“What the hell are you laughing at?” I yell. “Huh? Is this funny?”
I charge through each pool of fluorescent light back toward Viktor. He's still laughing, hands on his knees. Killing himself.
“Is that what this is about? It's all just a big joke, trying to see how long you can keep me fooled? How long until I realize that you don't know what the hell you're doing?”
I stop in front of him, my face now inches away from his. His smile shrinks a little.
“You make me do these stupid exercises every day,” I yell. “We don't train with anyone else. We don't race. Just this crazy shit. So when am I going to learn something useful?”
“You don't learn anything?” Viktor says quietly, shrugging. “That is your problem. I teach. But I can't make you learn.”
“Oh, so what, now I'm stupid? Who the hell do you think you are?” I say, so mad that I'm stumbling on my words. “Youâ¦you're just someone who used to be great. You won a medal in the last century, and now you run a crappy little bike courier business. You're the joke.”
Viktor's face goes red, and his hand snaps up to slap me.
I tense up, ready for the hit. But he holds off at the last minute. I can see the muscles in his jaw quiver. When he finally speaks, the words are short and hard, like punches.
“I have won more races, more battles than you will ever know. You are so young. Stupid and young.” He holds my gaze and finally drops his hand.
“I was like you a long time ago. A lion, all roar and teeth and muscle. But in the end, I learned to listen. I took orders. I became a good student, a good soldier. I did whatever it took to win.”
“You?” he continues. “You? I don't think you really want to learn to be a winner. You start fast, you talk big. And then? You can't live up to your promises.”
That hits me harder than his hand ever could have. I want to yell back, tell him he's wrong. But all I can think about is that last race. Every race. Where the finish line always seems so close. And I can never get to it.
All the anger, all the hate drains right out of me. I just feel cold and sore. Tired. Viktor sees this and shakes his head.
“Maybe I give up this time, not you,” he says. “We are finished now. I am not your coach. You are not my employee. Just go home.” He turns and starts walking toward the broken door of the warehouse.
I don't know what to do, how to pull him back. I feel sick. I've screwed up again, and now I'm watching my future walk away. My future as a racer. My future as a courier. My future with Robin.
I catch up to Viktor just outside the warehouse. There's no sign of the sun through the heavy clouds. It must be barely after dawn. Everything is still early-morning black, white and gray.
“Viktor!” I shout. He stops but doesn't turn around.
“I'm sorry,” I yell to him. “You're right.” I push my bike toward him. We're both getting soaked. Rain is plastering Viktor's gray hair to his head, dripping off his mustache. “But I don't want to give up this time.”
Viktor shakes his head slowly, like maybe he doesn't believe me. I can feel my shirt starting to stick to my skin with the rain. He looks me over carefully.
“Please. Let me keep going,” I say. “I'll be a good soldier. No questions, no talking back.”
He wipes the rain off his face with a thick hand. Thinking.
“After this, I don't give you more chances,” he says finally. “You know that? This is your one chance.” I nod. I could hug the old man, I'm so relieved.
“But chances in life are not free, you understand?” he continues. “You keep working for me, we keep training. But you are going to do a special job from now on. Robin stopped doing deliveries for me. You will do them instead.”
“Whatever,” I say. “Sure.” I see Viktor's face darken, and I remember how mad he got when I said those words the first time I met him. I quickly add, “Whatever it takes, I mean. I'm your man.”
The rest of the day, I work my ass off. I've got something to prove to Viktor, and so I throw everything I can at it. The crappy weather, the secretaries with attitude, the homicidal taxi driversâit all makes me go harder. Just two thoughts keep running through my mind. I don't want to lose my shot at being something. And I don't want to lose my chance with Robin. And Viktor has the key to both.
By five o'clock, I'm ready to pack it in. Before I go home, I want to see if I can find Robin. I call Hub to see if he'll give me a fix on where she is. But when I check in, Hub says that Viktor wants me to come back right away. For a special delivery.
