Rage

THIRTY

Clayton led Raine out of his office and down to the street. The two guards at the entrance nodded.

“That your buggy? God-not much, is she?”

“Does what it has to.”

“Well, if you’re gonna race, you’ll have to get some tweaking done to it. And you’ll need a sponsor.”

“What is that?”

“Sponsor, son. Someone who pays your way into the race in exchange for getting their name promoted. Advertising. Not my area of… expertise. Go see Jackie Weeks, the race promoter; he can get you set up. Tell him I sent you. Race is tomorrow. I’ll be there. So will everyone else in town.”

Clayton again shook his head at Raine’s buggy. “Didn’t know you were driving something so… small, so beat-up. But hell, got you here, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did.”

Clayton flipped his monocle device up, like a jeweler looking away from his examination of a rare stone.

“I can’t make you any promises, Raine. About anything. But you just remember that today, here, now… I did you…” He leaned close “… a fucking favor.”

Raine nodded. This was a world of fear. You never knew when you would need something, from somebody. A place where favors could be very, very valuable.

Is that why Clayton didn’t deal him to the Authority?

Or did that deal lay ahead?

One day at a time.

Clayton told him how to find Weeks-in his office at the back entrance to the stadium-and Raine got into his buggy. As he drove, he thought of Dan… and Loosum.

If there was a way he could do anything about that, he would. And Kvasir, too.

He felt a growing need for payback, a need to change things. But for now he had a race to worry about.

Jackie Weeks walked around Raine’s buggy.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah-Clayton called me… told me you’d be coming over. Christ, look at this thing.” Weeks looked up, his round face disgusted. “You want to take this into the stadium?”

“If you have something better…”

“Right, right right-sure, we just give away Cuprinos.”

“Cuprino?”

Another shake of Weeks’s head, followed by no explanation. “Look, Mick in the shop handles all the prerace checkouts. Could be he can do something with this. Engine may not be too bad. But where the hell are your defenses?”

“Defenses? It’s a race, isn’t it?”

Weeks smiled now, followed by the condescending groan of one who knew something about talking to a total newbie.

“Yeah. Just a race.” He shook his head. “You need to protect your buggy. Accidents happen out there. Got it?”

Raine wasn’t too sure.

“Accidents? What the hell kind of accidents?”

Weeks leaned close, as if passing on a secret. “The cars, they bump into each other. Sometimes they crash. It’s a race, but… it’s also something else.”

Raine thought: Right. It’s a goddamn demolition derby.

“So, Mick might be able to do something for you. But Clayton said you got no sponsor? Key-rist. You can’t drive-can’t pay the tab-without a sponsor.”

“Any ideas?”

“Been to Sally’s yet?”

“What is that?”

“Keep forgetting… you’re new here. You know nothing. Sally’s is a bar, run by Sally LePrine. She used to be a regular sponsor at the races. Lets everyone know where to go for a drink, to hang and talk buggies. But she lost her driver.”

“He quit?”

“Er-no. He lost a race.”

“So?”

“Starky beat him. And when Starky wins, usually the other driver doesn’t do so well. Trip to the Wellspring hospital at the least. Not a place I’d recommend visiting. Sally’s driver avoided that fate, though.”

Raine waited for Weeks to finish his tale. He didn’t wait long.

“He didn’t make it out of the stadium alive. Great fucking race, man. Great one. Just what the crowds love.”

Rome, Raine thought. This place was ancient fucking Rome.

And I’m getting thrown to the lions.

But his face didn’t betray anything. Instead, he simply said, “You think she wants to be a sponsor again?”

“Don’t know. But worth a shot. Worth a shot. Meanwhile, I’ll have Mick take a look at this piece… of automotive wonder, ’kay? Sally’s is down that alley there. Don’t stop at any of the cafes. They’re not real cafes, if you understand my meaning. New blood like you wouldn’t last a Wasteland minute in one of them. Oh-and get some new damn clothes. This is fucking entertainment after all.”

