CHAPTER 5:
BREAKOUT
He calmed. Just a little.
His chest felt like it had developed ADHD all on its own, and was alternating between trying to eject his heart and trying to inhale every molicule of oxygen in Los Angeles.
A sudden bang on the Supra's roof jolted him out of it. Winter.
Pissed. Off.
He wound down the window, she stood close, he could see her chest rising and falling quickly with adrenaline and anger. Well, he tried to focus on that.
"Hey, you raced well..." he began, eventually making eye contact with her.
"Please, I don't need your platitudes," she scowled. She reached inside, switched the engine off then tossed the keys to Matt.
"What the hell are you doing? Sore loser?"
"Very. But that doesn't mean I want to see you do any more damage," she turned and started to walk off.
"Damage?" He stepped out of the Supra, the warmth in his chest gone, replaced with a cold, thudding dread.
She motioned to the front of the car. "You've blown your manifold, at least. So I've shut the damn engine off before you cook your pistons."
Christ, she was right. A haze of steam rose from the engine block of the Supra, visible even in the warm Californian night, while the last of the black smoke chugged from the exhaust. Matt sagged, a sudden worry. His mind threw up barriers; Don't think about it, don't think about it... "This is bad, isn't it?"
"Depends. It'll still run, should still drive in a low gear okay."
"What about racing?"
"Race?" she laughed a little. "It'll drive. That's about the best I can say until you get into the engine proper."
Good-natured laughter broke into their conversation as Kobe appeared out of the crowd, lightly applauding Matt.
"It ain't funny, K," Winter said in a low voice.
"I ain't laughing at you, Nuclear," he replied as sincerely as he could manage. "But our man Matt Reilly right here just came through for me. That bet? I made a killing!"
"I'm about to do the same," Winter said eyeing Matt, roughly pushing a sympathy hug from Kobe away.
"Congratulations, you just made yourself an enemy for life," Kobe laughed. "She's just pissed cause she doesn't lose very often. You should be happy you won, Winter's one of the best we got."
She abruptly broke into a beaming smile and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, K, at least someone recognises my brilliance," she said, turning and drawing Matt a look of death which he now took to be his default setting.
"He only won because of that thing in his car. What kind of idiot puts...puts that in their car anyway?" she huffed. "What the hell was that thing anyway?"
"An afterburner, kinda experimental."
"Kinda dumb if you ask me. Thicken the intake, maybe that thing'll work without destroying your car." She paused, running her eyes over the Supra. Matt could see she was working out the mechanics in her head, and couldn't stop himself from grinning slightly at her reaction. She caught him looking, caught herself distracted and looked away, brushing a strand of white hair behind her ear.
What was that, embarrassment?
"Maybe that's kinda cool," she said quietly. "But you...you're still an idiot."
He shrugged. "Got used to that a long time ago."
She smiled a little, but before he could say another word, Kobe spoke up: "So looks like we've got ourselves a new dark horse in town, a new challenger and another new enemy for Winter. After all this excitement maybe a good thing you can't race Westwood no more tonight..."
"What?"
Kobe laughed. "Your car, man. I mean, look at it!"
Matt looked, despite not wanting to. Steam still continued to vent from the engine, and although the black smoke had stopped the Supra still looked like it had just barely made it through the race of its life. The mental barriers collapsed. Cold, harsh realisation hit Matt. There was no way now he was racing Westwood tonight.
"Shit!" he hissed, his hands going to his temples. "Shit, shit, shit!"
"Take, it easy, bro, you'll get your chance."
He turned quickly. "This is my chance. I need a car. I need to race that sonofabitch tonight."
Kobe recoiled a step at Matt's reaction as Winter stepped up, her curious expression back on her face. He saw her regarding him with a look like a scientist examining some kind of new discovery under their microscope, curious and a little wary.
"What's up with you? Why the rush?"
"I like going fast."
Her arms folded. "Fine, forget I even asked."
Kobe's voice after a couple of silent seconds: "Maybe it ain't as bad as it looks, right? Figure maybe I owe you some help after you won me that bet. He looked across to Winter. "Fixable?"
She exhaled slowly. "If I had a day. And if I gave a shit."
Matt looked up to see her grinning. "Which of course I don't," she said, adding a wink.
