Boosting - Chapter 21

After ending his phone call with Vanessa, Joe got up off the step and went back into the cabin. He knew his next job was phoning Frank and wasn't looking forward to it. Fingering his cell phone for a little while longer, he found it took a real feat of self-control to select his brother's number and thumb the green button. He didn't think for an instant that Frank would pick up, but he intended on at least leaving a message.

The call connected at his end and it began to ring, and then weirdly, he could hear a distant echo. It took him a couple of seconds to realise that it was another cell entirely. With a sinking heart, Joe strode through into his brother's bedroom – the Mission Impossible ring-tone confirmation enough that Frank had left his phone behind by mistake. After scuffling through the bedclothes, Joe eventually found the handset, which had become sandwiched between folds of bed linen

"Crap!"

This wasn't good news. Joe's powers of damage limitation were now severed. Frank still didn't know his convertible had been stolen, re-sprayed and then recovered by Nancy and Con. For all Joe knew, Frank was right this second driving for their parent's home where he'd find the car and start asking questions. Then he'd find out his mom and dad were in on it, and by association, Nancy too!

"Crap!"

As if the guilt of what he'd done wasn't burning enough, he now had to somehow protect his parents and Nancy without making Frank feel any more betrayed than he did already. Joe felt trapped and cornered; everything was crashing down around him, burying him in mental rubble.

"CRAP!"

He couldn't afford to lose any more time, he had to get back to Bayport as quickly as possible, preferably before his brother, hopefully even catch up and 'encourage' him to pull over.

Running through to his own room, he grabbed his essentials, shoving them into his pockets, intended on leaving everything else behind to come back for later. This wasn't anything unusual, he and his brother often found themselves having to leave stuff behind in an emergency. Then he quickly rang Vanessa again to let her know what he was planning, leaving the cabin at the same time and locking up.

Ending the call he took the front steps at a jump, and then took near enough one more single leap onto the bike seat, shoved his helmet on, and gunned the engine to life. The scarlet bike went off so quickly that the back wheel threw up a wall of dirt before sinking itself into the ground and refusing to budge. The tire was so firmly wedged that Joe had to kill the engine, stand up off the saddle and use brute force to rock the bike to-and-fro to work it loose. With a grunt and a considerable amount of muscle straining, he finally heaved it clear; intensely aware that the longer he took, the greater the head start Frank was gaining.

Being more careful, he made his way cautiously along the dirt path, picking around the various obstacles until he saw the exit leading onto the main road. Encouraged, Joe bore down on the throttle and put on a tremendous speed, shooting out of the exit and sliding into the road, forcing another motorist to slew his car out of the way. The driver slammed the heel of his hand down on the horn and yelled, but Joe simply straightened up and shot away at a crazy speed leaving the other vehicle in his wake.

Frank now had such a head start that Joe could only hope that his brother would have to stop for a comfort visit, or to consult a map. A few days ago, when they'd been in the diner, Frank had berated him because he hadn't been paying attention to the map, but that wasn't what had been going on, Joe knew where the cabin was, he didn't need to look at a map. It wasn't that he was distracted, as Frank had assumed, it was that he was disinterested.

Out of the brothers, Joe was able to negotiate his way on instinct alone. He had the ability to simply glance at a map and know where he was going and follow his nose. Frank, however, didn't have such a natural head for direction and had to route out his trips carefully or use GPS. So Joe was hoping that Frank would forget the way back at some point and would have to pull over for directions and allow Joe to make up some distance and time.

Joe had no intention of making any pit stops; he would have his foot to the floor the entire way back. By his calculation, he was about two hours away from the outskirts of Bayport. He had plenty of gas, the bike was running well, the traffic was light and he was Joe Hardy = Demon Racer!

*****

An hour later and Joe was turning north onto the freeway. He'd decided that the most direct course, and probably the one that Frank would take, would be to come off at Exit 27A which merged onto Colonel Thomas Highway and allow him to finally leave from Exit 2 and slip into Bayport.

He knew he would get snarled up in lunchtime traffic, but the benefit of being on a bike was that it could be ridden between the traffic and not get too fouled up with other vehicles. The only problem that he couldn't get around was that he was not the only speed demon in the family, Frank probably had an even greater hunger for producing g-forces and he was a damn fine rider.

