Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen) (25 page)

Hopping out of the car, he gave Mary Kate a quick kiss for luck and then watched her follow Elizabeth up the hill. They would locate a good spot to view the race and then set up the picnic. He and Bobby would join them once the queue order was established. While Liam looked on, Elizabeth unfurled a blanket and then spread it out on the grass. Mary Kate bent over to get the tea from the hamper and Liam felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. Bobby went to check in with the rally organizers, get their queue number and a copy of the route map.

“How do you feel?” Oran asked.

“Fucking brilliant,” Liam said, stretching. “I want an RS of my own. I really fucking do. But Mary Kate, she doesn’t like the idea. Thinks I’ll start crashing through checkpoints for a lark.”

“It’s not as if they could catch you, you know,” Oran said. “Oh, now. Don’t give me that look. I know you’ve more sense than that. She should too. You’re fucking born for the racing.”

“Ah, go on.”

Oran leaned over, glared at the lumpy man standing next to the red Porsche parked two cars over and then smacked Liam on the shoulder.“Go show that posh fucker what West Belfast is made of.” Then he walked up the hill to join Elizabeth and Mary Kate.

“Hello, Kelly. Feeling lucky today?”

Liam turned around and found himself face to face with the Porsche’s owner, Gerry McDonald. “Aye. I do.”

“You’d best watch yourself in that cheap bucket of bolts,” Gerry pushed a pair of big white sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. He was wearing white leather racing gear with red stripes to match his car. “That piece of shite looks like it might fall apart on you.”

“What’s with the outfit?” Liam asked. “Thinking of joining Elton John on a tour later?”

Gerry grabbed him by the front of his anorak and shoved. “Sod off.”

Liam struggled to free himself, but couldn’t. Gerry outweighed him by quite a lot. “Let go of me.” His arms and legs were already tingling, and his jaw tightened.

“Listen, you little gobshite,” Gerry said. “You’re only driving today because I was feeling charitable. You don’t have a membership in the club. You can’t even buy your own fucking car. That means you don’t fucking race unless I say so.”

Gritting his teeth, Liam glared at Gerry and lowered his voice. The prickling had gotten bad enough that he could feel it on his tongue. “I said, let go of me.”

Gerry dropped him and stumbled back with a gasp. His face was pale.

“Liam—”

“Everything’s fine, Bobby. Gerry here was only wishing me luck.” Liam took a step forward just to see Gerry retreat a second time. “Weren’t you?”

“I—I was. Yes.” Gerry smoothed his long brown hair back from his face. “Yes. Ah, good luck.” He practically ran to his car.

“I’m not sure that was such a good idea, mate,” Bobby said. “The bastard has a long memory.”

“The fucking ballbag asked for it.”

“You’ll not get into the club without his say, Liam.”

Liam took a deep breath and put a hand inside his pocket. His fingers brushed against cool metal—his lighter, and to his dismay he realized Bobby was probably right. “Sorry.”

“For fuck’s sake, you should have more self-control,” Bobby said. “To be sure, he’s a fucking wanker, but he’s a fucking wanker with shady connections in Dublin, if you get my meaning. Don’t be for winding him up too much.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Come on,” Bobby said. “Let’s empty the boot and then get something to eat. We can go over the map.”

According to the queue, Liam would go before Gerry and his Porsche 911 Targa. Liam was uncomfortable with the idea of Gerry being behind him. However, the weather was turning and if Liam waited much longer the club might cancel his run. While they’d had their picnic and had watched the others go through their runs, it’d started to rain. Three cars skidded off the road. One rolled over. No one was hurt, but Liam got the feeling that it had been a close thing. As his turn approached, he gulped the last of his tea, snatched another kiss from Mary Kate and took his place in the queue. He had too much nervous energy to stay in the car. So, he paced alongside of it. When the driver in front of him took off, Liam jumped back into the RS and pulled forward. Gerry moved up as well with too much force and

tapped the rear bumper of Bobby’s RS.

“Fucking bastard!” Liam unbuckled his seatbelt.

“He’s only arsing around!” Bobby grabbed his arm. “
Ná dean breallaire baoth diot féin!
”
Don’t make a bloody fool of yourself.
He tended to slip into the Irish when he got excited.