Raine nodded and, leaving his buggy, started on foot for Sally’s bar.

Sally LePrine looked around at the usual suspects sitting at the bar.

When a Mutant Bash show was on, the place would be filled, barely room for anyone to get to the bar for a drink as they watched the blood and death in the MB Arena.

But now, midday… her bar harbored only those who had given up any hope of anything, nursing their stim drinks, eyes bleary. Every now and then she’d have to call for Sheriff Black to send a few burly deputies to toss the guys out. But for now the place was quiet.

And that wasn’t what she needed.

No, not after being on her own for the past two months. And despite the fact that she’d been assured it was an accident-that she had lost Jack to a bad move during a race-she didn’t believe it.

The races could be fixed.

Everyone said that.

And the best racer in Wellspring, Starky, could make anything happen that he wanted to.

When Starky came into the bar, to pay his respects-“Sorry… Jack was a good driver… He went down like a good driver”-Sally didn’t believe that’s all Starky had come for. Because since then, Starky made a point of stopping by, moments when she would make herself busy behind the bar, run into the back, do anything so she didn’t have to look into his black eyes or hear his words.

Circling me, she thought.

Does he think I’m the goddamn prize as well?

Beat my man and you get me?

There were things Sally would do before it ever got to that.

For now, she just tried to pass every day with running the bar, because it was all she knew, even if she didn’t know how long she could keep it up.

Wandering the Wasteland might be better than this, she thought.

One of the regulars raised his head. No table service; if he wanted another stim drink, he’d have to get himself to the bar.

The customer got up, making himself stand steady, and then began his wobbling course to the bar. When he got there, he looked left and right for someone to hear his order.

“Be right there, JT. Just hang on.”

JT could maybe have one more drink before she’d have to eject him. Or maybe he’d fall asleep in a dark corner of the place.

Sally wished today was a Bash day. The quiet here, so deadly.

But then-as she ducked under the fold-down railing of the bar and popped up in front of a bleary-eyed JT-someone new walked into the place.

And even in those first few seconds, seeing the stranger back-lit by the bright sunlight outside, she thought, Who the hell is he…

… and what kind of trouble was he bringing with him? • • •

The man walked up to the bar, positioning himself well away from JT, who hadn’t attempted a tricky return to his seat. He stood there, scanning the row of drinks in the back.

Sally walked over to him.

“What can I get you?”

“Not sure,” the man said. She looked at his clothes. Stained. She noticed the deep reddish-brown of the stains.

Blood. The guy had been into something.

Should I be nervous?

The man smiled at her. “Never seen those… things before. These drinks.”

“Yeah? Never drank stim?”

He shook his head. “Where I come from-”

“No need to explain, mister. You want to try one, I’d recommend something light… here. This-”

She poured a half glass of one of the sweet stims. Good for dates. Or so some of the more experienced drinkers said.

She watched as the man took a sip.

His face registered that he didn’t love it.

“Kinda sweet.”

“Grows on you,” she said.

She turned away and walked back to JT, who had picked up his glass and was about to find his way back to his table.

“You okay, JT?”

He nodded, then began the perilous journey, glass in hand.

Definitely cut off, Sally thought. Last call.

Later she’d get some of the Salvage Factory workers streaming in for after-work stories and drinks, their hands nicked by all the pieces of random metal, wood, and junk they handled.

Big deal in Wellspring.

Taking stuff found in the Wasteland and turning it into something useful. A door, a window, building material, car parts, anything.

Worse things than running a bar, she thought.

She wiped a spot on the bar where JT had dribbled some of his drink.

A glance at the stranger.

Looking right at her.

He didn’t come in here for a drink, she thought. As if on cue, he spoke again.

“Excuse me, can I ask you something?”

And she walked down to the stranger, with his stains and air of someone from very far away.

He leaned close, taking a look at the near-empty bar. For now, it was just the two of them there.

“You’re Sally LePrine?”

“Place is called Sally’s, so that’s a good guess.”

