was?” It’s Viktor’s gravelly voice.

  “What are you talking about?” I’m already in, heading for the elevator. Viktor sounds like he’s rambling. Maybe it is a concussion—maybe he’s worse than I thought.

  “I can tell you the exact second that everything in my life was perfect. When I stepped on the podium in 1976 and wore that gold medal. I spent the rest of my life trying to find a perfect moment like that. Even after the war took away my wife and changed my son, I thought I could still”—his voice stumbles as he reaches for the right words—“still win. Instead, I kept losing everything that was important. My future. My family.” The elevator doors grind open, and I step in mashing the round button for the sixth floor.

  “Viktor, I don’t have time…” I try and interrupt Viktor. But he keeps going as if he didn’t hear me.

  “Then I thought I would lose my business. The only thing I had left. So I did everything—everything—I could to keep it open. Including taking money from Niko and his gangsters.” I watch the numbers light up on the elevator panel.

  Third floor.

  “But, Sam, when I did that, I lost the most important thing. My honor.”

  Fourth floor.

  “Viktor, I’ve got to go. I’m about to give back the package. Like you said.”

  “Sam, it doesn’t matter anymore. I called the police. They are coming for me. And to arrest Niko.” My stomach clenches as a chime sounds. The doors open onto the empty sixth floor hallway. I freeze.

  “What the hell, Viktor? What about everything you said, about losing Champion? About Niko getting arrested?”

  “I know. But you were right, Sam. Niko is not my son anymore. I cannot pretend that. This is the right thing to do. For an old man like me, that is enough. Perhaps that is all I need.”

  “Viktor, you’re not thinking straight. You got hurt…”

  “I am thinking clearly, Sam. For the first time in a long while. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe. I’ll make a deal with the police, give them everything I know. About the packages. Times, locations, dates—I kept track of these things, secretly. Even Niko doesn’t know.”

  I lean against the wall of the elevator. This is so out of control. Like being swept up by an avalanche, or caught in a tornado. The chime sounds again and shakes me out of it. The doors of the elevator start to slide shut. I check my watch. It’s past midnight. The gangsters said that they would hurt Robin if I didn’t get the package to them in time. It doesn’t matter what Viktor says, whether he’s making sense or not. I can’t wait.

  “I gotta go,” I say and click off the phone. I lunge forward, dodging through the closing elevator doors and into the sixth-floor hallway.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The door marked Five Continents Imports is cracked open. I can hear low voices inside as I walk toward it.

  When I push open the door, I can see a pool of light at the end of the big office space. As I walk toward it, the first thing I notice is Robin. She’s sitting in a desk chair with zipties around her wrists. Her eyes widen when she sees me and flick over to the two guys talking in the shadows of the far corner. The big guy is wearing a leather motorcycle jacket, tattoos crawling up his neck. The smaller guy has bleached-blond hair, almost white. He’s wearing a shiny dress shirt. A couple of chunky rings glitter on his right hand. The other hand is gone, just a scarred stump where it should be. When the small guy speaks, he has an accent like Viktor.

  “You must be Sam.” He crosses the room, then stops and studies me. “Nice to finally meet our little messenger. I am Niko.” He has a hard smile, like a slash across his face. “Viktor told me about you a few weeks ago. Very fast, he said. Very reliable.”

  He taps his gold watch. “But now you’re late. And I told Viktor he would pay a price for late deliveries. Actually, I told him the girl would pay the price.” His smile fades as he turns away from me and walks toward Robin.

  “Don’t touch her,” I say. Niko stops behind Robin’s chair and turns to the big guy with a smile.

  “Look at this. A tough guy.” He carefully places his hands on Robin’s shoulders, slightly caressing the sides of her neck. I see her shudder.

  “Leave her alone. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t Viktor’s either. It was me. I
didn’t make the drop.” I reach into my bag and pull out the ripped package. “Until now. It’s all yours.” The package thuds onto the desk. Niko picks it up, turning the envelope over, studying the ripped edge. He hands it to the big guy.

  “You deliver the package late. And damaged,” says Niko. He walks toward me, shaking his head. “Tell me, as a businessman, what am I to do? I trust you with my merchandise. And you have failed me.”

  “I’m sorry…” I say. Then I stumble back in shock as his fist slams into my face. My jaw feels like it’s on fire. The rings from his fingers have left painful tracks across my cheek.

  “Sorry? You are…sorry?” Niko grabs my shirt and shoves me up against a wall. Robin screams and tries to stand up from her chair. The big guy pushes her back down. My vision blurs as Niko hits me again.

  “Sorry is not good enough. You will pay,” he says, shoving his face next to mine. “From now on, you don’t belong to my father. You belong to me. You will make every delivery I say. You will pay off your debt to me, run by run. For as long as I want.”

