Chapter 27 Gianna
Gianna
PRESENT
People who live in glass houses, shouldn’t throw hard stuff.
Wait, that doesn’t sound right. Maybe it was ‘sharp things’? Or rocks. I think it’s rocks.
Whatever it is, the saying goes a little something like that. And I get it, I do. I can’t be angry that street racing happened at the carnival when I’m a street racer myself.
But if I had a rock right now or, even better, my crystal selenite tower, I’d throw it at Mayor Arblaster’s face.
I’ve been avoiding the spittle from his mouth for the last twenty minutes as he looms from behind his large oak desk. His arms are waving about and his face is so red he’s about to burst.
Another dollop of bubbly saliva flies from his mouth and I don’t dodge it in time, feeling it splat right below my left eye. I pointedly wipe it away.
Gross. Ar-blasted.
‘I knew this would happen. I’ve received several complaints asking the Heritage Society to bulldoze the site. You put innocent lives in danger!’ he shrills an octave higher than I thought possible. ‘Booker Bay is a peaceful town. I can’t have any more of these shenanigans.’
‘I’m sorry this happened, but it wasn’t my fault,’ I argue.
‘Then whose fault is it?’ He stares down at me, navy eyes burning like the core of a flame.
‘Sir—’
‘There’s nothing more to discuss, Gia.’
‘Then why am I here?’ I lean back in the chair, its wooden frame digging into my back. ‘Am I only here so you can say “I told you so”, or am I here to help find a solution for the bad media?’
Bad media is a bit of a stretch. It’s not like any news stations are involved, but the videos are circulating on socials and I know the other Booker Bay councillors are pissed. The dirty looks and hushed whispers I got as I came through the council building’s grand entrance gave it away.
‘Solution?’ he guffaws with a twisted grin, stretching the elastic of his suspenders before letting them snap back. ‘Why would I want you to find a solution when you caused all of this?’
‘So it’s my fault some people broke into the carnival and raced?’
‘They’re your people.’
I shift, pushing back the sciatica-trigger with a screech along the hardwood floor.
‘I don’t know who those racers were,’ I say firmly, ‘but this wouldn’t happen if Hammer Time Circuit was properly open, sir. Then the town would have a place to practise this sport, legally and safely, instead of doing it on the street.’
He heads over to the small backbar rack in the corner of his office to pour himself a shot of whiskey.
Sure, alcohol on the job is what he needs right now.
The fireplace crackles, sending sparks off the iron hearth, but the tension in the air keeps my skin chilled.
The mayor recaps the crystal decanter and takes a loud sip from his glass.
‘We’re just lucky Dellenty was on duty and managed the situation before anyone got hurt,’ he states.
‘Lucky? Four years ago, I didn’t see a single police officer until I was at the hospital.
Last night, there was one race that lasted ten seconds and cops flooded the scene.
Tell me why that is? Actually, no need – I already know you had them on standby.
You wanted things to go wrong. You want the racing community to be the bad aftertaste in the mouth of Booker Bay. ’
Mayor Arblaster grunts but doesn’t respond. Instead, he crosses the floor, places the empty crystal tumbler on the desk and resumes his comfy-looking seat across from me.
I bet he never gets back pain from it.
He glowers at me. I should leave this here; I could leave this here.
There’s no restriction on what I can or can’t do with the speedway.
I’ve saved money for it once – I’ll do it again and then do what I want with the place.
If he, the councillors or any other committee want to fight against me, I’ll fight.
But deep down I know better. Having him on side is way better than having him against me.
‘What happened at the carnival is unfortunate.’ I stay seated, not wanting to power-trip him like he did to me.
‘The incident is also proof that racing is going to happen in Booker Bay whether you want it to or not. It’s part of the history of this town.
If you let me open the speedway, racing will be in a controlled environment.
I can make sure the racers are safe. I can give them a community to be a part of. ’
‘We don’t need a community of hooligans here, Gia. My job is to make sure Booker Bay is safe. On top of that, carbon emissions have been a concern of that place since the 1970s.’
‘Well, that’s an easy fix, Mr Mayor. We’re not in the seventies anymore. Even the Mustang has a hybrid engine. And I can ensure all race cars use renewable fuel.’
‘That isn’t going to stand with the Climate Change Committee.’
‘Then we will agree on a percentage of profits to offset the emissions.’
‘Gia.’ The mayor raises an eyebrow, eyeing me speculatively. ‘This is serious.’
I blow out a heavy breath, straightening my spine and lifting my chin. ‘I lost my brother to racing, Mr Mayor. I take it more seriously than you think.’
His expression softens as he considers my words. He glances out the window. ‘What do you mean, you didn’t see any police until the hospital?’
‘I mean exactly what I said. Jace was long gone before any police appeared.’
Confusion crosses his face, as if he’s unaware of what’s happening in his own town.
Because of course Booker Bay is picture-perfect.
There would never be greed when a murder case is involved.
Power would never come from whoever the highest bidder is.
And corruption could never hide behind the finely pressed, community-serving uniforms and shiny badges.
The mayor’s jaw clenches. A brief flash of hesitation simmers in his gaze, but I can feel that he’s convinced he knows what’s right.
He sighs. ‘I can’t condone something so dangerous, Gia.’
‘It’s dangerous, yes. You’re right. And I guess these are my people,’ I push, ‘so I want to give them a safe place where they can live out their passions and push their skills to the limit. The speedway was never a place for—’ I search for a word he would use ‘—hooligans to see who can be the most dangerous. It was a place to learn and grow and understand this as a sport and love it. I’m not about to ruin that. ’
A second ticks by.
A minute.
It’s about to stretch into the two-minute mark, so I continue.
‘I think I saw a picture of you with a pretty ’59 Eldorado hanging in the foyer. Am I wrong?’
He drops his head, fighting to keep a coy smile at bay. He loses, and it slips free.
‘I did love that car,’ he admits. ‘Called her Bessie because she was a beast.’
I nod, understanding. I don’t approve of the cliché name, but I understand.
‘We all have our Bessies, Mr Mayor.’
He clears his throat and regards me sternly, his salt-and-pepper eyebrows a straight, thick line across his forehead.
‘Hammer Time Circuit, huh? It does have a ring to it. Hybrid engines.’ He leans on his elbow as he raises his index finger. ‘Renewable fuel.’ A second finger lifts. ‘Percentage of profits.’ He wiggles three fingers.
‘Deal.’ I smile, keeping my gaze steady.
His lips twitch in a small smile and he holds out his hand, wanting to shake on it. ‘Alright,’ he says in resignation. ‘Make the speedway a safe place.’
I squeal, ignoring his hand and rounding the desk to suffocate him in a hug.
‘You won’t regret it, sir!’
‘Yeah, yeah, Gia.’
‘I’ll even get a Bessie for you.’ I release him, nudging his shoulder.
He sheepishly avoids eye contact. ‘I still have her in the garage.’
‘Well,’ I say, heading to the door before he changes his mind, ‘be sure to bring her by.’
I twist the brass handle, opening the door with a creak.
‘And Gia?’ he calls after me. I peek my head back through the doorway. ‘I’ll see what Dellenty can do to revisit your brother’s case.’