Despite himself, despite the situation, he smiled at her. Genuine, warm, much more of a thank you than he could have ever put into words at that moment. The feeling pushed back some of the worry, calmed his mind a little. As the panic subsided, the analytical section of his brain flared to life. I need to race Westwood tonight.
Problem: My car won't make the race.
Solution: Find another car.
His head snapped up. "Yours."
Winter frowned in confusion. "Mine?"
"Yeah."
"My what...?" It suddenly became clear to her. "Oh no, nooo way. No frigging way."
"Come on, please?"
"No way! I'm not letting you do that," she angrily pointed to the Supra, "To my car."
"Please Winter, I need your car. This is so important to me and I can't do it without your help." Matt sighed. "Look, you take the eight G's I won, that's yours if I can use your car, you keep that as payment."
"Why don't you use Kobe's car? You know, someone that likes you?"
"I don't like Skylines."
"And what's wrong with Skylines?" Kobe protested.
Matt hesitated before speaking. "Nothing. Nothing, really... Too heavy for a straight drag for my tastes."
Winter raised both palms up. "See, what have I been telling you all this time?"
"Ah, screw the both of you. Wouldn't know a decent car if it bit you on the ass."
"Yours couldn't catch my ass." She turned back to Matt, "I can't believe you said all that crap to me and still expect me to hand over my car! Said you could, what, show me how to drive?"
"I reacted like a jackass, okay? It's not the first time and unfortunately it won't be the last. I only said that because you made me look like an ass in front of everyone."
"You did a pretty good job of that yourself."
"Only after you tore me out in front of the whole crowd. Just telling me to go screw myself would have been preferable."
"Maybe for you, but I like tormenting people."
"Yeah, tell me about it," he sighed.
"So what you're saying is you didn't mean any of it, and you were just trying to protect your fragile male ego? Macho boasts, big car; you compensating for something, Reilly? Something teeny-tiny?"
He stared hard at her innocent smile before replying. "Do we have to turn this into a psychology lesson? No, I didn't mean it, right? You more than proved you can handle a car, and you would have won if it wasn't for my afterburner." He held his hands up as a gesture of sincerity.
Winter cracked a beaming smile that lit up her face. "Keep this up for a while and I may not even hate you."
"I'm touched," he deadpanned.
"You should be. It's an honour to be anywhere near me."
Matt looked to his damaged Supra before turning back to Winter. "Can we sort this out, please?"
"Why do you want my car so bad?"
"One, I know it's damn good and fast, you proved that out there. Two..."
"Oh, so now you're saying it's good? My little Barbie car is now good? Damn good I believe?"
"For the love of God! You wanna quit this?"
She casually motioned for him to continue, clearly taking some degree of amusement form the whole thing.
"Two, RX-7's and Supras are set up pretty identically, so unless you've made big changes to the interior, it'll feel just like a Supra."
"That's it? It feels better?"
"It'll be more natural for me to drive, I'm used to how a Supra feels."
Winter paced around in a circle. "So first you insult my...," she said finally.
"Yeah I know, I know, I'm sorry," he said, interrupting. "Your car is great, mine sucks. You're a great driver, I'm talentless. Okay? I wouldn't ask, but I'm desperate. Racing Westwood means more to me than you'll ever know, and I can't wait until I get my car repaired. I have to do this tonight." He leaned in close to her. The scent of her perfume teased him, flashing rapid images of the both of them together into his mind, which he quickly dispelled. "Look, you take the eight G's, and there's another 20 in the back of my car if I screw up. That's your insurance policy."
She withdrew with an annoyed look on her face. "I've got insurance of my own, thanks, so you don't have to try and buy me," she spat in clipped tones.
"That's not what..." he started to snap before he sighed, paused, composed himself.
Kobe stepped in between the two of them. "Come on, Nuclear, one race, right? Not like you'll lose your car if Westwood wins, and you're hardly his biggest fan anyway."
"Exactly, so if anyone's beating him in my car it's me."
"Winter, baby, I know you're probably gonna swing a punch at me for saying this but tonight was to see who won the right to race Westwood, and Matt..."
"You don't have to remind me!"
"So give the man his chance. Hell, all this time you've been speaking to him, the race could have been over and done with. In fact, this is about the first time I've ever seen you talk with someone that's bea..."
