Need for Speed Read online

  Again, the noise was either awesome or bloodcurdling, depending on your point of view. But once around the statue, they headed for the two-lane Route 117 beyond it.

  All three immediately went into the left lane. This was another point in the race Tobey had been waiting for. Time to try another move. He jerked his steering wheel sharply and dove into the right-hand lane. His main objective was to get past Little Pete.

  And he was about to do it, when up ahead, a very slow-moving street sweeper filled Tobey’s field of vision. It was completely blocking his path. There was only one thing he could do. He red-lined his RPMs, upshifted, and then dropped the hammer just shy of the max. In that instant, he closed the gap between Little Pete and the street sweeper. Then he counted down.

  “Three . . . Two . . . One . . .”

  At the very last moment, Tobey floored it, shot in front of Little Pete, and screeched back into the left-hand lane all in one smooth motion.

  Just like that, he was in second place.

  He took a moment to look in his rearview mirror. Little Pete was now right on his tail, furious that Tobey had so expertly jinked him, especially after Jimmy had done the same thing to him just moments before.

  “Sorry, little buddy,” Tobey called out, with a smile. “Them’s the breaks.”

  A few seconds passed—then all three screeched into another alley, this one off Moore Avenue. They were back in the rat’s maze at top speed, but Jimmy hit his gas a little too hard and sideswiped a brick building just a few feet down from the alley’s entrance. This slowed him just enough for Tobey to get right on his bumper.

  Tobey felt like he was moving at warp speed inside the alley and up ahead he knew it would begin to widen. Time for another move. He jerked the wheel violently to the left, taking the outside lane, hoping to start his turn out of the alley early, and thus gain even more on Jimmy.

  The three cars shot out of the alley a few seconds later, screeching left onto Woodland Avenue, which was a one-way street. Tobey’s maneuver had worked; he’d gained the inner lane and was now in a good position to try for the lead. But coming out of nowhere, he saw a homeless man who was pushing a shopping cart step off the curb and right into his path.

  Tobey was boxed in so tight by Jimmy, he had no other choice but to drive right into the shopping cart.

  The cart exploded into a million pieces the instant he hit it, sending debris up and over his car. Seeing the remains of the shopping cart flying through the air, Little Pete swerved at the last possible moment, barely missing the rain of rags and junk.

  That was way too close, Tobey thought.

  He screamed into his radio:

  “Benny!”

  Benny replied just as quickly.

  “I saw you had it, bro!” he said. “No worries!”

  The three cars drifted loudly left onto Poplar Street only to find a civilian car in the oncoming lane heading right at them.

  Tobey took the opportunity to inch just a little closer to Jimmy’s bumper, leaving Little Pete behind. This position allowed Tobey to draft off Jimmy as they started to pass the approaching car together.

  Once again, Tobey decided to make a move. Once past the civilian car, he swung onto the wrong side of the road. He was now down in third gear; his engine was screaming. He shifted up to fourth; his engine screamed again, but the move served to slingshot him around Jimmy’s left bumper. Tobey buried his accelerator and was instantly neck and neck with the GTO.

  Suddenly they were approaching the arched underpass, the finish line lit by flares.

  This was it.

  The underpass went by in a blur. Tobey poured on everything he had. Just as they exited under the overpass, he did a quick look to his left and saw the grill of Jimmy’s car not six inches behind him.

  A second after that, it was over.

  Tobey had won.

  But there was no time for celebration as Benny was suddenly screaming into his radio: “Doughnut convention!”

  His warning needed no translation, but Finn provided one anyway.

  “Cops!” he yelled.

  On that word, the racers, their cars, and their crews simply vanished.

  When, a few moments later, a police car arrived at the finish line, siren blaring, lights flashing, the only things left were a few burned-out, but still smoking, flares.

  Three

  THE SOUNDS OF beer cans being popped and loud hip-hop music filled the night air around Marshall Motors Garage.

  The race had been over for hours but the crew was still talking about it, reliving it turn by turn. Joe Peck and Finn were especially excited when telling their version of events, as seen through the Gran Torino’s bumper cam. As they talked while the Budweiser flowed, it was almost as if they’d been behind the wheel instead of Tobey.

  Tobey and Little Pete listened to it all with good humor. They were standing side by side, as was usually the case. Tobey was Pete’s idol, and Pete really was like a little brother to him.

  “I thought you were going to catch Jimmy for sure,” Tobey told Pete as he counted his five-thousand-dollar winnings again, one wrinkled bill at a time.

  “I had him in the turns, but he’s a hell of a driver,” Little Pete replied, draining a beer. “And so are you. But I’ll get you both next time.”

  It went on like this for a while. But Tobey was waiting for the right moment to steal away. Finally, he told the others he had to take a leak.

  He walked to the far corner of the garage and looked up into the night. He was finally breathing normally again, his heart rate back where it should be. He’d been in street races before, but nothing as intense as this one. Maybe it was because there had been so much at stake this time.

  The five thousand dollars would help. But he knew it was just a Band-Aid—a way to keep the wolves away from his door, but only for a short while.

  Then what?

