Page 65 of Red Flag
Nix was first back, leaping right onto the bike the mechanics had ready. He hardly had time to hear Abbe call after him, “Be careful!”
Lucawas less rehearsed in changing bikes. He lifted his visor to laugh, “This shit is crazy!”
The rain didn’t stop for our quick reunion. With the garage doors open, the rain hit the ground and bounced back into the room. My feet in my slides were drenched. The drains along pit lane were filling with too much water to go down in time.
Yet, they started the race again.
My heart was in my throat as Abbe explained, “Nix is already out for blood. He wants Frank’s bike out. He’ll push it too far, no doubt.”
Nothing to do with me. It had nothing to do with how we were friends. I refused to think it.
“See, when it’s raining, you have to handle the bike differently. Smaller lean, gentle with the throttle, mind the brakes,” he added. “Nix is hardly ever in the mood for gentle.”
He was gentle between my legs. He was capable.
But not today, it seemed.
“Has anyone… has he been offered trauma counselling?” I asked.
The room stilled. For the first time in the seven races so far,Crislooked away from the screen to me. “He was offered it. He wouldn’t take it.”
“Is he normally… like, last season, was he this angry?”
“You’re trying to say it’s because of what happened withAlv?” Abbe asked, head cocked to the side in thought. “Idon’t… he’s been more up and down, but… it’s almost been nice to see the ups. There weren’t many before. But the downs also didn’t seem so erratic.”
I nodded and, attention back to the screen,Crisswore, “Fly the red flag!C’estdingue!”This is crazy.
But they didn’t.
The water spraying behind the wheels of the riders was constant. With every lean around every corner, I winced.
Abbe didn’t make me feel any better. “Nix is fastest on the track. Fucker needs toslow down.”
“Red flag!” Cris shouted into his mouthpiece. “Drapeau rouge!”
No red flag came. The screens remained on the riders, all battling to overtake despite the weather.
And the worst would be Nixon.
Somehow, the weather worsened, with clouds blackening. There was so much water that the air in thepitboxfelt moist, and the water was slick on the tarmac.
Even I could see the race needed to be called off.
In the stands, audience members started to get up and leave as the rain battered their faces, hunting them until they went inside. It wasn’t warm rain that you could enjoy and run around in as children. No, it was cold, hard bullets that attacked with vengeance.
The red flag was waved.
“Ah,merci putain,” Cris swore again.Thank fuck.
The riders immediately slowed, no longer having to race. Wherever they were at that point when the red flag was waved was their final position. Frank had won.
“Where’s Nix?” Abbe asked, standing and staring at the screens. “Where’s Nix?”
Because, on the TVs, Frank was riding back, with the rider who was third andLucabehind him. Nix, who had been second, was nowhere to be seen.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Criswas talking into a speaker in French, so fast I could hardly grasp what he was saying. “Get back! Get back!” was all I could make out.
