CHAPTER 6:

TONIGHT TONIGHT

"Where's my car?"

"Jesus, Winter! How...?"

"Car, or I blow your head off." The handgun was a few inches from Matt's nose, Winter Frost not showing an ounce of nerves.

"Can I explain?" he asked, looking around to see if anyone was watching. After all, even in a sleazy, run-down motel, onlookers were bound to call the cops, and that would only cause more harm than good.

She shrugged, "As long as I get the car, sure."

He exhaled a little. "Well, first of all, don't you want to come inside?"

She scowled. "Why, so you can try and pull a fast one on me? Who you got in there with you, your buyer?" Her eyes darted around the interior of the doorway. "What was the plan, sell my car on then come back for your Supra?"

Matt's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What? No! The plan was I can tell you what happened and so you don't get arrested for pointing a gun at my head. I'm sure that's still a crime in California."

She muuled it over, changed her stance, seemed to relax a little. "Where the hell is my car, Matt?" A tinge of dread in the question, the anger and suspicion fading. "If you've wrecked it I swear I'll shoot you in the balls and leave you to die." She uncocked the gun and slipped it into the back of her jeans.

"Would you chill out already? The car's fine. I hid it round the back of here precisely so it wouldn't get picked up by the cops. Anyway, you've still got my money and my Supra."

She laughed, "That piece of crap? You'd kicked hell out of the engine so much that I nearly didn't get away from the cops. And don't worry, the car and your money is back safe and sound at my garage."

"You own a garage?" The relief washed over him. The night hadn't gone exactly as he'd wanted but he wasn't completely out of the fight yet.

"Misogyny, really?" Her hand moved to the back of her jeans. "You looking to get shot?"

"Hey! I'm just curious, that's all. I need someplace to get my car repaired. You have spectacular anger management issues, you know that?"

"What I really need is to see that my car's fine."

"Sure, I'll take you to your car," he said with a half sigh.

"About time. If there's any dings I'm hammering them out with your head."

"Christ, I can see why they call you Nuclear."

She beamed saccharine sweetly. She couldn't have taken the piss more with words.

Matt grabbed the key and shut the door behind him, motioning away from the room. "Fine, car. And then I'm going for something to eat, or are you gonna shoot me for that too?"

XXX

The waitress filled Winter's coffee cup for the second time.

"I don't know how you've got the appetite for that," said Winter, gesturing at the greasy bacon cheeseburger Matt was about to force into his mouth. He paused, looked at her, looked at the burger, back at her, before offering it silently to Winter.

"Ewww! Um, no...uh, thank you, but no."

"What's wrong with my burger?"

"What's right with it? It's dead animal in a bun. I mean, no offence and all..."

Matt looked apprihensively at the burger in his hands, suddenly seeing it in a new light after Winter's less-than-appealing description. Weighing it up versus the feeling of hunger in his stomach, he bit into the burger and managed to miss the tiny look of disgust on Winter's face.

Oddly enough to her, Matt had ordered a thick slice of banoffee pie along with his burger, only to happily wolf it down before he had even touched a single fry. Winter had raised an eyebrow at this, and he'd batted any upcoming question away with "It's just something I do.".

"And I mean it's like, 2.30 in the morning and you're hungry for that?"

"All this excitement gets me hungry," he mumbled through a mouthful of meat. "Boy needs to keep his strength up, my mom always said."

"Yeah, excitement..." she breathed. "Welcome to L.A!" she added with a cheesy exaggerated wink and thumbs-up.

Matt smiled. "And it's just been a little while since someone pulled a gun on me."

Her cheeks darkened. "Yeah...sorry about that. Bet you're glad to hear it's a fake?"

"A fake?"

"Yeah, a replica," she shrugged. "You think I'm gonna go around pointing real guns at people?"

"What I think is that you're drinking too much coffee." He shook his head. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"I just love my car."

Matt paused mid-chew. "Talking of which, how in the hell did you find me?"

She grinned, "Told you I had insurance. There's a tracking device in my car, so I just hopped in my tow-truck and just followed the signal out here. You really think I would have let you race without it being in there? Hell, I don't even know you."

He swallowed and sat back in the booth. "Nothing much to know about me, just your average New Yorker."

She half leaped out of the seat, pointing a finger at Matt and grinning. "Ah ha! So Mysterio finally gives something away!"

"Jesus, I didn't think I was that interesting."

"Interesting? Hell, you're all everyone's been talking about this past week. You're like some cowboy in a western or something, y'know, like wassisname, Clint Eastwood."

He smiled a little. "Yeah, The Man With No Name from Brooklyn."

"Talking of which, shouldn't you talk all like, you know, heeey?" she said, putting on some undertermined accent.

Matt blinked. "What am I, The Fonz?"

Her lips bunched into a tiny annoyed pout he couldn't help but find cute. "No, but you know, like, heeyy, I'm from Noo Yoik, you'se mess with me, you'se messin' with the whole bougatsa."

He laughed, spluttering into his soda.

"What?" Her brow furrowed, her pout returning.

"No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but that is awesome. Oh, I only wish I was that much of a cliche. Anyway, it's only the guidos that try and talk like that, and I'm just a regular dude from Bed-Stuy."

"Never had you for hipster-lingo."

"It ain't hipster where I'm from. And I think you mean brugad instead of bougatsa, if you mean the family."

