Welcome back everyone. It's been quite a while, and it comes with a sincere apology from me for being gone as long as I have been. Closer to 5 years now it's been left dormant to rot. I never intended to abandon this fic like I did, but when life gets in the way, you have to tend to it. I've overhauled and replaced the first chapter out of 7. I intend to rework the other chapters and continue this fic for many more updates to come. I understand I may have lost a good few readers, and I hope that they either come back around, or foster the opportunity for all new watchers to come and join this re-ignited journey. Thank everyone for the views, and reviews. I'll always welcome feedback from any source, so don't hesitate to tell me what you all think. I've since deleted my author's note chapter and put my notice here, so you don't get baited thinking there's more quite yet. Welcome back to Carbon County!
From an early age, children are taught that their actions lead way to consequence. That they can't outrun their past no matter how fast they run or how far the needle on their speedometer climbs higher. In saying so, that principle no longer matters to an individual who has spent the last 4 years on the run from all the problems they caused and casualties they shielded themselves with in order to pursue an entirely new identity. New persona, new life, new location; and yet somehow this same old rinse and repeat formula has finally met its end. Gone are the days of moving town to town as a means of escape from personal responsibility and the guilt of the past I left behind all those years ago.
In my melancholy haze, I barely caught the glimpse of my headlights engulfing the green and white street sign on my right. The beams cascaded over and past the reflective lettering outlining the words of a city I'd hoped to have the pleasure of never revisiting.
"Palmont City - 10 Miles". It was here everything fell apart at the seams. If you were to look at a geographical map, the latitude and longitude coordinates intersect to form a giant fuck you middle finger. This was the origin; the birthplace of my skill behind the wheel, and the birthplace of my prolonged silence and distrust of the people closest around me. A blessing and a curse one might call it.
It was all too much for me to take in at once. Memories flooding back knocking me back into the bolsters of my seat. I pulled off to the side and pulled my e-brake abruptly, gravel dust billowing past my stopped car and collecting in front of me. I had to collect myself. I was tired, no - exhausted even. Nonstop driving from different county and state lines in a racecar of all things definitely would take a toll on someone. Centimeters away from the guardrail, I glanced over from where I was positioned and took notice of just how many different shades and colors, streaks of paint were engraved in the cheap sheet metal. In the distance I could hear tachometers hitting redline and 4-cylinder cars screaming in protest. For the first time in a long time, a faint smirk crept its way on my face. I heard the faint rumble of my engine shaking me back to reality and realized it was time for a little break. Pulling my keys from the ignition, I crawled out from my 4-wheeled death trap and slump on the rail next to it, gazing down the canyon and into the city street lights that could be seen from miles back.
For the first time in a long time, I was left to ponder my thoughts, a privilege I took for granted so many times before. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes, lighting up and letting out a puff of smoke as the environment around me brought back memories I would've hoped to have left behind. My recollection of the events that were once hazy and shrouded in a thick mental fog, all flooded the front of mind in a rush of head-rattling clarity. Crazy how in such an instant everything moving swiftly forward can send you suddenly hurtling back. All it took was the setting of the sun, the streetlamps and neon signs to click on, and 4 highly modified vehicles lined up for a race for my entire world to come crashing down around me.
"Start it up"
She leaned into the window of the driver's side letting her bangs fly freely, a few loose strands getting caught by the draft outdoors as she stared into me with her mesmerizing eyes. I scanned the features of her face and locked in on her cute dimples attached to her smile. It took me back to when we got together back in high school not even 2 years prior. Me the recluse who worked in shop and nearly flunked out. Grease-stained jeans and white t-shirt to boot. And out of nowhere comes her, not a shred of hesitation as she comes up to me doing parking lot maintenance on an old Nova, picked up a socket wrench and tried her best to act like she knew what she was doing. Not a single word was exchanged for 5 minutes, and we both busted out laughing, A few dates and a question later we were inseparable. A very quick study, it didn't take very long for her to start tag-teaming projects with me and was getting really, really good. Fast forward to now I always draw comparison, and it makes me wonder how lucky I truly got.
