Chapter 21
Will preferred living in the country. He actually lived in a rambling subdivision, but it was set in the country. Will could hear birds singing and smell nothing but clean in the air, and these simple things soothed him. In the world in which he lived, he had come to appreciate simple and quiet things. He probably should have moved somewhere more isolated given his profession, like maybe a cabin in the mountains or a houseboat on the river, but besides being cliché, it was just too inconvenient. Where he lived now was still only fifteen minutes away from a decent sized mall and any kind of shopping he could ask for. And amazingly enough, everyone in the West Oak Estates subdivision pretty much minded their own affairs.2
West Oak was an upscale development of around thirty or so lots with plenty of room between dwellings, each house set on at least an acre. And everyone was new to the neighborhood--the entire area had been a farm two years before--so there hadn’t really been time to form a communications network between neighbors like the older, more established neighborhoods had. That suited Will just fine. The houses were large and brick, so little noise was heard by anyone, from anyone. He didn’t even know the names of the people on either side, and he doubted that they knew his. All but one, that was.3
Will was in the garage on the floor beside his motorcycle when Billy entered, quietly and hesitantly as usual. Will caught a glimpse of him through the rear wheel of his bike as he was adjusting the chain tension, having just mounted a fresh set of race tires. A hint of a crooked smile came to Will’s lips, the largest that had comfortably rested there in quite a while.4
“Hey Billy, whatcha know?”5
Billy was a stringy ten-year-old who liked to hang out with Will sometimes when he was in the garage tinkering with his bike, or outside tending his yard. Will had taken an instant liking to the shy and somewhat withdrawn youngster, from the first time he had stood timidly at the entrance of Will’s garage watching him.6
“Not much. Whatya doin’?” Billy returned, in that self-conscious tone of his, and successfully deflecting attention away from himself.7
“Ah, just finished putting a new set of Michelins on Max.” Max was a black and gray GSXR1000 that Will would be piloting in a race this weekend. He had named it “Max V. Locity”, mainly because Billy thought it was funny. “ Can you hand me that chain lube over there?” Billy changed direction slightly on his way over and picked up the can. He brought it to Will, backed off a step, and stared at the bike with near complete concentration.8
“Think you’ll win this weekend?”9
“Hope so. Those Ducatis are getting faster all the time though.”10
“Ah, Max can beat ‘em,” Billy said, in his course country drawl.11
“Yeah, but those Ducs handle like a dream. And Max,” Will grunted as he tightened the rear axle nut, “is getting a little long in the tooth. He’s down a bit on horsepower now.” 12
Max was a couple of years old, and a little behind in the insane race for ever more power and speed being conducted yearly by the sport motorcycle manufacturers. Will still couldn’t figure out why all sport type street bikes weren’t banned in the U.S., there were laws against pretty much anything else that was any fun. The bureaucrats were normally quite adept (if they were adept at all) at removing anything from the hands of the untrustworthy public that potentially gave them the ability to do themselves harm. Will had the feeling that if the powers that be realized that the average shiny new sport bike sitting in the showroom was capable of speeds nearing two hundred miles per hour and would chew up a quarter mile of real estate from a dead stop in just over nine seconds, they would shut things down post haste. You couldn’t go wrong politically taking a firm stand against child pornographers, terrorists, and street legal two hundred mile per hour motorcycles.13
“Heard from your dad?” Will asked casually, a little too casually, he thought. Billy’s dad had run off a couple of years ago and left him and his mom to fend for themselves. He would show up now and then to see Billy for a couple of hours, then disappear again for months at a time. He rarely helped out financially, and just as scarce was his emotional support. Of course Billy still idolized his dad—a fallen-from-grace Baptist preacher--even after all he had done, and was always filled with the anticipation of a kid at Christmas when his dad sent word that he was coming to visit. But more often than not, Billy would wind up nursing a broken heart when his dad didn’t show.14
“He’s supposed to be comin’ on Sunday, he’s gonna show me how to throw a curve ball,” Billy said with half of a smile, but his eyes betrayed this statement with a hint of doubt. It struck Will as sad that one so young was already losing faith in his world. It was supposed to be a time of dreaming and endless possibility, not a time of being screwed over by those a child trusted most. There would be plenty of time for that later.15
