A/N: This story was originally written for Oz Big Bang on LiveJournal and AO3. Betaed by wonderful gusx217.
THE EMERALD RACE
"Welcome to the 7th Annual Emerald Race! The participants are currently gathering in the area around the starting point. The racers and their vehicles will be introduced to the audience in an hour so stay close by!"
The announcers metallic voice screeched in Toby's ears as he stood near the loudspeakers observing the other racers. He was going to participate in the race with his partner Chris who had raced once before and hopefully knew what he was doing. Toby didn't even entertain himself with the thought that he was going to be any help for Chris during the race, other than driving some parts of the race so that Chris could get his rest. He was much better help at talking Chris out of trouble as he had done numerous times during their relationship. Chris had a tendency to get into trouble too much for Toby's liking - Toby had to maintain his good reputation as a lawyer and hope that Chris didn't manage to ruin it with his sometimes crazy escapades. Toby only hoped that his skills of talking and negotiating to keep Chris out of jail wouldn't be needed during these next three days.
Chris owned a car repair shop and he liked to build cars, pimp them up and restore some old classics in his spare time. One would have thought Chris would drive the race in a highly equipped masculine car, preferably built himself from scratch, and without Toby, that might have been the case. This time, though, Chris had given into Toby's demands of driving the race with Toby's new Lexus RX - actually he didn't have any other options if he wanted to participate in the race with Toby. Their fight over what car they'd drive had been one of the many – their tendency to fight fiercely over any possible issue was already legendary to their friends – and fighting over a car wasn't an exception. Toby smiled at thinking of that particular fight.
"If you make me drive a car in a fucking race for three days, then the only car I'm going to drive is my own!" Toby had demanded.
"It's a fucking family car, for Christ sakes! We're not driving a family car in a race, you idiot!" Chris had yelled back at him.
"It's a SUV and it's a sports car, and more importantly it's safe. We'll drive my Lexus or you can race by yourself."
"If the salesman told you the model of your car is called a sport, it doesn't make it a sports car, you moron."
"Hah, if I let you choose, we'd be driving some ridiculous muscle car where we couldn't even get in without a ladder. My Lexus is safe, it's fast and reliable; it's that or I'm not going at all."
Chris huffed, stormed out of their apartment and a minute later Toby heard him revving his car as he drove away with tires burning. Later that night they had settled for taking Toby's car with a condition that Chris was allowed to do some improvements to it.
Then, of course, they had had some brilliant make up sex that usually - well, always - followed their heated arguments. Sometimes Toby could have bet that Chris purposefully aggravated him to fight just so he could see how far he could push Toby's limits and how much that affected to the passion level of their make up sex afterwards.
Now that Toby was looking at the other participants of the race with their masculine cars - some of the cars were real monsters - he briefly thought that maybe he should have listened more to Chris' complaints about using 'a family car' in a race like this. Their car was sticking out like a sore thumb among the other teams with their magnificent-looking cars. Toby sighed and looked around; where the hell was Chris, anyway? He had left a half an hour ago to check something, rather suspiciously, and Toby hadn't seen him since. Soon it would be time for introductions and Chris had better be back by then.
Half an hour later a presenter arrived in the middle of the parking lot where all the teams were gathered before the start. The man yelled to the microphone too loud for it to be heard without breaking eardrums, so Toby stuffed ear plugs into his ears to muffle the noise.
"And here are the participants of our annual Emerald Race getting ready for a three day race from Oswald City to Emerald Falls. Each team will have to endure three days of ruthless highway racing along with optional routes through the desert while competing against the clock and each other. Every team has to take one compulsory rest period of 8 hours during the race and two check in's, otherwise it's a free challenge for every participant."
Toby was leaning against his car. He was getting worried. Chris was nowhere to be seen, and the introductions were starting right now. Fortunately they were number 11 so the situation wasn't too critical yet.
"First team with number 1 is Team Schibetta, cousins Peter and Marco driving their Ferrari!"
That caused some applause and whistles around the audience but Toby merely shook his head. The Schibetta boys apparently counted on their speed because a car like that wouldn't be able to handle any of the shortcuts located throughout the course. They also looked like they were already sure they would win, leaning lazily against their car and looking smug.
Toby recalled hearing something about Peter Schibetta's father being a filthy rich businessman, and rumoured having connections to the mob. His son was obviously accustomed to a spoiled lifestyle with no worries of money. Entering a race like this with a brand new Ferrari and a cocky attitude was a clear sign of that.
The presenter introduced five more teams until Toby saw Chris arriving with a bald older man and a young rebel-looking man to the area. Chris waved at them and headed towards Toby grinning mischievously. At the same time the presenter announced the next team.
"With number 7 are racing father and son Team Schillinger, Vern and Hank, in their massive Volkswagen pick-up truck, where..." The presenter's voice trailed off when he raised his eyes from the paper he was reading the information from. A roar of fury echoed from the loudspeakers and the audience burst into laughter. Toby tore his eyes from Chris to take a look and couldn't help but snicker. The Volkswagen was replaced with a rotten Trabant adorned with hideous Zebra stripes. Vern Schillinger was fuming and raging very loudly about his missing car.
"Did you have something to do with that incident?" Toby asked when Chris stepped next to him.
"Why do you think that?" Chris asked trying to look innocent.
"I know you too well. What did you do?"
"I kept them company long enough that the guys had enough time to replace their old car with a better matching one. It's cool, huh?"
"I don't think I want to know. I just hope I'm not in the middle of the line of fire when Schillinger gets back at you for that," Toby said dryly.
The presenter continued speaking after a short conversation with the Schillingers and a race official. Schillinger was still looking murderous, but at least he had stopped his raging and yelling.
"While team number 7 is looking for their missing car, I'll go on with the introductions. Team number 8 is the O'Reily brothers, Ryan and Cyril, in their Land Rover."
Toby took a closer look at the O'Reilys and their car. They seemed to be competent racers, at least determined-looking Ryan did. His body was lean and tight, screaming of confidence and strength, and his eyes were sharp and calculating. His brother, on the other hand, looked far from sharp. His long hair was tied in a ponytail and his smile was wide when he waved to the audience. Racing against that pair would be interesting, Toby thought. He made a mental note to ask later if Chris knew anything about the O'Reilys. They had a long drive ahead of them anyway, so there would be plenty of time to talk - something Chris wasn't usually very keen to do in their everyday life.
"... and team number 10 is brothers Hoyt, Jaz and Mark, in their good looking Hummer. Jaz was the winner of the Emerald Race last year, but back then he had another co-pilot, Scott Ross. Scott had to cancel this year so let's see how the brothers are doing this time."
Toby glanced briefly at the heavily muscled and tattooed Jaz who looked more like a biker than a car racer. His brother, probably his younger - much younger - brother, looked smart but so very young with his long dark hair and his teen-like clothing. He'd have a hard time during the race, Toby guessed. He was definitely curious at learning more about the Hoyt team, too.
"In team number 11 are drivers Chris Keller and Toby Beecher in their Lexus. It will be interesting to see how they will make it through the desert with their car, if they choose to take the short cut."
Toby heard some snickering from the audience and felt his ears blush. Lexus was a good car, god dammit!
There were two other teams introduced after them and then they were getting ready to start the race. The teams were scheduled to bolt from the starting line every two minutes. That way there wouldn't be any traffic jam caused by the racers at the beginning of the race. The time gaps between the cars would form naturally when they were all on the road.
Toby browsed the pile of maps and directions in his lap and turned the GPS on. He had programmed it earlier that day but it probably didn't matter – Chris was going to drive wherever he felt like, ignoring any directions coming from Toby or the GPS. In any case, it was safer to let Chris drive first since he was bursting with energy and would only nag constantly from the passenger's seat if he weren't allowed to drive first.
The racers were supposed to check in twice during the race: first check in point was about 12 hours into the race and the next one was the compulsory 8 hour rest period in a small town at the end of the second day of the race. The check in points were planned to be reached by everyone despite their choice of route which had all been planned to go through these two check in points one way or another.
As they were waiting for their turn near the starting line, Toby watched other racers taking off in front of them. The Schibetta boys had left with style, hardly revving at all as their red Ferrari slid gracefully into the traffic. The other teams took off with a roar, almost leaping onto the road ahead of them, until it was time for the Hoyt brothers. Even though Jaz almost jumped on the gas pedal to get a flying start, all the attention was focused on his co-driver Mark, who excitedly whooped and flailed almost halfway out of his window. Toby and Chris glanced at each other and laughed.
"This is gonna be interesting with these two," Chris said chuckling.
"Surviving this race is interesting enough for us, I think," Toby dryly muttered shaking his head.
They were next in line to take off and Chris floored the pedal at the same time as the flag went down. Toby was proud of his Lexus rushing agilely on the road and they quickly sped up to the maximum speed limit. The Hoyt boys who had left only two minutes before them were nowhere to be seen, though. Their Hummer was too big of a challenge for their poor little family car, as Chris so helpfully announced.
They had driven only about two hours when they surprisingly saw the Hummer pulling to the side of the highway a short distance in front of them. Chris grinned and changed lanes to get smoothly past them.
"Not so big of a challenge after all," he grinned.
"What?" Jaz couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You need what?"
"I need to pee. Pull over, Jaz!" Mark whined.
"I will not pull the fuck over, we just started the race," Jaz growled.
"Pull over or I'll piss in your precious Hummer, you fucking idiot!"
"Why the hell did you have to drink a whole gallon of Coke, fucking moron!?"
"I was thirsty and I just felt like it. Now pull the fuck over!"
"Piss into the empty bottle!" Jaz yelled, with reddening face. Mark started to pout a little and crossed his arms over his chest, now looking like a 5 year old.
"No! Just. Pull. The. Fuck. OVER!" Mark almost screamed.
"Why the fuck did I ever agree to take you with me on this fucking race!" Jaz growled while pulling to the side of the road.
Mark smirked, "I was the only one who was available."
"Get out before I change my mind," Jaz snapped even though the car wasn't fully stopped yet. Mark didn't push his luck and jumped outside sighing in relief when he got down to his business.
"Come on, hurry up. The team who left after us is reaching us now!" Jaz yelled and Mark finished quickly jumping back into the car.
"Thank you, big brother," Mark said in sweet tone and smiled batting his eyelashes at Jaz.
"Don't push your luck, kiddo. I'm not afraid to kick you out of the car," Jaz muttered while pulling back onto the road.
Jaz was pissed off; Mark had always been a pain in the ass, mostly because he was so much younger that Jaz, eleven years to be exact, and as the youngest of them, he was used to get what he wanted. Although Jaz loved his baby brother, they fought constantly. With Jaz's hot temper, that was inevitable. Despite their fights, Jaz had always felt the need to protect his baby brother, especially after they had been adopted. Fortunately they had been adopted into the same family and had been able to stay together. Even though the family they had been adopted into was nice and wealthy, and the brothers had all the chances in life with the support of their new family, Jaz had been a rebellious young man and joined a biker club after dropping out of Harvard.
Unlike his big brother, Mark had done better with his education and actually graduated from the university. Jaz had to admit that he was proud of his little brother; Mark was inventive and good at solving problems quickly and efficiently. And most importantly for this race, Mark had a driver's licence – even though he had the sense of direction of a paper plane. After Jaz's previous co-driver had to cancel, it was too late to get another partner and here he was, with his annoying baby brother. Jaz just hoped he could survive spending three days with his infuriating brother while maintaining his mental health.
Vern Schillinger was fuming. He was still furious after the Trabant incident and that had been several hours ago. Fucking Keller. He'd teach him a lesson or two during this race. No one messed with Vern and got away with it!
His son Hank was sitting quietly next to him, inspecting a map in his lap. Vern briefly glanced at him; they had been quiet for the most part of their drive this far. That was nothing new, though, they weren't the closest father and son anyway. That was the main reason why Vern had coaxed Hank to be his co-driver in this race, hoping it would help them get closer to each other and share an experience together.
This awkward silence between them when they had nothing to talk about, because they had nothing in common, was something Vern wanted desperately to change. He knew he wasn't the easiest father for his son; he was pushing Hank too hard, demanding him to live his life by his father's expectations, and ridiculing things in Hank's life he didn't approve of. Yet, he loved his son and wanted him to be the man he had always wanted him to be. Vern had failed with his oldest son, Andrew, and he was damned if he couldn't make it work with his only remaining son, Hank.
Vern knew that the growing distance between them was all because of his dominating force in Hank's life. However, he was not going to change just because Hank didn't like it. Vern had already managed to drag Hank off drugs; Hank had been seriously addicted to heroin, but Vern's interference had saved his son's life. Now Hank was clean, had a decent girlfriend and a baby coming. Hank had better be grateful for what his father had done for him, even if he didn't share all the beliefs and ideologies Vern had tried to teach him. Thank god, at least Hank's girlfriend was a pure white girl with no trace of any ethnic backgrounds. She was a good enough daughter-in-law for a proud Aryan family.
"Did you find anything?" Vern asked gruffly.
"I think most of the other teams will take the first opportunity to cut into the desert about an hour from here. There's one other option before that but it doesn't look that promising."
"We'll take the shortcut coming up first, our car can take much more than the others. We'll need to get more distance between us and Keller so we'll have more time to set up the trap."
Vern grinned at his son with an evil glint in his eyes. Keller would pay dearly for his idiotic prank, that was certain.
The O'Reily brothers were driving after the Schillingers, steadily reaching them. Ryan was a good driver and he wanted to get the best possible driving time for this first leg. He glanced at his brother next to him and frowned.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Cyril had been dabbling with some electronics in his lap and currently he was opening the case of their GPS.
"I have improved this a little. As soon as we stop for the first check in point and have an opportunity, I'll slip trackers on the other cars and we can see where they are during the race."
"Way to go, bro! That way we can also see if they change their plans at the last minute."
Ryan was proud of his little brother who was a genius with electronics. He could build almost anything from scratch and Ryan usually had the benefit of getting to try out his latest inventions. If he needed something, just a word to Cyril was enough for him to get it done in record time.
