That meeting at the train tracks had been four weeks ago. Only two days later Brian had received a message giving him the date of the next race, the name and address of the racer that was to lose and the car he was likely to be driving, as well as the instruction to text back when the job was done.
This had repeated itself twice and Brian had been surprised to find that the races he was manipulating sometimes even took place in some other city nearby, although his victims were almost always situated in L.A. His "client", as he'd started to call him, seemed to be very business-minded.
Brian had done some research on the guy, making use of some contacts he still held at the LAPD. His name was Rick Chestner and, just like Brian had guessed, he had been doing desk work for the larger part of his career, proving to be quite skilled at research stuff and slowly rising through the ranks. He wasn´t one of the big bosses, but he wouldn´t be easily ignored either.
It was Friday afternoon and Brian was thinking about stopping over at the bar just around the corner for a beer – or two, or three, ever since meeting Chestner he tended to drink too much; often in an attempt to drown his conscience which seemed to be wearing a fucking life jacket – when his phone buzzed in his jeans pocket. He finished locking the door to the shop before pulling it out and opening the text message he´d just received.
Saturday night, Jordan Gibbs, "The Racer´s" garage, Nissan Maxima.
Brian almost smiled when he recalled that Vince also drove a Nissan Maxima. He would definitely know how to handle this one. Not that it made him feel any less disgusting for what he was about to do.
So, instead of heading for the bar, Brian went home to get some more information on the garage and its vicinity. He noticed that it wasn´t too far from his place. Since the neighbourhood wasn´t very safe, he´d have to keep in mind that the place would be locked up securely for the safety of the expensive cars, not as easily to gain access to. These details were important for his timing.
At half past twelve that night, Brian got into his car and headed for the garage, parking some houses further down the road. He was nervous as he checked the surroundings before he got out and started walking. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black sweater, the hood pulled over his head, hands in his pockets. He blended in perfectly.
In his left pocket, he fingered the tools he´d brought for lock-picking, should that be necessary. He focused his mind on the task at hand, knowing full well that as soon as the job was done and he was back home safely, his conscience would prevent him from getting any sleep. He might have turned into a criminal by letting Dom go free, but he did value fair play a lot, especially when it came to racing. These sabotages were most definitely not fair and that was what bothered him the most, disregarding the fact that his work was for the benefit of some arsehole like Chestner.
When he got to the garage, he circled it once, looking for the easiest way to enter it. The building had a flat roof, but there was no ladder leading onto it. However, there was a strong tree behind the garage which might be close enough.
He decided to give it a try and started climbing the tree, once again casting a glance around, but there was no one in sight. He held onto a thick branch, bringing up his legs by pressing his feet against the trunk. He continued his ascent until he hovered some two metres above the roof. There was a wide gap between the tree and the garage, but with enough momentum he guessed he could manage. He crouched down and tensed cat-like, before throwing himself forward, landing smoothly on the edge and leaning forward on his hands, so as to not fall backwards off the roof.
Using a small flashlight, he scanned the ground and found the roof hatch he´d been looking for near the left side of the building. It wasn´t locked; obviously, the owner of the garage hadn´t deemed it necessary, since there was no ladder. Brian quickly slipped through the opening, holding onto the edge with his hands, his feet dangling beneath him. He´d put the flashlight between his teeth and now moved his head to see how high up he was. Seeing that it was unlikely that he´d get himself hurt, he let go and dropped to the ground. A wave of pain shot through his feet and ankles as he hit the hard concrete floor, but otherwise he was fine.
His eyes darted to his watch; it was already a quarter past one. He used his flashlight to find the Nissan. There were only two cars here and he quickly crossed the garage and found the car unlocked which made it easy for him to open the hood. It seemed to be all set-up and ready for the race that night, at least as far as he could tell at first glance. Grabbing some tools from a nearby table, he set to work. He took his time, it wasn´t easy to sabotage a car in a way that someone with a rather profound knowledge wouldn´t notice he´d actually been cheated.
Time passed and it was almost half past two. Just when he was done and about to slam the hood shut again, he heard cars pulling up in front of the garage. He instantly switched off the flashlight. As he heard voices drawing nearer, he hurried to put the tools back on the table, his eyes darting around frantically in search of some place he could hide. He dove behind a small stack of tyres in the corner just as the door was thrown open and several men entered, laughing and talking, and the light was switched on.
Rooted to the spot, Brian tried to breathe as quietly as possible.
The laughter quickly died away as the guys noticed the open hood. "Yo man, what´s this?" one of them asked.
"Seems like someone´s been messing with my car," another answered. He had a low voice and drew the syllables when speaking. He must be Jordan, Brian figured, and he sounded really pissed.
"You sure it wasn´t your friend, Jordan? I mean, the door was locked and all."
"Nobody is allowed to touch my car the night before a race and Mike knows that. Besides, he´s off for the weekend." There was a short pause then Jordan spoke up again. "Search the garage. If the door was locked, he might still be in here."