Once I engaged the clutch pedal, turned the key, and held…...nothing. With an exasperated sigh, and dread, I tried again. I turned the key with as much force as I could muster and gave it a bit of throttle. Nearly snapping off the key inside the ignition housing, I had to step back and assess the problem. It had spark, that much was obvious. Fuel wasn't hitting the injectors, either no vacuum in the lines or we had a bigger issue on our hands. Trying once more in hoping for a miracle, the old girl wasn't budging. In haste, I planted my foot on the accelerator firmly, watching the tachometer needle skyrocket to redline. The 2JZGTE rumbled to life, peaking the 7,200 RPM redline to make sure it wouldn't stall on idle. She wiped the sweat from her brow as did I, relieved that after the strenuous work and time put into the project, it's able to greet the pavement. I slammed the hood shut and got her to join me in the car. Harnesses locked and shifter locked into 1st gear, it was time to go greet the client. A solid black '11' was all that was left of our shared presence. A parting gift to the sleet-like garage floor that aided our project.
I pulled the client's car up the narrow and pot-holed massed stretch of road into an abandoned lot. Stepping out onto the rugged and coarse concrete greeted me with wind chill and temperature spikes in the negatives I wasn't expecting. I tossed him the keys to his car, communicating the job was done and payment was due. He tossed me the keys right back without a moment of hesitation. His frame was backlit by the parking lot floodlights, face in complete ambiguity.
"Don't disappoint", was all he told me. With that I witness the slamming of a car door and an Italian V10 breathing to life before he drove off down the interstate opposite the way we came through. Exhaust note emitting a piercing wail at high RPM's
The air was frigid, my breath coming out in cold, visible wisps floating aimlessly through the surrounding space. My hands were shaking furiously, part due to my excitement and impending hypothermia. Metaphorically frozen to the spot with awe, the snapping of finger brought me back to reality. I unclenched my hands to see a set of 2 machined keys with a "Toyota" logo stamped at the head. Not a moment more passed as I spun around to admire just how much went into this beast of a machine. Bred for the street, waiting to be tamed by just the right person.
Supra.
My benefactor had enough trust in me to represent him in what he called a 'Mutually beneficial business opportunity'. All 4 districts of Palmont were up for grabs in a no-holds barred race for the right to rule the city. As the Leader of the Stacked Deck crew, with me behind the wheel he had everything to lose, and not a whole lot to gain; yet I still found myself in such a position despite logic and odds. All the work me and her had put into the car for him to race, now had the pressure resting solely on my shoulders. I couldn't possibly let them down. He had friends in high places, and I preferred to remain in my lane, away from prying eyes and police sirens. Unfortunately, that was going to have to change for one night, seeing as how the entire racing scene is one big gambling den, and he was betting all his chips on my win. Attention was expected, but it wasn't welcome.
San Juan was the location of both the start and finish line. A thin white spray-painted line marked out where the rubber is meant to be burned and smoke to be left at. I was arrogant, but not senseless, and I knew drawing attention now before things kicked off was the worst idea. Instead, I crawled straight through the bustling crowd and lined up at start, awaiting me were 3 other vehicles waiting idly by for me to slip in. From this point now the streets were blocked off accordingly and the cage match was set to begin.
Focusing on the race start. On the line walked a flag girl in sync with the rhythm of the British and American V8's, the Japanese Rotary, and the beast of a Japanese inline 6 that I had was positioned behind. That flag girl was my girl. She was mesmerizing, effortlessly sauntering out to face these modified deadly machines head on, not even a sweat-drop of the brow or a stutter in her sashay. Over 1,000 horsepower and 4 sets of headlights, and she stared them all down ready to initiate this city's biggest power struggle yet. In the split seconds before everything clicked into place and every driver properly staged, it felt like an eternity for me to be able to analyze my opponents
21st Street ruled the muscle scene, TFK guided the exotics, and Bushido shredded the tires on tuner culture. 3 different drivers from each of the 3 different crews came from different parts of the city. Each coming together to race for the keys to the entire city. Whomever reigned triumphant, ruled over every rice burner or seasoned professional who roamed the streets in need of a race. This was a big deal. Territory is wealth in Carbon County, and nobody can get enough. The industrial yard marked as the starting grid saw spectators lined up and down the drive, eagerly awaiting the flag to drop, tires to spin, and traction to be found so the race could begin.