She turned too quickly, holding up a finger to silence him. "One warning; shut up."
"I'm just saying this is a strange and wonderful new experience," he said with an amused smirk. Whatever it was in refrence to was lost on Matt.
She waved Kobe off with a dismissive shove, turning to face Matt, her mind made up to say no.
"Please," Matt said, pre-empting her. "I really need your help here. I know you don't know me, I know you don't even like me, and you've got no reason to trust me, and I know I'm asking a lot. If you're dead against it, I'll stop bothering you and I'll find someone else, but I don't know how good their cars really are until I see them in action. But I know what your car can do, I know it's good, and I swear to God I know I can win with it," he practically growled. "And I'm not trying to insult you, but you can take the 28 G's and my Supra and anything I've got in this entire frigging world, as long as I get to race Westwood." Matt caught her sky-blue eyes, and she could see no trace of bravado or ego in his face.
Only desperation.
"Please. You're my only hope."
Winter frowned, looked at the sky for a moment, turned on the spot. "Right, sure, fine. If only for the Star Wars reference. But this doesn't mean I like you. And I mean it, you even think about driving my car like you did there and I'll kill you."
Matt broke out in a wide grin of relief, "You'll have to catch me first."
Winter did not smile. "Oh, don't worry, I'll..."
She was interrupted by a roar that sounded like it came from Satan himself. Drawing up to the start line on Jones was a jet black 2010 Dodge Viper SRT-10, polished and gleaming like a mirror. Even for those who had seen it before, it still drew gasps of admiration. It simply radiated power.
Matt stared with a mix of admiration and horror. The body on the 2010 model was sleeker and more streamlined than previous Vipers, but had much more advances than just bodywork. The SRT-10 was equipped with a devastating 8.4-litre V10 engine that gave you 600bhp before any modifications. 18-wheeler trucks don't have engines that big. Matt had driven in a 2003 Viper once before, and the sheer power had terrified him.
In the strictest of terms, it wasn't your usual street racer's car. But then again, Sean Westwood wasn't your usual street racer. Racers love nothing more than taking some Japanese import sub-compact, stripping it down and turning it into a rocket. Westwood's Viper however, was something else. It wasn't there to show technical skill or savvy, it was there to pound every other racer into the tarmac, and prove beyond doubt that he was the best.
The Viper came to a halt, inch perfect on the red starting line. Westwood emerged from it, like an A-list movie star showing up for a premiere, hands in the air and waving to all as if everyone was there just to see him. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as he casually strolled over to Matt, his entourage close behind.
"You ready for the worst defeat you've ever had?" asked Westwood. "I watched you drive out there, and I'll tell you something, boy, you're pathetic. Slipping on your first gear change, that's something that amateurs do." The entourage laughed. "And as for that little NOS toy of yours, very cute. You drive so badly, I'm surprised you even got off the start line," he sneered.
Matt felt his hands knot into fists. He had finally been pushed to breaking point. Normally he resisted the feeling, normally he ran as fast as he could from it, but Westwood was getting what was due one way or another. A shot of adrenaline sprayed into his brain as he lunged for Westwood, who simply stepped aside to let one of his hulking bodyguards through.
The huge crowd surrounding them surged as people tried to get a look in. Many of the crowd had seen people tangle with Westwood and his entourage before, and had yet to see someone come out as the winner.
The bodyguard drew to a halt in front of Matt, eclipsing him. "Don't try it," his deep baritone voice warned. "I'm giving you one warning."
"Look, Ferrigno," Matt snarled, "This is between me and him, so just..." Before he could go on, Matt felt himself being held back. He turned to see Winter gently shaking her head. A flare of his anger cooled and died as he saw her.
"Don't listen to Westwood," she whispered, "He's just trying to goad you."
"Yeah, well he's doing a damn good job of it."
"Listen to me," she said, moving in front of him, "You go out there angry and you'll just make mistakes all over the place. If this race means as much to you as you said, then you can't blow your chances just by being angry."
