"If one day the speed kills me, do not cry because I was smiling."

I don't know much about cars, or how they work, so I'll try to keep the jargin and terms down to a minimum, so I don't get anything wrong.

This fanfiction will be dedicated in his loving memory.

FOR PAUL

It was the last race I thought I would ever compete in, illegally.

I was 19.

Fresh out of high school, still looking for my place, my niche.

I started working for Jerry full time, making twice as much money compared to my sixteen/seventeen year old self.

All the friends I used to be close to, moved on, went to college and moved away, never to be seen again. At the time, I didn't mind. I thought I had a family: Jerry, my mom, and the other workers at the garage. I thought they were my family, damn I was so naïve and young, and stupid back then.

With all my high school friends leaving, finding their place, I was lost. I was working full time, making good money, but completely bored. I loved the money, and I loved the work; Jerry had started to let me work on some of his nicer, more expensive customer's cars. It was a 9-5 job, which I promised myself I would never fall into, and Sunday's always off. For a nineteen year old, it was perfect. I was saving up the newly earned money, to buy my own car and to get an apartment.

Once the clock struck five, and I cleaned all the grease off, and I headed home, I became a couch potato. Whether it was Dukes of Hazzard reruns, MASH, or some other stupid show on television, I watched it. I got really into exercising, at the time it was my only release from stress. I got my mile time down to 5:40, a personal best which I would never be able to beat, I gained twenty pounds of muscle. I was in the best of shape of my life, but it was also the lowest emotional place of my life.

Once night fell, I would find myself cruising the streets, trying to kill time.

I already knew about the street racing, but Isabel could never beat the import cars the rich racers had. I attended the races very often, almost too often, racers and the supporting crews started to recognize my face and car. Soon enough they knew my name; I was like a kid in a candy store, I was just happy they were acknowledging my presence. These guys had the fastest cars I'd ever seen, they had the ability to drive better than anyone I knew, and they had the hottest girls as groupies. It was everything I wanted. I was window shopping, staring into the one thing I wanted most.

I was in the shop one day, finishing the work on an alternator, when a car pulled into the parking lot. I could've recognized it anywhere, it was a 1980 BMW E30 M3, but this wasn't just the ordinary E30 M3 that you drive off the lot. No, this driver had completely customized it, added turbo, a neon blue under-glow light, and sound system where the trunk would be. It wasn't my favorite car to drive, but I had done my research and I knew the racing ability this car had, and I was completely mesmerized that this car was pulling into the garage I worked at.

I played it cool, sort-of, not really, and started to slowly approach the driver of the BMW, "Hey, I'm Brian. How can I help you?" I said slowly, since his attention was focused in the glove box.

"Yeah, um, my normal mechanic is out of town and I need this car fixed before tonight, I have a race, I'll pay double. I was driving it this morning, and I passed 8000 RPM'S and it just died."

"Okay, just pull it up here and I'll start working on it. Since it's a classic, and foreign, if it needs new parts, which it most likely will, I'll have to order new parts."

"That's no problem, I'll pay whatever. Hey, haven't I seen you before?"

"Yeah, I think so. You race this beauty down on Foster Street a few nights ago?"

"Hell yeah I was, this beast went undefeated. Were you there?"

"Yeah, I don't race but I spectate. I try to make it to all of the races."

"Obviously you know your cars," he said, pointing out that I attend illegal street races and work in an auto repair shop, "why don't you race? Do you know how to drive?"

"Oh yeah, of course dude. I taught myself how to drive shift, how to drift, I've been driving fast since I first got my license. Nah man, the only reason I don't drive is because I don't have the car for it. But I'm saving up."

"What do you drive?" The most important question a racer can ask a fellow racer.

"It was handed down to me, a 1970 Impala." I pointed over to my car parked with all the other employees. "It was a piece of shit when I first got Isabel, but I made my own upgrades. She used to start breaking down at 80 mph, but now she can reach at least 110. Now I'm saving up to trade up, make my way on the racing circuit."

He walked over to Isabel, to get a better look at the customization I did on the car. "I like your upgrades. American or Import?"

"The only car I've ever driven is American, but I'm definitely turning into an import kind of guy."

"Smart man!" He joked.

"Well I better get started on your car if you need it tonight. I'll try to have it finished it before 8, depending on how bad the engine is. It was nice meeting you, dude."

"Thanks, you too, Brian." And just like that I had met my first connection in the underground racing circuit, but definitely not my last.

The BMW was a piece of work. I was surprised the guy hadn't blown up, he was pushing the car so much. Although this car had won more races than any other car, (which is a real fact, according to BMW. Google it.) it was still a wreck. This was my first solo work on such a nice car, and honestly I was nervous to be fixing it up alone. I didn't want to disappoint Jerry, or my new pal.

Fixing the car took the rest of the day, I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted to prove to myself that I knew what I was doing, the reason for me triple checking everything before coming to a conclusion and tearing the car apart.

When the owner of the BMW showed up at 8-o-clock sharp, I knew if I made a mistake on his car, that no other crew or driver would ever look at me.