Unbeknownst to the rest, slipping under the radar was a sting operation led by an unknown caller. Of course during this time, I was oblivious to it all, my nerves shutting down in the moment. To my chagrin, I noticed the atmosphere was tense. Sure, the stakes were high, but I had an underlying gut feeling the outcome of this race wasn't going to be pretty. I shook off the intruding thought and focused on my destination; this very spot 3 laps from now. Mustering up the courage to kick my anxiety to the curb, I slammed my foot on the clutch and thrust my shifter into first and started building revolutions to hype up the crowd to my left and right. The other drivers followed suit breaking necks and spitting out backfire while we all prepared to stage. Tunnel vision invaded my cabin atmosphere as I began psyching myself out; after all the stakes in my name have NEVER been this high.
Shaken out of my trance in thinking about the future this race could hold, was a British, an American, and a Japanese tune firing its way out the tailpipes of their respective Aston Martin DB9, Dodge Charger R/T, and Mazda RX-7. She stood in direct center of the 2-lane dingy back-alley street, poised with the bag in hand, reminding those behind the wheel just how high the stakes really were. That if you treat this as a game, you're going home empty handed. As she lifted it above her waist and held it firm next to her temple, The moment she made eye contact with me, was the same moment she dropped the bag, and the race began. I let off the clutch pedal and grabbed wheelspin off the starting line, a thin cloud of tire smoke emanating from behind my car. Brake boosting and building my PSI meant my launch was explosive and rocketed away from the intangible starting block. Everyone's launch was similar in velocity, but the DB9 and the Charger pulled into first and second from the low-end torque they carried, while I held third in the Supra keeping the RX-7 in my rearview.
Flying up over the crest and entering city limits was jarring at breakneck speeds like hours. I felt the pressure but took back control quickly. Tachometer needle peaking at redline where my power drop-off began, I shifted from 2nd to 3rd and chirped the wheels as I flew past 100mph.
Corner 2 came up abruptly, and I transferred the weight of the vehicle to the right to counter steer the same way. In my peripheral, I saw the DB9 cut the corner wide into oncoming traffic, a giant Semi truck running through his line directly. With no other option, he backed off the throttle, slammed on the brakes and ripped his handbrake in order to prevent collision. Now I held second place and the modern Aston Martin found himself dead last. On the straightaway, he was dodging oncoming traffic trying to swerve by; however, he handicapped himself, the constant movement and loss of balance never allowed him a straight shot at an overtake. Balance increases traction. This cat and mouse action continued on until the next corner showed itself. Approaching a sharp right, I downshifted into 2nd gear, heel-and-toe action caused the gauge needle to graze redline on the tachometer, limiter being met on a constant as I drift through the corner. Modulating the throttle, I maintained a consistent and fluent line grabbing 1st place. Of course, that didn't last long at all. Milliseconds of first position came and went like a light.
The RX-7 applied his brakes later, and because of his rotary's peppy high redline and low center of gravity, he was able to make it work. He slipped by on the outside line and flew ahead, narrowly navigating his line onto the sidewalk, and inches away from the bridge's walls. The Charger behind him on the contrary ran the corner wide, but instead of flying ahead, she flew into the barrier, her right rear quarter panel making contact first, then scraping her front end ever so slightly on her botched exit. This was due in part to her not taking into account just how girthy the dimensions of the American classic were. I glanced in my right-side-view just as her ass end jumped the remainder of the curb and picked up speed.
All four of us were coming up on the final stretch of asphalt between our current lap, and the finish line. I held the lead, making sure I keep all 3 opponents within the confines of my side and rear-view mirrors. Reaching redline in 4th gear, I quickly shift into 5th and surge ahead slightly. Seeing my speedometer at 145 and climbing, at 5,000 RPM I had room for one shot of NOS. Activating the bottle and arming my spray, I flipped the switch and found wheelspin in overdrive, tires spinning and smoking in the wake of the extra shot of horsepower. It was at least 170 on the speedo as I came down to the final 100m. I was going to win, all the work had finally paid off, and in more ways than one. I initiated a momentum-propelled drift and rounded the final 90-degree corner as the finish line graced my eyesight.
