Need for Speed Read online

  Dino just laughed.

  “So Tobey Marshall is doing something stupid again?” he asked. “Is that what you’re saying? Did we all forget that this is the guy who just got out of prison for manslaughter?”

  Monarch replied: “Accidents happen in racing, Dino Dino Bambino. And that car he’s driving is one of a kind.”

  “I know it’s one of a kind,” Dino said defiantly. “Because I’m the one who put that car in Tobey’s hands.”

  The Mustang was still tearing down Highway 12 at that moment. Its current speed was near 120 mph and climbing.

  Tobey and Julia were closely following Monarch’s conversation with Dino.

  Tobey in particular was taking it all in, staring straight ahead—but increasing his speed to more aggressive limits. It didn’t take a shrink to tell that Dino’s comments were having an effect on him.

  Suddenly, Julia spotted two cars up ahead, driving side by side, taking up both lanes of the highway. She sensed a problem right away.

  “Lane four,” she said simply.

  But Tobey didn’t respond. He was still accelerating—and getting closer to the pair of dawdling cars.

  “Lane one?” she asked.

  Still, Tobey stayed mute. Monarch’s show was continuing, providing a strange soundtrack for the suddenly growing drama inside the Mustang.

  Dino’s voice fell out of the speaker again.

  “Tobey Marshall is simply reckless behind the wheel,” he said in no uncertain terms. “That’s just about the only thing he’s famous for.”

  As if to prove Dino’s point, Tobey refused to change lanes. Instead he punched the gas pedal, accelerated tremendously and split the two slower cars at an ungodly speed.

  Julia was getting used to this sort of thing by now. Still, she said to him, “Do you know a fully loaded commercial airliner takes flight at a hundred seventy miles an hour?”

  Tobey seemed unimpressed. Dino’s words were still burning in his ears.

  “So?” he replied.

  “So, we’re just doing one eighty-five,” she said, pointing to the speedometer. “Just thought you’d enjoy that fun fact.”

  Meanwhile, Monarch was having a hard time believing what Dino was trying to sell.

  “You’re worried about reckless driving?” he asked Dino directly. “You? The same Dino Bambino who got thrown out of Indy for wrecking guys under a caution flag? Methinks you protest too much, Fee-Fi-Fofino.”

  What Dino said next shocked Monarch’s audience, including Tobey and Julia.

  “If that’s his plan, I don’t want to see Tobey Marshall at the De Leon,” Dino said emphatically. “Matter of fact, I’m willing to give my Lambo Elemento away to anyone who can stop him.”

  Monarch cut in. “Now, wait a second, Dino,” he said. “I know you’re rich. But that’s insane. You’re willing to give someone your Elemento? That car is one of three in the world. You’re just going to give it to anybody who stops Tobey Marshall? Do you realize that means you’ll also lose your place in this year’s race?”

  Anita was staring intently at Dino as he was going back and forth with Monarch. She was supremely puzzled and shocked at her boyfriend’s bizarre offer.

  Why would Dino want to give up his spot in the De Leon just to stop Tobey?

  At that moment, Dino glanced out his office window and into his shop beyond. Two men in suits had just entered the garage.

  They looked like they were right out of a mobster movie. One of them was Paul “Pauly Nuts” Lawrence. He was the “other” investor that Dino had mentioned at dinner not long before. Lawrence was talking to Big Al, Dino’s obese and sweaty garage manager.

  After a brief conversation, Big Al headed toward Dino’s office, obviously bearing some kind of message.

  Dino stood up immediately, his inflammatory conversation with Monarch forgotten for the moment. He knew these guys needed his immediate attention.

  Anita had spotted them, too. She studied them through the office window as Big Al came in.

  Dino held up his hand—a signal for Big Al to keep his mouth shut for the moment.

  He got back to Monarch.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Dino said. “I’m posting a picture of that Mustang now, so everyone knows what they’re looking for. Consider it a bounty on Tobey Marshall’s head.”