Some time later, Joe was joining the line of traffic feeding onto the Colonel Thomas Highway. Three cars later and he was directing the bike down the ramp and was riding alongside the already fast moving traffic trying to slip in himself. For one hair-raising moment, he thought he wasn't going to be able to because a four-by-four next to him was going at the same speed and he was quickly running out of road! Joe made an arm gesture at the car's passenger who was watching him morosely through the window. Finally realising Joe's difficulty, he nudged the driver who braked slightly allowing the bike to nose into the traffic with only feet to spare. Joe opened up the throttle again, not giving the awkward off-road driver any further thought.

Joe wanted to be able to see far ahead of himself, but as predicted, the lunchtime traffic made visibility poor and he couldn't see any further than a few car lengths ahead. Half an hour later the rush was over and vehicles began thinning out allowing him to finally be able to see.

Every kept spotting dark motorbikes in the distance, but upon reaching them was disappointed each time to find none of them were Frank. This was despondent making times. He was spending far too much time passing each bike, and it was causing further delays that he could ill afford.

He consulted his speedometer. He knew he was going over the limit, but he was still going too slowly for his comfort level, he wasn't covering enough ground, he felt that with each passing minute his brother was slipping further away. He didn't want to get pulled over…but…"Hang it all – c'mon Joseph!"

Joe twisted the throttle forwards upping his speed still further, gambling on the possibility of being pulled over. As it turned out, it was a worthy wager as up ahead of him, he made out another black bike and this time, he could tell instantly that it was his brother. The driver wore the right clothes, the way he was perched in the saddle, his body low over the handlebars, his driving style, and his long lean athleticism…well…it was Frank, no doubt about it.

Taking a glance to his right, Joe considered the car next to him, which was also speeding. He decided to tuck himself away behind so hopefully Frank wouldn't spot him until they were practically side-to-side and then he would…actually, he wasn't sure what he would do once he'd caught up. Maybe he could annoy Frank so much that he would get tired of being trailed and would pull over for a confrontation when Joe could let Frank punch him and everything would sort itself out and they could go back to being brother's in arms again. "Yeah right – fat chance!"

Joe's plan of utilising the car as a barricade worked as Frank didn't spot him until he slipped into his field of vision alongside. Joe watched as Frank's head finally pivoted in his direction and then looked back away again to the road ahead. To his credit, Frank controlled his surprise enough that his bike didn't move off its trajectory by even an inch – a sure sign that Frank had been half expecting him to appear.

Joe raised a hopeful wave but received nothing in reply.

Frank's head switched from staring ahead to looking the other way, apparently to cold-shoulder his younger brother.

"Dammit!" An easy outcome wasn't going to be forthcoming for Joe …that was plain.

Joe knew that in three exit's time, Frank would be leaving the freeway in order to enter Bayport, so he decided to attempt circling around in front. As his brother was sticking doggedly to the speed limit, this was an easy manoeuvre – actually, too easy. Frank didn't flutter, slow down, speed up or move his head. In fact, he didn't react at all and it bothered Joe. Ever since Pandora, he couldn't read his brother and he had the uneasy feeling that Frank had made it easy for a reason. Given what had happened the previous night, there was little reason for Frank to be so accommodating.

Up ahead of them were two white trucks lumbering along side-by-side. They were plainly from the same company as they were presenting the same logo on their sides and Joe could see that the one driver had his window down and was gesticulating across at his friend in the other cab. "Idiots!"

The tarpaulin stretched across the trailers rippled, vibrated and caught the sunlight as the huge vehicles rode over imperfections in the asphalt. A catch had failed on the one truck that would usually have been used to hold down the cover and it was flipping about freely in the wind, its metal catch whipping murderously back and forth at head height. Joe had to keep a beady eye on it as his bike sailed between the high walls of mechanical machinery. He pointed at it, in the hope that Frank would heed his warning.

Joe emerged unscathed and lost his view­ of Frank as one truck filled his field of vision entirely. He waited a while for his brother to also materialise into the open air, but, for some reason, he didn't. Neither of the truck drivers looked to be reacting to anything unusual happening between their vehicles, just continuing with their childish hand signals and wild laughter.

Joe concluded that Frank must have dropped back as no biker would want to be sandwiched between trucks for any length of time; it was too claustrophobia inducing. Joe decided to do the same and slowed down to enable the vehicles to go ahead of him again. Sure enough, when he entered the cavity, Frank wasn't there. In fact, when Joe emerged completely out from behind, he found his brother wasn't there period!

"What the hell?" Twisting in his seat, Joe looked first one way, and then the other. "For pity's sake, where the heck…aw crap!" He'd finally spotted Frank and knew what had happened. His brother had bided his time and waited for Joe to make a move, and had taken the opportunity to get off at the next exit unseen. He was now passing above his head on the overpass that spanned the highway. No wonder he'd let Joe pass so readily!