Matt stood for a moment, calming himself and letting everything sink in. What Winter was saying was true, he had come too far now to let it all fall away because of mind games. Even so, the rage that he spent his life avoiding picked at the back of his mind, telling him in warm, seductive tones that it would be quicker and easier if he just whirled and smashed Westwood's face to a pulp. It took a couple of breaths to remind himself why he was there, swallowing down the bile. He nodded silently to Winter before turning to Westwood, taking a deep breath before speaking. "What do I get if I win?"
Westwood laughed loudly, "Anything you like! Because if you win, it'll be a miracle! You haven't got a hope in hell, boy!"
Before he could lunge again, Matt heard Winter's voice in his ear, "You want to beat him, hurt him? Only way to do that is to do it on the road," she said, slipping her keys into his hand and taking his. "Now go kick his ass."
XXX
The start line was occupied again.
Two fenders, one from a black Dodge Viper SRT-10, one from a white Mazda RX-7.
And one tall rockabilly redhead, standing with her arms raised.
Matt could feel the bile rising in the pit of his stomach. In ten seconds or less, this would all be over, one way or another.
The arms were still.
The laptop on the passenger seat monitored the power of the engine, with peaks and troughs appearing on the display as Matt gunned the engine.
Still.
Still.
This was it. This is what it all came down to. This was what he'd planned, the only option he could see. All other plans were impossible or took too long, he had to race Westwood.
Still.
Still.
'Help me, Matt.'
Still.
Still.
He whispered to no-one; inaudible, almost silent, "This is for you."
Still.
Still.
Still.
"COPS, COPS, COPS!"
The first swarm of patrol cars rounded the corner onto Jones at speed, a blur of flashing lights and a symphony of screaming sirens as they sped towards the racers from beyond the finish line. They fanned out, trying to take up as much of the street as possible, with a couple of cars skidding to a halt and barricading the road.
The second wave of cops came in from behind the racers, forming a thick line across the road, blocking off all available escape routes. The cops advanced inwards like twin tidal waves, closing the racers in the middle. No way forward, no way back, no way out to the sides.
Jones Avenue had become a rat trap.
Racers sprinted flat out for their cars, gunning engines and taking off in all directions, desperate to avoid the cops. Cars weave in and out of one another, shooting off like vermin escaping a nest. Suddenly, everyone loses interest in winning or looking good; now they're just trying to get their asses to safety. Getting busted by the cops means fines, prison terms, or even worse, losing your car and your licence.
In the middle of all the confusion, two cars sat in the centre of Jones, seemingly unaware of the pandemonium going on all around them.
Westwood turned his head, smiling smugly, "I guess this means it's all over?" he asked, shouting over the noise.
Matt faced him, "Bullshit. The way I see it, we've only just begun."
They both hit the gas.
The Viper shot off the start line like an Apollo moon rocket.
Matt was slack-jaw stunned, it was like nothing he had ever seen before. The horsepower must have been absolutely staggering for acceleration like that. In a split-second, the Viper was already up and powering away from him.
But Matt wasn't willing to leave it at that. You think you're getting away you bastard?
He floored the accelerator, the rear tyres spinning out a puff of burnt rubber before they found traction and launched the Mazda forward.
Nah, you ain't going anywhere.
Ahead of him, the Dodge swerved a patrol car that raced haphazardly across its path, the back of the Viper swinging out before Westwood swiftly brought it under control without a major loss of speed.
Hmm, maybe you are pretty good after all.
The manoeuvre gave Matt the opportunity he needed as he closed the gap on Westwood's rear to ten feet.
With his eyes locked firmly on Westwood's tail, Matt punched the RX-7 up a gear and slipped in closer behind the Viper, into the slipstream. As the two cars raced along Jones, they were forced to constantly weave to avoid frantic racers bailing out in all directions. For every move Westwood made, Matt copied it to the letter, dodging and weaving like prize fighters.
It was lucky for Matt that in this closed environment, the Viper was unable to get up to full power. If it did, Westwood would be straight out of there.
Closed environment? thought Matt, catching sight of what lay ahead of him. More like too enclosed.
20 metres down the road, the cops were trying to form a third blockade across the street to block the racers in even more. The barricade was partially complete, with only a central gap just wide enough for a car to get through. Very soon, a final police cruiser would plug that gap.
Looks like we're blockade running, huh, Westwood?
Suddenly, headlights flared in Matt's eyes as a terrified racer in a bright yellow Volkswagen Jetta charged towards him and Westwood in a desperate run from the cops. He was 10 metres away from them, heading for the police barricade in the opposite direction.