  The bills would not stop. The bank would still want its money. And he couldn’t expect his crew to work for free. He had to think of some other way to get income, or the garage would be history.

  He was a good driver, but he was stuck in the minor leagues. Five-thousand-dollar box races were rare in his area. If he wanted to get in on others, he’d have to go to Chicago, Miami, or LA—hotbeds for these types of things. But the costs of traveling around so much would take away a big chunk of whatever he won. And maybe he wouldn’t win all the time. Or at all. And how would the garage stay running if he was gone for long periods of time?

  There was only one solution he could think of. He had to move up to the major leagues somehow. Play with the big boys—the guys who were getting slots in Monarch’s De Leon. Trouble was, he couldn’t do that in his Gran Torino. He would need to have a real supercar, or at least drive for someone who owned one.

  He knew Monarch had been right on the money earlier that evening. If he got ahold of a good car, maybe the De Leon wasn’t so out of the question.

  But until then, he was stuck down here in the bushes.

  He looked out over the town’s skyline. All was quiet again in Mount Kisco. He could just barely see the outline of Pride Rock against the starry sky. He wondered how many happy, drunk kids were still up there, stumbling around in the dark, as he had done many times in the past. He hadn’t been up there in years. Like it or not, it was a place that belonged in the memories of his early youth.

  Besides, he could never think about it without thinking of Anita. She’d looked so beautiful earlier at the drive-in. He missed her terribly. They were two different people, on different trajectories, different paths. But, damn, he loved being with her.

  He’d always carried a quiet confidence about him, a trait inherited from his father. And while he knew his decisions might not have always been right, at least he knew that he thought carefully about anything important before he proceeded.

  Exce
pt when it came to Anita.

  The more that time went on, the more he’d become convinced that he might have really blown that one.

  * * *

  He walked back to the garage, grabbed another beer from the cooler, and fell back into the never-ending bullshit session about the race.

  But suddenly, a noise from outside distracted them.

  Finn got up and looked out the window.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  “Who?” Peck asked.

  “How many assholes do you know that drive a Mercedes SLR?” Finn asked.

  “All of them,” Peck replied in perfect deadpan.

  “Oh, yeah,” Finn replied, then said, “then, how many of them are named Dino?”

  They heard a car pull up a moment later. Through the bay door windows they could see it was in fact Dino’s Mercedes SLR. No one said a word. They watched as Dino got out of the car and looked around the outside of the garage, sniffing at the grease and grime. Then he headed for the open bay door.

  As one, the crew stood up and formed a united front at the threshold. There was no way they wanted Dino to enter the garage itself. This was their turf.

  Dino spotted them and immediately stopped in his tracks.

  He looked at Little Pete.

  “That was some nice driving out there, short stuff,” he said, sucking up. “I’m impressed.”

  But Little Pete just laughed at him.

  “You hear that, Tobey?” he said. “Dino Brewster is impressed with me. I can die happy now, I guess.”

  Tobey glared at Dino, but said nothing.

  Dino smiled thinly. “And there’s Mr. Tobey Marshall,” he said. “The man to beat in Mount Kisco . . .”

  Tobey looked him up and down, but still said nothing.

  “Sorry about your old man,” Dino went on, in a very patronizing fashion. “I know you two were close.”

  Finally Tobey spoke. “Are you lost or something, Dino?”

  Dino had to think a moment.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “You haven’t been around here in a long time,” Tobey told him acidly. “Figured you must be lost.”

  Tobey took a step toward Dino to emphasize his words and make one thing clear: He was not wanted around here.

  “So nothing’s changed then, Tobey?” Dino asked him. “Even after ten years you still want to just pick up some locker room fight?”

  But Tobey wasn’t really looking at Dino. He was looking at the Mercedes, searching for any sign of Anita.

  “She’s at her folks’,” Dino told him, reading his mind. “This has nothing to do with her.”

  Tobey felt his shoulders droop. But at least she wasn’t with Dino.

  “So what do you want, Dino?” Tobey finally asked him. “We’re busy here.”

  “It’s simple,” Dino said. “I want to see you build a real car.”

  Tobey waved him off. “I got plenty of cars to build.”

  Dino took a look around the rough-edged garage. “Yeah, well, how’s that been working out for you lately?”

  Tobey gave him a hard look. Dino shrugged.

  “Listen, Tobey, I didn’t come here to insult you,” he said, a bit of his attitude seeming to disappear. “I came here to make you a business proposition, something that could be a game changer for you.”

  “You handing out dreams now, Dino?” Little Pete scoffed at him. “How much is this going to cost us?”

  Dino ignored him. He looked around the garage again.

  “I’ve seen a hundred custom racing shops since I left this town,” he said to Tobey. “But I still haven’t seen work as good as yours.”

  The garage crew was silent. None of them knew what to make of Dino’s compliment.

  “That’s all the work of these guys,” Tobey said, pointing at the others. “That’s not me . . .”

  Dino took a breath. “Let me get right to the point,” he said. “I’ve got a very special car that needs to be finished.”

  “What kind of car are we talking about?” Joe Peck asked.