Sometimes Ryan regretted that he hadn't been able to help his brother more during the years they had been living with their bastard of a father. Ryan had wanted to give his brother a chance at life. He wanted Cyril to go to a good school because he was really brilliant, even though he didn't always act like it, but instead they both had been well educated by their father's iron fists. Ryan had left home soon after he'd turned 15 and Cyril had followed him. Together they had managed to earn their living by Ryan's endless scheming and dealings. Cyril had inherited their father's fists and that had made him Ryan's bodyguard more often than not. Ryan also appreciated Cyril's technical skills more than he'd ever admit out loud.
Ryan grinned at his tinkering brother. He had a feeling this race would turn out just fine for both of them.
"This is it, turn right here, Toby," Chris said excitedly when they reached a half-hidden exit off the main road. The narrow dirt road was barely a path, wide enough for a car, and bumpy as hell.
"Are you absolutely sure?" Toby asked disbelievingly.
"Yeah, Wangler said it's still driveable. It isn't on any map or GPS and only locals know about it. That's how I found it out when I made friends with some local guys the last time I raced here," Chris explained. " It gets rougher a little bit further down the road so I think it's better I take my turn at driving then."
Toby thought about arguing at hearing that – as if he wasn't a good enough driver – but then he thought better of it. Chris knew the terrain here so it might be a good idea if he drove this part. It was also getting late, and driving on unfamiliar terrain in fading daylight wasn't something Toby was keen to experience, especially in his new car. If something happened to his precious Lexus, at least it wouldn't be his own fault.
They had turned from the main road to the desert assumedly much later than the others, except for the Schibetta boys who were forced to drive the whole race using good roads because of their Ferrari. That was hardly a suitable car for a desert. The Schibettas obviously trusted their fast car because they seemed to take meal breaks more often than any other racers. Toby had noticed it about two hours ago when they had spotted them parked in front of a restaurant in a small town they had passed by. Toby was pretty sure that would cost them dearly in the end, but knowing they were Italians, he supposed that the cliche that Italians loved good food was true – at least for them. Toby and Chris had only had a very short break at a gas station where Chris had also purchased some extra coolant for their car and they had switched the driving shifts then.
Toby and Chris switched places soon after they arrived at a dried riverbed. There was a rickety old bridge, but Chris thought it safer to find a shallow crossing in the riverbed to get across it. Chris carefully steered the car into the groove sideways, working one tire at a time over the edge of the riverbank. The car crawled across the groove to the opposite bank without major problems, only a scratch here and there to the bottom of the car. Just when they were getting up from the groove, they heard a loud bump and a screech under the car. Toby winced.
"Fuck!" Chris exclaimed with a deep frown between his eyebrows. "Probably the exhaust pipe."
"Now what? Are we going to be stuck here and die?" Toby screeched almost as loudly as the exhaust pipe had done.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Tobe. It's just the exhaust pipe, I can fix it."
"Do you even have any tools with you?"
"You should know by now that I never leave without my toolbox. Have some trust in me for a change!"
Chris steered the car to the remains of the old bridge and directed the tires of the car on Toby's side up on a plank so that the whole car was tilted to the side. Chris jumped out of the car and slid to the ground to take a look at the bottom of the car.
"Yeah, the exhaust pipe's holder is broken. Fuck!"
"Can you fix it?" Toby peered out from the driver's door.
"Yeah. I can fix it temporarily, but we need to get some spare parts at the next stop."
Chris went to rummage around the trunk and soon emerged holding a loop of steel wire and some tools in his hand.
"This will have to do for now," he said before he dove under the car.
Chris worked fast and soon they were on their way following the bumpy road towards the first check-in point on the other side of this god-forsaken patch of the land they were currently driving across.
Jaz had driven like crazy and reached the two cars that had left before them. When they neared the exit to the shortcut where most of the other racers were heading to, they saw a Land Rover only a little distance ahead of them.
"Hah, we are gonna nail the O'Reilys in the desert!" Jaz exclaimed grinning maniacally.
"Yeah, YOU are gonna nail them. Or whatever you're gonna nail... Maybe a dingo?" Mark said, obviously pissed off. Jaz hadn't let him drive even a mile during the whole trip.
"Shut up, will ya? Nobody asked your opinion."
"Oh, fuck you... I'll speak whenever I want to!"
"Keep that up and you'll be talking to yourself in the desert," Jaz growled irritatedly.
"Just saying... You won't even let me drive. Jackass..." Mark muttered, looking out of the window.
Jaz just shrugged and sped up even though the road leading across the desert was narrow and bumpy. Mark was relieved he was using the seatbelts because everything else inside the car was jumping and rolling around uncontrollably.
All of a sudden Jaz let out a triumphant yell when he saw an opportunity to pass the O'Reily brothers. The road was still too narrow to pass them, but the ground beside the road was open and flat enough for Jaz to try to pass the Land Rover by using it. He revved the engine and steered the Hummer to the side of the road. They reached the side of the other car and Mark started complaining.
"Are you fucking insane!? We're off the road!" Mark yelled. "WATCH OUT!"
Just then they reached a slight curve on the road and the O'Reily's car started to slide. Jaz had to brake but it didn't help the matter much. The Land Rover slid in front of them and the cars bumped into each other with a loud thump before they both stopped.
"Oh shit! I knew something was gonna happen!" Mark said, looking pretty scared. "I shouldn't have let you drive, shithead!"
"Shut the fuck up, Mark! You really shouldn't say anything right now," Jaz growled in a threatening tone.
Mark decided this was indeed a good time to keep quiet.
Everything was frozen in place for a minute while Jaz scowled ominously at the other car. Then he jumped out of the car and went to O'Reily, tearing his door open and dragging Ryan out of the car. They started a shouting match throwing accusations and insults at each other, and Jaz seemed ready to start speaking with his fists when Mark and Cyril reached them at the same time. When nothing more serious than shouting didn't appear to happening between Jaz and Ryan, Mark glanced at Cyril and his curiosity peaked when he saw the instrument in Cyril's hand.
"What's that?" Mark asked, looking closely at what Cyril was doing. Cyril glanced at the taller young man, who looked very interested at the moment.
"I'm building a bug."
"You can actually build a bug?" Mark asked incredulously.
"Yeah, no big deal. I like building things like this."
"And they actually work?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't they?" Cyril looked at Mark a little confused.
"Good point. By the way, I'm Mark, that big oaf's little brother. Would you show me some of your work later?"
"Yeah, sure. I'm Cyril, and that one yelling at your brother is Ryan, my brother."
The yelling abruptly ceased and Mark turned to see what was happening, Cyril following his lead. Jaz was kicking O'Reily's car furiously, and then he noticed Cyril and Mark.
"Mark, what the fucking hell are you doing? Befriending with enemy, huh? Get the fuck in the car, now!" Jaz yelled.
Mark sighed resignedly and glanced at Cyril.
"I better go before he leaves me here. See you later!"
Jaz slammed the car door angrily behind him and started the car. He rounded the other car and got back to following the dirt road.
"So you finally got past them," Mark said his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Jaz just scowled at him and muttered, "Fucking asshole scratched my Hummer."
"Are you sure this is the route they'll be taking?" Vern asked Hank.
"That's what the man said," Hank said in a defensive voice.
"The man who brought our truck back?"
"Yes. Why do you have to doubt everything I say, dad?" Hank was annoyed.
"Just wanted to make sure. Here, this is a perfect place for our trap. Pull over."
They had reached the place where the two short cut routes combined just before leaving the desert and reaching the highway. Hank steered the truck off the road and Vern jumped out of the car heading to the trunk.
"Hank, move your ass and come help me!"
Hank got out of the truck and went to help his father pull out a spike strip from the bed of their truck.
"Where do we put it?" Hank asked looking around.
"You see the shallow dip in the road down there? We'll put it right there, it's easy to hide. They will drive right through it and it will give them at least two flat tires. That'll slow them down for a while." Vern shot Hank an evil grin. They dragged the spike strip to the spot Vern had indicated and Hank shoveled the dip a little bit deeper to fit the strip in it. When the strip was in place, he covered it with dirt so that it couldn't be seen until it was too late. It was almost impossible to see the place where they had hidden the trap because of the darkness anyway.
Admiring his handiwork Vern shot his son an evil smirk and they jumped back in their truck to drive towards the first check-in point.
The first check-in point was called Simon's Lot. It was a large truck stop where the participants could refuel, eat and rest. There was a timing spot just before the truck stop so everyone could drive in full speed that far and get the best possible driving time before they had to slow down for the turn to the truck stop. Then, after the rest and whatever anyone wanted to do during the break, the timing spot after the truck stop would start the clocks again for every team rushing back onto the road.
Ryan was not in his best mood when he parked their car in the parking lot. The incident with the Hoyts had ruined his good mood and his irritated thoughts screamed revenge at Hoyt or anyone who might cross his path the wrong way. He had filled the gas tank and went inside to pay, when he bumped into the older man he recalled seeing in the starting area before the race started. It was that father and son team, Schillinger, wasn't it? The old man looked like a fucking Nazi, though probably a retired one, if that were possible. Ryan stepped aside, but the old man also took a step aside at the same time, and they bumped into each other again.
"Watch it, asshole," the old man snarled, and that made Ryan's temper flare again.
"You need glasses, grandpa," Ryan smirked and slipped quickly past him, hearing him sputtering after him.
Schillinger recovered fast and grabbed him from the back of his jacket, grunting, "What did you say?" Then, abruptly, the old man was slammed against the wall, Cyril holding him in place with a firm arm around his throat.
"You better leave my brother alone, old man," Cyril growled.
Ryan grinned; his little brother was right on time as usual. Schillinger didn't struggle against Cyril's hold so Cyril released him, pushing him unceremoniously out of the door. Then Cyril went to grab several chocolate bars from the counter.
"It will be a long night, Ryan. I need chocolate, lots of it."
Ryan chuckled and paid. Cyril could have all the chocolate he wanted.
Once they were back outside, they noticed Vern Schillinger hanging around their car. Ryan bristled at seeing him too close to his Land Rover, looking like a shark swimming around a bleeding man.
"Hey, Schillinger, get the fuck away from my car, it's allergic to Nazis," Ryan shouted, and seeing them coming, Schillinger took off. He returned to his own car where his son was waiting for him.
"We better keep an eye on them, Cyril. That bastard is planning something," Ryan muttered and climbed in the car.
When they parked the car in front of the restaurant, Ryan spotted Schillinger still eyeing their car suspiciously from afar. All of a sudden, Ryan got an idea.
"Cyril, wait in the car. I need to fetch something from the store. I'll be right back."
"But..." Cyril tried, but Ryan had already jumped out of the car and was halfway to the store already.
After they had their dinner, Ryan and Cyril sat at the table watching the other racers gather in the restaurant. Many of them seemed to be preparing for the night drive by eating properly and filling their coffee thermoses. When Ryan noticed Hank Schillinger taking out his thermos from his backpack, he went to chat with the guy working at the coffee shop. When he received the coffee he had ordered from the coffee guy, Ryan made sure that no one noticed him slipping a couple of bills rolled around a small vial to the man. Ryan was grinning mischievously when he returned to their table.
"What was that, Ryan?" Cyril asked curiously.
"Nothing, bro. I just thought that Schillinger needs some action for the night to keep himself awake."
When Toby and Chris arrived at Simon's Lot, almost everyone was already there. The only team that wasn't there were the Hoyts who were right on their heels. Toby was surprised that the Hoyts hadn't passed them since they had to deal with exhaust pipe problems. Jaz didn't look very pleased, though. Actually, he seemed furious and argued heatedly with his brother. When Chris parked their car and they exited, Jaz's angry voice carried through the darkened parking lot.
"Fuck you, Mark! On the next leg we are NOT stopping for ANY reason, got it? Actually, I'll let you drive the next part and give you a time limit that you have to keep, one way or the other, and I'll grant you, there won't be time for piss breaks, you hear me?"
"You're such an asshole, Jaz! Okay, I'll drive but I will listen to whatever music I want to, got that!"
Toby and Chris shared an amused look and Toby shook his head. Those brothers obviously had a long journey ahead of them.
Chris wanted to eat first so they entered the restaurant. At first glance it seemed like almost everyone had chosen the same option too. Toby's eyes spotted Vern Schillinger whose eyes had widened at seeing them. Toby frowned.
"Chris, what's going on with Schillinger? The old man seems to be surprised to see us."
Chris followed Toby's eyes and noticed Vern's reaction too, but he couldn't think of anything that would have caused such a reaction.
"Fuck if I know. Some machination gone wrong? Leave it, Tobe, I'm hungry!"
They found a free table next to the Schibetta boys who had obviously arrived early and ordered a full seven course dinner judging by the amount of empty plates on their table.
"Hungry much, Schibetta?" Toby asked grinning at them.
"There's no reason to skip a full meal if the opportunity knocks, even in the middle of a race," Peter sneered.
"Yeah, you Italians sure love your meals. It's good that you have a fast car, gives you plenty of spare time to eat, huh? I recall..." Chris was interrupted by a loud sound of a car alarm starting to wail outside. Someone sitting by the window yelled, "It's a Ferrari." That made the Schibetta boys rush to the door with almost everyone on their heels.
Once outside they noticed the alarm was coming from the Ferrari and the Hoyt brothers were standing next to it arguing, again. It was difficult to make out the actual words over the loud alarm but when they got closer, Toby was sure that Jaz was lecturing his baby brother about touching the car. When the Schibettas arrived to the scene, Mark raised his hands up and yelled, "I didn't even touch it, I swear! I was two feet away from it when the alarm went off. I had nothing to do with it!"
The race officials ran to the scene and began to sort it out too, but it seemed the Ferrari had locked everyone out and no one – not even the Schibettas with their keys – could enter the car and stop that awful noise.
"It's the electronics. Besides, the Ferrari is the shittiest car to fix when you have electrical problems. You're gonna need to call the Ferrari mechanics to fix it," Chris explained.
Mark grinned widely and exclaimed, "Somebody call Daddy Ferrari!"
The Schibetta boys cursed and kicked their car, "What the fuck are we going to do now?"
The race officials had a brief negotiation.
"If you want to continue the race, we have one spare car for situations like this. It isn't much, but we already have another team too who also needs a spare car. Their car obviously hit a spike strip in the desert and they drove off of the road. You need to decide fast if you want this spare car, or I'll give it to the other team," one of the race officials told the Schibettas.