  I look past him to Robin, who has tears streaming down her face. She shakes her head.

  “I’ll do it,” I say thickly. “Whatever you say. I’m your man.”

  “Good.” Niko steps back, satisfied. He brushes off his shirtsleeve. “You’ll move cash every time, helping clean our dirty money.” He reaches out, and I flinch back. But he just pats my cheek.

  “Let me make this clear. If you get caught, the police will blame the messenger. So will Viktor—he’ll do what I say, and we’ll make sure you take the fall.” He pulls his right hand back and looks at it, bloody from the wounds on my face. “And remember this lesson, next time you think about being late. Now take the girl. Get out.”

  As Robin and I stumble back through the darkened office, Niko calls from behind us.

  “I’ll be in touch, little messenger.”

  Robin holds me up as we walk down the hallway. There are still tears on her cheeks, but her expression is cold, tight. She waits until we get in the elevator. Then she loses it. Robin starts crying, her body shaking with big sobs.

  “I’m so sorry,” I keep saying over and over, cradling her in my arms.

  “Sam, what are you going to do?” she says finally. “Niko owns you.”

  “No,” I say. “That’s just what he thinks.”

  The elevator doors slide open. Robin gasps. There are six guys in black body armor, SWAT or something. A bunch of other cops stand behind them in the lobby. The sound of radios crackles through the big space. For a moment, I think that maybe they’ll treat me like a hero. That everything Viktor said about me being safe was true. Then the cops swarm the elevator, and I’m down on the ground, a knee in my back, hands being cuffed, shouting Robin’s name.

  Chapter Twenty

  It doesn’t seem like one year has passed since the last Albion Street Crit. Nothing seems to have changed. Same road. Same banners hanging over the street. Same rain. And I’m in the lead again. Alone, ahead of the pack. I should be concentrating on keeping my position. Keeping the rhythm of my pedals smooth. But it’s hard to stay focused. Too many memories.

  I told the detectives everything. I went up in front of a judge, pled guilty to running from the cops. The judge told me I was lucky to get away with a suspended sentence for obstructing a police officer. She gave me community work as restitution, scrubbing graffiti with a crew of other teens. Not the way I was planning to spend my summer. Or winter.

  I pull hard around the third corner. The road is still clear ahead, just a few people scattered on the sidewalks. I think I can hear the roar of a crowd somewhere ahead, over the thump of blood in my ears.

  At the same time as I was grinding spray paint off walls, things became pretty rough with my dad. A lot of arguments, a lot of talking. At different times, I threatened to leave and he threatened to kick me out. But the weird thing is that talking—even yelling—might have been what I needed to do with him. I think he understands me a little more. I get where he’s coming from. It’s not great. But it’s getting better.

  I look over my shoulder. The pack is still there. Kai is in front, red-and-white jersey standing out from the rest. He’s gaining on me. But I’ve still got my lead.

  Viktor cooperated with the police, like he said he would. It turned out he had tracked every shipment that was ever made by the gang. Viktor’s couriers were one link in a long chain that Niko had designed to take drug money and hide it from the cops, eventually making it appear legit. It was a huge money-laundering operation, with Niko’s company, Five Continents Imports, as the front.

  Testifying against his own son must have been pretty tough. And risky—the cops got most of the gang, but Viktor still watches his back these days. Of course, Viktor is pretty determined when he wants to win. And he wanted the cops to win against the gang. Against Niko.

  In the end, his cooperation must have made a big difference. And Viktor’s lawyer argued that he was really a victim here—a noble Olympic veteran, a refugee. He didn’t get any jail time, but he’ll be on probation for a while. Funny thing, Viktor was given community service like me. Except the judge thought that Viktor should put his skills to good use. Now he’s coaching some kids at the community center, teaching them how to race. Including me. We’re not much of a team. Yet.

  I sweep around the last corner. The big crowd at the finish line swings into view. I can see my dad standing near Robin. She’s yelling, both fists in the air, totally excited. Totally believing in me. She’s the best thing to come out of this whole year, and I haven’t forgotten that for a minute.

  Quick glance behind. Kai is gaining. I hammer down. I’m racing smart, not just racing fast. I’m in control, nobody else. And I’m going to win this time.

  Sean Rodman lives and works in Victoria, British Columbia. He is the child of two anthropologists, who gave him a keen eye for observation and a bad case of wanderlust. His interest in writing for teenagers came out of working at some interesting schools around the world. In the Snowy Mountains of Australia, he taught ancient history to future Olympic athletes. Closer to home, he worked with students from over 100 countries at a non-profit international school. He currently works at the Royal BC Museum. For more information, visit www.srodman.com.