Headwind

A Novel By Douglas Cornell

His eyes were made sore by the dust blowing in the twenty mile-per-hour winds. The cold was tolerable and the rain was bad, but wind irritated him the most. Wind slowed him down, and slow was not his favorite speed. The only time wind wasn't a major pain in the butt was when it was behind him, pushing him, or when he was in the woods, protected by trees. Today he was doing roadwork and it was strictly headwind. He had another 35 minutes of pushing into it before he could stop for the day.

The bike was silent. The chain was well lubricated. There were no annoying clicks to distract him and interrupt his train of thought. A solitary bicyclist on a quiet road often daydreams away the miles, and he was thinking about the child that would be born to Marie and him in a couple of months. I hope it's a boy, he thought - a brother for Ali.

Steve Logan was a unique individual, the kind of guy who made a point of being different, which was one of the reasons he was out on the road riding his bicycle since mountain bike racing is still a fringe activity in Michigan.

Still daydreaming, he began thinking about how great he felt. Anytime I'm riding, even when I've had a bad day at work; riding makes me feel better. Psychologically, anyway. Something's pinching my right toe on my left foot and the sweat is stinging my eyes but otherwise, I feel fine. Let's see, I rode 22 miles on Tuesday, 36 miles Wednesday, and I'll get in about 31 today. I need 120 miles for the week to meet my goal of three thousand miles for the season. He looked at the digital speedometer on the handlebars. I'm going 17.4 miles per hour into this headwind and I've ridden 14 miles.

The daydream changed channels. Now he was thinking about how he would ride in Sunday's upcoming race. I've gotta hold back at the start this week instead of riding so hard in the first mile. I tried that last week and couldn't keep up the pace. This time, I'm going to follow the fastest guy for a while and see what happens.

Turning the pedals over and over, Steve ran the entire race fantasy through his head. After the first lap, I'll be in second or third place. I'll out climb the other two guys on the ski hill, and be in first place for the fourth and final lap. Then I'll just enjoy the scenery and cruise on in and win the race. No problem.

The gravel crunched beneath his mountain bike's tires. The last house he passed was over a mile back and he could see nothing but planted cornfields ahead. This flat part of Michigan made for excellent farm country. It was not good mountain bike country, but there were plenty of dirt roads for Steve to ride on. As he crested a small hill, he could feel his heart pounding in his ears, even with the noisy wind blowing. He looked at the speedometer. In the lower left corner of the display was a flashing number, 152. Good. My heat rate is above 150. Sweat ran down his face, evaporating in the wind. More sweat found its way into his eyes, so he took out his handkerchief and wiped it away.

Steve concentrated on keeping the bike going, staring intently at the front tire. The terrain was terribly boring. Man, this wind sucks. I can't wait to turn around and take the tailwind home. Wait! What's that? A two-track dirt lane intersected the road. Glancing down the lane as he rode past, he saw a parked car, unusual out here in the boonies. Usually he didn't give cars much thought, but it was kind of rare to see a car parked out there in the boonies. Slowing, he pedaled by the two-track and noticed movement in the car. Through the glare of the back window, Steve could just make out the upper half of a body. An arm appeared to swing something towards the rear seat of the car. Steve quickly rode his bike off the road and into a cornfield where he could watch undetected. His heart felt like it was pounding harder now than it had been just a minute ago while pedaling his bike.

A man about six feet tall emerged from the car. The man seemed calm, even though it looked as if a struggle had just been going on in the car. The man casually ran his hands across his blue suit, attempting to brush out some of the wrinkles. Steve noticed the man was wearing gloves, which was odd for such a hot day. The man looked the car over for a few minutes, walked out to the road, and looked off to the south. A small pick-up truck, which Steve thought was a Chevy S-10, was approaching. Oddly, the man didn't seem worried. He stood in plain sight at the edge of the road. The truck came to a stop directly in front of the man, who opened the passenger door and quickly climbed in.

Steve backed further into the cornfield, and strained to see the rear license plate as the truck sped away. He read the plate number and repeated it to himself over and over, burning it into his memory.

