2 Fast 2 Furious: The Other Story
Not my first attempt at a fanfic, but the first one I've published online. The main character, Zeke Mitchell, is an original character.
The chapter is still in progress. Updated Monday 2/14/06 3:20pm Eastern. I haven't decided yet if this is the end of the Prologue or not.
Disclaimer: Joaquin, Tej, Pedro, Slap Jack, Suki, and Brian characters are all property of someone else—I think Universal Studios.
Please see the Author's Note at the bottom of the page.
His phone rang.
Groggily, he reached over and hit the speakerphone button. "Hello?"
"Hey, bro," came the voice from the other end. "I hear the racers are gathering over at Joaquin's place."
"Joaquin's?" he said, trying to remember the name.
"You know," said the voice. "That garage I showed you last week, near the old drawbridge over the river."
"I remember."
"Tej is running the show tonight."
"Tej? Didn't he quit racing 'cause he hurt his leg?"
"Yeah, he don't race no more, but he's one of the best organizers in the city. I hear he's got Pedro, Slap Jack, and Suki all in the first race."
"Holy hell."
"I know. And I heard he's been working on something special, but I don't know if he's gonna break it out tonight or not."
"Sounds big."
"Tell me about it. I know you said you could use some extra money, so..." the voice trailed off.
"Yeah, thanks for the scoop, man," he said. "I'll keep you in mind when I clean house."
"You do that."
He hung up and got out of bed. Throwing on his favorite pair of cargo shorts, he thought, Man, it's gonna be big tonight.
He grabbed a shirt and walked over to the "kitchen,"—which was only separated from his bed by a cheap partition and a dozen strides, seeing as how he lived in what had once been the fourth floor of a factory—where he retrieved a granola bar from the pantry (which was merely a non-working refrigerator), wolfed it down, and grabbed a can of Pepsi from the other (working) fridge on his way to the elevator.
The ground floor was empty, except for his car. He grinned as he walked towards it. This would be the first time he had raced it since installing his latest upgrade, something he'd come up with by himself, partially inspired by the latest trend among car companies.
It looked like a Mitsubishi 3000 GT with an Erebuni "Shogun" body kit, a carbon-fiber racing-style wing, a roof scoop, and blue-fade streak graphics on the sides and hood. But that was misleading. All the body panels were carbon fiber, painted so you couldn't tell by looking. Everything under the body had been custom-built from the ground up.
Under the hood was a variation of the 350 horsepower V8 Hemi found in the new Dodge Charger that was being introduced soon. The original engine was made of steel; this engine's block was aluminum, with steel inserts in the cylinders. This configuration allowed for a lighter engine without sacrificing much durability.
Attached to that engine were a pair of variable-geometry turbochargers. A variable-geometry turbo has movable vanes inside that close when the turbine isn't spinning very fast, keeping the pressure at or near peak efficiency; as the turbo spins up to speed, the vanes open again. This virtually eliminates the lag between engine throttle-up and turbo spin-up found in normal turbochargers. When you press the gas pedal, the extra power is there.
Normal 3000 GT engines are mounted transversely, meaning that they're parallel with the front driveshaft, and the cars are either front-wheel-drive or all-wheel-drive. This engine was mounted lengthwise, connected to a 6-speed manual transmission, which was, in turn, connected to a custom-designed transfer case that allowed him to choose between all-wheel-drive and rear-wheel-drive.
Then there was his new upgrade. In the back of the car, hidden beneath a subwoofer box, was a high-power electric motor. The motor was connected to the transfer case. Using the engine and motor together resulted in around 800 horsepower at the wheels.
The "booster," as he referred to the electric motor, was his alternative to nitrous oxide, and could be used without the main engine to save gas.
