The red and blue lights from the police cars lit up the surrounding buildings as they attempted to even keep up with the black Chevrolet they were chasing. Anytime they thought they had him, he would drop a gear and speed away, expertly dodging whatever they tried. It started to remind the older officers of several years earlier and the chases regarding the local legend Bean Bandit. That was not comforting to them, images of wrecked LTDs and Crown Victorias crowding their memories. Eventually the pursuit was called off to prevent undue casualties and property damage.
Diesel laughed as he heard the call off over the police scanner. None of the regular patrol officers had the raw potential to match him on the roads, and from what he understood, the last real driver CPD had retired, under duress. Sure, it was pretty stupid to kick a hornet's nest just to see what you were going to be dealing with, but he had nothing else to do on a Tuesday night. Might as well make it fun.
The police 302ci V8 topped at 150hp, the the 351ci at 180hp, and the newer 4.6l engines around 210hp. While it was debatable if they were completely on point after the departments got their hands on them, they were nothing compared to the 790hp the modified LS7 engine his car was running, and the slushboxes they were mated to sapped too much of the horsepower to make them competitive with the older big block engine. So unless he was just stupid, he shouldn't have to worry too much about them.
He had worried about the street racing units that were showing up in areas that saw much, and hadn't had any trouble blowing them off like they were simply any other car. It wouldn't have mattered if he was running his engine around the 400hp it would have made stock, the drivers weren't up to the task that they were trying to do. It seemed like they were under the impression that as long as they had a powerful enough car, they would be able to run anyone down. It just wasn't reality.
True, Nissan Z cars and Toyota Corollas weren't going to be able to stand to the more powerful American sports cars, but most of them were being driven by little more than children who didn't understand driving. Driving was more than turn key, press pedal, and pump gas. Driving was part of a person, something integral to who they were. They could feel the asphalt through their tires, and hear any hint of the timing being off dead asleep. A driver's car wasn't transportation, it was as much a part of their body, as their own skin. The wannabes now, didn't have that in them.
Sure, Diesel had grown up around street racers, but he never really got into that lifestyle. His father was into it, and also a perpetually broke alcoholic for his troubles with it. He didn't know how many times the old man had busted himself up when a diff broke loose in a turn, two cars met on launch, or he didn't quite judge when to cut out of a curve right and kissed a tree. He didn't drink because he liked to drink, he drank so that he didn't have to feel the physical pain caused by stupid decisions. Given that Cass County lacked opportunity, and he didn't want to end up the same way, Diesel had said goodbye and enlisted in the Corps.
When his Lt. discovered that he could float shift at high speeds he put him in the lead trucks in Somalia. His truck didn't carry anything vital in it, it was out ahead to attract fire. When it would air assets would be vectored in to deal with the threat, and thanks to sheer luck and skill, he only ever lost three five tons, and never had anything worse than a sprained ankle to show for it. It did give him a taste for the danger his father had found in his youth.
Driving became an obsession. Any time a volunteer was needed to run an officer he would. The automatic in the HMMWVs were disappointing though. Same with the newer M939s that his unit got as the last M809s were finally leaving service. The last one left service with his unit at the end of his second tour as he had fought to keep it. When he got back stateside he found out that his old man had croaked and only had a car to leave him.
Getting back home to Texas after his discharge he found a bare sheet metal body and the frame ready to be rebuilt. His father had finally given up racing, and had planned to build out the car for his son as present to welcome him home. Cirrhosis of the liver put that to rest. However Diesel set himself to work, and within months, the bare body of a Chevelle sat waiting for its heart. That was the next surprise.
After getting off work that day he came home to find a crate. His mother didn't know what was going on with it and said it must have been from his father's stuff. When he opened it he couldn't believe his eyes. It was a 454ci long block, and when he checked the numbers, it was a 1971 LS7 original production. It was a full on unicorn engine. There were so few, most LS7s were crate engines produced after 1975. What it must have cost to get, Diesel didn't even want to consider.
At that point he changed. He ran her stock for about a year, taking as many people in East Texas for everything they had but their cars. The calm he had gained from being shot at transferred into driving like an utter maniac, unbothered by his car going sideways when he didn't expect. He popped the stick in neutral and let the momentum die before popping the clutch, and making up any time he lost. At some point though, he lost interest.
Why he couldn't tell, but racing didn't do it for him anymore. The old cars like his were going away, and while the newer ones were fast, as he went through the engine and gave it new life, they just didn't pose a challenge. He would drive the old Dodge pickup his dad had driven his entire life to work fueling airplanes in Texarkana every weekday, and take the Chevelle out on the weekends, and it became a chore to him. Eventually he just told his mother that there wasn't anything left for him there, took all his savings and put in an account that he could call into the bank and authorize her to draw out money to wire him, and left.
He traveled through most of the southwest, running races, and scaring the hell out of highway patrolmen. He worked odd jobs, and did some courier work when he came across listings for bonded couriers. Eventually though those ran out, especially when he would deliver legal paper work and officers would comment that his car looked like one that kept getting described in BOLOs. So he had to stop doing that, and eventually it all lead to Chicago.