After a short discussion with his cousin, Peter Schibetta agreed to take the spare car, and the official beckoned to the mechanics on the other side of the parking lot. One of the mechanics started the spare car and drove it next to Ferrari. Peter stared at the car in shock.
"You've got to be kidding me! No fucking way I'm gonna drive that shit!"
People around them started to laugh; next to the Ferrari was now parked the rotten Zebra striped Trabant that had been offered to Schillinger before the race started.
Peter raged a good half an hour while people enjoyed the show before wandering back to their previous activities, and Chris and Toby went back to eat. Obviously Peter had eventually accepted the Trabant if only grudgingly, just to be able to continue the race. The Schibetta boys had taken off as soon as they could; driving that poor little Trabant wasn't going to be very fast. They had to make it as far as they could until their precious Ferrari was fixed and returned to them. Poor boys, Toby thought, there wouldn't be too many meal breaks for them before they got their fancy Ferrari back.
Chris ate quickly and left to find a place where he could get their exhaust pipe fixed. Toby took care of their bill and went to buy some groceries for the next leg of the race. He also refilled their thermos bottle with fresh coffee, because they were going to drive all through the night and needed to stay awake.
Once he had everything he thought they needed, he went back to the restaurant and sat outside having a cup of coffee. He noticed two young men, Mark Hoyt and Cyril O'Reily sitting a couple of tables from him, heads together, tinkering with some electronic device and obviously planning something. Toby made a mental note to keep a close eye on those two; the scene didn't look promising for the other competitors.
Just when Chris drove their car in front of Toby, he saw Ryan O'Reily come out of the restaurant and stop by his brother. Toby had just climbed into the car so he didn't hear what they said, but Ryan didn't look pleased, nor did Cyril. Befriending the enemy? That surely wasn't something Ryan or Jaz would tolerate at all.
Chris took off with speed; most of the next leg was going to be highway so they had to drive as fast as they could, because some of the other teams probably had faster cars than their Lexus. Their best chances of beating the others was by choosing the best short cuts and using the terrain as much as possible.
Ryan O'Reily was looking for his brother. The prat had vanished as soon as Ryan had returned back to their table. Ryan had assumed that Cyril had gone to toilet, but when he didn't return in fifteen minutes, he started to look for him. Eventually he found him sitting outside the restaurant with the younger Hoyt - Mark, was it? By then Ryan was irritated as hell and he grabbed Cyril by his neck.
"Why the hell did you disappear? We need to go, you idiot!"
"Fuck off, Ryan! I just wanted to show this detector to Mark, he's more interested in what I do than you are," Cyril said shaking Ryan's hand off his neck.
"Do you realize that he's a rival and he's not even one of us, one of the Irish, dickhead?"
"I may not be Irish, but my boxers are green. Does that count?" Mark piped up.
Ryan rolled his eyes, "Christ, not you too! Another nutball, as if Cyril wasn't enough. Come on, bro, we are leaving now!"
Reluctantly Cyril left his companion and followed his brother to their car.
"I'll call you later, Mark," he called over his shoulder when he climbed next to Ryan. "We were having a good time, Ryan. Why do you always have to spoil my fun?" Cyril was almost pouting at his brother.
"We're in a race, nuthead, if you haven't noticed. You can have all your fun after we win this, not before, so drop it." Ryan scowled at Cyril who huffed but didn't argue back anymore. He was disappointed at not having a chance to slip any trackers into any of the other cars yet, but he had found a new friend in Mark who felt like a soulmate to him.
After finishing his dinner with Jaz and collecting everything they would need during the night drive, Mark settled behind the wheel comfortably, started the engine and revved it a little, if only to irritate his annoying brother a bit.
"Stop it, Mark, and get on with it already!"
"Yes, sir!" Mark made a mock salute and stepped on the pedal. They passed the timing spot with speed and got a good start. When the road was clear ahead of them, Mark turned the music on.
"What the hell is that?" Jaz growled.
"Queens of the Stone Age, my dear brother, it's Queens of the Stone Age", Mark said turning the volume even louder.
"Argh, where the fuck are my earplugs?" Jaz complained.
"You promised me my music, bro. Now you have to deal with it," Mark deadpanned and added under his breath, "asshole".
When he turned back to look at the road ahead, he ignored the rest of Jaz's complaints.
Soon Mark noticed something black and white looming about a half mile ahead of them. He chuckled mischievously and Jaz turned to look at him curiously.
"I guess we don't need to put any trackers on that car after all," he said and honked at them while passing their crawling Zebra. Marco was driving the Trabant now and scowled at them flipping the bird as they passed by. This time Jaz also chuckled and seemed pleased for the first time in the whole race.
"The Schibetta boys aren't going to make it to the finish line with that little beast, that's for sure."
"Someone said that they had already called some Ferrari technicians to fix their car so they will get it back when we stop for the night in Shemin at the latest. Where do you think they will spend the night in Shemin, Jaz? Because we might need to put a tracker in their Ferrari if not in the Trabant," Mark said.
"Fuck if I know. The race rules don't specify the place where we have to spend the compulsory 8 hours rest as long as it's between the timing spots before and after the town. Probably they will find a first class hotel to spend the night, not like the others, like us, who prefer a cheap motel on the outskirts of Shemin. And what fucking trackers are you talking about?"
"Well, that was what I was talking about with Cyril outside the restaurant. He's brilliant at tinkering with electronics and he had built trackers connected to their GPS. We planned to slip trackers onto every car in the race so we can see where they are and what routes they are taking," Mark explained excitedly.
"You fucking idiot! Befriending that guy will give them too much of an advantage in the race, and they will know exactly where we are. Are you trying to make us lose the race before it's even finished?" Jaz shouted.
"Leave me alone, I know what I'm doing," Mark growled frustratedly and added for good measure, "asshole."
Just then Mark's cell phone rang and Jaz had just enough time to see the caller's id before Mark grabbed the phone. It was Cyril and Jaz scowled murderously. "Fuck, we don't even need a tracker for them to know where WE are!"
Mark ignored his furious brother and chatted amiably with Cyril for a long while, arranging to meet him in Shemin when they got there, and planning their mission for the next night.
"All that work and for nothing. I can't believe Keller took another route. And where the hell did he find a driveable road across the desert in the first place. There weren't any other roads on any maps or the GPS!" Hank Schillinger huffed while driving their car as fast as he could - and dared - considering the speed limits. His father only grunted beside him. Hank decided that maybe he could drive a little bit faster, because even though they had seen several highway patrol cars following the racers, they had yet to stop anyone, at least as far as he knew.
"I guess the trick worked and one car is out of the race now, but it was the wrong one. Why the fuck's sake are we having this bad luck? How can we get back at Keller now, dad?" Hank continued.
"Shut the fuck up, son, I'm thinking," Vern growled. "Keller will pay for this, trust me."
A heavy silence fell between them, Vern was frowning darkly and Hank had nothing more to do but concentrate on driving.
After a long while Vern cleared his throat and turned to look at his son with an evil glint in his eyes.
"Keller must know something that the others don't, that's why he picked the other route. I'm going to find out what it is."
"But how, dad? How are you going to find out what he knows? You can't squeeze the information out of him in the middle of the race!"
"Keller is a sneaky bastard, he's not going to tell us anything first thing that we have to do is search his car. I know cars, son, and that posh little car he's driving is a piece of cake for me to break in. We'll have to do it tomorrow night in Shemin, when they all are sleeping or distracted some other way. I bet he has something in there, maps, GPS or something like that which can give us a clue about what he knows."
"What sort of distraction did you have in mind, dad?"
"Something that drives Keller mad, that fucking faggot. If he doesn't go to sleep early enough, I'll have someone make a move on him and his faggot boyfriend," Vern smirked. Fuck he hated faggots. "I need to make a call first."
"Sounds great, we'll have our chance tonight then," Hank grinned and turned his focus back to the road. He was trying his best to keep their ranking in the race during his driving shift.
Hank had been driving over three hours while his father had made his phone calls, rambled a bit and then taken a nap. Hank's eyes had started to droop so he had dug out his thermos and drank a couple cups of coffee to stay awake. All of a sudden his stomach roiled and made a loud growling sound. He urgently stopped the car on the side of the highway and ran outside. He barely got his jeans down and crouched down before his bowels released their contents with explosive force. He sighed in relief, but tensed again when he heard his father's annoyed voice.
"What the fuck are you doing, son?"
"I...I have a stomach bug or something. Couldn't wait, sorry," Hank confessed blushing fiercely. He was mortified.
"Oh, for fuck's sake! What did you eat back at the rest stop? It better not be contagious," Vern growled, but then took a pity on his son and threw him a roll of toilet paper. "Clean yourself when you're ready. I'll drive from here."
When Hank finally thought he could get back into the car without soiling himself more, he slumped weakly onto his seat and breathed fresh air from his open window. He was sweating and shaking, but at least his stomach had settled at least for a bit.
"Is there still coffee left?" Vern asked and reached out for the thermos. Hank only nodded, feeling that it was much safer to just concentrate on breathing and not throwing up, other than actually opening his mouth to even try to speak right now.
An hour later their car was parked by the roadside again, now both father and son were crouching down and groaning in agony.
"It was that fucking coffee, Hank! I was perfectly fine until I drank that fucking coffee. Where did you get it?"
"The same place that everyone else did, at Simon's Lot. We drank that same coffee in the restaurant before we left and it didn't have any strange effects then. Why now?" Hank moaned.
"Someone has spiked it, I'm sure. Keller! It must have been that asshole again. Did you see Keller near the coffee shop when you filled the thermos?"
"No, there was no one nearby when I was there. I think Keller was outside just like everyone else because that Ferrari's alarm went off just then. Even you were outside. I was almost alone inside when that happened. There was no one around there to spike that coffee, dad."
"I just know that Keller is responsible for this. Wait until I get my hands on him, he'll be sorry for even being born!" Vern grunted and then hissed when his stomach did an extra overturn and he had to hug his knees tighter.
This was going to be a fucking long night - hopefully long enough to get their place back in the race just by driving faster.
Toby glanced at Chris from the passenger seat where he was desperately trying to stay awake. Chris had driven all night, claiming that he was perfectly fine with it and didn't need to get any sleep, but he had been suspiciously quiet for the last hour. Toby had dozed off a couple of times during the night and now, just before the sunrise, he felt sleepier than ever. He was sure that Chris would soon need a break, and tried to get himself awake enough to take over driving when needed. Toby definitely didn't want to end up driving off the road and crashing the car because of his exhaustion, just like he had seen one of the other racers do in the wee hours of the morning.
"Want some coffee? There's still some left in the thermos," Toby asked, and Chris seemed to snap out of his thoughts.
"Sure. Did you get any sleep?"
Toby poured a steamy cup of coffee and offered it to Chris. "A little. Do you want to take a break? You'll need to take a nap after driving all night."
"Not yet. I'm fine, really."
"Well then, we can always talk if you're not tired. Wanna tell me what the hell is between you and Schillinger?"
Chris groaned. He was never the one wanting to talk about things. "It's none of your concern, Tobe. I can handle him."
"Yes, well, obviously it will concern me during this race anyway, so I'd like to know what it is before it kicks me in the ass, Chris. Just tell me, I want to know. I NEED to know, damn it!" Toby's voice was irritated and demanding. After living together with Chris for several years now, he still felt as if Chris was keeping something from his past from him. That was really annoying, even though Toby knew that Chris would eventually tell him everything, especially if he pushed hard enough. After all, that was what Toby was good at, given that he worked as a lawyer.
Chris sighed, "I used to work for him before I bought my own repair shop, okay?"
"And?" Toby prompted.
"And nothing. Obviously we didn't part on very good terms."
"What happened? And don't tell me it was nothing. I can damn well see that there is still something very wrong."
"Why do you insist on knowing, Tobe? It's something you won't like to hear, so I'd rather not tell you all that shit. You'll just lose your rag and it's not worth it." Chris seemed annoyed now.
"What. Was. It? Just tell me!" Toby forced through gritted teeth.
"Fine, have it your way then. I was working for him as an auto mechanic and I was perfectly fine with that, but he wanted more."
Toby's eyes widened. "What? He wanted...?
"No, not that, you moron. I'd never be that desperate to get laid." Chris shivered in disgust. "His son, on the other hand..."
"Chris!" Toby's voice was threatening.
"Okay, okay, don't flip. Vern always had that stupid Nazi gang hanging around, he was their leader or some shit. He tried to force me to join them but I refused. Many times. Then I found out that he was running another business with the Nazis in the background, and it wasn't even remotely legal. He tried to force me into that business too, but after I refused, he tried to frame me and get me safely out of the picture. It took some maneuvering, but I managed to stay out of trouble, only got busted, but they dropped the charges because there wasn't enough evidence. I know you are obsessed with law, but I've stayed clean this whole time."
"I'm not obsessed with law, I just want to follow the rules. As in not getting in trouble. Why didn't you tell me that Schillinger was behind that arrest? You let me think that it was all your own stupidity," Toby grumbled.
"It wasn't important back then. It isn't important now, either. I can handle him just fine."
"Has Schillinger been causing you any trouble since you left him?"
"Nothing major, nothing I couldn't fix myself."
"What did he do? Don't stall, Chris, it doesn't look good on you."
"Not much, some slashed tires, one oil spill, once he tried to burn my garage. Nothing more, I caught him in time."
"What if the next time you are not in time? He won't stop until he hurts you. You really should report him, Chris."
"For what? I don't have any evidence, and ratting on him will definitely get me hurt. Leave it, Tobe, that's the wisest thing to do."
"Have you aggravated him in any way since then?"
"No, not until the Trabant incident. I just couldn't resist it when I saw it," Chris sighed resignedly. "And before you continue your interrogation, I'm not planning any more pranks on him either. Better leave the shit in the past as they say, alright?"
"You better keep it that way. I'm not going to bail you out if you get arrested." Toby smiled at his boyfriend and slid his hand on Chris' thigh squeezing it gently. Chris lifted Toby's hand and kissed his knuckles.
