And once more unto the breach:

  "Earlier today, the Gold Cup stock car race, where a
shocking outburst of blood and chaos rocked the entire city as
Gold Cup race driver Guy Jinn opened fire on other unsuspecting
drivers, killing one and wounding several others. The deceased
victim was Brian Hayworth, nicknamed 'Flyin Brian,' who had
become a veteran champion driver after entering the race thirty two
years ago. The other two men were Carlos Veretti, a long time
Gold Cup contender, and the returning ex-con driver known as Screw.

Heh. They just have to throw in his past.

 >

behind me, Guy Jinn, in the yellow 99 car, starts firing when he
was hit from the side by Hayworth in white. The four bright
flashes to your left are from Jinn's weapon, an illegal military
handgun. You can see over his shoulder how this last shot
penetrates Hayworth's engine mount, and causes the subsequent
explosion. We switch now to a different angle where as you can
tell-"

Just like Theisman's leg breaking. Just have to show it at every angle.

  "I don't know. I have to call Diago tomorrow to see if our
insurance will cover it. He wasn't that mad about it. Even after all
the threats."

Well, it's not like Screw could have kept the guy from trying to kill him.

  Inside, on the end table to my right, was a stack of letters
that had come from three separate sources. One had been the
board's insurance company, handing me a ridiculously small out of
court settlement for the hazards I had suffered due to the
improperly secured gate apparatus. A three figure embarrassment.

'Three figure' is so small, most people don't even use the term.

  "Luckily the cops don't."

  "So the police aren't going to arrest you?"

  I laughed out loud. "That's it? No '*What the hell are you,
some kind of mutant?*'"

Oh, I think previous events had prepared her for this moment.

  Naturally, my one excuse was found in the midst of a quick
gap in self awareness.

self-awareness (I think)

  Predictably or not, depending who you ask, my fan rating
had skyrocketed. Track violence was usually a huge seller and
since I had killed my enemy with arguable fairness, my supporter's

supporters

loved me more than ever. The last half hour at the Turbine was
spent shaking hands with more sponsors who wanted me to market
their worthless products with my car. I agreed to a few, ignored
others. I wanted more revenue, and soon if I wanted a place of my
own. Not that Zig wasn't hospitable, but a white couple hanging
out in his living room every night was not conducive to the
business atmosphere.

Heh. Probably not.

  "Come to think of it," Alie said, "those Special Forces
bastards never showed up to save you either."

Hadn't realized it, but she's right.

  Alethea cocked her head. "You don't think that Jinn tried to
kill you this morning specifically because he knew the Special
Forces would not be here to intervene?"

He was nuts. He'd have done it if his own superiors promised to kill him
afterwards if he succeeded.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that even though it is one more thing that never
made the evening news, the Mandate knows someone broke into
Lanz Island and started the prison riot."

  "Which is still going on, by the way," said Zig.

My. They really must be holed up pretty well.

  We sat in silence. Thinking and not thinking, on and off. It
was getting late, but none of us were sleepy. I stood up and walked
into Zig's kitchen, where I found his fridge alcohol deficient,

Nice term.

  "No it isn't!" Zig said. But when he walked over and took a
look, he turned to me and said, "Damn. Looks like you're driving,
cracker."

  "Don't call me cracker."

Screw: I always liked  'fortune cookie' better.

of us were surrounded by people at our favorite bar, 'Korre's.' I
knew most of the people there; everyone in some way affiliated
with racing. They had all seen this morning's broadcast, and it had
been quite an upset. Even the bartenders, Janie, Leah, and Will,
wouldn't leave me alone. We arrived at 11:35, and was

were

  After friends and strangers alike went back to their own
beer and their own lives, Alethea and I sat at the very end of the
bar, in a draping shadow, and spoke to each other. She did not
want to hear me apologize for the things I had put her through, but
just wanted me to say that I would stay out of trouble from now on.

It's not like he's been looking for it exactly.