With the RX-7, Viper and Jetta all heading for the same gap, it was going to be tight, if not impossible.
As he sped through the gap in the blockade, the driver of the Jetta slammed on the brakes in his panic at seeing two cars rushing towards him. As a result, the steering locked up tight, the whole car becoming completely unresponsive. The Volkswagen belched smoke from its tyres as it began fishtailing wildly, the rear of the car swinging back and forth as the car began to pivot on the front two wheels, still skidding forward.
"You stupid ass!" yelled Matt as he watched the Jetta slide towards him, all but destroying any chance of getting through the gap. The Volkswagen was too close to the space and too wild to be certain of anything.
Ahead of him, Matt saw Westwood cut his Viper to the left, just as the rear of the Jetta swung that way, hurtling towards the Dodge. The evasive action took the Viper way out to the left, wrecking almost any driver's chances of making the gap in the police line. Most drivers would be lucky to avoid slamming straight into a police cruiser.
Please, please damage that car, prayed Matt, hoping for anything to slow Westwood down.
With just inches to spare, the Viper shot past the Volkswagen, the yellow Jetta's swinging rear barely missing the Dodge. However, the Viper was wildly off course for the gap in the barricade.
With a brief flash of the brakelights, Westwood swung the back end of the Viper out to the left before punching a shot of NOS into the supercharged engine. The resulting blast of power literally fired the Viper straight forward, countering the skid to the left immediately and aiming it back to the gap.
Most drivers would have slammed into the barricade, but it was clear now that Westwood wasn't just any driver.
"Damn!" hissed Matt as he rounded the Jetta on the right, passing through the gap in the police line a half-second after Westwood. Again, he closed in behind the Viper, which was powering its way directly out of Jones.
Enough distractions, we're ending this.
On hearing the laptop on the seat beeping, Matt hit a small white button on the wheel and upshifted at the exact moment the Nitrous hit. The RX-7 accelerated rapidly, thumping into the rear of Westwood's Viper, rocking both vehicles.
Matt hoped to God that Winter was no longer around to see that.
With the two cars now just inches apart, they continued their bizarre dance through the swarm of racers and cops. Upshifting again, Matt swerved out to the right, and could see he was clearly picking up ground on Westwood. The heavier American muscle car may have had the edge when it came to raw power, but the Japanese import greatly outperformed it in terms of manoeuvrability. And in the enclosed hornet's nest of Jones, that meant the odds were even for both racers.
A faint smile crossed Matt's face as he drew level with the Viper, seeing Westwood's furious expression off his left shoulder. All he had to do was keep...
Shit!
From out of nowhere, an Acura rapidly came in from the right, the driver wildly trying to evade a police cruiser locked on his tail. In a less than second, he would collide with Matt on their present course.
Shit, I either keep going after Westwood and get blindsided by some asshole or I lose him and have to wait for another chance.
In a split-second, he knew what he had to do. Cursing with rage, he pulled the handbrake on and swerved the RX-7 to the left, just missing the rear of the Viper as it charged away from him.
The Mazda spun out completely, the tail swinging round wildly in a 360 as Matt struggled to regain control. It slid up on to the sidewalk on the left-hand side of the street, ending up facing back towards the start line on Jones. The speeding Acura missed Matt by a couple of feet, mounting the kerb and ploughing into a chain link fence that surrounded a complex of buildings, pulling a large section of it to the ground.
Above all the noise, the roar of Sean Westwood's Dodge Viper could still be heard powering off into the distance.
Matt punched the wheel in frustration, before realising that Westwood escaping him wasn't his only problem, not by a long shot. No, the mass of cops flooding into Jones was a pretty big problem to say the least.
No, scrap that. The two police cruisers that had blocked him off were his biggest problem right now.
They had both come in at an angle, forming a V-shape around the RX-7, trapping him in a triangle formed of the two cars and an upright section of the chain link fence. In a second, the cops in those cars would be out and pulling their guns on him, and it would be all over.
Inwardly, Matt apologised for losing Westwood. But there will be another time, I promise. But right now I have to get the hell out of here, because I'm no use to anyone in a prison cell. And jail ain't my scene any more, I ain't going back there.