"Not yet, Tobe. I can't afford any distractions while we have a race to win. But I promise you a good ride when we stop for the night." Chris winked at Toby and shot him a lewd grin. Toby could feel his ears heat up at the mere thought of that particular ride he would get tonight, but first he had to get through the ride for the day.
Ryan was tired. They had driven all night almost non-stop. Only a few piss breaks every now and then. Cyril had proven his tenacity during that last leg; he hadn't complained even once, and he had taken his driving shifts in stride even though he must have been exhausted. Cyril had been able to keep the same speed than Ryan had, and now they were in a very good position in the race and definitely had a chance to actually win.
Ryan leaned against his truck watching Cyril and Mark disappear inside the motel in Shemin. They had just arrived at their pit stop for the night, and as soon as they had parked the car, Cyril had spotted the Hoyt brothers' Hummer arriving to the same parking lot. Cyril had volunteered to check them in to the motel for the night and had hooked up with the younger Hoyt at the front door. Ryan cursed under his breath, but decided to let it slide for now. Cyril was a stubborn bastard when he put his mind to something, and this friendship with Mark Hoyt seemed to be one of those things. Instead of forcing him to stay away from Mark, he tried to find a way to take advantage of the friendship.
Ryan watched Jaz slam the car door as he annoyedly stomped after the guys inside the motel. Ryan slowly inched towards the Hummer and took a peek in. He found nothing out of the ordinary in the cabin, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Cyril and Mark had decided to put their tracker plan into effect, but Ryan didn't see himself gaining much from that plan for the race. Whatever Cyril found out about the other racers, Mark and Jaz would know it before long as well. No, he had to find a way to beat the Hoyts on his own.
Ryan circled the Hummer slowly observing it closely. He tried to find a way to compromise the car some way or the other to at least slow them down during the race. The problem was that Ryan wasn't much of a mechanic when it came to cars like the Hummer, and he definitely couldn't count on Cyril's help with damaging the car in any way. Ryan frowned, stepped away from the car, went to lean on the wall next to the front door of the motel and lit a cigarette. He was deep in thought when the front door slammed open and Jaz Hoyt strode outside.
"What the fuck are you looking at, O'Reily?" he snarled at Ryan and stopped in front of him.
"Nothing," Ryan said, shrugged and fished out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Want a cig?"
"I don't want anything from you, O'Reily, and you can keep that brother of yours away from me as well."
"Nope, can't do that. Cyril does what he wants. Can't you keep your own baby brother in check?" Ryan smirked at Jaz who huffed, turned on his heel and went to get his bag from his car.
Cyril came out of the motel reception with Mark Hoyt trailing after him. Cyril grinned and handed Ryan a key to their room.
"Our room is 107. I'll be there in a moment. Just need to show Mark something first."
"Whatever. Just remember to keep your pants on, brother." Ryan took the key from Cyril and headed for their car to get his stuff and find their room.
"Wha...?" Cyril looked confused.
"Forget it."
Cyril led Mark to their car and rummaged around his toolbox in search of the trackers he had already finished building. He turned the GPS on and set it to track the little bugs.
"See? It works just fine," he declared proudly.
"I see only one bug tracked so far," Mark complained.
"That's because they are all in the same place, moron," Cyril grinned. "When we place them into different cars, it will track all of them. Then we'll know exactly where each car is going during the race."
"Jaz won't let us put any trackers into our car, though," Mark said frowning.
"Of course we will leave our own cars out of it. Besides, we keep in touch anyways so we'll know where the other is at, right?"
"Sure, I like that, but Jaz is sort of furious about you knowing our location all the time. How are we going to race against each other if we know exactly where the other is?" Mark asked pensively.
"I've been thinking about that. I guess we'll just have to drive and see who makes it first to the finish line. The other racers, though, are an entirely different matter. I'm sure they are scheming against each other so it's only fair that we make our own moves here."
"As I already told you, I'm in. When and where?"
"Meet me here around ten tonight, we'll take it from there," Cyril decided and dropped the trackers into his pocket.
Toby and Chris entered a bar near the motel before eleven that evening and saw almost everyone already there. The racers were all the same, Toby thought sarcastically; the closest available bar with cold beer and a long-legged barmaid, and they were all in. He personally preferred more civilized bars with classy drinks, but living with Chris had taught him to tolerate this type of bar.
They made their way to the bar and Chris ordered beers for both of them. Toby observed the place and disapprovingly wrinkled his nose. The bar had seen better days maybe a century ago: the walls were shabby and the floor was probably covered with a numerous layers of grime. Surreptitiously, Toby brushed his finger along the counter and was surprised to see it stayed relatively clean. He swiped a bar stool with his hand, just in case, before sitting down, but still avoided leaning against the counter.
Chris was talking with a Canadian couple, who were also participating in the Emerald Race, but they weren't in the top 5. Toby listened curiously when the Canadians told them what they had heard about the Schibetta boys arriving in Shemin long after the other racers. The boys had found a good hotel for their accommodation, but arriving there driving a rotten Trabant had caused a hilarious scene at the hotel. The hotel staff had tried desperately to stifle their laughing when the Schibettas had left their vehicle for the valet with their usual arrogance. The scene had ended with Peter and Marco scurrying off quickly with flaming cheeks to claim their room.
It was well past midnight and Chris and Toby were planning to go get some sleep, when the Schibetta boys surprised everyone by appearing at the bar; that was definitely not their style. Chris was talking to them and soon the reason why they had lowered their standards became obvious - they had had a wonderful dinner at one of the best restaurants in the town and as if for dessert, their precious Ferrari had been returned to them, in top condition. The Trabant incident, though, had cost them quite a lot of time, but now they were full of confidence - again - and were boasting at having their Ferrari back again. They had taken a test drive in their newly fixed car and decided to come and rub it in the faces of the other racers' as soon as possible.
Toby had an uncomfortable feeling of someone's eyes on him and turned his head to look at whoever it was staring at him. His eyes found Vern Schillinger staring blatantly at him. The stare was so unnerving that Toby had to avert his eyes away quickly, but the uncomfortable feeling didn't fade away. Soon he took another chance and spared another glance at Schillinger, but the man had disappeared. Somehow he still felt uneasy as if he had missed something.
Toby shook himself out of the uneasiness and participated in the conversation with Chris and the Schibettas. Surprisingly he found that he and Peter shared the same taste in drinks and music. Despite Toby being subtle whereas Peter was blatant in his posh demeanor, Toby felt quite close with him. They talked about the music they both liked and compared their knowledge of fine wines. Toby noticed that Chris shot suspicious glances towards them - Chris was quite a jealous man - but Toby didn't let it bother him. For once he was having a good time while spending the evening in a place Chris preferred, and he was damned if he let Chris spoil it for him.
The bar was quite crowded, and Toby felt a body pressing against his back, obviously placing an order across the counter. Toby waited for the patron to leave when his drink was delivered, but it didn't happen. Instead, a strong male body pressed even closer to his back and an arm began to caress his side. Toby tried to shift away, but the man held him in place with a grip on his hip.
"Hello, gorgeous, wanna have some fun?" a husky voice said in his ear and then bit his ear lobe.
Toby acted before he could think and sharply elbowed the man behind him in the ribs. The man grunted and stepped a half step back, but it was too late; Chris had seen what was happening and lunged at the man in a nanosecond. Chris had already grabbed the man around the neck and slammed his fist in the man's face twice before Toby caught him.
"Chris! Stop it! I think he knows now it was a bad idea to try to hit on me. We don't need you to get busted for assault in this goddamned place right now!"
Toby grabbed Chris by his arm and tried to drag him away, but Chris didn't so much as budge.
"Fucking asshole. Toby is mine and any fucktard that lays a hand on him will have to deal with me, you hear me?" Chris was furious and shook the poor bastard roughly.
"Chris, come on. I think we'd better leave. I recall you promised me a ride, right?" Toby desperately wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. People were staring at them and that made Toby feel very self-conscious.
Just then Chris' phone went off and a shrill alarm cut the air from outside of the bar.
"What the fuck?" Chris released the man and grabbed Toby by the arm, heading for the door.
"Something wrong with the car?" Toby asked worriedly.
"Yeah, the second alarm went off. Someone has gotten past the regular alarm in the car, but my own installment worked just fine," Chris grumbled and slammed the front door of the bar open. "Fuck, what a night!"
They ran towards their car and saw two young men, Cyril and Mark, standing nearby.
"Fuck, not you again!" Chris shouted and the boys took a cautious step backwards.
"It was not us, I swear," Mark yelled back. "We were walking by when we noticed Schillinger breaking into your car. It was not us!"
"We'll see about that," Chris snarled and went to stop the alarm before going back to the boys. At the same time two of the race officials came running towards them, followed by the whole crowd from the bar.
"What's happening out here?" one of the officials asked.
"Someone tried to break into our car. These guys said it was Schillinger. I'll have to check it on my own CCTV feed. It will show us who it was." Chris was totally pissed off by now. He tapped his phone for a while and soon there was a moving image on the screen.
Toby and the race officials leaned in to see the feed: it showed clearly Vern Schillinger opening the car door and hurriedly rummaging around. Then, abruptly, his head snapped up and he rushed away slamming the car door shut.
"Caught red-handed," one of the officials said triumphantly. "Their team will get a time penalty for this."
That made Chris look smug and he went to search their car for any damages. Toby followed him.
"Did he manage to do something to the car? Anything serious?" Toby asked worriedly.
"He didn't have time for that, and even if he did, it's nothing I can't fix myself, don't worry. I'm more pissed off than worried." Chris finished checking the car, locked it and reset the alarms.
"Schillinger was staring at me right before he vanished from the bar. You think he planned this beforehand?" Toby wondered out loud.
"Dunno, might have. Good ol' Vern is always planning something. I wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with that jerk groping you in the bar, either, just to make sure we didn't notice him missing."
"What, you think I'm not hot enough to get anyone else interested in me than you? That no one would try to hit on me if they weren't paid for it? You are such an asshole, Chris!" Toby huffed and stepped away from the car. "I'm going to go and get some sleep. No rides for you tonight."
Toby scowled at Chris and turned on his heel, but then they heard Schillinger's voice trying to sound innocent. "What's this? Keller has problems with his car?"
At hearing that and seeing Schillinger's smirking face, Toby lost it. He launched himself at Schillinger, pummeling him with his sharp fists.
"You bastard! You broke into my car!" Toby yelled and kept pummeling Schillinger, and then the empty air in front of him, when he was wrestled off of the bastard. "You're gonna pay for it, asshole!"
Chris dragged him away from Schillinger, but Toby kept fighting him, wanting nothing more than to get his fists back on Schillinger. Chris' hold on him was tight, though, and he easily kept Toby in his grasp. "Tobe, take it easy. He's gonna pay for it, alright. Just calm down, we don't need you getting busted for assault tonight, either." Chris chuckled, nodded to the officials and dragged his struggling boyfriend away to their motel room.
Toby was fuming. He was furious at both Schillinger and Chris.
"I'm gonna wipe that idiotic grin off of your face, Keller. Who do you think I am, a fucking damsel in distress? I could have handled Schillinger as well as that jerk in the bar. There was no need for you to cut in, you shithead!"
"Come on, Toby, I know you'd have handled them both. You know me, I just don't wanna see anyone else touch you but me, okay?" Chris was giving him those damned puppy dog eyes, knowing fucking well that Toby couldn't resist him when he did that. That made Toby even more furious even though he felt himself melting at the gaze. He huffed, turned on his heel and marched to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
A half an hour later Toby emerged from the bathroom and stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw Chris laying naked on the bed, leisurely stroking himself.
"How about that ride I promised you?" Chris said seductively. Toby rolled his eyes, knowing perfectly well that he couldn't resist Chris when he was in this kind of mood, no matter how angry he had been at him just a moment ago.
Toby crawled on top of Chris and kissed him hard. " This better be a hell of a ride, Keller."
Jaz stared at his brother with a murderous expression on his face. "You'd better have had nothing to do with Keller's car, Mark, or I will beat you to a pulp myself!"
Mark stared defiantly back at him. "Why do you always blame me? I had nothing to do with it, I swear! We were putting the trackers on the cars at the parking lot with Cyril, and when we were going towards Keller's car, we saw Schillinger breaking into it. That fucking moron caused the whole incident and we didn't even get a chance to put a tracker on that damned Lexus in the first place!"
Mark was even more annoyed than his brother, and Cyril glanced cautiously at Mark. Ryan was standing next to Jaz, and the whole scene looked like a brotherly interrogation, but not in a good way. Fortunately there was no one around them at the moment to hear their argument.
"Look, we had nothing to do with Schillinger and the car. We were just passing by when we noticed them and stayed away. Keller had his own CCTV feed in his phone and there wasn't even a glimpse of us in the feed. We're clear, I promise," Cyril cut in. "We heard that Schillinger was going to get a time penalty for the race so there's no chance that he will win after that anyway."
"How many cars did you manage to stick the trackers on?" Ryan asked.
"All the others except our's and Keller's," Cyril counted and then snorted, "even Schillinger got his own bug."
Jaz and Ryan burst into laughter at the same time, Mark and Cyril joining them. Abruptly, Jaz and Ryan noticed what they were doing, stopped laughing and glanced awkwardly at each other. Then Ryan wrapped his arm around Cyril's shoulders and grinned. "Fuck, you are crazy, both of you. I hope you didn't set any other alarms off tonight, bro."
"Not even one, Ryan. We only had to stick the trackers to the chassis and that way none of the alarms went off. We're safe." Cyril grinned at his brother. "Starting tomorrow, we will know exactly where the others are during the race, and we can use it to our advantage."
Jaz frowned at hearing that. "You better share the information with us. Mark was helping you after all."
"Sure, we already made a deal, Mark and I," Cyril affirmed, and Jaz visibly relaxed.
"But no trackers on our own cars, is that clear?" Jaz grumbled, and the others readily agreed, as if it would have helped them in the race anyway.
Vern Schillinger wore his trademark-smirk all through the makeshift hearing they were having after his break-in to Beecher and Keller's car the next morning before take-off. Getting caught was unfortunate, of course, but he had managed to do his own trick to that damned car before he had been caught. Keller would be in for a big surprise, that was certain.