He nodded. Something in his eyes drew her. A haunted look. Driven.

Guy’s either on the run from something or is thinking about something that would soon have him on the run.

“I’m Raine.”

“Like,” she grinned, “the weather?”

“If you like.”

“Okay, Raine-you had a question?”

He rubbed his chin. “I want to enter tomorrow’s race.”

Sally lost interest. The goddamn races. “Yeah. So enter it. Look, I got things-”

She turned to move away, but then she felt his hand shoot out. Not a tight grip, but he stopped her by the wrist, then released her.

“I need a sponsor.”

“Right. Can’t race without one. Unless you sponsor yourself.”

“I heard that you sponsor drivers.”

“Used to. Not anymore, Raine. Look, I said I have-”

“I know. Things to do. In a near-empty bar.”

“Gets busy later.”

“Can I be honest with you?” He took a breath. “Can I trust you?”

“That would be your decision. People come into my bar all the time. Lot of them tell me things. Is it trust or the stim speaking? Who the hell knows?”

“If I don’t race, I can’t stay here. Clayton as much as told me that. Said I could blend in. Someone from the Wasteland trying to make some money. And, well-I got to stay here for a while.”

“Got business here?” she said, doing nothing to mask the sarcasm in her voice.

“Can you help?”

“I told you. I used to sponsor drivers. I don’t anymore.”

That seemed to silence the stranger. He looked away, as if thinking.

“Guess, well-thanks. Maybe I can find someone else, right?”

Except Sally knew that anyone who wanted to sponsor a driver would already have one. Raine would find no one.

Again she was drawn to his eyes. Something different about this man.

“Tell me why you have to stay. Tell me why you can’t just wander around Wellspring.”

For a second he just kept looking at her, as if debating telling her.

Finally, he spoke. “My guess is eventually Enforcers will come looking for me. They will ask questions. Clayton says-”

“You can’t believe everything that liar says. In fact, I wouldn’t believe much of it. Especially when it comes to the damn Authority.”

Careful there, she told herself. She looked around the bar. One had to watch to whom one expressed anything other than perfect loyalty in regards to the Authority.

“But he’s not lying about the races, right?” Raine said. “Lots of strangers come into the city to race, no?”

“Yeah. He has that right. You’d stick out less as a hungry racer than wandering around the city looking for work and a place to sleep.”

“Do-” he said, now with a smile-“you see my problem?”

And she did. Though she wasn’t sure how that made it her problem. She wanted no more to do with the Authority than she did with the races. She had enough trouble. Yet, something made her want to help this man. Instinct, she thought. Bartenders had to have good instincts.

She wanted to trust this man. So she did.

What did she have to lose?

“Sit down with me,” she said. “I have something to tell you. And then-we’ll see.”

And she ducked under the bar and led Raine to a table near the back of her dimly lit place.

Before she could even begin, two more customers came in. Somebody from Mick’s shop, all greased up from working under a buggy, and one of Black’s deputies.

She hurried back to the bar to get them drinks, and then returned to Raine.

She kept her voice low.

“People are starting to come in. So, we’ll talk quietly. Got it?”

He nodded.

“I sponsored someone. Named Jack. Good driver. Had a custom Cup.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, confused.

“A Cuprino. Fast, best armor, great steering system-most of it made by Jack himself. Sometimes he won, sometimes he came real close.” She looked away, then back. “We were together. Y’know.”

“Got it.”

“But I guess he started to win too much. Most of it went into his vehicle… but he also bought me things. We even talked of getting away from Wellspring.”

“That even possible?”

“People talk of places. Beyond the Wasteland. But because he was winning a lot, someone who was used to winning started to come in second. Someone named Starky.”

The man took a last sip of his drink, killing it.

“Want another?”

He shook his head.

“Starky had been the champ. Everyone loved him. Had a fleet of Cuprinos. Trained other drivers. King of the goddamned races. Then, about two months ago, they announced a Dusty 8.”

“Dusty 8?”