He grinned. Wait 'till they get a load of this...oh wait, I'll be way out in front. Chuckling to himself, he opened the scissor or "Lamborghini-style" door, sat down in the Sparco racing seat, started the engine, and basked in the throaty growl of the V8. They're never gonna know what hit 'em, he thought as he pulled the door closed, strapped in, hit the button for the garage-door opener, and roared off into the night.
It took about 15 minutes to get there. Once he got close, he turned into a no-longer-used parking deck, drove to the top floor, and parked. As he got out, he looked over to the next building. There were only about three feet separating it from the parking deck, and the roof was about six feet lower at this point. It was an abandoned warehouse, or factory or something, much like where he lived, except that this building had very few intact windows and was probably very filthy inside. But when Marcus, the one who had called him about the meet tonight, had brought him here, he'd said the building's elevator shaft was still in good condition.
He took several steps back, gave a mental shrug that could be translated Ah, screw it, why not? And ran straight at the wall.
He leaped, vaulted the low wall, and landed rolling on the roof of the other building. He got up, brushed himself off, and made his way to the shed-like structure that contained the stairs and cargo elevator.
Once inside, he saw that the stairs had crumbled and collapsed, and the doors to the elevator shaft were jammed open, but the elevator itself wasn't there. He didn't see any cables, so it must have been at the bottom of the shaft. On the wall of the shaft, however, was a galvanized steel ladder that went all the way down. He stepped onto it slowly, testing its strength. It held. He placed his feet against the outside of the rails and slid down to the ground floor.
Stepping out of the elevator shaft, he saw that the interior of the building was just as dingy as he'd predicted, if not more so. He walked to the door, stepped out, and looked around. The only traffic was a pickup truck pulling up to the T-intersection nearby with five people in the back, a custom brush guard on the front, and red neon glowing from the grille and undercarriage. He started walking towards it.
As he watched, the people in the back of the truck piled out, grabbed an apparently stolen "ROAD CLOSED" sign and some cones, and blocked off the street.
"Hey!" he called out. "You guys helping Tej out tonight?"
They looked up. "Maybe," one said. "What's it to ya?"
"Can I get a lift to the action?" he asked. It was only three blocks to Joaquin's garage, but why walk when you don't have to?
"You're not a cop, are you?" someone else asked.
He held his arms out to the side. "You see a badge? Or a gun? Or a radio?"
They looked him up and down. "Climb in," the first guy said.
He heaved himself over the tailgate, and the truck took off.
Thirty seconds later the truck came to a stop near a growing throng of people and cars outside an auto shop. He recognized one man in the center of the group, a black guy with a megaphone and a huge afro that seemed to double the size of his head. He was wearing a gray coverall and everyone seemed to be looking to him to tell them what they should do.
He climbed out of the truck and waked over. "Tej Parker?"
"One second, man." The man raised the megaphone. "Hey, you over there, with the Lexus! Back it up three more feet! We gotta keep the road clear!" The Lexus moved off the road, and the man lowered the megaphone and looked at him. "A'ight, what can I do for you?"
"We met about three and a half years ago in Daytona. You were driving a white gen-two RX-7, I had a red Miata spyder. We ran into each other—literally—coming around the second-to-last turn of the race."
"Zeke Mitchell?"
"Yeah."
"What's going on, man? Long time, no see."
"Nothing much. I'm staying in the area now, and I needed some extra money, so I thought I'd come check out the happenings."
"Well you came to the right place for that, brah. First race is full," Tej said, pointing to the street, where a red third-generation RX-7, a gold Supra and a hot-pink S2000 were lining up for the start, "but you might not wanna run against these cats anyway."
"We'll see. So how many races do you run on a night like this?" Zeke asked.
"As many as we can, bro. As many as we can."
Zeke chuckled. "I hear ya."
"A'ight, listen, I gotta go make a call. See you 'round, bro."
"Sure."
Tej walked off toward the garage, and Zeke wandered off to check out the cars. The whole street was packed with them. Hondas, Mitsubishis, Toyotas, even a BMW, all sporting after-market paint, decals, neon, big rims and thin tires.