However, after hearing the amount of his time penalty, Vern wasn't smirking anymore. Two hours! Two fucking hours! That would be impossible to catch up driving - there was only one day left for the race, and the ranking list from this morning was going to stay somewhat the same - well, if nothing drastic happened, that is. The only comfort for Vern was that if he couldn't race for winning anymore, nor could Keller, not after last night. Slowly, but surely, Vern's nasty smirk returned to his face, and the day seemed much brighter than it had seemed just a moment ago.
Hank was waiting for him outside, leaning on their car and quietly smoking a cigarette.
"What's the verdict, dad?"
"Time penalty, as they threatened. Two hours. Fuck!" Vern was frustrated and let it show by kicking the tires of his own car.
"We don't have a chance of winning anymore. What are we going to do?"
"We'll drive all the way to the finish line, just as if nothing happened. We might not be racing to win anymore, but I still have some aces up my sleeve and I want to see how they'll work out," Vern's smirk was malicious, and Hank knew instantly what his father was talking about. Last night's stomach bug was still too fresh in both their memories.
"Get in, son. We have a lot of catching up to do," Vern grunted, as he jumped in behind the wheel and started the car. They were the last ones to leave Shemin, but at least they had the best vantage point when it came to the other racers. Once again Vern cursed his bad luck; they had been in a promising position in the race before all this had gone downhill, and now they had nothing better to do than watch and laugh.
Chris had woken up Toby early that morning with a rough kiss and then he had yanked the blanket off him with one swift tug. Toby had protested loudly just like Chris had predicted, but from his experience, this was the only way to get Toby to wake up quickly and efficiently. If he gave him any other option, Toby would only snuggle deeper under the covers and sleep the better half of the day away.
After a rushed shower and dressing up, they checked out of the motel, bought a take-away breakfast and were on their way in no time. However, their head start didn't seem to help much, because after only a few miles, their car started to slow down without any obvious reason. Chris cursed and steered the car to the side of the road. He jumped outside and lifted the hood. After a while of checking and tinkering with the engine, Chris peeked around the hood at Toby.
"Start the car, would you, Tobe?"
Toby did, and there was nothing wrong with the way the engine sounded. It sounded as normal as ever. Chris cursed loudly and asked Toby to kill the engine. Then he went to the trunk, dug out some tools and spare parts. Toby couldn't take any longer sitting still and jumped out of the car impatiently.
"What is it, Chris? What's wrong? And more importantly, can you fix it?"
"Everything seems to be normal, nothing explains why the car doesn't run as it should. Maybe it's the fuel filters, I better change them." Chris seemed as if he was talking to himself. He worked quietly - not that Toby would have understood anything if he had explained what he was doing, anyway. Toby tried to muffle the impending panic that was trying to choke him. What if Chris couldn't fix the car? What would they do then? Fortunately Shemin wasn't that far away, thankfully they hadn't gone too far before the car started acting strangely. Having this sort of car problem in the middle of the desert would have been much, much worse.
Chris changed the filters, then checked several parts of the engine before slamming the hood back down and shooing Toby back in the car.
"Let's try it now. If the problem was in the fuel filters, it should work out fine now."
They took off again, but the car didn't go any faster than before; if anything, it seemed a bit worse. Chris let out a long and impressive string of curses and parked the car again. He dove under the hood and Toby heard him muttering angrily to himself. He seemed as lost about the problem as Toby was. So much for having his own mechanic in the race, then, Toby thought dryly.
"Chris, should we call the tow truck from Shemin?" Toby asked cautiously.
"Not yet, Tobe. Besides, Shemin isn't that far away, we can drive back there if necessary. Let me check this out once again first."
After a frustrating hour or so Chris finally gave up. He slammed the hood shut and stomped back into the car. He obviously wasn't used to giving up on anything. They crawled - or as Toby rather put it, limped - back to Shemin and before they reached the outskirts of that little town, they met a familiar looking pick-up truck driving in the opposite direction. The truck honked and inside the truck they saw a smirking Vern and his very obscene middle finger.
"Fuck, it must have been Schillinger behind all this," Chris growled furiously.
"But you said that he didn't have time to do anything to the car last night," Toby argued.
"Based on what I saw in the CCTV feed, he didn't have time, but if he did something to the car from the outside before the alarm went off, then he could have managed without us knowing anything about it. I need to get this car on the garage lift to look at the bottom of the car. I bet he did his little tricks right there," Chris grumbled.
Eventually they managed to get back to Shemin and found a garage where Chris could lift the car up and see if there was something wrong in the underside of the engine. It didn't take too much time for Chris to see where the problem was: the fuel pipe was crushed almost shut and that's why the engine didn't get enough fuel to run the car at normal speed. The crushed fuel pipe also leaked a little, and that made Chris even more furious.
"That son of a bitch! If the fuel had ended up leaking on the exhaust pipe and evaporating into a gaseous state, it would have taken only one spark and it could have blown the shit out of us. He's gone too far this time. Fucking Schillinger!" Chris raged. He was too upset to actually start fixing the car at first, he just kicked everything he could, throwing the wrench he was holding in his hand and hitting the wall with his bare fist, causing it to crack audibly.
Toby cautiously went closer muttering to himself, "And what a fucking big bang that would have been." Then he grabbed Chris' hand, examining it carefully.
"Calm down, Chris. Nothing drastic happened, fortunately. How's your hand? Let me see it. That was a pretty ugly sound when you hit the wall."
"It's fine. I'll have to fix the car." Chris was still upset and tried to snatch his hand away from Toby. However, Toby wasn't having any of it and held Chris' hand even tighter.
"Chris, wait. It's okay, we're okay. Calm down. We will get Schillinger for this, for everything he's done to us. Now we just have to get back on the road again and not let him beat us in the race too, okay?" Toby's voice was calming and his hand on Chris' arm was soothing. Chris took a deep breath, then shook his head as if shaking his anger away for now and leaned in to kiss Toby briefly.
"Yeah, okay. I'll get the car fixed and then we're on our way. Schillinger is not going to beat us in this race, not if I have any say in it."
Chris threw himself into his work with new vigor now and it didn't take long before all the damaged parts were changed. When they finally were back on the road again, less than an hour later, the usual cool Chris was back. He shook his head in his amused irritation and admitted, "Old Vern really got me this time, I have to give him that. That fuel pipe trick was too simple for me to even suspect in the first place. Easy to fix, once you have located the problem. Now we only have to reach him and pass him before the finish line. We don't have any chance to win this race anymore, but we can beat that fucking Schillinger. After the race, I'm gonna beat the shit out of him, that's for sure."
Toby didn't bother to rein Chris' blustering; he obviously needed to get his anger out of his system. Of course, he wasn't planning on letting Chris beat anyone after the race; he was positive that he could find another, more efficient way to get his revenge on Schillinger. After all, that fuckwit had damaged his beautiful car and therefore he was going to be punished. Severely. Toby began to mentally count his list of contacts who could help him with his revenge, and made the first call.
Ryan scowled at the car driving in front of them. They had just left Shemin, and somehow, to Ryan's annoyance, had ended up leaving at the same time as the Hoyt brothers, who were currently in front of them. Ryan suspected that it had something to do with these two idiots, Cyril and Mark, who had been glued together as soon as they had woken up this morning. Fuck, was it too much to ask for Cyril to keep at least a little bit of distance between himself and the Hoyt's, their strongest opponents in the race? After the finish line, Ryan didn't care if his brother spent all his time attached to Hoyt Junior, but couldn't they last even one day apart, even this early in their friendship? Or maybe that was just it, they were still excited about finding each other. Despite all his complaining, Ryan wasn't actually going to interfere with their friendship in any way, even during this race. Cyril had definitely earned this: his loyalty towards his big brother was unwavering, no matter what happened, and Cyril didn't have too many friends anyway. He had been a little bit of a loner since the first grade, too shy and too different from the other kids which made making friends difficult.
Ryan was still determined to win this race, and he had to admit that being this close to the Hoyts could be as much a good thing as it was a bad one. With Cyril and Mark keeping in touch all the time, he'd know exactly where they were, but Jaz Hoyt would know it as well. He already knew that Jaz was a fast and competent driver, so it could be a big challenge to beat him just by driving. Observing him from this close offered Ryan a precious chance to see what Jaz's strengths and weaknesses were. Jaz was definitely a hothead; when riled enough he became volatile and unpredictable. In that mode he was dangerous; you never knew what he might do. On the other hand, he was quite an impulsive guy, taking risks and dashing head first into action if he found the idea useful for himself. For a manipulating, scheming guy as Ryan, those traits gave him so much to work with, and Ryan had already decided how to proceed at beating Jaz Hoyt in this race.
There was one thing Ryan couldn't stand, and that was being helpless to influence the outcome of the situation he was involved with. Manipulating others was his forte, and it came naturally to him. He didn't usually let it bother him, but now, Cyril being in the middle of plot, Ryan was treading more carefully than ever before. Whatever he did, he had to keep his own hands clean, at least for Cyril. Fortunately he had some decent favors to call in and he had planned to make the best of them.
The trackers Cyril and Mark had installed on the other racers' vehicles, had given them enough information to determine who were their biggest threats. A few teams had already interrupted the race and as far as Ryan was concerned, the two teams, who could have been a possible threat - the Schillingers and Keller/Beecher - had had a massive delay after the last check-in. He had to keep an out eye for the Schibettas, because even if they were far behind the two top teams currently leading the race, they still had the fastest car in the whole race. They might still surprise everyone with their speed; the last day of the race was mostly driven on the good roads and only one short cut could be taken through the terrain.
Oh yeah, the race was between the O'Reilys and Hoyts now, and Ryan was determined to be the winner of this duel. He had already arranged some nice surprises for team Hoyt and couldn't wait to see how they worked out. As a matter of fact, the first one should be coming up shortly. Ryan chuckled to himself, pleased of his machinations, and earned a suspicious glance from his brother.
"What's so funny?" Cyril asked curiously.
"Nothing. Just thinking about... the Schillingers and their diarrhea the other night." Ryan grinned at remembering that, while trying not to reveal too much of his plans regarding the race to Cyril.
Jaz glanced at the rear-view mirror and gritted his teeth in annoyance. Fucking O'Reily was still glued to their rear bumper. Jaz had tried to shake him off of his tail but to no avail. Whatever he did, speed up or slowed down, O'Reily shadowed them right behind. Jaz had grumbled about them out loud, but he hadn't gotten any sympathy from Mark - that nutball was probably only pleased at having his friend nearby. What was it with youngsters these days? Didn't they know anything about competition and winning? Didn't they have any competitive drive anymore? Spoiled rotten, they were, all of them, Jaz decided. In his youth, you didn't survive on the streets if you didn't have a strong drive for competition and winning. Today's kids, though, they seemed to be capable of only cooperation and teamwork, fucking softies. Jaz knew better; if you wanted something badly enough, you had to be ready to push every obstacle out of your way, by force if necessary. Pity was for wimps and losers, anyway.
All of a sudden, a dark green pick-up truck appeared behind them, honking loudly at both O'Reily and Jaz. The troublemaker sped up and drove next to O'Reily, heavy metal music blasting from the loudspeakers. People inside the truck and a couple in the truck bed were hollering and pumping their fists in the air at both cars they were obviously trying to pass. A loud honk came from the other lane in front of them, and Jaz saw a freight truck approaching fast. The green pick-up didn't slow down, though, but rather started to wedge O'Reilly out of the way, forcing him to slow down instead to let the hooligans pass by. O'Reily honked and from his rear-view window Jaz saw him flipping the bird to the assholes.
"What the hell was that?" Mark asked worriedly.
"Dunno. Some assholes having fun. At least they forced O'Reilly off our back."
"Must be Irish," Mark pondered out loud.
"What makes you think they're Irish?"
"Well, they have a green truck, for one." Mark eyed his brother as if he was explaining something to a child.
"You fucking idiot, green doesn't mean it's Irish. What's wrong with you?" Jaz rolled his eyes in exasperation, but then he had to concentrate on driving again, since the car behind them had sped up again and was now driving too close behind their Hummer for Jaz's liking. The heavy bass from the music thumping out of the car behind them made Jaz's seat tremble, even from that distance, and his mood was rapidly changing from bad to worse. Mark, on the other hand, tapped his feet to the rhythm and obviously enjoyed the so-called-music.
"Stop it, Mark," Jaz grumbled.
"Stop what?" Mark asked innocently.
"Don't start, or I will kick you into that fucking asshole car behind us so you can listen to that shit music you seem to love so much."
Mark stilled his movements and fumbled for his phone.
"What are you doing?" Jaz asked.
"I'm calling Cyril to ask if he knows something about these Irish driving behind us."
"Yeah, do that, but I tell you, they are not Irish, got it?"
"Yeah, yeah. Hey Cyril, what's up?" Mark chatted into the phone and ignored Jaz entirely.
While Mark and Cyril were talking, Jaz sped up a little, to see if their tail would follow or not. Sure enough, when Jaz sped up, the truck following them sped up too. Irritated, Jaz jumped on the gas pedal and made the Hummer lunge forward. He managed to shake the truck off for a while, but soon it reached them again and this time it pulled to the side of the Hummer, too close again for Jaz. The occupants of the truck started hollering again but the music coming out of their loudspeakers drowned every word of what they might be yelling. Then the truck started to wedge the Hummer to the side of the road and Jaz gritted his teeth. No way he was going to allow himself to be pushed off the road by a truck load of assholes!
The other truck inched so close to the Hummer that one of the guys standing on the truck bed was able to throw something on Jaz's car and that made Jaz see red. He floored the gas pedal completely and escaped the asshole truck, this time so efficiently that the they couldn't follow them anymore.
"Jaz, what are you doing? You're driving way over the speed limits! If the police catch you, you'll lose your driver's licence," Mark asked worriedly.
"Shut the fuck up, Mark. I don't need you nagging at me right now. I just need to get the hell out of here and away from those jerks or I swear I will kill everyone of them!" Jaz growled through gritted teeth.
Mark thought it better to go back to talking to Cyril and leave Jaz alone for now.
They had driven almost an hour already and Mark had finished his phone call with Cyril, but still Jaz was driving like crazy.