  Excusing myself to use the john, I left Alethea before she
could ask and walked into the fog. The crowd of drinkers swished
around me unseen, like strangers in the night. It was almost
spooky, except for the din of course. The smoke parted and I
beheld an old cohort. Of the strictly business variety.

Nice setting of the mood.

  Hell, maybe the little bastard had found something good. A
month ago I would have done a lot to get the story out of him. But
tonight I only wanted to see him again for one thing. I set my beer
down next to his and motioned to Leah. Muniz brought out the
asshole in everybody.

Heh. I've known people like that.

  Turning around, Muniz's seat was empty and spinning in
place. He was out of there like a shot and in the dim light and
crowd, a dark skinned teenager needed far less than those three
seconds to disappear. Plus, that one in particular was good at it. I
sighed.

Hmm. A bit suspicious if you ask me.

  "Nothing so unambiguous. You're getting Audited,

Since he's only just started to make money, that should be easy.

  "...Why?"

  "You got him killed, didn't you? You're Screw."

No, that would have been Guy, who Screw killed, which makes Screw Brian's
avenger.

  I sat back in my booth seat and tried to focus on anything
other than that which lay before me. Zig abruptly quoted MacBeth
and left the booth. The mistake I was about to make was emanating
bright vibes that he didn't want to watch happen.

Probably for the best.

  "If it had not been for Chris to back me up, I am sure I
would have been killed within the first month just because I was
bigger than everyone else. In prison, you always kill what you fear
so that it doesn't scare you anymore. Some of the mates down
there fit in right away. They were made for it. I mean, no one's
made for it but some really showed their true colors down there.
Something else happened to me. Being underground almost took
my sanity but it also showed me that there was a point I would
never pass. Insanity takes a little effort on your part too, and
something in me was just to afraid to ever give that up. So I stayed
miserably sane and the time passed much slower. I was not meant
for that life.

Interesting way of looking at it.

  I exhaled. "I hope not anyway," I said. "A few months
before I was sent in, I was turning twenty three.

twenty-three

  "A few days later it was Sunday, and time to earn my
paycheck. In the old Number One Gun, my favorite car. Biggest
machine I've ever even ridden in. The Big Bad Storm is clocked
much faster, but ten years ago the Gun was uncharacteristically
maneuverable for a car with such a large engine. Diago had the
wheel mounts rigged so that the turning rate decreased with
increasing wedge angle. It-"

  Diago interrupted me. "Screw. You digress."

Yep.

  "I kicked my door open and it knocked him down before he
could get his hands around me. I leaned into the centrifugal force
of the Turbine and tried to get away to the Inner Wall. He tackled
me from behind and was hitting me. We wrestled for little while
but he still had his black helmet on and I couldn't punch him in the
head. I could barely think strait

straight

know we were fighting, but thought we had just fell down. They
tied a tow line around my suit, and were about to tie one on him
when he took his helmet off." I licked my lips and looked around
the table. Here it came. "I saw that it was my father."

Oh. Well that's a surprise.

  "I saw that his tow line had not been secured and in a
strangely appropriate moment of clarity I kicked at him. He
stumbled backward toward the edge of the spoke. I strained against
my line and shook off a hit from behind by a nightstick. This had
become more than the fulcrum point in my life before prison. It all
made sense, you see; suddenly, right there, on its own. I could fix
all my problems, make up for all my past transgressions if I could
only kill this man. That would set everything right between me and
my mother. There was no opposition to this idea in my mind. My
own rules, the ones I found and lived by stated that I had to obey. I
mean I really, really wanted to. All it took."

Well, that's something else. I see why he went back down then.

  Fucking fantastic. I growled. "I had to."

  "...I want to leave," she said.

I'm not surprise. That certainly came out of nowhere. An interesting twist,
but it does seem a bit brutal for this kind of story. *Shrug* Wonder what
you're going to do with this. Will look forward to reading more.

D.B. Sommer

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