  With that, Dino hit upload, then walked out from behind his desk to talk to Big Al.

  “That douche bag out there wants to talk to you,” Big Al told Dino.

  But Anita wanted to talk to Dino first.

  “You realize you just put a three-million-dollar bounty on Tobey, don’t you?” she asked in disbelief. “Why are you doing this?”

  “He killed your brother, Anita,” Dino replied harshly. “I’m doing this for you.”

  Anita was so floored by this response, she couldn’t speak for a moment. But Dino didn’t notice. He was too focused on the men in suits.

  He put on his best charming face, then walked out into the garage to meet them.

  * * *

  Back on Highway 12, Tobey and Julia were still glued to Monarch’s show, hanging on his every word.

  “Oh, the drama!” Monarch bellowed. “I’ve got star-crossed lovers doing one fifty across the country.”

  “Make that one eighty,” Julia interjected.

  “And now,” Monarch went on, “the reigning De Leon Champ—Dino Brewster—just painted a huge bull’s-eye on their backs!”

  Julia took a moment to look over at Tobey. But he was still expressionless and staring straight ahead.

  Monarch was going nonstop. “Yes, Christmas came to us early, my little wing nuts!” he said with a laugh. “Racing is art . . . but racing with passion is high art!

  “I can feel love and vengeance and motor oil swirling together out there! You heard it and it bears repeating! Dino Brewster is offering a Lamborghini Elemento to anyone who brings him that Mustang. And my math says that incredible car just left Michigan. This Tobey Marshall is a marked man! We’ve got supernatural Mustangs and personal vendettas—I have no idea what’s going on out there, but I know I love it!”

  * * *

  On a particularly empty stretch of Highway 12, a Michigan state trooper was driving east. The Shelby Mustang was still heading west on the other side of the divided highway.

  The trooper saw the supercar coming and his dash radar was already activated. But strangely, no miles per hour number showed up on his screen.

  It was like the Mustang was invisible—and, in a way, it was. Julia was negating the cop’s radar with the laser jammer, turning the Mustang into a true stealth.

  Once by the cop, Julia synced into Monarch’s stream.

  “Monarch?” she spoke into the mic. “This is the blonde female sitting right next to Tobey Marshall.”

  Monarch was immediately delighted.

  “On the air right now is a blonde bird from Britain,” he announced. He quickly switched to a bad British accent: “Pip, pip, cheerio, little bird who claims to be sitting next to Tobey Marshall in that Mustang. Having tea are you, love?”

  But Tobey was less than thrilled that Julia had opened a link to Monarch.

  “Can you pay attention?” he asked her. “I need you.”

  Julia was all but ignoring him, though.

  “No,” she replied.

  At that moment, Tobey spotted a truck dead ahead. He applied the brakes and downshifted. Smoothly moving across the highway lanes, he was soon driving on the shoulder, where he upshifted and accelerated past the truck like it was standing still.

  Just beyond, he spotted a sign welcoming them to Indiana.

  Beyond that was an on-ramp for Interstate I-80 West.

  With the flick of his wrist, Tobey jumped on the on-ramp at 160 mph. Seconds later he was on I-80 West itself. Finally, they were back on the
interstate, where they belonged.

  Julia, meanwhile, was still on the line to Monarch’s show.

  “There were three cars in that race the night that kid Little Pete died,” she told him and his audience. “That is a fact. And for anyone who believes that Tobey was responsible for the death of Pete—well, ask yourself this: Why would he jump parole in New York, knowing he could get rearrested and do serious time, unless he is innocent and hellbent on righting a wrong? He did his time, paid his debt. So why would he risk it? When you talk to Dino again, you should ask him.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  Then Tobey said to her, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied.

  Another moment of silence.

  Then Monarch came on again.

  “Well, I’m moved,” he said. “This might be a first for me. My heart of stone just softened.”

  Then Monarch launched into his bad British accent again.