"Hey, bro, slow down, will ya? The assholes are gone, they didn't even stay long enough to continue harassing Cyril and Ryan after we left them. Cyril said that they had turned onto a side road soon after we took off, so you can slow down, okay?" Mark tried to speak calmly to his still furious brother, but Jaz wasn't calmed that easily. Jaz just grunted and kept driving.
"How far behind us is O'Reily right now?" Jaz finally asked after a long silence.
"About fifteen to twenty minutes, I guess," Mark said after a quick mental calculation.
"We have a good lead, then."
"Yeah, so slow down, will ya? Cyril said to keep an eye out for the police. They saw a highway patrol car just a moment ago so they are probably patrolling here the area right now."
Just then they noticed a siren going off and flashing blue lights behind their car, and Jaz cursed loud and clear. Grudgingly he stopped the car and waited with a thunderous expression for the police officers to get out of their car and walk next to him.
"What's the hurry? Driver's licence and registration, please." The police officer looked serious and wary.
Jaz dug his driver's licence from his wallet and reached out to the glove compartment for the registration documents. When Mark tried to help him, Jaz slapped his hand away irritatedly.
"Step out, please," the police officer ordered, and Jaz slid out from his seat.
Mark watched as the officer pushed Jaz against the SUV and frisked him in search of any weapons. Then the other officer put him in handcuffs and told him to sit in the back seat of the police car. Then both officers returned to the Hummer and asked Mark to step out of the car. They followed the same procedure with Mark, and soon both brothers sat side by side in the police car.
"Care to explain what the fuck is going on?" Mark snarled at his brother and grimaced at the chafing handcuffs.
"Haven't a fucking clue. Just speeding wouldn't have gotten us in handcuffs," Jaz complained.
"What the hell are they doing?" Mark wondered as he saw the officers beginning to search the Hummer. They did a thorough search, turning everything inside the car upside down and piling a lot of their belongings outside, next to the car.
"What the fuck do they think they'll find in there?" Jaz was getting anxious as the officers tossed around his stuff; Jaz was almost paranoid at keeping everyone away from his belongings, even Mark wasn't allowed to so much as touch them. Jaz struggled against his handcuffs; Mark could see how close to panic his brother was. Funny, he thought, how intimidating and dangerous Jaz could be when he was furious, but one touch on his stuff without permission, and he lapsed into an almost hysterical state, his OCD tendencies pushing through. Next stage, Mark predicted, would be attacking, but as it was, Jaz couldn't move because of the handcuffs and locked car doors. Therefore, Jaz went with yelling.
"You fucking idiots, leave my stuff alone, hear me?" Jaz yelled frustratedly, but of course the officer's ignored him, even if they could hear him through the half-opened windows.
"Shut the fuck up, Jaz. If you get them too pissed off, they will never let us go," Mark hissed.
"But, but... my stuff!" Jaz groaned in desperation.
Frustrated and helpless, Jaz stared out of the window at the officers who did their best to sift through the contents of their Hummer. As the pile to the side of the SUV grew larger, Jaz grew tenser, and low growls escaped from his tight-lipped mouth. As if to add more tension to the already incendiary situation, Ryan and Cyril chose just that moment to drive past them. Mark cringed inwardly; this was so not going to end well.
Mark recalled the first incident that had taught him not to touch any of Jaz's stuff without his permission. It had happened when he was seven; Jaz had been 18 at the time. Mark had been looking for the comic book that he had seen Jaz reading some time earlier. He had gone into Jaz's room in hopes of finding the comic book there, but he hadn't even started his search, when Jaz had stormed into the room.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Mark?"
"Looking for the comic book you were reading last night. Where is it? I want it back!"
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jaz chanted as he started to compulsively straighten out his desk and bookshelf - even his bedside table, where Mark hadn't touched yet. "No one touches my stuff, do you hear me?" Jaz yelled.
As Mark stood there shocked and unable to say a word, Jaz had grabbed him, turned him upside down and hung him out of the window from his ankles, growling, "You don't touch my stuff ever again, do you hear me?"
Seeing as he was hanging out of the window of Jaz's third floor bedroom, Mark had made the wise decision and whimpered, "I'll never touch your stuff again, I swear." That promise had earned Mark the solid floor under his feet again, and from that moment, Mark had no difficulties keeping his promise.
Mark was snapped out of his reverie when Jaz's growls intensified and his struggling against the handcuffs grew wilder. Mark glanced at the officers and saw them going through Jaz's bag at the moment.
"Calm down, bro. You don't have anything illegal in there, do you?" Mark asked in his most soothing voice, but it did nothing to calm Jaz's restlessness.
"Fuck no! How stupid ya think I am? Not even a shank in there. I just need to get the fuck outta here, now!"
To Mark's great relief, the cops finished their search and after a short debate, approached the police car where Mark and Jaz were being held. Mark feared that Jaz might say something that would really get them in trouble and hastened to speak first.
"Umm... if you don't mind me asking, what were you searching for, sir? We don't have anything illegal in the car."
"We received an anonymous tip to search your car, but that seems to be false information. So you're clear for that one. But there's still the speeding. You drove way over the speed limit and that means a speeding ticket for you, Mr. Hoyt," one of the officers said looking pointedly at Jaz.
Jaz growled in agitation, but Mark elbowed him sharply in the ribs to keep him in check. Mark chatted with the officers while they worked on the speeding ticket to keep Jaz from getting too much bad attention. When they finally were free to go and were released from the handcuffs, Jaz bolted to the SUV and started to frantically sort out his stuff. Mark followed him to the SUV and climbed in the driver's seat. It was time for the little brother to get in charge.
"Jump in, Jaz. You can arrange your stuff while we're on the road. I'll drive from now on," Mark announced. Jaz tried to complain, but Mark was adamant. "I'll drive and you shut up, got it? Go fix your stuff if it bothers you, but we need to get going."
Reluctantly Jaz tossed the rest of their belongings back into the SUV from the pile on the ground and jumped in. As soon as the door closed, Mark floored the gas pedal and they were back in the race.
Mark tried to keep his smirk in check when Jaz grumbled and complained in the back seat, where he was straightening his once so carefully packed bag and checking their other gear to make sure nothing was missing after the search. Eventually he seemed to deem everything was in order and climbed back to the front seat.
"Everything okay?" Mark grinned at his brother.
"Yeah, nothing's missing as far as I can see."
"Fine then. The cops didn't follow us so I guess it's safe to drive a little faster now." Mark checked his own music list and selected one of his favourite bands to play loudly in the car stereo.
"What the fuck is that? For fuck's sake, I'm not listening to this shit, turn it off!" Jaz snarled and reached for the stereo. Mark slapped his hand away irritatedly.
"It's my way or the highway for you now, brother. I'm driving and I'm listening to the music I want to, and that's Children of Bodom, if you must know. Nyt vittu turpa kii!" Mark snarled back at Jaz, who stared at him with a confused look on his face.
"What? I can say it in seven other languages if I have to. Now shut the fuck up, we have a race to win!" Mark clarified and focused back on driving. Jaz finally seemed to settle with that and for once let Mark drive without constant nagging.
"Ryan, tell me you didn't have anything to do with the cops stopping Mark and Jaz, and searching their car," Cyril asked turning to look at his brother after finishing his phone call with Mark.
"Why would I do something like that? Have you seen me calling the cops? I didn't have anything to do with it, Cyril." Ryan turned his innocent eyes at his little brother, who probably didn't believe him, but Ryan was not going to admit to anything. In reality, Ryan had pulled a couple of strings to get the assholes harassing them both on the road earlier, but made sure that they focused mostly on the Hoyts. Then they called the cops claiming the Hoyts had drugs or weapons or both in their car so they would be stopped and lose some precious time.
Cyril looked worried. "Okay, but you've better not had anything to do with it, Ryan, and I mean it. Mark and Jaz are back in the race now, but Jaz is furious and Mark wouldn't let him drive in that state. I hope they are okay."
"They will pull through, bro. Jaz is a tough guy and you got Mark's back. Don't worry about them. Let's just concentrate on driving and winning this goddamned race, okay?" Ryan grinned and lightly punched his brother in the arm as if trying to convince Cyril that everything was alright. And for Ryan, everything was alright. Now they only had to drive fast and stay ahead of the Hoyts as long as possible. With a little bit of good luck, at the end of the day, they would be the winners of the Emerald Race.
Ryan dreamed about what he would do when they won the race and the $30,000 check the winner received. Sure, he was going to give Cyril some of the money, even if Cyril had claimed that he didn't want or need the money. Nevertheless, Ryan was going to give him some, or at least buy something nice for him with his share.
Ryan's businesses ran smoothly without the need of extra money, and thanks to his tight hold on his finances, this prize money could be used for entertainment or enjoying life in general. Although Ryan was sure that their father, the greedy bastard that he was, would smell the money and come running to demand his share, as far as Ryan was concerned, hell would freeze before he would give anything to that bastard. Their father had had his chance when he and Cyril had been dependant on him, but he had fucked that up royally, and now neither of his sons wanted anything to do with him.
Ryan couldn't help but smile at thinking of their own little family now. Once Ryan had learned to tell Gloria the truth about what he was doing instead of letting her find out after the fact, their constant fighting had stopped and their relationship had taken a turn for the better.
Gloria had a big heart and both feet on the ground, and all she asked was for Ryan to be honest with her. She hadn't so much as flinched at learning that some of Ryan's businesses were not so legal, although she didn't approve of all his dealings. She had her own career as a doctor in a small clinic, and as long as Ryan's shady dealings didn't affect her work or their private life, she was okay with it.
Cyril adored Gloria, and Gloria had practically adopted Cyril, they got along so well. Ryan suspected that Cyril had found a mother figure in Gloria, a mother Cyril hadn't had a chance to know very well before their own mother had passed away. Gloria took good care of both of the brothers and Ryan was perfectly alright with that. She was a gem, and Ryan had no intention of letting her go anytime soon.
Now that he was thinking about it, how about taking Gloria and Cyril on a holiday far away from their ordinary life? Somewhere warm and exotic, with golden beaches and half-naked girls; Cyril would love that, and Ryan could always appreciate the view, even with Gloria by his side. Yeah, that was it, he was going to take them on a perfect holiday, but first they had to win this fucking race.
It was weird how fast you could move from gloating to gloomy in a matter of moments, Vern thought to himself. He had been so full of triumphant glee after seeing Keller limping back to Shemin with his fancy car and his poofter boyfriend, knowing it was his clever scheme that had forced Keller to slow down, or preferably even drop out the race altogether. However, that triumphant feeling didn't last long, at least not long enough for Vern's liking, because the bitterness of losing his position in the race returned with a vengeance and darkened his mood completely.
Vern glanced at his son sitting next to him; Hank had done well during the whole race, and Vern felt a new, unusual emotion somewhere around his long-time-ago-withered heart. Pride. He had to admit to himself that he was proud of his son, maybe for the first time since the elementary school baseball game where Hank had excelled. The rest of his school life had been more or less a disappointment for Vern; neither of his sons were tough enough to take care of themselves and keep out of trouble. Oh yeah, Vern had tried. Ever since his wife had died, he had raised his sons on the ideology of the Aryan Brotherhood, to believe in White Supremacy.
At first, he had thought he'd managed quite well. Of course, he'd had beaten the shitheads that had tried to sell his sons drugs, he had steered his boys away from the unworthy gangs they were hanging out with, and tried to teach them the values of life, the ideology of being a proud specimen of the white human race and to use their superiority for their own advantage. Other than that, the boys had absorbed the beliefs their father shared, and Vern had been sure that one day they would take their rightful place next to him as the leader of the Brotherhood.
Nothing had been that simple, though. Without Vern really realizing it in time, his oldest son, Andrew, had become so addicted to heroin that even Vern with his strict intervention hadn't been able to get him clean. When Vern had realized that he would be unable to pull Andrew out of his drug addiction, he had more or less abandoned him. Vern knew that Hank had tried to help Andrew but failed, and since Andrew's death, Hank had held a grudge against their father for abandoning Andrew and in a way contributing to Andrew's early death.
They had never talked about it, about Andrew, but Vern could see how Hank felt about him in all his actions. Vern was painfully aware that if he couldn't fix his relationship with Hank soon, he'd lose his other son too, and that would be too much, even for a hard man like Vern. Now, after spending a couple of days with his son, uninterrupted by anyone or anything in their normal life, Vern thought that maybe it was finally time to clear the air between them. He glanced at Hank and cleared his throat.
"Son, I know I haven't always been the father you needed, what Andrew needed, but I've been thinking..."
"Leave it, dad," Hank interrupted him with a scowl.
"We need to talk about it sometime, and now is a good time, no one else is around," Vern argued.
"I don't wanna talk about it, alright? What's done is done. Leave it." Hank sounded evasive and defensive at the same time.
Vern shrugged; he wasn't too keen to talk about it either, but he had thought that it would be the right thing to do, after all that had happened with Andrew. If Hank was okay with it, who was he to argue. Everything would be alright between him and his son after all, it seemed.
In the passenger seat, Hank curled even more into himself than before. He had accepted his father's request at joining him in this race, but that was about all he was going to do for the old man. Hank had had enough of his father who, in Hank's opinion, had Andrew's death on his conscience, even though Vern never admitted to it. Vern had abandoned Andrew when he had realized that Andrew wasn't his puppet anymore, not obeying his every command, and by that, Vern had caused Andrew's death.
Hank knew why Andrew had escaped into the world of heroin; Hank had done it for the same reason. With Big H they had been able to escape the world where their racist father ruled with fear, forcing his ideology and ridiculous beliefs at his sons who didn't believe in them and never thinking that his sons might want something else instead of endless hate for anyone who didn't bow to their White Supremacy. Andrew had managed to get away from all that, lucky bastard, although it meant that he was dead now. Vern had betrayed him, and Hank was sure that if he disappointed his father in any way, Vern would betray him too and feed him to the wolves. Vern didn't tolerate anyone he couldn't control completely.