"Oh. What's bougatsa then?"

"It's a Greek breakfast pastry."

She shrugged it off. "So apart from being a walking patisserie what else are you offering up about yourself?"

He tipped his head. "I tell you, I'm just your average racer. There's nothing special about me at all." He took a bite, swallowed. "Not the greatest thing you can say about yourself, but in my case it's true."

Winter stared at him over her cup. "So you're nothing special, yet you've got one of the best cars I've seen in a while, rigged with some crazy-ass hyperdrive flame-thrower thing? And you've come all the way across the country just to race that prick Westwood?" She smiled. "Must think there's something special about yourself if you think you can be the best in L.A?"

He chuckled. "You just keep getting it wrong about me."

"I'll work you out."

"Doubt it."

"Think you're some kind of an enigma?" She looked up from her cup at him. "I'm good with puzzles."

"I'm sure you are," he said, holding her look before their laughter broke the tension. Focus, Matt, focu on why you're really here. "So, tell me more about Westwood. All I know so far is that he ain't exactly a popular guy."

"Well you've seen him up close and personal, you know what he's like. Little rich boy from a big rich family, slummin' it with us street scumbags. Don't get me wrong, he's a hell of a racer, but his personality leaves a lot to be desired."

"Anything else I should know? What's with all the heavies with him?"

"You mean the bodyguards?" she laughed. "I always figured he just wanted to look important. Hell, forget about the hired muscle, you should see all those dumb girls he's always got around him. Swear to God, some of them are so strung out that they need people to remind 'em to breathe."

"You think he's, what, giving them drugs?"

Winter froze, staring at him inquisitively. "You a cop or something?"

Matt's laughter echoed round the empty diner. "No, no, but people always seem to think that. I ask too many questions, I know."

"Sorry to jump to conclusions, but a while back, there was this undercover cop..."

"Yeah, so I've heard."

"Ah, he was some dumb pretty boy."

"Sure I'd kick his ass."

"Just don't bounce him into my car again."

Matt ignored the comment. "So these girls, just making Westwood look important too?"

Winter bit her lip, paused for a few seconds as she looked around herself. "Well," she said, her voice low, "I heard a couple things that Westwood introduces these girls to his high-flying friends, if you know what I mean. As I said, just heard that as a rumour. What's this got to do with racing him anyway?"

"Nothing," Matt said sharply. "Know your enemy."

He felt his nails digging into his palms, not even aware that he'd made fists. He hadn't been sure before, not completely, but after meeting him, after tonight, Matt could feel the anger welling up inside him, threatening to explode, threatening to make him rip Westwood's head off the next time they met. Rip it off and enjoy every blood-boiling moment of it.

But instead he caught himself, concentrated, forced it down, back down into the pit of his stomach and bottled it all up, as he always did. As he always had.

Until that one night.

Until that one night when he just couldn't take it anymore and exploded. Exploded like a supernova, years of anger and frustration rushing out of him, making him snap, making his head spin and eyes blurry with rage. His hands had come down over and over and over and over and...

"Matt?"

He came back to the present with a jolt.

"You okay?" Winter stared at him across the booth table, concern in her eyes.

He took a deep breath to regain his composure. "I'm fine." He smiled; it was hollow but it would pass for convincing enough. "I'm fine. Anyway, I don't want to sit here and talk about Westwood all night. What about you, Winter Frost?"

Scowl. "Are you laughing at my name?"

He grinned, genuine this time, immediately warmed by her reaction and holding his hands up in mock-surrender. "No, no! I've heard the stories, and I'm not dumb enough to laugh at you!"

"Good," she blushed slightly, "I wouldn't want to have to kill you."

"Like having me around?"

"Nah, it's just too easy. Anyway, my parents are old-school hippies from San Fran, alright? I was born with a little lock of white hair, and they thought it was a sign. Didn't know it was gonna stay like this for the rest of my life," she said, pulling a strand into her view. "You know Frost is actually my father's family name for real? It ain't like they changed it, which is kinda spooky, huh?"

"Hey, they could have called you 'Dee'."

"Har-har. Not like I haven't heard that one a thousand times," she groaned. "My parents just liked the name Winter."

"So do I," he blurted out, rather suddenly.

She smiled and took a sip of coffee to mask her blushing, "Thanks. So you want to come back to mine?"

XXX

"Sir."

She shook his shoulder gently. "Sir, We'll be landing in Los Angeles in about 15 minutes." The stewardess smiled sweetly, crouched down beside the seat. "All passengers are supposed to wear their seatbelts while we land."

He grunted, still groggy from sleep. His neck was stiff and sore from lying in the economy class seat, making him swear that when he was going back, he was going by train, no matter how long it would take. He ran his hands over his thin, weathered face, feeling the fresh stubble poking through. "Miss?"

The stewardess smiled automatically, "How can I help you?"

"What time is it?"

"It's 2:40am, Saturday, local time."

He grunted again, adjusting his watch. "Sorry, I'm still on New York time."

The stewardess moved on, and he watched her ass all the way, but it did little to make him feel better. He was tired, jet lagged and grouchy. But what pissed him off the most was that he had been sent to Los Angeles, of all places, where the heat made him sweat like he was in a sauna and 90% of the people seemed to be insane. A city and a climate he hated, and his entire weekend ruined. And to think it was all because of one little prick.

He was going to kill Matt Reilly.