“Wow, cool. Then you’ll have to show me,” he said, forcing a crooked grin and glancing at the boy. “My dad never did teach me.”16
Will thought back for a moment, and could remember occasionally playing catch with his father, and maybe a round of Flies and Grounders, but he couldn’t ever remember his dad showing him how to throw any kind of a pitch at all. He had picked up some things from books and from other kids, and had actually become a halfway decent pitcher in high school. Will had literally worn a hole in the barn door, which had contained a hand painted rectangle representing a batter’s strike zone, by pummeling it relentlessly day in and day out. That hole represented countless World Series games and thousands of strikeouts against the imaginary lineups of every team that had come to face his beloved Cincinnati Reds. It was a quarter of a century and a million miles ago, but he thought he could still remember. If Billy’s dad didn’t show up, Will thought he might just stand in for him. At least for this anyway. Then he had a thought.17
“Wanna go to the race with me on Saturday?” Will asked nonchalantly. “I really could use a good man in the pits.”18
Billy’s face was an equal mixture of gratitude, longing, and disappointment. “Ah, mom won’t let me.”19
Will hadn’t met the boy’s mother, but she sounded like a real piece of work. He could almost understand why Billy’s father had left. Almost.20
According to the few personal fragments that Billy had shared with Will, his house was a revolving door kept in motion by an endless string of his mother’s male “friends”. Will understood that it wasn’t easy for a single mother in this day and age, but the example she was setting couldn’t be doing Billy anything but harm. And it seemed that she tended towards being high strung and a bit of a screamer, so inevitably the “friends” would rotate out, leaving her with just one target for her seemingly endless supply of venom—her only son.21
Not that Billy complained or talked her down; on the contrary, he loved his mother very much. But Will was able to read between the lines. Billy, even if he was aware of what this was doing to him, was too respectful to ever hint that his mother was anything but an angel. But Billy was obviously profoundly unhappy most of the time. The only times that Will had ever seen anything but wary resignation on the boy’s face was when they were talking about motorcycles or cars. He really wished he could take Billy to a race; it would be the time of his life. Maybe he could talk to the boy’s mother… Nah, bad idea. Will wasn’t really good at playing polite, and if Billy’s mother looked at him cross-eyed he would probably tell her off and Billy wouldn’t even be able to visit anymore. And what if something happened to Will at the track? The boy would be devastated, not to mention stranded.22
After a typically long silence while Will worked, he turned to ask Billy how his mother was getting along, but the boy was gone. Will turned back to his bike, and after a moment resumed his work.23
24
Saturday morning came with an allusion to warmer days to come, and a touch of excitement in Will’s spine. It wasn’t just the thrill of going fast or competing, although that was fun. Will was driven by something deeper and more fundamental; the fact that he would once again have the sense of looking death in the face, challenging it and struggling with it for the ultimate trophy. His relatively unprotected body would be moving at speeds far in excess of what it was designed for, and his fate would be almost entirely in his own hands. Maybe this would be the day he would finally lose; maybe he would just keep going at the end of the front straight and liquidate his body against the wall. Maybe not, but the power and the will were in his hands during his short stay upon the ultimate edge, and that’s where he liked it.25
Will had loaded the truck the night before—an extended cab Ford F150 that was named Alice for no particular reason—and headed out to the track before dawn. Max stood proudly in the back. It was a two-hour drive to Ravenhead International Raceway, and he would get there just in time to unload, set up his pit, and hit the track for the 9AM practice. He had been on the road a half an hour when he reached over for his CD case and noticed something out of the corner of his eye.26
“Billy! What are you doing there?”27
Billy sheepishly rose from the floor in the back of the cab and averted Will’s eyes. “I was gonna help you in the pits,” he mumbled hopefully. “It’s ok, mom thinks I’m at a friend’s house this weekend,” he added quickly.28
“Oh man. Billy, we can’t do this. I have to take you back.”29
“No, please… I swear it’s ok… Mom won’t even notice I’m gone, she’s… having company all weekend… She don’t never care where I’m at when she has company,” he pleaded. By company Will guessed he meant a gentleman caller. This was a real dilemma. But partly because of time, and mostly because of wanting to see a smile on the boy’s face, in the end he agreed to take the boy to the track with him.30