Joe needed to turn back, but of course this was impossible. The words he was using beneath his helmet were for his ears alone!

Although chagrined that Frank had outwitted him, Joe realised that he could turn this to his advantage. If he got off on Exit 2 as planned, he would reach Bayport first and he could head, literally, 'for the hills'. He knew of an excellent vantage point, which would allow him to look down on the town and its feeder roads. In its day, the local kids referred to it as 'lover's leap' and Joe knew of it because he and Vanessa used to visit in order to find much needed privacy in the early stages of their relationship. Joe began reminiscing, remembering how comfortable they were able to make the back of their old van with an inflatable mattress and a sheet or two.

After twenty minutes he was riding up the well-worn trail to the summit. He turned off his engine and dismounted to remove his headgear and stretch his legs a little. He paced, watching the town and its roads, looking for signs of another motorcycle. His patience eventually bore fruit, because before long he spotted a bike entering the picture, it was Frank heading westwards and starting to approach the very hill he was standing on. "Bingo!"

Joe quickly remounted his bike, walked it backwards and nosed it downhill, allowing gravity to take the weight and send him into freefall. It moved surprisingly fast even without the engine running and he reached the fork in the road well before Frank. Joe zeroed in on the sound of the black bike before gunning his machine into life and waiting. He spied the top of Frank's helmet through the trees and when he was about to pass, Joe shot the red bike out from its hiding place to draw level.

This time, Frank did react; he turned the handlebars to the left to avoid what he'd obviously construed as a likely collision and disappeared through some bushes and out of sight.

"Holy smoke!" Joe shouted and gripped his brake to slow down as quickly as he dared without sending himself over the handlebars. He had no idea if Frank had fallen off again, or if he'd turned and was heading in the opposite direction, or if he was off-roading ahead. Seconds later he got his answer as Frank ricocheted back into the road through a break in the hedge, slid slightly leaving a black tire mark in the asphalt and missiled away like a torpedo.

Recovering from his surprise, Joe followed on at the same breakneck speed and they both passed the entrance to a burger bar and entered Bayport.

Joe knew that to stop Frank, he'd now have to outride him as his brother knew Bayport every bit as well as he did. There was no possibility of him becoming disorientated here. His older brother knew all the same short cuts and cheats as he did. All Joe could do was to ride his brother's shirttail and wait for him to make a mistake that would enable him to be forced into stopping.

At first, the landscape was mostly made up of greenery, but it soon opened up into sleepy residential settings and then into the busier downtown business section. Joe attempted several times before they reached the more densely populated area to ride up the side of his brother's bike, but Frank predicted him every time and got in his way. It was frustrating, mentally torturous and physically tiring work and he wished Frank would give it up, but he clearly had no intention of cooperating. Joe was perspiring heavily and his teeth hurt from being ground together, his shoulders so tense they were practically seizing.

Frank took a sudden right and entered a side street adjacent to a drapery store, but wasn't fast enough to fool Joe into missing the turn who was quickly following in hot pursuit. Too hot as it happened, because Joe was immediately aware of the reason why Frank had decided to go in that direction.

Straight ahead was a dumpster and Frank wasn't allowing Joe room to be able to swerve to avoid it. In fact, Frank, it was fair to say, was practically encouraging Joe towards the rusting metal container. He'd slowed down so his younger brother was at his side, ensuring that Joe could neither veer to the right or take any other evasive measure other than to stop. There was a plank leaning against the crate that someone was using as a wheelbarrow ramp, the wheelbarrow itself was parked up next to the makeshift incline while its owner was making a pile of old floorboards on the sidewalk.

Instead of applying his brakes to avoid a life threatening collision and allow Frank to get away, Joe decided to use it instead. He accelerated and blasted ahead aiming his front wheel to hit the makeshift ramp and shot up onto it, taking off into thin air. He pulled on his handlebars, leaned his weight back and lifted himself slightly off the seat, ensuring that while in mid-flight, the front tire would stay above the back wheel. He felt a rush as the bike reached its highest point and started arcing down, dropping to the road far below.

Someone was yelling, probably wheelbarrow-man, but Joe wasn't interested. He was concentrating solely on downing his bike without crashing and smashing, and then he was intended on turning the stunt to his benefit. His back wheel hit hard, the bike's suspension system working wonders to protect him from a spine crunching landing, and then his front tire was settling down into a controlled landing.

Frank might be the one with a pilot's licence, but Joe was the one with the James Bond style licence to thrill! And the best part was that Joe was now ahead as Frank had slowed down to take in Joe's one-man performance. So Joe took the bike into a skid, swinging it sideways in order to block off the exit.