The truck left in a wave of dust. As soon as it was safely out of sight, Steve emerged from the cornfield. He climbed onto his bike, rode down the two-track, and cautiously approached the parked car. It was a Ford Taurus with Michigan plates and the blue paint was barely visible under the dust and dirt that covered the car. He dismounted from his bike, walked up to the car, and looked inside. With the exception of the gory Sam Raimi movies that he and Marie liked so much, Steve had never seen a more repulsive sight in his life. A man lay across the back seat, his head twisted back at an impossible angle. A gaping, bleeding gash ran from one ear to another. Blood covered the man's chest. The man's eyes were open, but Steve knew the man was dead. He was too scared and sick to check anyway.

Steve turned around and vomited into the cornfield. The awful taste of regurgitated turkey sandwich mixed with cherry yogurt filled his mouth and nose, so he quickly took a drink from one of the water bottles on his bike.

"OK man," Steve said to himself. "What the hell happened?"

It took almost five minutes to gather his nerve enough to look into the car again. This time he spotted a black gym bag lying on the floor on the passenger side of the front seat.

Steve's abundant natural curiosity was always getting him in trouble. Both front windows were open so he carefully reached in and pulled out the bag. He walked towards his bike, set the bag down, and crouched down to unzip it. His mind was racing as the zipper gradually opened the bag. I bet I'll find drugs, or guns. Oh my God! Money! Lots of money! Stacks of money! One hundred-dollar bills, all carefully bundled. There were over a hundred bundles of bills in the bag!

He stayed crouched down by the bag, wondering what to do. His hands were cold and clammy; his heart was now pounding at a record rate. He stood up slowly, trying not to faint.

Steve faced a dilemma. Now what do I do? I just witnessed a crime, unnoticed. Someone left a ton of cash in the car. Could I possibly get away with taking the money? Marie and I work very hard for every dollar we get and a sales rep at Hi-Wound Motors doesn't ever get rich. I'll never make enough money to be able to devote my live to bicycle racing. Marie, six months pregnant, is still working full time at the dentist's office, and would continue working until two weeks before the delivery. The cesarean birth of Ali had cost well over ten grand with the insurance only covering eighty percent. The new baby would surely be born cesarean, too, and would cost even more. The Logan's had used their credit cards too much and were now paying $400 dollars a month on their balance, yet the principal never seemed to shrink. He now had the chance to pay off some bills and live the life he wanted. His family would get everything they deserved.

With only a brief hesitation, he reached into the bag and began stuffing it into the back pockets of his cycling jersey. If he could have, he would have stuffed all of the money into his pockets but he wondered if it might be smarter to leave some money in the bag for the authorities to see. He managed to cram 25 bundles into his pockets, leaving more than he wanted in the bag. He thought for a minute, grabbed the entire bag, got on his bike, and rode back down the gravel road, down the hill and back the way he had come.

Constantly looking over his shoulder, Steve prayed that no cars would come for at least five minutes. He pulled off the road next to a small stand of trees and laid his bike in the ditch then ran into the woods, looking for somewhere to stash the money. Steve hadn't noticed the nasty, biting black flies out in the sunlight, but in the overgrown woods, they attacked him like Kamikazes at Midway. Slapping at the flies and killing one or two, he finally found a suitable hiding place for the money. A large branch had fallen in a recent thunderstorm and still had most of its leaves intact. He found a densely covered area under the leaves and emptied all but ten bundles of bills onto the ground. After he positioned the leaves and some other branches over the money, he ran back to the road, slapping at yet more flies, remounted his bike, and raced back to the car.

So far no cars had been by. Steve carefully wiped the handles of the bag down with his bandanna in an attempt to remove any trace of his fingerprints. Nerves on edge, he heard a vehicle approaching. Quickly reaching through the front window of the car, he replaced the bag. He positioned himself in the middle of the road and waved a farm truck to a halt.

"What's wrong?" asked the driver, a middle-aged man wearing bib overalls who thought that Steve was strangely dressed.

"Quick, you need to get to a phone and tell the police to get here as fast as they can. I think someone's dead in this car." Steve pointed at the car on the two-track.

"Hey, that's my property!" The farmer replied.

"Just go and make the call. I'll wait until they get here."

"I just live back there a mile," the farmer said as he pointed behind him. "Just take a minute."

The farmer turned his truck around in the two-track and headed back towards home.

Steve was entirely stressed-out. A simple bike ride could turn into the biggest event of his life. He wondered why in God's name someone would kill a guy and leave so much cash lying around.

Want to read the rest?  Download the entire book now!