Of course, that would just be too easy. Victory was short lived, and a long-term mistake.
The instant my front end crossed the finish line, The DB9, the Charger, and the RX-7 had their vehicles hit by police EMP's seemingly out of the shadows. Of course, I had no idea at first, but upon hearing sirens, I flipped the back end around and saw the aftermath. Handcuffs given to my 3 opponents, one with curly hair and a long silver flowing trench coat. Beside him was a woman with a braided ponytail, a tank top and sweats adorning her figure. Finally came the Asian-looking man; his blocky sunglasses and tacky green vest were the last I saw before chaos ensued. Spectators fleeing the scene, A helicopter above circling the area, providing aerial support to the ground units who intercepted the race. I went into a state of panic, all of these interceptions and busts filling me up with dread. I paused and hyperventilated in the heat of the moment, since no cop was pursuing me inside the car yet.
It was all too much. Too fast. Not enough time to recuperate. I felt like the world around me was spinning.
I spotted her again, this time at the edge of the sidewalk, fear evident in those glassy wide eyes of hers. I couldn't blame her, I'm probably in a worse state of sheer panic and shock than she is. On instinct, slamming my shifter into 1st gear, I drove up to her and ripped the handbrake beside her. I quickly rolled down the window and unlocked the door so she could hop in. She tossed me the red bag with the winnings. Next thing I know I see her lose her footing and a pudgy cop grabs her from behind and drags her down and they both collide with the cold, gritty asphalt. I was about to help her up, but I heard her faint "GO" behind me. I found first gear and spun my tires around, looking for an escape route. My rear end was caught in an endless fishtail as I scanned the immediate area for an escape route. After my tires had seen enough abuse, the heat from the immense friction now radiating into the cockpit made me sweat. A silver Chrysler 300 moved from his spot blocking an alleyway from the yard to the interstate. That was my out. I had no other option and jumped at the escape route without so much as a second thought, and gunned it through the spot, unaware he moved back to block the area as soon as I took his bait. I burst through the metal security gate and merged onto the freeway out of the city and towards the position of the first route out of town. After all, the heat wouldn't chase after me forever, just chill out at a safe house and wait for it to blow over.
Completely forgetting about the bag, I was eager to at least take a look at my winnings. I could bail her out of jail, set money aside for a future, buy a car, etc. Everything had a plan. My face fell and the rhythm of my heartbeat came to an abrupt halt as I scanned what exactly I had won.
Newspaper clippings. Not a single Benjamin in here.
I hung my head down, vision blurring at the creases of my eyelids as reality crashes on top of me. I racked my brain trying to figure out how it could've come to be, what would've gone wrong. Of course, Lady Luck hadn't had enough misfortune out of me, she decided my punishment thus far wasn't as she saw fit. So, it changed. It was as if all the planets and stars aligned working towards my detriment. On instant, HE called. I picked up the phone and he wasn't angry or disappointed, at least in my state of mind and reason he didn't seem pissed off. If anything, his tone and attitude seemed indifferent, like keeping a level head throughout the entire playthrough. He finished off with….
"Look, between the heat and the crews you NEED to walk away. Take my car, go, get outta here!"
Part of me wanted so badly to say no and spin back around to try playing the hero. Just to stay and prove he was overreacting and that this was going to sort itself out. The police scanner in the Supra was chattering with static. Adjusting the knob so I could triangulate the signal, the entire PD and neighboring forces were on the lookout for me. This car. I couldn't leave her, and if I HAD too, I couldn't contact her. No matter the reason, I heard sirens and the black and whites were faintly popping up about ¾ of a mile behind me. So, I made my decision; something I would in the future regret deeply. A part of history I can no longer create or change. If only I just had more time…
I left. Slamming the case of my phone shut and tossing it on the seat, I weighed my options. There was only one. Not looking back. I stole my gaze away from my rearview mirror. Grabbing hold of it with one hand and yanking it off of its pivot. Now there wasn't going to be any excuse to look back. Go back even. My new home away from home didn't seem so inviting given the circumstances. Nonetheless the only welcoming part about the entirety of the night is the wide-open interstate granting me access to a new "home" of my choosing. Now it's just a matter of where. Downshifting into 3rd gear and mashing the throttle I made my way towards the county line. The beginning of a new chapter had begun, leaving my current one unfinished and blank in areas as I hit 120 on the speedo and vanished beneath the veneer of the moon.