“Hop on up here and buckle up,” Will sighed. “When we get to the track you have to call your mom.” After a few minutes of silence, his question of “Hungry?” was met with great enthusiasm. After grabbing a couple of biscuit sandwiches, the rest of the trip passed with companionable chitchat--more than Will ever remembered coming from Billy. It put him in an even better mood, and by the time they arrived at the track, Will felt he could win a race against a pack of F18s.31
The wind at 190 mph was a raging roaring thing that threatened to rip anything off a body that was not securely attached to the main trunk. It was louder than a train and thicker than water. And when he sat up into it at the end of the front straight to use his body as a parachute and slam on the brakes as hard as he dared to slow for turn one, the force of the wind and the force of inertia became violently at odds with one another. The wind wanted to tear his body off the back of the motorcycle, while the braking created G-forces that threw four times the weight of his body onto the wrists, arms, and chest. The bike shimmied and fought this unnatural act; the rear wheel barely skimming the ground while the front end slid and compressed to the entry point of the turn. Then throwing body and bike over to the edge of the tire and traction while still feathering the front brake and intermittently sliding the front tire, his knee skimmed the tarmac as the apex of the turn was reached. Releasing the brake and beginning acceleration, the rear tire started breaking traction as the front end lifted and the bike began to straighten to vertical for the eye-popping launch, as the throttle was gradually applied to full. Will was as close to Heaven as he was ever going to get.32
Ravenhead International Raceway was mainly a drag strip that was occasionally converted into a Grand Prix course of ten turns running through the infield, with the front straight made up of the wide main drag way. It was a physically and technically demanding track, with an extremely long straight stretch that allowed for positively insane top speeds for the bikes. Over the years Will had raced many courses throughout the United States and elsewhere, but considered Ravenhead his home track. He knew it as well as his own bedroom, as did Max. Together they were the champions of the Superbike category for two years running. But both he and Max were getting up in years, and were beginning to come under pressure from the well-funded Ducati race team. The Ducatis were faster and the riders were younger, but Will enjoyed a challenge, and even more being the underdog. Will was as happy as he had been in a long time.33
And so was Billy. Will had never seen the boy so excited. As he pulled into the pit after the first practice, Billy met him with a steady stream of superlatives that Will couldn’t quite hear through his helmet and the track noise. But it didn’t matter; Billy’s saucer-sized eyes said it all. They worked together to get the bike dialed in for the race, Billy hanging on every word and eagerly throwing in where he could. Normally Will was a loner at the track, and it was nice to have someone to share in his experiences. Billy was there with Will in every turn of every lap, and Will couldn’t believe how much the kid inspired him. Being someone’s hero was a rush all by itself. And later when the green flag was dropped in front of all of the multi-colored bikes lined into rows of four on the grid, there were probably no two happier people on the planet. The day was one of the most enjoyable that Will had remembered for a long while. And of course, it was capped off in the end by the checkered flag falling on a win for Will, Billy, and Max.34
35
36
The ride home was decidedly more solemn than the rest of the weekend, and Billy had fallen into his usual stoic demeanor. Will felt that the outing had drawn them quite a bit closer, so he decided to take a chance.37
“So what time is your dad coming to pick you up tomorrow?”38
“Ah, he couldn’t come. He had to work,” he added quickly.39
“Hmmm. That’s too bad.” Will glanced at him sideways. “You really miss him, huh?”40
“Yeah, I guess,” Billy answered, looking out his passenger window. They rode in silence for a while.41
“So what kind of movies do you like?” Will asked after a while, trying to restore communications.42
“Unnh, different kinds. Mostly westerns. My dad says they’re a wrong though.” Billy must have still been thinking of him.43
“A wrong? What do you mean?”44
“He says they’re the work of the devil.” Will thought about that for a moment.45
“Well, what do you think?” Billy squirmed a bit as he answered.46
“Eh, I dunno… That scares me a little… But I still like ‘em.”47
“Did you used to go to church much with your dad?”48
“Yeah, every Sunday.”49
“What’s your church like?”50
“I dunno, pretty much like all churches I guess.”51