“But your car—”

“This beast will hold. We’ve no worries,” Bobby said. “Now, settle down, or the bastard will have you too rattled to do what I know you can.”

Nervous, Liam reached into his pocket.

“You know where we’re going,” Bobby said. “You can do this. I know you can. But this is your first. So, it’s all right to take it slower than you think you can.”

Liam nodded. “The rain.”

“Aye. The rain.”

The Starter moved next to the car as well as the Timer. Looking into the window and at Liam, the Starter put up his hand and signaled with his fingers.
Ready. Steady. Go.

Slamming the accelerator, Liam adjusted to the grip of the tires in the damp and was able to avoid sliding. It was a good start. The first turn came up fast, but he did as Bobby had told him and took it slower than he wanted. He was rewarded by not slipping into the ditch two others had landed in before.

“Good. Very good,” Bobby said. “Now watch the next one,
a cara.
It’ll be the fucking bitch. Once you’re out of it, push her hard as you can without losing control.”

Liam rounded the next turn faster than recommended, and Bobby gasped, but Liam knew the tires could take it, and take it they did. He punched the accelerator, and the RS leapt eagerly at the road. He didn’t look at the speedometer. Didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of the car around him, and the way the wind caressed its steel body, the grit of the road beneath the wheels. His arms and legs were tingling again, and the beginnings of a headache haunted the back of his brain, but he ignored them. The only thing that mattered was the road and tearing down it as fast as the car could stand. Bobby was yammering something about road conditions and another turn in Irish. Liam didn’t really hear the words. They registered somewhere in his subconscious and collected there for future reference. He and the car were one. He knew what she could take and what she couldn’t—more than Bobby ever could. If asked later, Liam wouldn’t have been able to explain why he knew. The knowledge was there, resting in the front of his aching head, solid as stone.

A turn loomed ahead. There were skid marks where the previous car had flipped and lost control. By this point, Bobby’s English was long gone as well as his proper Irish, and he rattled off a long series of swear words in Gaeilge. Liam smiled, but the smile faded as he felt the tires give. He willed the car to stay on the road. Still, it slid. He steered into the skid and concentrated with all his might.
You will stay on the fucking road. You will stay—

Bobby’s swearing stretched out into a scream.

—on the fucking road, you fucking bitch—

The tires on the passenger’s side of the car went over the edge of the pavement, and something thumped. There was a loud bang, but the driver’s side wheels grabbed.

—you fucking whore. Hold!

And then he was through the turn, and the car rocketed down the straightaway toward the second Timekeeper. They roared past. The Timekeeper waved his hands in the air. Liam reluctantly mashed the brakes several times, slowing the RS, and as he slowed he could sense the wheels on the driver’s side felt more and more wrong.

By the time the car limped to a stop Bobby was laughing like a madman and blathering. When he finally calmed down enough to remember his English, he said, “Jesus, Liam! That was fucking brilliant! Wild!
Níl fhios agam conas—
I don’t know how you did it! We were goners for sure. I swear to God.”

Liam started shaking. He felt like he’d just downed half a bottle of whiskey in one go. “We were fine. I knew we’d make the turn. I knew it.”

Bobby hopped out of the RS and ran to the Timekeeper. He grabbed the clipboard and whooped. “Beat that, you fucking wanker and your fucking wanking Porsche!”

Getting out of the car, Liam bent over and grabbed his knees. He was dizzy. He laid his palm against the RS’s door to steady himself.
Thank you, you beautiful bitch. Thank—
Then he saw the remains of the front tire. It was shredded. His stomach did a lazy flip. “Ah, Bobby. I think you need to see something.”

Bobby came running, still holding the clipboard. The Timekeeper was right behind him, obviously wanting the record sheets back. “Liam, you have to see the time!”

Swallowing, Liam straightened. “Bobby, I’m sorry. Your tires. Fuck, look at the wheel.”

Bobby finally looked where he was pointing. “Oh.”

“I’ll pay you for a new one, I will. Tell me how much, and I’ll pay you for it. I’m so sorry.”

“What the fuck are you apologizing for? It was a race, mate. And I think you fucking won.”

“What?”

