Hearts Racing by Jim Hodgson Page A

accent.
    Buck made a huffing sound, almost a laugh. Except that it wasn’t funny to have your life jerked around by a bunch of politicians who were keeping you under their wine-soaked thumbs. No. Not funny at all.
    LeMond’s phone chimed, and his eyes went wide when he looked at it. “Oh god, exactly what I was afraid of. One of the girls just texted me that Bernard and his cronies are pulling bikes out of the facility. Come on, we gotta get down there!” LeMond leaped from the table and chucked a multicolored bunch of francs on the table, plenty to cover the meal. He helped Buck out the door and into his car, started it, and roared out of the parking lot and down Highland Avenue, swerving around other cars. Buck braced himself against the door and gritted his teeth.
    “Why does one of the girls have your cell phone number?” Buck asked.
    LeMond’s mouth was a thin line of concentration as he sawed at the wheel, throwing the car this way and that to speed across town to the cycling facility. But Buck thought he saw a sheepish grin threatening to form at the corners of his mouth. “No time for that now!” LeMond said, steering just a bit more violently than was exactly necessary and making Buck’s bike clatter in its rack on the trunk.
    They raced through the streets without attracting the attention of the gendarmes and pulled up to the cycling facility with screeching tires. Sure enough, men were loading gleaming bikes into a van. Another van was being loaded with massage tables and other boxes of team gear.
    LeMond leapt out and began asking for answers in a loud voice. Buck followed, getting out of the car as fast as his tired and battered limbs could carry him. “What’s the meaning of this?” LeMond was saying, and then in French, “ Qu’est-ce qui se passe ici ?” The men loading the truck shrugged and pointed inside. LeMond stalked in with Buck close behind.
    Inside they found Bernard looking over his clipboard and a man Buck didn’t recognize. They both looked up to see LeMond stalking in, and Bernard’s face hardened. The other man just looked quizzical.
    “You want to tell us what’s happening here, Bernard?” LeMond asked, gesturing to the empty racks where the bikes normally stood.
    “All right, yes, I will tell you,” Bernard said, flipping the sheet he’d been reviewing closed on his clipboard. “This facility is closed. The program is closed. And you are fired.”
    “On whose authority?” LeMond demanded.
    “That would be mine,” said the other man. His voice made it clear he’d been born American, even if he was attempting a French pronunciation of some words.
    LeMond turned his glare to him. “Oh yes? And who are you?”
    “For now, you may address me as Monsieur Barker,” the man said. “But soon it will be Mayor Barker.”
    LeMond drove Buck back to his flat, both men thinking their own thoughts in silence. In the parking lot, LeMond still looked determined.
    Buck sighed. “I guess it’s all over, huh?”
    LeMond shook his head. “Not by a long shot. I can’t say anything now, but I have a few moves I can make. You just rest up a few days.”
    Buck didn’t hold out much hope for those moves being able to get them back on track. LeMond was an optimist, which served him well most of the time, but there were no moves left to make at this point. Buck got painfully to his feet and turned to go inside.
    LeMond rolled down his car window and called out, “Buck!” Buck turned. The man was smiling ruefully. “Don’t forget your bike.”
    His bike! He’d forgotten all about it. Bernard and that Barker guy had cleaned out the bike room, but Buck’s bike had been on the back of LeMond’s car. They hadn’t gotten it. LeMond helped him get it inside, leaving his car running.
    “I doubt they’ll think about it,” LeMond said. “And I think you’re gonna need it.” He wouldn’t say anything more than that, so Buck was left to wonder what he might mean. But for now, all