Just as the doors of the cruisers were swinging open, he jammed the RX-7 into reverse, backing away from the cops and into the chain link fence. Weakened from the Acura's hit, the upright section crashed down easily enough, hitting the ground with a cymbal's crash.
Looking out the rear windscreen, Matt could see he was in some kind of industrial estate, a complex of small factories and warehouses placed close together. He spun the Mazda in a 180, shifted into first and pulled away. To his right, past the semi-standing chain link fence, the battle between the cops and racers was drawing to a close. With just the stragglers remaining, it seemed as if most of the racers had escaped, even though a few were cuffed and slumped down at the side of their cars.
A large part of him hoped that Winter and Kobe had escaped.
Spotting a possible way out, Matt steered the RX-7 to the left and taking it into a narrow alley between two sizeable buildings. As he accelerated away, blue and red flashing on the brickwork around him told him he was not alone.
Without a rear-view mirror, Matt was forced to look over his shoulder, and was aggravated but not too surprised to see two police cruisers following him.
Still, I've been in situations like this plenty of times before. Unfortunately.
The wail of the police sirens seemed even louder in the enclosed space as the three cars raced down the narrow alley, kicking up waves of trash and dust as they sped along. Thankfully for Matt, the alley was far too narrow for the cops to attempt to overtake him and cut him off.
But this alley will only last for so long. Have to think of something fast.
He punched the NOS button on the wheel and was forced back against the Sparko seat as the RX-7 put distance between him and the cops, just a few seconds worth of breathing room.
After 200 feet that passed by in an instant, the alley opened up into a wide courtyard, with two-level buildings surrounding it on all sides. A number of passages ran off from the courtyard, which could be seen from above as a clockface. Alleys ran off at 1, 3, 5, 9 and 11, with a tall crane standing just off-centre in a raised loading bay.
What the hell, thought Matt as he aimed the Mazda directly for the loading bay. Time to end this. He glanced over his shoulder to see the two police cars peeling off in opposite directions as they emerged from the alley.
Concentrating on the bay, he saw that it was a raised concrete structure that rose in a ramp to five feet above the ground, enabling fork-lifts and other vehicles to load cargo into semi-trailers. Another quick look over his shoulder informed him that the lead police car had stuck doggedly to his rear, while the other car had split off to block him.
A worried half-smile appeared on Matt as he quickly came up with a plan, flooring the accelerator. Accordingly, the cruiser following him gained speed as the two cars raced towards the loading bay at 50mph.
I just hope this works.
He upshifted again into fifth, set on an unshakeable course for the loading bay. A glance back showed the police cruiser closer than ever to him, on a few feet behind him and gaining.
Closer.
Closer.
Ten feet from the ramp of the bay, Matt wrenched on the handbrake, whirling the steering wheel hard to the right. The Mazda's rear wheels locked up, the RX-7 turning sharply on it's front wheels in a 180 degree turn. Skidding to a halt, the rear of the RX-7 had just missed smashing into the loading bay's ramp by a few inches, something that would have killed any chance of Matt's escape.
Unfortunately for them, the chasing police were not as lucky or skilful. And police cruisers are far less manoeuvrable than RX-7's.
Swerving left to avoid ploughing right into the Mazda at high speed, the driver of the cruiser could not correct his course quickly enough to avoid clipping the loading bay's ramp. The front right wheel of the cruiser mounted the ramp, which was just enough to overbalance the already veering car. Running off the ramp, the Ford cruiser flipped over to the left, coming down on the side of the chassis before it went the full way over onto the roof.
The impact shattered the roof lights and killed the wailing siren instantly, replaced by a screech of metal against concrete as the car slid along on its roof for 15 feet, sparks flying all the way. With the RX-7 still stationary, Matt grinned as the two cops staggered from the upturned patrol car, shaken but alive and mostly unhurt.
The grin vanished as he realised the second police car was heading back across the courtyard towards him at speed. He smoothly pulled away, heading towards a large two-storey warehouse that sat at the bottom of the clockface courtyard. Disappearing into the darkness, he could only hope there was another way out.
XXX
The remaining police cruiser slowly entered the darkened warehouse, the cop in the passenger seat laughing softly. "Little bastard's got himself trapped in here. You see him?"