“Part road rally, part lap race. Part of the circuit in the city, part of it outside. Kind of race where anything can happen. Some action took place in the stadium, but most of it was out on the road. Things could happen out there that people couldn’t see.”

She stopped. She’d never told anyone what she felt, what she really believed about that race. No, she told herself, it’s not about belief. She knew what had happened.

“After a run outside, and when the cars came back into the stadium, it was just Starky and Jack, nearly neck and neck. I was in the stadium, watching them roar in…”

“Go on.”

She tilted her head and looked right at the man. “I could see that something was wrong. Jack looked hurt. I mean, there are no real weapons in the races-but everything else goes. And his Cuprino had a big gash on the right side. Smoke coming out, black oil hitting the track.”

“You think Starky did something?”

“Yeah. I think he did something when they were out on the dirt. The damn hole looked like someone had shot it. But Jack, he had been hurt, too. He was fighting to keep the car rolling forward, to sit up. He had only a few laps to go.”

“No one stopped the race?”

Sally laughed. Where the hell did this guy come from?

“They don’t stop races. And as they hit those last laps, I watched Starky begin to maneuver his Cuprino so that one of its extenders-”

“And that is-”

“Something that sticks out and damages another vehicle. Jesus, and you want to race?” She shook her head, but he just sat there, determined. So she went on. “I saw then he was positioning it to cut right into the smoky opening of Jack’s car. Jack was too hurt, too unsteady to see it. Just holding onto the wheel was about all he could do.”

Now Sally stopped. She felt the tears. She hated the goddamn tears. This was no place for tears. Not when it was anger she wanted to hold on to. Anger. Even hate.

Raine didn’t push her to go on.

They sat in silence for what felt like a long time but was only a few seconds. She wiped away the unwanted tears and looked back.

“Starky made his Cup slide into Jack’s, just at the right point. I saw Jack turn, his face bloody, his eyes probably barely able to take in what was happening, The jagged metal of Starky’s cutter sliced open that hole more, and then pulled away. In seconds it was over.”

“What happened?”

“The engine must have seized. Everyone in the stadium could hear the noise, most of these bastards hoping something like this would happen. Jack’s car seemed to stop dead even as its momentum made it fly end over end. I closed my eyes. I didn’t watch. God, I couldn’t watch.”

The tears came this time. Shit. She didn’t give a damn.

“But I heard it, Raine. I heard it as Jack’s car spun around and smashed on the stadium track. The fuel erupting. An explosion. When I opened my eyes, all I could see was the fire, the great black clouds of smoke streaming up. The only good thing for Jack… it had been fast.”

She stopped. Had she kept her voice down enough? People would talk. Word would get out that she had bad-mouthed the races. Not supposed to do that, nosiree, not in the good city of Wellspring. She wasn’t sure she cared anymore.

“Starky had done that. They let him do that.” A deep breath. “That’s why-I don’t sponsor racers.”

“I understand,” Raine said. But he didn’t make a move toward the door. Instead, he waited as if knowing she had one more thing to say.

A smart guy, this Raine.

“But I see you need help. And I’m… willing to help. A deal. I will sponsor you-for one race. That’s it. But only if you promise to take out Starky.”

Now it was the man’s turn to look around the room, keeping his voice to a whisper.

“Kill him?”

“If that happens, fine. But make sure that it’s a long time before Starky and his car ever race again.”

“My car is a piece of-”

“That’s the deal, Raine. You want it?”

Now he hesitated. But only for a second.

He nodded. “Okay. You got a driver.”

The door to the bar opened. Getting closer to quitting time for the workers. It would get busy now.

“Good. Tell Jackie Weeks. He’ll get you set up and put the bar’s name on your buggy. And look-you got no place to stay?”

“Yeah. There is that problem, too.”

“When I close, later tonight, come by, help clean up. There’s a storeroom in back. As long as no one comes around asking questions about you… you can stay there.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay, Raine. Now I got a bar to run.”

And Sally got up and left the table.