Need for Speed (14 page)

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 quickly 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.”

Julia froze. She was certain the jig was up. The trooper walked to the front door and held it open for her. She followed him, but just for one step. Then she turned around and bolted toward the back of the store, running as fast as she could.

The trooper was stunned, but only for a moment. He took off after her in a snap, chasing her down a hallway.

Outside, Tobey was hustling back to the Mustang. He was still trying to look inside the store, all the while listening to Julia on his phone.

Her voice came on in a shrill whisper. “Tobey! There's a cop in here!”

“I know,” Tobey told her. “Where are you?”

At that moment, Julia was running frantically down the hallway, the trooper right on her heels.

The hallway ended at a staircase. Julia ran up the stairs, but the trooper was gaining on her.

She reached the top of the stairs and ran through an open doorway, slamming the door behind her and locking it.

“I'm upstairs now!” she yelled to Tobey over the phone. “I'm in a room! Like a storage room.”

“Is there a window?” Tobey asked her quickly.

Julia ran to the room's only window. Suddenly the trooper was banging mightily on the locked door.

“Yes, there's a window,” she told Tobey. “But I'm on the second floor!”

Tobey could hear the trooper yelling in the background, “I'm asking you to open this door, miss!”

“Climb out the window,” Tobey urged Julia. “I'll be there.”

Julia never stopped moving. She climbed atop some boxes as quickly as she could, trying to get out the window.

The trooper was pounding on the door with his billy club now. His voice was insistent.

“Miss, you need to open this door,
right now
!”

Then he clicked on his walkie-talkie.

“This is Unit Seven Two,” he barked into it. “I'm at the truck stop on Eighty. Any units in the area? Over.”

In this short amount of time, Julia had managed to crawl halfway out the window. With one last push, she popped onto the roof.

But then she peeked over the edge and saw it was about a fifteen-foot drop to the ground.

“Oh damn!” she growled to herself. “Damn, I don't like this.”

She looked in every direction—but Tobey was nowhere in sight.

She began running along the roof, frantically looking down into the parking lot while yelling into her phone.

“Tobey—come and get me!” she screamed. “I'm up on the roof!”

An instant later, the Mustang appeared right below her.

Tobey called out the car's window, “You gotta jump. Let's go!”

But there was a problem.

“I'm afraid of heights,” she yelled back down to him. “I can't even bear to look down!”

“It's not that high!” he called back up to her. “Just jump!”

“I can't!” she bellowed back. “I'm
terrified
of heights.”

Tobey got out of the Mustang and ran to a point right below Julia.

“Sit on the edge!” he called up to her. “Hang your feet over. I'll catch you.”

But Julia was having none of that. She was stamping her feet in furious fear.

“Shit . . . Shit . . .
Shit!
” she yelled, mad at herself and her phobia. But there was nowhere else she could go, nothing else she could do.

So she finally crept to the edge of the roof and let her feet dangle over.

“Now close your eyes and just jump!” Tobey yelled up to her. “On three . . . One . . .”

Julia closed her eyes and jumped—a full two seconds too early. Tobey was not ready—but he caught her anyway. Absorbing the impact with his prison-built muscles, he spun them both against the car and then softly to the ground.

Tobey recovered quickly, picked up Julia, and practically threw her into the Mustang. Then he jumped in and floored it. The Mustang rocketed away in a cloud of smoke and dust.

By this time, the trooper had run out of the store. He was still barking into his walkie-talkie.

“In pursuit of the silver Mustang!” he reported to his headquarters. “New York plates . . . Going back to my cruiser now!”

The trooper jumped into his cruiser and fired up the engine. He put it in gear and punched the gas pedal. The car lurched forward—but only for a couple feet. Then it began bucking wildly from behind. Suddenly there was a great
crash!
The cruiser's rear axle smashed into the asphalt while the rest of the car kept going. It finally ground to a halt after twenty feet or so.

The trooper quickly recovered from the shock and looked in his rearview mirror. That's when he realized the axle had been tethered with a thick chain to a large semitruck parked in front of the store.

The trooper just shook his head. His car was toast, and he knew it.

Then he heard another noise.

He looked over at the pickup truck he'd seen before to see the huge, now-unchained dog barking at him maniacally.

* * *

Not a minute later, Tobey and Julia were roaring down the highway again. She kept looking in her side mirror, expecting to see police lights at any moment.

Just seconds after their getaway, the iPad crackled to life. It contained a text from Monarch.

It read, “The drivers' meeting is at 8:00 p.m. at the Intercontinental Hotel in Frisco. Be there square or you will not get the actual location of the race.”

Tobey looked over at Julia, who was still catching her breath from their escape. She had changed into clothes he was more used to—jeans and a T-shirt. But more important, he'd just seen a side of her that he never knew existed.

He was wearing a wide smile. He was really beginning to respect her—and more.

But she was still worried about the cop.

“Where is he?” she asked Tobey, continuing to check in the mirrors.

“He's not coming,” he replied confidently.

“Really?” she asked. It was almost like she didn't want to believe it.

“Trust me,” Tobey replied. “He'll be stuck back there for a while.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, needing confirmation.

Tobey laughed to himself; one word came to mind:
Chains . . .

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I'm sure.”

Suddenly, Joe Peck's voice crackled through the Mustang.

“Beauty?” he began. “I'm listening to the trooper chatter and it sounds like your princess got snagged.”

“Yeah, it was rough back there,” Tobey replied with a smirk.

“Well, we couldn't have planned it any better,” Joe told him. “You're solo now and lighter by 100 pounds.”

Tobey looked at Julia.

“Maybe 105 . . .” he told Joe. “Or more . . .”

Julia whacked him good-naturedly.

“I pity the cops who have to listen to her go on and on,” Tobey added. “That girl just does not shut up.
Ever
 . . .”

“I copy that, homeboy,” Joe replied.

“I'm kidding,” Tobey finally revealed. “I still got her. It was like a scene from
The Great Escape
 . . . over.”

Joe immediately tried to redeem himself.

“I've always liked you, Julia,” he said half seriously. “You know that.”

“Thanks, Joe,” she said. “Over and out.”

With that, Julia flipped a switch, effectively ending the conversation.

“You
were
impressive back there,” Tobey told her, now that they were finally alone. “It makes me wonder if you could maybe drive for a few hours?”

Julia nodded happily. “For sure!” she exclaimed. “But do you really think we should stop?”

Tobey didn't reply. Instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap. Then he put her hands on the steering wheel, and after enjoying her perfume a little more than he should have, slid over into the passenger's seat.

“The con is yours, my dear,” he told her. “And in case you forgot—we're going to San Francisco.”

She gave him a mock salute, still a little flustered that their bodies had been entangled for those quick few seconds. She had no complaints, though.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said. “Next stop—Frisco!”