Viktor closes the door to his office and drops his voice so no one else can hear us. He explains the plan, makes me repeat it back to him. Hands me a set of keys. Then he reaches out one big hand. I flinch back, but he just gently pats me on the cheek. Like a proud dad.
“You did well today, Sam. A good soldier. Do the same tonight, okay? Focus. Just do what I've told you.”
I ride across the Columbia Street bridge as the sun is setting over the river. The traffic is easing up, so I make good time. I pull off the street in front of a copy shop and lock the bike up outside. I check the addressâsame as Viktor told me. Pushing open the door, I can see a wall of photocopiers and printers. And one bored clerk tapping at his cell phone, playing a game or something. At the back of the store is a wall of post-office boxesâlittle metal doors that you unlock with a key. Tiny safes. I scan across until I find number 401, then use the key Viktor gave me to unlock it.
Inside, there's a beige canvas bag with an industrial zipper on top, locked with a padlock. I pull it out, surprised at how heavy the package is. There aren't any other markings on it. Don't get curious, I tell myself. Just do what you're told. I stuff the package into my messenger bag and then leave. I'm pretty sure the clerk never looked up once from his game.
Back on the street, I ride down 23rd, watching a couple of big red streetcars rumble along the tracks that run through the middle of the street. The end of the streetcar line is down here somewhere. This is a part of town I don't normally go to. Industry Row. When these big factories closed up, a lot of people lost their jobs. It was like a bomb went off and Industry Row was ground zero. I ride down the street, looking up at the empty faces of the buildingsâtall towers with broken windows, graffiti on the brick walls. It's the kind of neighborhood that you drive through but don't stop in.
It's takes a couple of tries before I finally find the delivery address. After I lock up across the street, I take a moment and check out the building. Twelve stories tall, an old office building. Must have been pretty impressive once upon a time. Now it just looks roughed up and stained by the weather.
I wait for a semi-trailer to pass by before I run across. It's getting dark now, and the light above the main door is burned out. That makes it a little hard to see the buttons on the metal keypad. But it also hides me from the street. I punch in the code that Viktor made me memorize. The door unlocks with a buzz. I'm in.
I wait for the elevator in the big empty lobby. It's quiet, with just the far-off clank and hum of the elevator descending toward me. There's dust in the corners and faded pictures on the walls. But the place isn't totally abandoned. A few business names are listed on the directory next to the elevator doors. I search for the one Viktor told me about, Five Continents Imports. Suddenly the elevator doors grind apart, startling me.
By the time I step out onto the sixth floor and walk down the hallway, I'm close to bailing on this whole thing. But there's the door Viktor told me about, with a small sign to mark it. I unlock it with a second key and push it open. The hallway light spills into a huge office with desks, filing cabinets and chairs scattered across the empty space. I put my hand on a desk by accident and leave a big smudge in the dust. Nobody has been here in a while.
This is a dead run. No one is going to sign for this package. It's off the radar, no paper trail.
All right. Get it over with, I tell myself. I remember Viktor's instructions and find the desk at the front of the room with the faded plastic flower on it. I slide the beige package out of my messenger bag and into a big desk drawer. Done. Delivered, whatever the hell it is.
Time to get out of here. I run back to the elevator and wait impatiently for the doors to open. As I ride the elevator down, I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears. I need to get out. I run across the street, the headlights from a car washing over me. Then I'm on the bike, pushing hard, trying to get out of there as fast as I can. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. I accelerate, but I can't shake the feeling.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Over the next few weeks, Viktor sends me out again and again. It's always in the evening. Viktor seems to live in his office at Champion Couriers. He's always there to give me instructions in person. The pickup location always changes. Sometimes it's a post-office box, like the first time. Once, the package was in a locker at the bus station. Yesterday, it was actually a personâan old woman at a Laundromat who quietly handed me the locked beige bag.
It's always the same type of package. The destination is always the empty building, the Five Continents Imports office. And it's always a dead run.