The cruiser's driver squinted into the gloom, into the dusty, disused and decrepit warehouse. Machinery was scattered around the place, rusting slowly from occasional rain. Litter and other discarded detritus carpeted the bare concrete floor, and in the very centre of the building, a large access ramp led up to the first floor. "Nah, he isn't down here." He pointed towards the ramp. "You want to call in backup?"
"For one little punk? I think we can take him," the passenger said, patting the pump-action Remington shotgun that was clipped to the roof.
"Yeah, but you seen what he did to Eriksen and Rosenberg back there."
"That was with a car. Not much he can do in here."
The driver touched the gas, the car moving slowly and steadily towards the ramp, not wanting to be surprised. But as the cruiser pulled up to the first floor, the only thing they found was the entire level shrouded in blanketing darkness. The pulsing pursuit lights did little to illuminate the area, instead giving everything a strange slow-motion feel.
The driver pulled a high-powered flashlight from the dash and held it out of his window, sweeping the beam back and forth. Suddenly, with a reflective flash, the beam settled on a white Mazda RX-7 sitting in a corner of the warehouse.
The driver narrowed his eyes as the car crept slowly towards the Mazda, making sure he was right. "Car's empty," he finally said to his passenger, both of them leaning forward in their seats to quint at the Mazda through the darkness. "Guess he decided to run on foot. Little prick can't be very far."
"Still," his partner replied. "I'd prefer to catch him before..."
He was abruptly cut off by a loud whoosh that came from inside the cruiser itself, a sound that came from the twin airbags inflating in an instant and smashing into them, knocking the wind out of both cops. The large safety devices shot out, as they were designed to do so in the event of an accident.
But this was no accident.
Matt Reilly knew this as he stepped out from behind the cruiser, dropping a thick piece of metal piping to the floor with a metallic clunk. No, it had certainly been no accident, and the dent he had put in the rear fender of the cruiser was testament to that.
He broke into a run, snatching the flashlight from the driver's outstretched arm and shattering the bulb against the bonnet of the cruiser. The warehouse was again plunged into a pulsating semi-darkness, which Matt quickly merged into.
Should hold them for a while, he thought, as he sprinted to the RX-7 before the two officers could escape. Over the birthcry of the Mazda's engine, Matt could hear the dazed and angered shouts of the cops as they tried to clamber out from their seats. You were lucky tonight, Reilly, remember that. But three fights, two wins, and that ain't bad at all.
He gunned the engine and was gone.
XXX
It was a tactic he had used before.
As soon as you lose the cops, find a place to hide; it was one of the first things he had been taught in New York by the late, great Vegas McCoy, his mentor when it came to all things cars. "Get off the damn street as soon as possible and keep low until the heat dies down," McCoy had urged, drilling the point home to Matt. "A lot of folks think that once you lose the cops, you're fine. Bull, more often than not, a good half hour later they get picked up while driving around like nothing's going on."
This and other lessons from his past came back to him now, the ghosts of a former life. Well, maybe not such a former life, he thought. With nothing but a leaky pipe and the sound of occasional passing traffic to distract him, all Matt had were memories, thoughts and worries.
He had found a cheap, sleazy, one-storey motel, one that crucially had a place round the back where he could park the RX-7 and not worry about it being spotted by some nosy 5-oh.
But right now, the cops really were the least of his worries. He lay on the lumpy bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling, wondering how the hell he was going to save this situation now. He had lost his chance with Westwood, he had lost his car, and he had lost the 28G's he had. The only thing to do now was to keep going back to races until he found Winter again, and try to get his car back. Then he could pay to have his car repaired, and then he could race Westwood, but until then, it was a waiting game.
But how long do I have to wait?
I can't bear waiting any longer than I have to.
He sat up on the bed and reached for the bottle of soda sat on the floor, only to find it empty. He grimaced, things were just going from bad to worse.
Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door made him jump. As a jolt of panic ran through him, he composed himself; the cops couldn't have found him, not with how careful he had been. No, it was probably either the motel clerk to tell him something or a hooker looking for business, that was all. He got to his feet, wandered to the door, unhooked the chain and twisted the knob, "Look, it's late and I'm tired, so..."
Click.
A 9mm handgun was being pointed at his face.