  “I believe you,” he said. “You crazed little tart. I think you’re bloody serious . . . I really do.”

  Monarch switched back to his normal voice.

  “And I hear you,” he went on. “And I know that the two of you are flying across the country at killer speeds to prove something . . . Sounds like a deep rivalry, Tobey Marshall versus Dino Brewster—I ain’t got a dog in this fight, but I flat-out love the fight! Born to run baby, you two kids tearing up the American asphalt!”

  Monarch stopped for another moment; he was thinking.

  “You know what?” he went on again. “Tell Tobey Marshall I say . . . welcome to De Leon. Tobey, old boy, if you can get here in one piece, I’m happy to have you on the line with us. I have spoken. Good night, little bird. Pleasant dreams . . .”

  * * *

  Among the many listening to Monarch’s show was the street racer known as the Flyin’ Hawaiian.

  He was a large, brutish man with long greasy hair braided into long pigtails. He was in his shop near LA working on his 4x4 pre-runner. These kinds of vehicles had gotten their start when people began modifying simple Toyota two-wheel-drive trucks to run in off-road races, usually through the desert. The idea grew until just about any small truck with big wheels and off-road modifications was called a pre-runner.

  The Hawaiian was watching Monarch’s broadcast on a flat screen TV mounted to the wall of his less-than-organized garage. It was the opposite of Dino’s place: messy, smelly, full of parts scattered everywhere.

  The place fit its owner. Drinking a beer and smoking a blunt, the Flyin’ Hawaiian was enthralled by what Monarch was saying. He was, in some ways, the anti-Tobey. He’d done time in prison—for assault—but he had been the head of a gang who beat up new meat. He’d dealt drugs, chopped stolen cars, and even sold illegal guns in Mexico—his conscience had never been his guide. He was the ultimate bully, but also the ultimate coward. Never known for taking on an opponent mano a mano, he’d never fought a fair fight in his life. And he wasn’t about to start anytime soon.

  “And that’s it, my people,” Monarch said, wrapping up his show. “The De Leon is full. But Dino Brewster’s Lambo Elemento is still in play. And that means his spot in the race is also up for grabs.

  “If you want it, you’re gonna have to chase down that Super Mustang to get it. It’s the race before the race . . .”

  Monarch’s final words of the evening were for the passengers of the Super Mustang.

  “And this is for Tobey Marshall,” he concluded. “I will text you the exact details for the meeting place for the De Leon. But remember—this requires honor among thieves! No snitching! Until then, run, Tobey, run!”

  No sooner had Monarch signed off than Benny was on the radio. The Mustang was roaring along I-80 at 150 mph. The sun was setting in front of them.

  “Beauty,” Benny began. “I’ve been listening in. Congrats on the wild card ticket to the rodeo. Your route is clear to the Nebraska border. Darkness is upon us, so the eyes in the sky will be shut down for a while. I’m going to leapfrog ahead and meet you at the record breaker.”

  “Okay, roger that,” Tobey replied. “And thanks.”

  * * *

  Back in Dino’s office Anita closed her laptop as soon as Monarch’s show ended.

  She continued watching Dino and the mysterious men in suits out in the garage. She thought a moment, then got up and went around to Dino’s desk.

  She sat down at his laptop and started punching keys. She quickly became lost in what she was reading . . .

  Suddenly a voice interrupted her. “What are you doing?”

  She looked up to see Dino reach across the desk and slowly close his laptop. Just the way he did this concerned her. There was something threatening about it.

  “I’m just working,” she answered, though a bit unsteadily.

  Dino’s expression turned very sinister at her reply.

  But he said no more.

  Eighteen

  IT WAS A small victory when the Mustang crossed the state line into Nebraska.

  Not only did Tobey feel good about leaving Michigan and Indiana behind—not to mention Illinois and Iowa. But in his mind, making Nebraska meant they were halfway to their goal of California. In other words, it was all downhill from here.