I always hate remembering the events. Countless sleepless nights. Bad on my good days and downright detrimental on my worst. Her face was all that kept me moving forward, a chance, a sliver of hope for me to come back and rectify and clear up what exactly went down that shit night. I blanked out and realized the amount of time I took recollecting my terrible tale, my cigarette nearly burnt itself out, burnt tobacco flaking off the butt, embers floating around and landing sporadically around, a few on my arm which i patted away. Taking one final drag and tossing it over the ledge into the black abyss below, I felt it time to stop dragging my feet and get on with the next chapter. Fishing into my pocket and pulling out my keys, I crawled through my prison cell of a 5-point cage and harness. Clutch in, a bit of throttle whilst the ignition turns over, the P60B40 roared to life, straight cut gears whining even in neutral, signifying just how much power is running through my drivetrain. Traction lost on the gravel, and my torque curve catching on the low end, the instant I put the power down I spun my tires from my gravel patch back to the pavement, sending projectile stones behind me.
From 2nd to 3rd gear, feeling the raw naturally aspirated power surging through my transmission tunnel, I attacked a deep corner at 90, pulling G-forces the Top Gun pilots would raise an eyebrow at. I felt in my element, every corner, every downshift, every finute movement was seamless, smooth, impossibly accurate. My body connected to my machine. My contact patch was all 4 corners and I had to be in sync with how it reacted to my inputs and movements. As time passed as fast as the corners, my mind kept wandering back to her face. That night. The lights; sirens, scared onlookers. My pupils dilating as my focus was beginning to dip and I fishtailed around a shallow corner with a sharp turn of the wheel. White knuckles at 10 and 2 I had to steady my breathing to keep on going down and decided running at a slower pace would be the safest option for me.
I went from time attack pace to a Sunday cruise, coasting in 5th gear barely cresting 65. Echoing off the jagged canyon walls, a throaty American V8 bouncing off the rev-limiter ways up the mountain. I could hear him missing his mark while downshifting, but overall, a decently skilled driver based on what I could hear from my position. The piercing halogen lights of said vehicle attacked my eyesight through the tree line temporarily blinding me. In the time it took me to recover my face blanched in realization. That V8 was a Chevrolet V8. An LS7.
Corvette.
Cross.
Before I had any chance to plan out my next move, the fiberglass 2-seater in my rearview completely thrashed me from behind, hurtling me forward in my bucket seat. Scuff marks and traded paint clearly visible in my rearview mirror. He slowed back down, downshifted, and mashed the gas pedal once more, this time mounting the rear of my bumper onto his hood. My 2 back wheels lost contact with the asphalt; I was free-floating now. I hastily tried concocting a way out of this one, and slammed on my brakes, my front 2 slotted rotors glowing red hot and locking the axle. In turn the pile of shit dragging me along hit his brakes as well to avoid sending my wheels through his windshield. And with all of that all 4 tires kissed the pavement once again. I wasted no millisecond moving from 5th to 2nd gear and making my attempt to pull away, but this asswipe in the rearview was here to chase.
From the east to the west coast, he tailed me. How he made it around the Rockport bridge out of town that fast, and how he even KNEW I would be here in the first place was too much to process. Our own little cat and mouse Cannonball Run in a sense. How poetic. Now that I was able to gather some distance and comprehend exactly what the hell just happened, I glanced in the rearview and I saw his smug expression. Just before I put the pedal down and made plan to dust this bounty leech, I saw him mouth 4 words, and knew that whatever was about to go down, one of us wasn't coming out unscathed.
"Hey, guess who's back?"