This "father and son trip" was the last favour Hank would be doing for his father. After this one, he was going to pack his things and move with his girlfriend far away from the father he didn't trust anymore. Hadn't trusted since Andrew's death. He was becoming a father himself, and the life Vern led was something Hank didn't want his own kid to become a part of. Hank and Carrie would quietly disappear from Vern's life because that was the only way they would save themselves. Hank just prayed that Vern wouldn't get wind of what they were planning; otherwise he would try to intervene and ruin everything. If everything went as planned, he and Carrie would be far away this time tomorrow. Hank grinned at himself; he'd need to only finish this goddamned race and then he would be free.
"Fucking finally!" Chris huffed when they were back on the road again. The repairs of the car had taken only about an hour, once Chris had located the damage. Toby had used the waiting time wisely; he had refilled their stock of drinks and snacks even though they hadn't been used much since leaving Shemin for the first time. Toby wasn't taking any chances now; Chris would want to drive without any extra stops until they reached the finish line.
Toby had also called the law office he was working for; the detectives they used to investigate the cases they worked on, were on good terms with Toby and were willing to help him out with his personal problem with Schillinger. Everything was going smoothly now and Toby was pleased at the turn of events. He smiled to himself and shifted more comfortably in his seat.
"You look like a cat that caught the canary. What are you up to, Tobe?" Chris asked curiously.
"You'll see when we reach the finish line. Do you think we can manage it in time to see Schillinger before he leaves the area?"
"Dunno, but we will try. I'm not gonna let that son of a bitch beat us in this race even if we're not racing to win anymore, that's for sure. Now tell me, what are you planning this time?"
"Can't tell you yet, but if everything goes as planned and the guys have enough time, there will be a not so nice surprise waiting for Schillinger at the finish line," Toby said grinning mischievously.
"You better tell me what's going on, Tobe, and I mean it!" Chris growled, obviously worried.
"Calm down, he'll never realize it was me setting him up. Think of it this way: you gave him a nice send-off gift for starting the race, and now I'm giving him the grande finale at the finish line. You'll enjoy the show, I'm sure," Toby said excitedly as if he'd be the one waiting for a surprise - well, in a way he was, after all.
Chris shook his head in amusement. "I've never seen you this vengeful before. You're not usually like this."
"Well, usually no one messes with something that's mine, be it my man or my car. That really pisses me off, you know."
Chris reached for Toby's hand and squeezed it gently. "My own angel of vengeance. I think I like that side of you, love."
Toby grinned back at him. "At least it's better than being a bitch, as you sometimes have called me."
"Don't start. Now I think it's time to call Alvarez. I promised him that I wouldn't ask any favours for awhile, but it's an emergency now. We need to get to the finish line in time to see that surprise of yours blow up in Vern's face."
Chris made the call and had to use all his skills of persuasion to talk Alvarez into helping him. It didn't seem to get him anywhere, until he mentioned Schillinger's name. From there it was easy - Toby knew Alvarez had a part in Chris' past, obviously "the hate for Schillinger" part of it.
Although Toby knew that Chris kept a lot of secrets from him, he was relieved that Chris had been open about his friends and allies right from the start. Toby had even met most of them, the people Chris trusted, more or less, and with whom Chris exchanged favours every now and then, and even spent time with on occasion. When spending time with them, they usually hung around at some bar or at the garage, usually something to do with cars or mechanics. They weren't the sort of friends Toby was used to; Toby usually had lunches, dinners or drinks with his friends, went to the theatre or a concert or either visited them or invited them over to his and Chris' place. Chris wasn't too fond of spending time with them, but usually he tolerated it, if only because of Toby. On the other hand, Toby tried not to complain too much when Chris came home late some nights, sometimes quite drunk and needing Toby's help to get into bed. Some nights he even went with Chris and his friends, even if just to get to know the people Chris hung around with and to hear some intriguing stories about Chris' past and present adventures.
Chris ended his phone call giving their current location and saying that he'd wait for Alvarez to call him back soon. Then he turned to look at Toby and grinned.
"Alvarez will call back shortly after he's made some arrangements. He'll help us to beat Schillinger - once again."
"Aren't we too far behind for that?" Toby asked worriedly.
"Nope. Miguel has some connections down here, he'll find a way," Chris explained with confidence. Toby couldn't do much other than shrug and trust in Chris and Alvarez and their plan.
Half an hour later Chris' phone rang and when Chris answered, he soon started to list directions for Toby to write down. Alvarez obviously had some inside information about some hidden shortcuts they could use to save quite a bit of time and miles, shortcuts the other racers didn't know about. It wouldn't help them enough to get back into the race to win, but it definitely would help them to get back at Schillinger, provided that they didn't get into an accident or some other incident that would slow them down - or even stop them altogether.
Toby wrote everything down, and when he tried to program the directions into the GPS, it didn't recognize it. Toby was getting nervous about this new route, but he tried to push down his doubts. It might be a good sign if the GPS didn't recognize the directions, it might mean that none of the other racers would know about these shortcuts and it would give them a great advantage. On the other hand, if Alvarez was wrong, they might get totally fucked up and lost in the desert, in the worst scenario Toby could think of their car would break down and they would end up dying there.
They reached the first junction in fifteen minutes, and Chris turned the car onto a trail that was almost too narrow for their car. It was probably used for some sort of motor sports or mountain biking; the trail was wide enough for two-wheeled vehicles but not exactly for a car. Chris steered carefully over the narrowest spots and Toby couldn't help but wonder if this shortcut was really going to help them reach the other racers. Having to drive this slow didn't look good for now. Soon, though, they reached a dirt road which looked as if it was rarely used. However, it was wide and flat enough for Chris to drive faster, and more importantly, it headed straight towards the desert.
"That's more like it," Toby sighed in relief.
"You had doubts?" Chris asked smugly.
"When it comes to you and Alvarez planning something together, well, yes, I have doubts," Toby admitted as haughtily as he could muster, but failing miserably. Chris chuckled.
"Don't give me that shit, Tobe. Our plans always work out just fine, just like this one. We will save several hours driving this way, you'll see."
Toby still wasn't so sure about it, but he decided to give it a shot and see what happened.
"Cyril, tell me the locations of the other teams," Ryan asked without taking his eyes off the road.
"What's to tell, Ryan? Schibettas are far behind, but steadily reaching us. They need to drive at full speed to catch us and if the police catch them, it will be the end for them. Schillingers are about two hours behind us and there's no way they'll be racing against us anymore," Cyril counted.
"What about Keller?"
"Forgot already? We didn't have a chance to put a tracker on their car because of that fucking Schillinger breaking into their car. I have no idea where Keller and Beecher are right now."
"What about the Hoyts, where are they right now?"
"Less than an hour behind us but they're getting closer. Mark is driving, by the way, and I think he's doing pretty well." Cyril was obviously proud of his friend, but that didn't much help Ryan's mood. Ryan was probably going to feel paranoid and threatened until they were safely over the finish line, preferably as the winners of the race.
"Just don't tell me to slow down so you and your precious Mark can see each other again and wave and blow kisses to each other," Ryan grumbled.
"Yeah, that's a great idea. Would you do that for me, brother?" Cyril chuckled batting his eyelashes at Ryan.
"Oh fuck, you're kidding, right? There's no fucking way I'm going to slow down for you and your little boyfriend now," Ryan groaned in despair.
"Relax, bro, I was just kidding. If Mark and Jaz want to beat us in this race, they have to catch us first," Cyril grinned. "We are friends with Mark, but that doesn't mean that we can't race against each other. Let the better team win."
"Yeah, now you're talking, bro. Now, tell me where's the first junction heading to the desert? We agreed to take the first shortcut possible, right?"
"Let me see... about half an hour to the junction and then take a left. We might make it before Mark and Jaz reach us so they won't know if we took that route or not."
"That's the spirit I've been waiting for, Cyril. You had me worried for a while that you weren't in this all the way." Ryan flashed a relieved grin at Cyril and sped up the car.
After recovering from the initial shock of Mark's burst of confidence and take charge attitude after the incident with the cops, Jaz settled into his new role as the co-driver, rather discussing with Mark about their plans than telling him what they were going to do next.
Jaz had been listening to Mark's chat with Cyril for the better part of an hour, the phone call lasting longer than Jaz would have liked, but for once he didn't complain. Mark had asked about the other racers and their whereabouts, and Cyril had been helpful with that. However, Cyril hadn't shared their own precise location, but neither had Mark. They could guess each other's location roughly, but not more than that. The situation suited Jaz just fine; despite all the scheming and spying, he liked it most when the race was driver against driver, both relying only on their skills and good luck, of course, to who was better.
Jaz was pretty sure that they were steadily reaching the O'Reilys when driving on the highway, but when the time came for them to take a turn to the desert, they'd need to be more careful and plan their every move more carefully. The desert was a ruthless part of the race and if they made mistakes there, they wouldn't be so easily solved.
Mark was doing a surprisingly good job at driving and Jaz let him keep on driving even though he was calm enough to drive himself. Well, in his own opinion, he had been perfectly calm for driving even after the incident with the cops; Mark had just overreacted. It was easier, though, to let him have his way than lose more time by arguing with him further.
Some time later they arrived at the junction which led to the desert. The road was good enough to keep up a good speed, although the terrain occasionally alternated from solid road to scattered with small stones that made the tires slide on them. Mark concentrated on driving, his expression sharp and determined. Then, all of a sudden, something caught his attention and he gasped staring at the sky.
"Wow, look at that, Jaz! Just... wow," Mark said his voice full of awe.
Jaz glanced in the direction where Mark was staring and saw a majestic eagle soaring very high up in the air.
"It must be a golden eagle, I've never seen one in person, only on television," Mark gushed. "Wait, now it dives, must be hunting. Awesome!"
As Mark's attention was focused on the eagle, he didn't realize that the SUV had drifted to the side of the road. Jaz's sudden shout startled him and the car slid further off the road and finally stopped with a thump.
"Fucking great, Mark! Never heard of keeping your eyes on the road when driving, huh? I just hope there's nothing broken in the car, because then we'll be stuck in this damned desert!" Jaz yelled.
"Oh shit, shit, shit, shit," Mark chanted when he climbed out of the SUV to see the damage. At least they were still on the wheels and hadn't rolled over. That would have been real bad.
Jaz jumped out of the SUV and walked around to see the destruction Mark had caused with his reckless driving. Luckily, only one tire seemed flat and nothing else seemed to be damaged despite hitting a pretty sizeable rock before finally stopping. Changing the tire wouldn't be a problem, but he was still mad at Mark.
"Fuck, I should have never trusted you to drive in the first place. Look what you did to my SUV, damnit!" Jaz yelled, a vein on his temple throbbing dangerously.
"Fuck you! I did just fine before that eagle and you know it! You know I'm easily distracted, so don't try to blame me for all of this!" Mark was getting mad as well.
"Oh, shut up and start changing the tire, idiot. You broke it and you can change it!" Jaz huffed in annoyance and sat on the rock to wait. Mark stomped to the trunk and started to work on changing the damned tire.
"You know, this would go much faster if you helped me, asshole," Mark grumbled and added, "saving time in the race and all that."
Jaz considered it only for a second before jumping up and joining Mark who was struggling first with the jack and then at removing the broken tire. With Jaz's help the tire was soon removed and the new one installed. They cleared the tools away and Mark was climbing back into the driver's seat, when Jaz stopped him by grabbing him on the back of his shirt.
"Oh no, you don't. You had your chance and you blew it. I'm gonna drive the rest of the race, got it?"
"But Jaz..." Mark whined.
"This isn't negotiable. Move over to the passenger's seat and keep your big mouth shut," Jaz growled, and Mark didn't have any other choice but to comply.
As soon as Jaz had managed to steer the SUV back on the road, he took off with a roar from the vehicle's engine. This time there was no time to admire eagles or owls or any other desert animals; now both of their focus was solely on the race and their eyes on the prize.
Vern had chosen their route without asking and that made Hank grit his teeth in annoyance. He would have had a better solution for the shortcut than this, but his father was back to his old self again after the earlier soft moment that had made both of them feel uncomfortable. This father Hank could deal with, he didn't need to feel bad about his upcoming plans of moving away and leaving his father alone. Vern had caused himself all the bad things that came to him, that much was certain.
Hank dug his cell out of his pocket and texted to Carrie asking her if everything was okay and if she had everything packed and was ready to go the next day. Only a couple of minutes later, Carrie texted him back saying that she hadn't had a chance to do much more than some of the packing, because there was always one or two Aryans from Vern's posse to keep an eye on her. That was probably Vern's doing, and even though Hank realized that Vern had most likely ordered protection for Carrie just to keep her safe, it still irritated him. Vern controlled their life all the time and nothing would change that. Hank told Carrie not to worry and take only what she could take with her without raising suspicions. They'd meet after the race pretending that Carrie was only taking part in the after race party, but they had planned to slip away during the party and head straight to the airport. Vern wouldn't suspect anything; Hank had told him that he planned to take Carrie straight to their hotel room and to bed as soon as they crossed the finish line. Vern wouldn't miss them until morning, and that gave them a desperately needed head start.
"Is there any coffee left, son? I could use a cup," Vern asked gruffly.
Hank fished their coffee thermos from the back seat and opened it.
"Sure, there's still plenty of it left. Here," he offered the cup to Vern, who took it with a grunt.
Hank rolled his eyes and leaned back into his seat. He had only few more hours to bear all this, then he'd be free.
After driving them through the desert, Ryan turned the truck towards Emerald Falls. It was a relief to drive the rest of the race on the highway; both Ryan and Cyril had had enough of constant tossing and bouncing that the desert road had offered them so generously.
"Fucking finally! That was a hell of a bumpy road, at least the last part of it. I wouldn't mind if I never saw a desert in my life after this," Cyril complained.
"Until next year's race, huh?" Ryan smirked.
"No way, bro. I'd have to be mental if you ever manage to talk me into this again!"
"We'll see about that, Cyril. Now the rough part is over and only a couple of hours driving left. We'll be in Emerald Falls well before nightfall and we'll have enough time to clean up and rest a bit before the after race party."
"Can't wait for that, I heard the after race party here is legendary. You know, lots of good food, cold beer and sexy pit girls, all that stuff."
"Yeah, I know. Makes driving this whole race worth it, doesn't it?" Ryan grinned. "How are the other racers doing?"