  “A Ford Mustang,” Dino replied.

  “A Mustang?” Joe said. “There’s only about a million of them out there.”

  “But not one like this,” Dino told him. “It’s the last Mustang Ford and Carroll Shelby were building before Carroll died.”

  Suddenly everyone in the crew was paying rapt attention. Carroll Shelby was not only a rock star in the world of customized cars, he was considered the Godfather of street racing. To say he was an automotive genius was like saying the sky was blue or the sun was hot. Invoking his name was no little matter.

  “Thousands of people would want to put their hands on a car like that,” Tobey said. “How did you get it? You steal it?”

  Dino ignored the insult.

  “Mr. Shelby and my uncle were close friends,” he explained. He waited a moment, then continued, “Here’s the proposition: If you finish building that Mustang like you rebuilt your Gran Torino, I’ll give you a quarter of what I get when I sell it.”

  Little Pete exploded.

  “A quarter?” he exclaimed. “You cheap bastard!”

  “If it’s done up right, the car will be worth two million, minimum,” Dino shot back. “That will be five hundred thousand dollars in your pocket.”

  The crew fell stone-cold silent. That kind of money had never been anywhere within their reach before. Dino and Tobey just stared at each other. There was a lot of history between them, all of it bad. Where was all this going?

  Dino broke the silence. “I look around here and I see a ton of talent and no opportunity,” he told them. “Face it, you guys are dying here. I mean, it’s obvious. So just forget everything that’s happened between us. That’s ancient history. I’m here to make peace. And money—for all of us.”

  Tobey’s crew exchanged worried looks. Each one knew this was wrong—trading with the enemy. The uneasy silence could have been cut with a knife.

  Dino went on. “Look, don’t answer me now, Tobey,” he said. “Just think about it.”

  As Dino turned to leave, Tobey looked back at his crew. He already knew their opinion on this.

  But then Tobey just shook his head. “I don’t need to think about it,” he said suddenly. “I’ll do it.”

  A gasp came up from the others.

  Dino smiled. “I’ll have it here tomorrow,” he told Tobey.

  There was no handshake. No good-bye. But Tobey and Dino exchanged a brief look of nonhostility, if not respect.

  Then Dino got back into his Mercedes and drove away.

  Someone turned off the music. The beer cooler was closed. An angry silence now enveloped the garage. Benny finally broke the spell.

  “I have one question for you, boss,” he said to Tobey. “Have you lost your fucking mind? We’re going to work for Dino Brewster?”

  Joe Peck stood up. He was the oldest one among them, their elder statesman.

  “Yeah, what the hell, Tobey?” he asked. “You don’t want anything to do with that asshole.”

  “He’s a bad guy,” Finn added. “And he’s always been a bad guy.”

  Benny spoke again.

  “We don’t need that jackass, boss,” he said. “If this is about Anita, and getting her back, do that a different way, homie. Write a poem or some shit. ‘Dear Anita . . . nothing is sweeter than Anita. I really “anita” Anita . . .’”

  The crew laughed—all except Tobey. But Finn pushed on.

  “Forget Dino,” he urged Tobey. “Tell him you’re out. We’re doing fine here without him.”

  “But we’re not,” Tobey said, stunning them. “We’re not doing fine.”

  The crew was surprised to hear this—except Joe Peck. The conversation he’d overh
eard earlier suddenly made sense.

  “Well, many people are hurting, Tobey,” Finn said. “You know things have changed in this town. It’s a tough economy for everyone. Or mostly everyone.”

  Tobey thought for a moment.

  “Look. I’m way behind on the loan,” he finally told them. “The guy from the bank was here today. Ask Joe—he saw him.”

  Joe Peck could only nod and stare at the floor.

  “They’re going to shut us down,” Tobey went on. “It’s as simple as that.”

  This was a crushing blow for all of them to hear. They loved the garage and everything that went with it.

  Little Pete spoke up. “Look, I hate Dino as much as anyone else here,” he said. “But if what you’re saying is that we need to work with him to save this place, then I’m with you, Tobey.”

  But Finn still disagreed.

  “You just made five grand tonight, Tobey,” he said. “You’re not completely broke.”

  “That’s got to be enough to make your loan payment,” Joe Peck added.

  “But what happens next month?” Tobey asked them. “And the month after that? I can’t expect to win all these dinky races. Even if I did, it still wouldn’t be enough. You’re the business major, Finn. You know what I’m talking about. It’s a question of dollars and cents, and a steady flow of income. And we just aren’t getting that anymore.”

  This was serious, and they could all feel it.

  “Here’s the bottom line,” Tobey told them. “If we don’t do this, then this place is gone.”

  He looked at each one for a long time.

  “Anyone here up for that?” he asked.

  No one said a word.

  * * *

  The next day a flatbed truck pulled up to the front of Marshall Motors.

  Behind the wheel was an individual appropriately named Big Al. Obese and sweaty, he was Dino’s right-hand man.

  He backed the truck up to the garage’s main door.

  On the back was a car that looked vaguely like a Mustang, but it was sitting on blocks and many of its key components were missing. It was far from being a completed car.