“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 Viktorâhe'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.
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 talkingâeven yellingâmight 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 riskyâthe 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 hereâa 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
.