He walked back across the street, passing the starting line where Pedro, Slap Jack, and Suki were waiting for the race.
Pedro's car was a third-generation Mazda RX-7, red, with a vinyl graphic on the side. Two Latino chicks were wiping down the car. He didn't see Pedro anywhere.
Slap Jack was sitting on the hood of his gold Toyota Supra, talking with his girlfriend. The car had an after-market hood with four black vents in it. In the center of the vents, Slap Jack had cut a triangular hole in the hood, and inserted a Plexiglas or lexan panel, so you could see the engine.
Easily the most noticeable of the cars was Suki's hot-pink Honda S2000 convertible. The graphic on the side was obviously supposed to be a drawing of Suki done in a vaguely anime-influenced style, with her ponytail trailing to the top of the rear wheel well, as if blown by the wind. Even the interior was pink; the upholstery reminded him of pink shag carpet.
Passing the cars, Zeke walked back toward the shop. He looked around to see if he could find Tej, but he didn't see him anywhere.
He walked over and leaned against the tow truck that was parked in the parking lot of the shop—in case anybody crashed—pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, stuck one in his mouth, and lit up. Tej came back outside, now without the megaphone. He raised his voice to compensate, announcing, "Alright, alright, alright, fire 'em up! We go live in five. It's time for ignition and straight automobile pimp."
Zeke chuckled and flickedt the ash off his cigarette, thinking, Ignition? Oh yeah. Pimp? Not really my thing.
Pedro was getting impatient. "C'mon, Tej. Let's get this race going!" he called.
Tej walked over. "Whoa, whoa, man, wait a second, man. Wha—you cats are first wave, man. Where's your fourth at?"
Slap Jack responded, "Yo, yo, it was Joaquin, man, but he had to work the graveyard shift."
He must have another job besides his garage, Zeke thought.
"What?" Tej said in disbelief. "Graveyard shift?"
"Yo, why don't you run with us, Tej?" Slap Jack asked.
"Hell no, I'm not running with y'all, man," Tej responded. "And I tell you what, either you find a fourth or you don't race. How 'bout that, huh?"
Pedro spoke up, saying, "We should find two, so we don't have to roll with skirt here." He followed this with something in Spanish, which Zeke couldn't follow.
"Idiota," Suki responded.
"Whoa, whoa, wait a second, wait a second," Tej cut in. "Why don't I just find y'all a fourth and we settle this on the streets, huh?"
"Bring him on," Suki said.
"Anybody I want?" Tej asked.
Pedro said something in Spanish that seemed like it would translate to agreement with Suki.
"No matter who it is?" Tej said, obviously having someone in mind.
"Yeah," said Slap Jack.
Tej turned away, pulled out his cell phone, and called somebody.
Zeke couldn't hear the conversation, so he turned his attention to the other racers that had gathered. To his left, a group of drivers were showing off their audio systems, each louder than the last; while across the T-intersection, an impromptu break dancing contest had broken out.
He heard Tej announce, "The race starts in four minutes," and thought, If there's a racer who's that close, why isn't he already here?
He heard Pedro say something, but he missed exactly what it was in the commotion caused by a nearby fight. Probably one hot-shot dissed another hot-shot's ride, he figured.
He had just finished his cigarette when he heard a new car approaching. He looked up in time to see the crowd part, letting a silver-gray nissan Skyline R34 with blue racing stripes, side graphics, and neon roll in to the intersection.
Wait a minute, he thought. A silver-and-blue Skyline? I've heard about this guy. He's supposed to be the best racer around.
Author's note:
This story was removed from the site because I had posted a second "chapter"that didn't have any story content. That "chapter" has been removed, so the story now complies with the Site Guidelines. I apologise to the site staff for the misunderstanding.
Please review!
Also, I'd like to thank Jet-Indigo and Anamalia-fear for reviewing the story.