"What do you think of that, bro?" Joe wondered as he watched his brother having to take evasive measures to avoid riding straight into him. Frank ended up making the same sliding move as his younger brother, slipping up to Joe's side and making contact with his thigh, their helmets nose-to-nose.

Joe immediately grabbed Frank's arm and slid his visor up. "I need to talk to you, Frank…I need to talk to you right now!"

Frank slowly raised his own visor and stared back silently for a few seconds before saying: "Screw you, Joe—" and jerking his chin down, his visor automatically dropping. He turned the handlebars and rode away again, Joe's gloved hand unable to hang on as it slipped free, half unfurling from his palm.

As Frank passed the dumpster, he reached out, hooked his fingers over the top of the wheelbarrow and sent it clattering to the ground, pieces of wood flying out into the street, blocking Joe's from being able to follow him.

Joe almost gave up before realising he had one last trick up his sleeve. The direction Frank was heading meant that it would take him longer to get onto Main Street than Joe if he went the opposite way. He could then hopefully cut Frank off and force him off the road. It was a risky move, but as the old saying goes – desperate times call for desperate measures.

By the time Joe had formulated his attack, he had entered the traffic on Main Street and was heading through the center of town, going as slowly as he dared and watching for his brother who soon appeared in his mirror, slewing and picking his way crazily around other vehicles.

Joe cut across on an interception course, keeping ahead the entire way, eventually dropping in front of Frank and readying himself to slow down and force him onto the sidewalk.

Abruptly, there was a weird looking blue and white car at his shoulder and it was doing to him what he had intended to do to Frank. It was slowly edging him to the left and no matter what he did to get out of the situation, the driver of the car was having none of it, determined to make him stop – and come to that, so was the plain white car behind him, boxing him in. Eventually Joe simply ran out of road and the car stopped with its left front wheel half on the sidewalk, the rest angled into the road, the white car stopping behind, sandwiching and preventing him from even backing up to use the walkway.

The race was done. Frank had won and it was all down to the stupid mystery drivers who had decided to interfere in things that didn't concern them!

Joe swung off the bike and began unstrapping his helmet, his full intention to use it as a weapon to batter the hell out of the dumb driver who'd gotten in his way in his funny looking car. He loped around the vehicle as the driver opened his door wide to extricate himself while saying, bizarrely: "Frank, we need to have a chat."

The helmet finally came free of Joe's face and he glared his piercing blue eyes straight up into hazel ones. "Do I look like Frank?" he yelled, not looking at all surprised that it was Con Riley. He pushed the helmet into Con's midriff, seriously pissed.

Con fell back against his car and almost ended up back in the front seat and then he automatically shoved back. "I thought you were Frank. Isn't that his bike?"

"Dammit, Con!" Joe bawled and raised his fist in order to hit the car's roof. Con obviously thought the intended punch was for him and flinched. Instantly there was a hand on Joe's wrist from the other side and he turned to find it was a plain clothed Officer Anderson.

"I don't think that would be a good idea!" Anderson warned.

"You dent this car and I'll dent your head, boy!" Con advised, finally working out who Joe's intended victim had been. "You wouldn't believe how much money it took to buy this baby, with no guarantee of getting any of it back."

Joe grunted and made a quick twisting movement with his arm, trapping Anderson's hand and pushing him roughly away, sending him pin wheeling. His hip hit his car's front bumper and he almost fell between it and the bike.

"Cut it out, Joe!" Con ordered and pulled him back by the shoulder and shaking him. "You're goin' the right way to getting yourself arrested. He's a cop, don't forget – he might be a bit wet behind the ears, but he could still get you canned!"

"—Hey!"

"Sorry Anderson, no offence."

Joe finally took a breath and forced himself to cool down. He raised his hands up and settled them on the top of the car, leaned his weight forward and rocked himself a couple of times.

Con continued. "I didn't know you'd swapped bikes with Frank, I thought I was doing you a favor, thought Frank was you."

"Frank stole my keys and took my bike. I couldn't stop him. I can't stop him doing anything any more, he's slipping." He put his hands over his head and rubbed at his scalp. "In the land of 'Making-Bad-Situations-Worse' I am king!"

Anderson was looking from Con back to Joe, confused. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothing Anderson, I made a poor decision choice is all," Con answered and turned back to Joe. "Go after him, perhaps he's heading to his apartment, it's in that direction remember."

"I hope so," Joe said. "Because if not, we're all seriously screwed. Move your cars!"