"Look, I have told you and your homies, I am not selling the car. I don't know how I can be any clearer than that. Now get back in your junk heaps, and get out of the way," Diesel really didn't have the patience for the thugs that decided to box him into the parking spot.
"Hell, dawg, we didn't say we were buying, we said we were taking it. There isn't any transfer of benjies, only the keys. In exchange, we don't put you in the morgue. You dig me," there were questions as to just who they were supposed to represent.
Either they were Mexicans, or black, though a few of them were white and Asian as well. He didn't have that much experience with street gangs, so he didn't know if they had any rules regarding race, of course this was a new century, so anything goes. Regardless he wasn't going to give up his car just like that.
"Look man, I don't know you, and I don't know any of your friends. I do know that there isn't a single one of you that has the skill to handle this car like it needs to be. I will also tell you, that next to a Somali warlords militia, you only look like punks. I don't want to get into a fight right now, and I definitely don't want to kill any of you, but push the issue and I will. Have you got kids?"
The gang members looked at each other like they weren't sure what to do, "Yeah, dawg, a few of us have kids. Not that it matters, but, uhh, that is some pretty bold talk for someone in your position don't you think," the leader, at least in appearance, replied.
"You're educated, a bit of a surprise given what you are doing right now. Do you want them to grow up without their fathers? If not, walk away from this, because none of you know who I am, what I have done, or what I am capable of. Like I said, I stood toe to toe against militias in Somalia, people armed with AKs and RPGs. I ran convoys, and my truck was the bait. You can't scare me, but I should scare you. Now tell me, is this hotrod worth your lives? I might not get all of you, but which ones would I get," he was really hoping that his bluff was going to work.
"Hey man, maybe we should just let it be. Dude's eyes are whack, I don't want to mess with this," one of the others said.
"Shut it, Half-pipe. Look asshole, I am taking your car," he lifted his shirt to show the grip of a Glock pistol hanging in his waistband, "This, you see this?"
Diesel smirked as his hand shot over and he got his finger in the trigger guard. As a shot rang out, the gang members scattered. Glocks were getting to be the rage, but Diesel saw them for what they were, mediocre guns that had great marketing. He also knew what Glock Leg was, and hated that the dude had taken it to his third leg, which was no longer a leg at this point.
"Man, you screwed yourself on this one. You show a gun, it better be firing," he said as he drug the incapacitated man out of the way so that he could get moving, "I don't blame you for trying though, and hopefully an ambulance gets here before you piss away all your blood. Nice having this talk, hope there isn't an awkward obituary in the paper for you soon."
As the man's white chino pants turned red Diesel picked the gun out of the man's waistband and unloaded it. He briefly looked it over and then he field stripped it, all the while keeping eye contact. Fear came over the injured man as he realized that the dude he had been trying to carjack was the real deal, and not just bullshitting them. As the last part hit the ground Diesel stood up and turned to his car. All the ones blocking him in had disappeared in their haste to get away from the area before the cops showed up, so he was free to leave, and actually passed one or two as they responded.
"How did you end up in Chicago of all places?"
"I don't know Mom, it just kind of happened. A guy gave me a place to stay free of charge for a while, mostly so the place didn't stay empty and the city take it over as abandoned. I'm looking into work, so don't worry about that. If I need a copy of anything I will let you know, but I think any records I need I have shoved in a bag somewhere," Diesel had debated on whether he should tell his mother that he was staying there semi-permanent.
"Daniel, are you sure about this? That is a whole 'nother level of Hell compared to what they showed on the news while you were overseas. I know they probably cherry picked it for broadcast, but they say that hundreds die everyday in that city," his mother worried about him a lot.
"Mom, if hundreds died every day, then Chicago would be a ghost town in a few months. This place is nothing like I experienced in the Corps, I'll be fine. I will let you know when I have a job going, and have a bank account set up so you can wire me money a little easier."
"I'm still going to worry about you. I'm your mother, it's what I do. Are you still driving that death trap you built," she asked.
"Yes, I still have the Chevelle. I don't plan on getting rid of it anytime soon. It's about all I have left of Dad, the only real connection to him. Even if he really isn't worth having a connection to him. People keep wanting to take it off my hands, but there isn't really a price that I would let it go for."
"It's just as well, that car got your father to give up drinking and try to clean himself up. I know how much he wanted to see you come home. I know that you never thought very highly of him, with his drinking and racing, but he did love you very much. He didn't know how to show it, but he was very proud of you when you announced that you were joining the Marines. He kept racing for a while, but he got to the point that he didn't have the passion for it anymore, and sold off his Mustangs. I don't know how much he actually put into that car before you finished it out, but I hope that you have a child that you are willing to put that much into for no other reason than they are your child."
Diesel chuckled, "Maybe someday. I know that you really want grandchildren, but that has to wait until I find the right woman who could stand up to the Hellcat of Cass County long enough for me to marry her."
"Don't forget that I earned that name. Don't just pick up some bimbo stripper, or a ten penny whore off the street. I want you to be happy, but I also want someone to keep you in check," she told her son sternly.
"I will remember that Mom. I will let you know when I have any kind of news. I love you, and I hope that I can get down south again to see you soon."
The farewell on the other end almost brought tears to his eyes, "I love you too. I can't wait to see my baby boy again. Take care, and I will keep you in my prayers."