  Shortly into the Cornhusker state, a large neon sign announced an upcoming truck stop.

  It was late at night by now; they’d been driving virtually nonstop. It was time for a break.

  Tobey pulled into the rest stop, reducing his speed drastically in order to make the entranceway.

  The place was full of fuel pumps for both trucks and cars, plus a diner and a Quik Mart. It was for good reason this rest stop was open twenty-four hours a day. There were people moving about and a fair amount of activity.

  Tobey brought the Mustang to a stop and jumped out. He stretched mightily and started pumping high-grade into the Mustang’s nearly depleted gas tank. Meanwhile, Julia headed for the bathroom.

  “Please hustle,” Tobey called after her. “We’re two hours behind schedule. And, by the way, keep it low-key. Monarch just made you famous. Okay?”

  “Got it,” Julia replied, jogging to the Quik Mart. “Trust me—I’ll be fast.”

  The refueling went quickly. But just as Tobey finished up, a Nebraska State Police patrol car pulled into the truck stop. Tobey coolly ducked down, then scurried to the cover of a pickup truck parked in the adjacent gas bay.

  Once hidden, he pulled out his cell phone while slowly sliding his way up the outer wall of the pickup’s bed.

  But it was only when he peeked into the truck’s bed that he realized a huge dog was waiting there, attached to a chain.

  The animal lunged at him, snarling, teeth bared and barking loudly. The commotion was loud enough to attract the attention of the state trooper.

  The trooper stopped and looked in the dog’s direction. He thought a moment, contemplating whether he should walk over to the pickup. But after seeing the dog was chained, he decided against it. He headed into the truck stop instead.

  At the same moment, Julia walked out of the restroom, where she had just changed her clothes. She was casually spritzing some expensive perfume on as she headed for the front door.

  That’s when she spotted the trooper. She calmly slowed her gait, redirecting her path to an aisle farther away from him.

  Working behind the cash register was a bored teenage waitress blowing bubbles with her chewing gum.

  The trooper walked up to her and said two words: “Coffee, black.”

  By force of habit, the trooper casually looked up at the truck stop’s security monitor, hanging over the cash register. All eight of the video feeds were displaying the gas pumps.

  Glittering like some gigantic jewel on wheels, the Silver Mustang was front and center on one of the TV monitors.

  The trooper quick
ly changed his order. “Make that to go,” he told the waitress.

  At that moment, Julia’s cell phone began ringing. Not only was it turned on loud but it was blaring the very familiar Michael Jackson “Beat It” ringtone.

  The trooper turned toward the sound.

  Meanwhile, Julia had ducked behind a candy rack. She answered the phone.

  It was Tobey.

  “Hey, yes, I know,” Julia said, whispering into the phone.

  But then she got the feeling someone was in back of her.

  She turned around to find the trooper standing right behind her.

  “Excuse me, miss?” he said to her. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  Julia slipped the phone into her handbag without disconnecting and then stood up.

  “Why, of course, you can,” she replied, trying hard to affect a southern accent.

  She read his badge.

  “Officer Lejeune,” she added. “How can I help you?”

  “Do you live in the area?” the trooper asked her.

  She shook her head. “No, sir,” she replied. “We’re long haulin’.”

  The trooper studied her outfit and thought about her accent.

  “Is that right?” he asked, skeptically.

  Julia laughed, though she was fighting mightily to stay calm.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  Meanwhile, Tobey had quietly walked around the trooper’s car. He was now peering through the store’s windows to see what was going on.

  Inside, he could see the trooper was studying Julia up and down as she was spinning her yarn.

  “You’re not traveling in that silver Mustang out there?” the trooper asked her.

  “Mustang?” she replied. “No, sir.”

  Julia took a step toward the front door, but the trooper blocked her path.

  “I’d like to ask you a few more questions,” the trooper told her. “If you’d step out to my cruiser—it shouldn’t take but a minute.”