“It’s not over yet. Gerry, that fucking bollocks, has to go through, but he’ll not beat you. Not with that time. This is fucking beautiful, I tell you. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Annoyed, the Timekeeper snatched the clipboard from Bobby and walked back to his spot. Using the radio to tell the Starter and the first Timer that everything was ready, the Timer got back to business.

“But the wheel,” Liam said. “It’s completely banjaxed.” It was warped, curving outward like a bowl, and the rim was flattened. He hadn’t even known that was physically possible.

“We’ve another. Pulled it out of the back to lighten the load before the race, remember? And I can borrow a second from my cousin Michael. He’s over there. You’ll get home. What the fuck are you worried about?”

“I wrecked your RS.”

“And I’m telling you it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. It’s expected. It was a fucking race,” Bobby said. “Come on. Let’s get up the hill before Gerry starts his run. If he rolls that fucking Porsche trying to beat you, I want to see it. Hell, I want fucking photos.”

Bobby made certain the RS was well out of the way and then the both of them jogged up the hill to join the others. They got there in time to see Gerry start. Liam stumbled when Mary Kate grabbed him in a fierce hug.

“I thought you were gone,” she said. “You scared me half to death.”

Oran was grinning. “That was fucking amazing, that was. Makes me want to get my license.”

“Oran MacMahon, you’ll do no such thing,” Elizabeth said.

They watched the red Porsche make the first three turns, but when Gerry hit the last bend too fast, he slid straight off the road and into a tree. It took three men and a chainsaw to get him out. Gerry hollered the entire time about them damaging his Porsche. Liam didn’t understand what the fuss was about. The car was a lost cause. At the last, Gerry stumbled out, cursed and took a swing at the farmer who’d cut him out. The first Timer and two of the other club members had to hold him. There was a cut on his head, and he’d bled all over his white leathers.

“If the fucking rooster hadn’t fit out that thing with a racing cage, he’d probably be dead,” Bobby said, punching Liam on the shoulder. “Lost his sense trying to beat you.”

When the times were tallied, Liam was declared the winner. Bobby almost couldn’t contain himself. “Do you know what this means?”

“Not really,” Liam said.

“You set the club record,” Bobby said. “The record. They have to let you in.”

“But I can’t pay the dues, and I don’t own a car.”

Bobby smiled. “Ah, well. Maybe we could work something out.”

“How?” Liam asked.

“Put in an hour or two a week at the garage for a start,” Bobby said. “We could use the hand. Doesn’t matter. It’s worth it to me having you in the club. Show that fuck it takes more than money to win.”

“I don’t know,” Liam said.

“Tell you what. You and Mary Kate drive the RS home. Talk it over. Think about it.” Bobby tossed the keys, and Liam caught them. “Michael and me, we got the wheels and the tires sorted. Me, Oran and Elizabeth will ride home with Michael.”

“Are you sure?” Liam asked.

“You set the fucking record, you wee fuck,” Oran said. “Consider the drive home your prize.”

“Take it easy on the way back,” Bobby said. “I won’t trust the suspension until I have her up on the rack and can give her a good go-over.”

Mary Kate looked uneasy. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, love,” Liam said. “It’ll be grand. I’ll show you how fun it is.”

She sighed. “All right. I know it means so much to you.”

Elizabeth, Oran and Bobby said their goodbyes with promises of a few celebratory rounds at The Harp and Drum as soon as they got back to Belfast. Liam opened the RS’s door for Mary Kate, helped her inside and then trotted over to the driver’s side. He climbed in and started the engine, then sat listening to its throaty rumble.

“Isn’t that the most beautiful sound you ever heard?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on, Mary Kate. It’s a fucking RS1600. It’s the closest thing to a race car I could ever own.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I know what it is. I saw you nearly roll the thing over into a ditch.”

“I won’t drive the RS like that. Not every day. Only for the racing.”

Frowning, she stared out the passenger window. “You shouldn’t drive like that at all. Ever.”

“You never complained before.” He backed up and pulled onto the road. Oran and Bobby waved goodbye, and he stuck an arm out the open window to return the wave.

“You were careful before,” she said. “This time—this time you scared me. Was that what you were like that night—” She stopped herself and then whispered, “Oran said you took them on a wild ride.”

“What?”
No one drives like he did that night.
He blinked.
I am that thing when I drive.