I do it again. And again.
Every time Viktor asks.
Imagine a typical busy city street. You've got a bus up against the sidewalk, a bunch of commuters pouring out. A yellow-and-black taxi in the next lane, moving slowly, looking for a fare. A big truck coming the other way, late for delivery and not stopping for anything. Like the jaywalker who's halfway across the street, talking on his phone.
Now freeze the frame. Slow it all down in your head and lookâreally lookâfor where the gaps are. The openings. This is what Viktor has been teaching me. Learn how to ride fast, he says, but take it all in slowly. Find a clear line that lets you ride through the traffic, he says. Or the pack of cyclists, in a race.
Find and attack the gap.
I'm finally starting to understand the method behind Viktor's training. He knows that my body can handle the races. It's my mind that needs the work. So each morning he teaches me race tactics, or bike-handling skills like cornering. And each day, I practice everything I learn on the road during my messenger runs.
Like right now. I zero in on the gap between the taxi and the bus. In a race, it would be two other racers in the pack. I drop the hammer and accelerate, barely sliding in between the two steel walls. My handlebars nearly scrape a rearview mirror, but then I'm through, scanning the next section of street. Looking for the gaps. Planning to win.
Lunchtime. All the suits are out power-lunching. That means a brief break for Robin and me. So we're hanging out in the park, sprawled on warm grass in the sun next to our bikes.
“Nice quads,” she says. Her sunglasses are pointed straight up at the blue sky, so I'm not sure how she can tell what my legs look like.
“Well, y'know,” I deadpan, “I work out.”
She snorts, laughs a little. Then she says, “Don't let it go to your head. But you're doing well at this job. The other couriers are kind of impressed. They thought you'd wash out by now.”
“And you?” I ask. “Did you think I'd make it?”
“I had high hopes,” she says, still looking straight up. “But now I don't know⦔
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She rolls over onto one arm and pushes her sunglasses up. Her green eyes lock on mine. One eyebrow rises up slowly.
“You're cute. But you should learn how to ride a bike. And I've still got those training wheels⦔
That's it. I lunge at her and start tickling. She squeals and rolls away, then gracefully hops up onto her feet and into a cheesy kung-fu pose.
“We should see how good you really are,” she says dramatically. “You up for a race?”
“Right now?” I say. “Don't we have to get back to work?”
“Not right now, doofus. Tonight. There's an alleycat. The prize money isn't much. But I'd think you were pretty cool if you won.” I've heard the other couriers talk about these races. It's a kind of scavenger hunt for bike messengers. To win, you have to find a bunch of stops scattered throughout downtown. At each stop, there's a challenge or puzzle of some kind. Otherwise, no rules. Find your own route, get the job done.
“Awesome. Where do I sign up?” I say.
“You don't sign up. Just show up. This one is unofficial. Eight o'clock tonight. River Road parking garage, top level.”
That's when my cell goes off, buzzing in my cargo shorts. I check it and see the number flashing on the screen. It's Viktor. Robin sees the screen too.
“Viktor? Why's he calling you?”
“I dunno,” I lie. “I should get this.” I turn away from her awkwardly and answer the phone. Just like I thought. It's another dead run. Viktor wants me back at Champion Couriers to get the details. I hang up and turn around to see Robin glaring at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You kidding me? He's got you doing the dead runs?”
“It's none of your business,” I say. “Anyways, what's the big deal? You were doing them for a while.”
“And I stopped! It was totally sketchy. I told Viktor he shouldn'tâ¦those packages could have anything in them!”
“Look, I don't want to know what's in them. I just make the deliveries. I don't ask questions. I'm not doing anything wrong.”
“You're an idiot!” She's actually starting to tear up. “You don't even understand what you've gotten yourself into!”
“I can handle myself!” I yell back. What the hell just happened? I have this urge to run, get out of here. I don't say another word to Robin. I grab my bike. And go.