“Well, describe it to me. Pretend I’ve never been to church before.” Will gave him a crooked grin. Billy gave it some thought and shrugged.52
“Well,” he started slowly, “first we drive for an hour or two on curvy roads. I get carsick almost every time. Then we get to the church, and dad stands around and talks to some of the other preachers.”53
“There’s more than one preacher?”54
“Oh yeah,” nodded Billy, starting to warm up. “Lots of ‘em. Sometimes there’s five or six.”55
“Do they all, um, preach?”56
“Naw, my Uncle picks three of ‘em. He’s the moderator.”57
“The moderator?”58
“Yeah, he sort of runs the church.”59
“So what does your dad do?”60
“He preaches last most of the time. He has a lot of people that come to hear him, so he almost always preaches. He has Understanding.”61
“Understanding.” Will repeated.62
“Yeah, you know, he can read the bible and tell you what it means.”63
“I see. So do you like going to church?”64
“Yeah, I guess. It’s ok. I like playing with the other kids. But it’s hard in the winter.”65
“In the winter? Why?”66
“It’s real cold, and the seats are real hard.”67
“Don’t you have heat?”68
”Yeah, I usually sit in the back though, and the stove is up front. And if you have to go to the bathroom, it takes a long time to get warm.”69
“Why, is it cold in the bathroom?”70
“Oh yeah,” Billy said emphatically. “The bathrooms are outside.”71
“You don’t have indoor plumbing?” Will asked incredulously.72
“Nah, we don’t believe in it, not in church anyway. You’re s’posed to be in the house of The Lord to worship. Comforts are a wrong.”73
“Ah. I see.” Will didn’t see. It sounded like something out of the middle ages. “So what kinds of things does your dad say when he’s preaching?”74
“I dunno, it’s hard to understand sometimes ‘cuz it’s all from the bible. I mostly sit and sneak and do puzzles, or see how long I can hold my breath. I can hold it almost two minutes,” he added somewhat proudly.75
“Wow, I think I’d pass out by then,” he said with an admiring smile, covering his thoughts. He was amazed that this type of superstitious ritual still went on in this country, and in this day and age. But then, Will thought, actually these sorts of things were rather commonplace around the world. It was routine in many religions for people to deprive themselves of comfort, and even food and water to attain a state of purity or cleansing and become closer with God. And then there were the snake handlers. Whatever gets you through the night, Will thought.76
But also he actually felt a pang of envy those people. How great would it be to be able to sincerely believe that one knew the purpose of life and the universe, and knew how it would all end? Or rather that it wouldn’t end. It would just get better. It would get perfect. But those dreams had waved bye-bye to Will a long time ago.77
“Do you think you’d like to do that—be a preacher--when you grow up?”78
“Sure,” Billy said almost absently, as he gazed out his window.79
“Why?”80
Billy shrugged. “I dunno. Cuz my dad is a preacher, and my grandpa, and my uncle.” He paused. “I dunno,” he shrugged again, “I don’t want to go to Hell.”81
“Mmm,” Will nodded slowly. He wondered aloud, “What makes you go to Hell?”82
“You know, bein’ bad, breaking the Ten Commandments, not bein’ saved. Lotsa stuff. My dad says it’s hard to get into Heaven.”83
“That’s for sure,” Will added. That was for damn sure.84
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Will offered to go and square things with Billy’s mom, but he said it was no problem and promised to call if he got into trouble. Will backed his truck into the spacious garage and began unloading. When he had finished, he grabbed his laptop and plopped down in his favorite chair in his office to check his email. Lately he had been one very busy “consultant”. It didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon, as he had another email from “Tim”.
He had never met Tim, nor did he know anything about him other than this obviously fake name. He never knew what name the emails were going to come from, they were always bounced through a 3rd party account.87
Because of this, he had to read through the volumes of spam he received every day; which hawked the virtues of Viagra, or online prescription drugs, or advised him that he was the inheritor of a huge estate if only he would supply the bank account number so that they may wire his funds. Tim’s emails always had the words “Failure is the highway to success” in the subject, and were addressed to Lazarus. He then copied and pasted the text contained in the mail into an encryption program that had been supplied to him, and the garbled text would be come clear. Afterwards he would then craft his reply in the same program, paste his response into an email, and send this from another untraceable account that he had set up especially for this purpose.88
A ghost of a smile appeared around his eyes as he read the text. While Will didn’t enjoy his job very much, a week in the Caribbean might be just what the doctor ordered.89
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