"Just in time sir, I just finished working on her. She sure is a beauty."

"Yes, isn't she? I'm a lucky owner. So, what's my cost going to be?"

"Oh here's the receipt. Luckily we had most of the foreign parts your car needed, and the rest we just bought from other local garages. She should run like new."

"I like you, Brian. For such a young age, you seem like you really know cars." He paused to take out a cigarette, I remained silent. "I'll tell you what, if she really does run like new, you can drive her over to the race tonight. Let's see if you can put your money where your mouth is." He joked, taking a drag of the cigarette in his hand.

A boyish grin appeared on my face, I was on cloud nine, "Yes, sir!" While I was confident in my skills, I was still praying to the car gods that I did everything right. Jerry doesn't even know that this BMW was even here, he'd fire me and then kill me if I messed this up.

He walked over to the driver side of the car, and opened the door. My heart was beating out of it's chest, I was sure he could hear it, it was so loud.

He reached for the ignition, and I had my best poker face on.

When I heard the car turn over, and the purr of the engine, I smiled.

"Well, it looks like you know how to fix a car, but can you drive one? Hop in, kid." He said, while getting out of the driver's seat.

I quickly tore off my uniform shirt, and hopped in the car. I probably should've grabbed my wallet, keys, but my mind was way too focused on the car to care about anything else.

"Just tell me where, and I'll get you there in 8 minutes, flat." I said, way too confidently.

"Downtown, 52nd West Street." He said, obviously taken aback by the confidence I showed. 52nd Street was at least a twenty minute drive, without traffic. Maybe he just wasn't used to eager nineteen year olds.

I threw the BMW into reverse, and then started to make my way towards downtown. I turned onto 52nd street, which is part of the industrial part of town, which means that it is relatively empty. I was gaining speed, trying to impress the man sitting next to me, and right before I was about to hit the crowd of people, I successfully pulled off the E-brake turn. I turned to look at him, and saw him gripping the 'Oh, Shit!' handle, as if he had already shitted himself.

I chuckled to myself. All those days of driving around empty lots had paid off.

I didn't want to, but I got up, out of the seat and handed the keys back to him.

"I told you, didn't I, only took me 7 minutes and 51 seconds to get here."

"You timed it?"

"Just wanted to make sure I didn't lose the bet." I said, laughing at myself.

"All you kids are the same…"

"Thanks for letting me drive her, she's beautiful."

"Thanks for fixing her up in a short amount of time. I was surprised, I didn't think a kid like you could drive like that. That was… impressive. Nice job." I was taken aback by his compliment, it caught me completely off guard.

"Well, all I do is drive. I hope I'd be good at it by now." I said, causing him to chuckle.

"Well, now we know that you can drive, but can you race?" He leaned against the side of the car.

I was so confused, was he wanting me to race his cars? Does he want me to race Isabel against his BMW? What is going on? My heart was racing so rapidly, everything I had ever wanted was at the touch of fingertips, all I had to do was grasp it.

"Uh, you want me to race?"

"I think you'd be good at it. You sure got the confidence needed to race. That's half the part of the winning."

Is this a job offer?

When I didn't respond right away, he continued, "I want you to race my beauty of a BMW, tonight. If you win, you have a job on my team. If you lose, maybe I'll keep you on as my mechanic. If you wreck it, you're dead. We have a deal?"

"Hell yeah." I had never been more happy in my entire life, and I hadn't even won yet.

"Good luck, you're gonna need it." He said, laughing at himself, thinking that I couldn't win the race. He threw the car keys back to me, and walked away to join some of the guys in his crew.

What the hell did I get myself into?

We were neck and neck. A quarter of a mile away from the finish line.

All I had to do was pass, just by a few inches, to actually win my first race.

Now I just had to do it.

This punk was racing an old 1978 Dodge Charger, and was acting way too confident for his racing style.

He was good; but I was better. I just had to prove it.

Luckily, his Charger was no match for my BMW.

I won. It was my first race, and I won. I won only by three seconds, but winning is winning. No matter how small.

"Congrats, young man. That was a hell of a race." I could barely hear him over the yelling and chanting by fans surrounding us.

"When you're done celebrating, come find me." Before he walked away, he handed me business card. "Welcome to the team." He gave me a slight smirk, and then faded into the large crowd.

At first, I was too confused to even celebrate my first win. The guy I just beat looked like a combination of depressed and furious, I thought that he was going to attack me, but with all the people, I then realized he would never win.

I tucked the business card into my back pocket, and did what my new employer told me to do: celebrate.

I was handed a beer and had my choice of girl. This is the best night of my life.

If only I knew just how great my life would be, and the best night of my life is yet come.

I wasn't sure how long I had been down with the celebratory crowd, but when I called the number on the card, I didn't talk to a happy man.

"Nice of you to stop drinking and call me, Mr. O'Connor. I suggest that if you wish to actually hold your spot on my team, that you get your priorities in line. Meet me at the address on the card in thirty minutes. Don't be late, and don't show up drunk." He then hung up.