Brian almost groaned. His luck must have gone on vacation alongside his guardian angel. He heard people moving around, footsteps drawing close to him.
"Kyle, go search the office," came Jordan´s voice from somewhere across the room and the footsteps closest to Brian veered away from him again. He allowed his breath to leave his lungs.
Only seconds later he realized that the office had a window facing the garage and that the stack of tyres was right next to that window which meant he was clearly visible from the office. He lifted his gaze to find the eyes of a young man, Kyle, staring right back at him.
"Jordan!" he cried out and pointed in Brian´s direction. He could hear them running towards him.
Brian acted instinctively. He stood and threw his full weight into the tyres, causing them to topple down and hopefully obstructing his pursuers. He sprinted towards the exit. If only he could make it out of here, his car was just down the street…somebody tackled him to the ground from behind and knocked all the air out of Brian´s lungs, landing on top of him.
Instantly, Brian drew back his elbow, hearing a satisfying grunt when it made contact with some ribs. The attacker shifted his weight away from the elbow and, consequently, off Brian who struggled out from underneath him and got back to his feet within seconds.
Unfortunately, the others had caught up to him, some of them blocking the door. There was no escape.
Brian backed up sideways against a wall, dodging a fist aimed at his face, his own punch to the gut making the man double over. He kicked the side of the knee of another that was within reach, causing him to stumble sideways. At that moment, something hit Brian full force on the side of his head and he fell to the floor half-conscious.
As he tried to blink away his blurred vision, strong hands wrapped around his upper arms and picked him up roughly. He stumbled and groaned, trying to find his balance as the room spun. He vaguely registered blood seeping through his hair above his left ear.
Jordan was standing in front him, holding his ribs. It seemed he´d been the first attacker.
"What the fuck are you doing in my garage?" he spat furiously.
Brian felt as if he had cotton in his ears and it made Jordan's voice sound distant. He grinned slightly as he answered, slurring a bit. "Guess I've been sleepwalking again and somehow ended up in your garage. Sorry for that, buddy."
And really, it wasn't exactly smart to say something like this when the guy in front of him already looked like he was ready to explode, but Brian couldn't help it. He knew he was in trouble and bullshitting helped him deal with it.
Jordan backhanded him hard, and Brian tasted blood in his mouth. "You thinking you can mess with me? Guess we´ll have to teach you a lesson first, then, and talk afterwards."
He punched Brian in the jaw and almost simultaneously in the stomach, causing him to double over and cough. The two guys gripping his arms – he could already feel bruises swelling from their vice-like grip and his hands had gone numb since they were cutting off the blood supply - yanked him back up and he took three more blows to the gut, before they threw him to the ground.
His head hit the concrete and he grazed his cheek. Jordan placed his knee on the small of his back. "Let me tell you one thing: nobody messes with me or my car," he hissed and Brian felt a sharp pain between his shoulder blades. He couldn´t keep from crying out in pain this time.
Jordan got off him and turned him around roughly. Brian tried to catch one of his legs to throw him off balance, but the two guys pinned his arms to the ground as Jordan kicked his ribs twice and pain exploded in his chest, before Jordan was kneeling on top of him once again.
Wheezing, Brian registered a knife in his hand and vaguely thought that it explained the sticky feeling on his back, although his clouded brain couldn´t quite make the connection.
Jordan was shoving up the sleeve on Brian´s right arm. "Whenever you think about breaking into other people´s garages again in the future, take a look at your arm first and think twice."
With that, Jordan cut slowly and deeply into the upper side of Brian´s forearm savouring his writhing and screaming. Then he got up and turned away and motioned to the others. There were six of them. With Jordan gone and two holding him down, there were three left, although Kyle seemed to fade somewhat into the background.
The other two, however, started kicking and hitting Brian violently and soon the only thing he tried to do was curl up as much as he could. They stopped after a short time, though, and Brian felt the holds on his arms lose. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes for a short time, biting back tears of pain.
When he looked up, he saw Jordan and Kyle discussing and gesturing intensely.
From what he heard Kyle was trying to convince him to stop, having caused enough damage already. Jordan seemed to have a different opinion. The others were gathering around them, unsure of what to do.
They probably left their victim alone because they thought he couldn't get up anyway. But Brian knew this was the only chance he would get to escape. He gathered all his strength and lifted himself off the floor, trying to be as quiet as possible. Fortunately, his legs seemed to be better off than the rest of him. He crossed the garage and slipped out the door, walking as fast as possible. His whole body seemed to be on fire, especially his right forearm, and the world kept tipping sideways, but he kept going anyway.
He´d made it onto the street, when they noticed that he was gone. He heard a cry of rage behind him and started jogging, keys in hand. He could hear them coming, but he was at the door of his car and unlocked it, throwing himself into the seat and slamming the door shut, locking it immediately. When he started the car, Jordan had caught up and was banging on his window.
Brian ignored him, pressed down hard on the gas pedal and sped off into the night before they could get to their own cars.