Cyril updated the locations from the GPS. "Schillinger is following us, they are a little less than two hours behind us. Schibetta is nearing us pretty fast, but I don't think they will get to Emerald Falls before we do. Hoyt brothers took the other shortcut and from what I heard from Mark without him telling me exactly where they were, I think they are pretty much in the same position as we are in the race. At least they haven't slowed down at all. The Canadians are driving somewhere behind the Hoyts, but they are much closer to them than Schillinger is to us. As for Keller and Beecher, no one knows where they are. I hope they didn't drop out. I kind of like them."
"Bro, I've noticed that you kind of like everyone."
"Except Schillinger."
"Except Schillinger, sure," Ryan chuckled. "I still wish that you'd have placed one tracker on Hoyt's car, too. I could use the information right now. It makes me nervous not to know where they are."
"We already talked about it and you know the drill. The best driver wins, right?" Cyril scowled at him obviously disappointed at his complaining.
Ryan shrugged. "Just sayin'. It was worth trying, anyway."
"Shut up and keep driving if you want to win this fucking race, brother," Cyril suggested, and Ryan saw he better to comply.
Two hours and ten minutes later they crossed the finish line at Emerald Falls and a large crowd was cheering at their arrival. When he parked their truck to the spot where the race official pointed them, Ryan saw Gloria hurrying towards them. Ryan jumped out of the car just when Gloria reached them, and wrapped her in his arms.
"You made it, babe," Ryan whispered in her ear before kissing her soundly on the lips. "I'm glad you're here."
"You knew I wouldn't miss this for anything, you moron," Gloria grinned at him and pecked him on the lips before stepping back and hugging Cyril. "Hey, Cyril. Everything alright?"
"Sure, Gloria. Have you been here long? Do you know if any other teams have arrived yet?" Cyril sounded impatient.
"Don't worry, you were the first team to arrive. Does that mean that you won?" Gloria asked.
"Not necessarily. When every team's driving times are counted, then we'll know who was fastest and won. The winner will be announced at tonight's after race party," Ryan explained. "Now I want to take a shower and have something to eat. And then..." Ryan grabbed Gloria by her waist and whirled her around. "...I want you."
Cyril rolled his eyes at his brother and started towards the hotel nearby, where their room reservations had been made.
"Fuck, the O'Reilys are already here," Jaz cursed when they arrived at the finish line and noticed a familiar Land Rover parked in the back lot.
"That doesn't mean they were faster than us. They started the race before us, remember," Mark reminded.
"Yeah, but we still would still have been here faster if hadn't decided to watch the fucking birds and wreck the car," Jaz grumbled.
"Shut the fuck up already about that! If we lose the race, it isn't because of that," Mark defended himself. Mark was pissed off at himself about the incident already and blamed himself, but he wasn't going to admit it to Jaz of all people.
"I should have never let you drive that last part, I just knew it and still I let it happen, fuck!" Jaz was on the verge of fit of rage, but Mark wasn't far behind.
"Fuck you, Jaz! If not for me, you'd still be sitting in that fucking police car, trying to explain coherently just why you were driving like a maniac and trying to kill us both!" Mark yelled, then turned on his heel and marched away.
Jaz cursed loudly, kicked the front tire of his car and stomped after his infuriating baby brother.
"Is that who I think it is?" Toby asked when he noticed a familiar looking car approaching them on the highway just when they were about to turn off the desert road onto the highway as well.
Chris looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Oh yes, good old Vern. Good to see him."
"We definitely managed to catch him by driving this mystery route you got from Alvarez," Toby admitted. "Sorry I doubted you, Chris."
"You always doubt me, Tobe, there's nothing new there."
Chris turned onto the highway well before Schillinger reached them and managed to speed up quickly keeping Schillinger behind them. They kept their position all the way to the finish line, just barely. Their whole race was full of competition, with Schillinger occasionally trying to get past them and honking the horn when Chris didn't let him pass, blocking his way every time Vern tried something. The rest of the journey was a pure struggle for power, to show Schillinger that they were still able to fight against him and wouldn't give up, no matter what. That last part of the race guaranteed that they were high on adrenaline when they finally reached their destination, and Chris couldn't help but very uncharacteristically whoop loudly when they crossed the finish line slightly ahead of Schillinger. Toby laughed in relief: they had survived the race after all. Now he only wanted to see the action he had managed to arrange for Vern Schillinger.
The after race party took place in the ballroom of the hotel reserved for the Emerald Race. The party was in full gear when Chris and Toby arrived. The room was almost full of people, some of them dancing to the loud music, some eating from the buffet and everyone having drinks in their hands.
Predictably, Chris headed towards the bar when they arrived, and Toby trailed behind him half-heartedly. Once they both had their drinks in hand and turned around, the Schibetta boys approached them.
"Keller, Beecher," Marco Schibetta greeted them nodding his head. "How's it going?"
"Going great. Finished the race and we're still alive," Toby replied dryly.
"Cheers to that," Peter chuckled. "I heard you had some technical problems today. What was that all about?"
"The last night's episode with Schillinger, he managed to damage our fuel pipe. I got it fixed, but we lost some time. How was your day? Happy to get your Ferrari back?" Chris asked.
"Yeah, it was a treat to be able to drive fast again. Fuck, that Trabant sucked! But at least we stayed in the race with it." Marco looked a bit green just thinking about that rotten Trabant they had been forced to drive one part of the race.
"Speaking of Schillinger, have you seen him lately? I need to have some words with the bastard," Chris growled.
"Nope, didn't see Schillinger, but there's a couple of his Nazis outside the ballroom, probably waiting for him," Peter told him.
"Thanks, I better go check and see if he's going to have the balls to show up," Chris said and determinedly strode towards the exit doors. Toby just stared after him, stunned in place until he snapped out of his stupor and followed him outside.
They arrived in the middle of a scuffle where two obvious Nazis were holding Hank Schillinger and a young blonde girl in place by the arm. Hank was struggling and yelling to let them go, the girl was just staring at them with wide scared eyes.
"Hey, what's going on here?" Chris demanded as soon as he stepped outside the doors.
"None of your business, Keller, fuck off!" one of the Nazis snarled and shook Hank for good measure.
"I'll make it my business, Robson. Let them go, you hear me? This is a non-Nazi race, if you didn't know, so you better fuck off!" Chris snarled back and signalled for Toby to help the girl, who had started to struggle with the other Nazi. Toby moved behind the man, and as if on cue, when Chris slammed his fist into Robson's jaw making him release Hank in the process, Toby used his Taser to take the other man down, and the girl was released, too.
"Run!" Toby yelled at Hank and his girl, while Chris kept punching Robson, and Toby kicked the bastard grunting on the ground. Hank and the girl took off running with their bags; they obviously had been planning to leave anyhow, and soon they jumped into a taxi waiting for them on the curb. The last thing Toby saw was Hank smiling widely at them them through the window and mouthing "thanks".
"Chris, let's go. They are safe now. Chris!" Toby yelled, but Chris ignored him and kept punching Robson, who weakly tried to hit back, but couldn't really get any hits through.
"Chris, I think he's got the message. Come on, before someone calls the cops!"
Finally Chris released Robson, who sagged on the ground holding his stomach. His nose was probably broken, but Toby couldn't tell for certain because of all the blood covering his face.
Toby dragged Chris to the side and all the way to their room, where he made Chris clean himself before going back to the party.
"What the fuck was that all about? Hank and the girl were already gone and you just kept punching that guy?" Toby asked.
"I was just paying Robson some old debts, that's all. Fuck, that felt good!" Chris chuckled and grinned like a maniac. "Nice to see you keeping my gift at hand and using it when needed. I never thought that you'd really use it, when I gave it to you, what, two years ago?"
"Yeah, I never thought I'd need it, but seeing that guy was twice my size, I really didn't have a choice, did I? That's a nice little thing, your Taser." Toby dug the said device out of his pocket and examined it in his hand. "I meant to ask you, didn't they have it any other colour than black?"
Chris laughed and grabbed Toby by the waist, kissing him soundly on the lips. The kiss turned into heated making out, a promising foreplay, and Toby melted against Chris, trying to get rid of his shirt. They were rudely interrupted by insisting ringing of the phone in Toby's pocket. Toby sighed in defeat and detached himself from Chris.
He answered the phone, and after a short conversation, his expression turned from annoyed to delighted. He ended the call, straightened his clothes as well as Chris' and urged his boyfriend to follow him.
"Come on, I want you to see something," Toby said cryptically.
"What is it?" Chris asked.
"You'll see. I bet you'll like it," Toby grinned and led the way out of the room and back to the ballroom.
They arrived just in time to see Vern Schillinger yelling at his minions, "What the hell you mean they got away?"
Robson noticed them arriving to the ballroom and pointed them out to Schillinger. Vern stomped like a raging bull towards Chris and Toby, and instinctively Toby took a step back, but Chris just smirked at Vern.
"What? Your little boy ran away from his big bad daddy? I'm glad to have helped with that," Chris grinned.
Vern turned purple and grabbed Chris by the front of his shirt. "You son of a bitch, I'll..."
Vern didn't get any further, because four men appeared behind him and yanked him away from Chris by the shoulder. They started to lead Schillinger away from the party, and the last Toby and Chris heard was, "Vernon Schillinger, you are under arrest for continued tax evasion. You have the right to remain silent..."
Chris took a long look at Toby and chuckled. "Tax evasion, really?"
"Well, I put the investigators of our law office to work after I smelled trouble from him. I guess we got lucky."
"You're brilliant, Tobe. I guess we beat him 3 to 1 during this race." Chris smiled and kissed Toby.
"No, it's 3 to 2, don't forget the guy back in Shemin, who tried to hit on me. I'm sure it was also Schillinger's doing," Toby quipped.
"In that case, I have to raise it once again, don't forget the Trabant. It's 4 to 2 now."
They started to argue with a familiar heat, but just then the loudspeakers screeched to life.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? It's time to announce the results of the 7th Annual Emerald Race!" Loud cheering and whistling greeted the announcement, and Chris and Toby stopped their arguing at once and turned to look at the stage where the founder of the Emerald Race, Tim McManus, was standing behind the microphone.
"This year has been surprisingly eventful for the Emerald Race as you might have seen just a moment ago, when the last incident took place here at the after race party. Fortunately, the authorities haven't been needed at every turn and usually we could solve the problems by ourselves. I'd like to thank every one of our participants, who raced with a good attitude and sportsmanship, that's how this race is supposed to run." McManus looked pointedly at the last people of Schillinger's party who were currently being escorted out of the ballroom.
"This year we decided to add two additional categories to the awards ceremony. There were two teams which positively impressed us with their actions during the race. First, we'd like to acknowledge the team of Bob Rebadow and Agamemnon Busmalis. They stopped in the middle of the race to help their fellow racers in who had an accident. Bob and Agamemnon risked their own success in the race for their fellow racer's well-being, and therefore they more than deserve the honor of being the most supportive team in the Emerald Race this year. Bob and Agamemnon, please step on the stage!"
With big applause the two older gentlemen climbed on the stage to receive their award, a shiny bowl with something inside it. Toby wondered, how he could have missed these old guys all this time. If not for this award, he'd have never known that they were in the same race with him at all.
"Congratulations, Bob and Agamemnon!" McManus continued his speech. "The other new award is for the most tenacious team in this race. They had to leave their car behind due to technical problems and continue the race with a much slower car, the only one we could provide them at the time. They tenaciously continued the race despite losing their position, until they managed to get their own car back. Tenaciousness didn't pay off this time, as they didn't win the race, but it earned them the award for the most tenacious team in the Emerald Race. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Peter and Marco Schibetta!"
The Schibetta boys looked stunned, but they recovered quickly and climbed on the stage to accept their award. That award had really been a surprise for them, and they received enthusiastic applause from the crowd.
"And now, the traditional award for the fastest racers in the 7th Annual Emerald Race. This year there were surprisingly two teams who drove exactly the same time in the end, all legs counted together, and they are teams Hoyt and O'Reily!"
A long silence fell after McManus' announcement, until Mark Hoyt whooped loudly and clapped his brother on the back. The whole crowd erupted into massive applause and cheering while Jaz, Mark, Ryan and Cyril climbed on the stage. Cyril and Mark hugged and clapped each other on the back, obviously thrilled at the idea of double-win, but their brothers looked sour and disappointed.
"The bad news for the winners is that the prize money will be split in two, and thus the award is 15.000 dollars for each team. That's not a bad amount of money, gentlemen, so no need to look so sad. After all, you are the proud winners of the Emerald Race this year. Congratulations!"
After receiving their awards, both teams stepped down from the stage and moved through the congratulating crowd heading for the bar. Jaz seemed to curse and complain all the way to the bar, while Ryan scowled darkly at everyone who managed to get close enough to congratulate him in person. Cyril and Mark seemed happy and cheerful for both of the teams as well as the beautiful dark skinned woman on Ryan's arm.
Soon there was some commotion coming from the bar and Chris headed for the bar to see what was happening there. Toby followed him curiously. Mark and Cyril were standing in the middle of the crowd, toasting with their beer bottles and started to sing "We Are The Champions" at the top of their lungs. After their song ended, Jaz looked a bit sick and commanded loudly, "That's it, go to your room!"
Mark looked at Cyril, winked and asked mischievously, "Mine or Cyril's?"
"Fuck, you are impossible!" Jaz yelled furiously and grabbed Ryan by the shoulder. "O'Reily, I think we'd better settle this outside."
Ryan nodded curtly and followed Jaz outside. Almost everyone at the bar followed them outside, curious at what would happen between them. After they reached the parking lot, Jaz stopped Ryan. "Good old fist fight, right?"
"No way, if we do that we won't get back to the party any time soon. How about driving against each other? To Lardner and back?" Ryan suggested.
"Fuck, yeah. The first one back is the winner."
With that both men jumped into their cars revving them before taking off quickly. Cyril and Mark looked at each other, then Cyril shrugged. "They forgot us."
Mark smirked and took another swig from his bottle, "Good riddance."
Chris started to laugh at hearing that and nudged Toby in the ribs with his elbow.
"Same time next year, Tobe?"
"Sure. If you guarantee that we will survive - again?"
"Of course, you can trust me, I know what I'm doing," Chris grinned.
"Oh god, that's what I'm afraid of."
The End