Need for Speed (17 page)

Twenty-Three

THE BAY BRIDGE
was brightly lit up as usual, its reflection glowing off the water of San Francisco Bay.

Tobey was leaning on the bridge's railing, staring into the turbulent waters below. The Beast was parked nearby, engine idling. Joe Peck was inside, waiting patiently.

A taxicab pulled up beside him. Anita stepped out.

Joe watched silently as she walked toward Tobey. He just shook his head and whispered, “Tobey, dude, sometimes I wonder if you got a death wish, bro.”

Anita and Tobey greeted each other in near silence. She leaned against the railing next to him. Heavy makeup covered her recently acquired black eye.

“You must be exhausted after what you've been through,” she said to him.

“I'm okay,” he replied.

“I know I probably look tired, too,” she said.

Tobey smiled awkwardly—so did she. He began to say something about her black eye, but she cut him off.

“How are the guys?” she asked him instead. “I still miss them.”

“Well, Benny's in jail,” Tobey told her. “And Julia's in the hospital.”

“I'm so sorry, Tobey,” she said.

Their eyes locked.

“Why didn't you just leave him?” Tobey asked her. “He's a really bad guy.”

“I know,” she said. Then she held up her engagement ring. “And, I just did,” she added.

Anita spotted Tobey's tattoo. She took his hand and turned it over so she could see it clearly.

Pete . . .

“I know now that Dino was there the night my brother died,” Anita said after a while.

“Yeah, he was,” Tobey replied with a nod.

“I wish I could give you those years back,” Anita told him. “The time you spent in prison.”

She moved closer to him—but he took a step back.

“I don't want the years back,” he told her. “I just want that one moment back. Just one fucking moment . . .”

“It's not your fault,” Anita told him. “Nothing would have kept Pete from getting in that car. Nothing . . .”

Tobey just shook his head. “Dino . . .” he said bitterly. “Dino could have just kept it between me and him.”

“He's a scam artist,” Anita said. “The whole thing was a con. It started with the Mustang, then it turned into a shell game, moving this car here, that car there. But it went bust, and now he's broke. He owes a lot of money to a lot of people. Dangerous people. He's desperate. He needs to win De Leon or he'll lose everything.”

“I lost you, my mother, my father, Pete, the shop . . .” Tobey said. “I lost everything.”

“But Dino is willing to die,” Anita said gravely.

“So am I,” Tobey told her.

Anita studied him closely. She had no doubt he was serious.

“I need a car,” he told her starkly. “The Mustang is wrecked.”

Anita thought a moment. Then she began searching through her bag. She finally found a business card and handed it to Tobey.

“It's a warehouse,” she told him. “That's the combination to the lock. I've never been inside, but I know Dino keeps some cars there.”

Tobey studied the combination numbers on the business card.

“But, please, Tobey,” she warned him. “Don't get too close to him. He's capable of anything.”

Tobey smiled darkly.

“So am I,” he said.

Twenty-Four

IT WAS NOW
the dead of night.

The junkyard was dark, full of shadows, and, hopefully, deserted.

Tobey and Joe Peck drove through the place in the Beast. Both were highly on guard.

“Boy, this feels like a setup,” Joe said ominously.

Tobey didn't reply.

Up ahead they saw a dusty shed with a stack of crushed cars blocking its roll-up door. They stopped the Beast and got out.

Joe's flashlight found the shed's lock. Tobey immediately dialed in the combination numbers from the business card. The lock clicked open on the first try.

He rolled up the door and the flashlight revealed what was inside. Three cars hidden under blankets. Tobey and Joe moved some old junk parts and boxes off the first one. The dust became thick as they pulled the blanket off. Underneath was a 1975 Ferrari Dino.

They were both awestruck. This was a fantastic, extremely expensive car.

Joe Peck blurted out: “Wow—Dino's got a Dino . . .”

But Tobey had already moved on to the second car. He pulled off its blanket. Beneath was a brand-new Porsche.

“That's a 911GT,” Tobey exclaimed. “Big bucks for that, too.”

They made their way to the last car. They both pulled the blanket off together.

Beneath was a Koenigsegg.

Tobey and Joe both froze in place. For them, this was like seeing a ghost.

“Damn,” Joe breathed. “Could this be
the
car?”

Tobey knelt down and ran his hands over some scratches on the front bumper. They matched up with where scratches would be if this car had forced another off the road. At that moment, Tobey was convinced. This was the same car that had caused their friend's death.

Seeing it and knowing this was overwhelming for both Tobey and Joe.

“Why didn't he just destroy it?” Joe Peck asked. “Torch it? Do something to it. Here's all the evidence right here.”

Tobey shook his head. He had no idea.

“Maybe it's hard to set two million dollars on fire?” he asked. “Or maybe he just thought he'd never get caught.”

Joe smiled darkly.

“Well,” he said. “He was wrong there.”

* * *

A few minutes later, the silence of the junkyard was split by the roar of a hypercar coming to life. It sounded like a lion, warning anyone within earshot not to come any closer.

The Beast began pulling out the stack of junked cars that had been blocking the shed's doors. They moved like they were toys, opening a way through the wrecks.

Suddenly, the Koenigsegg rolled out, Tobey behind the wheel.

He gave the accelerator a few short stabs—and then sped off into the night.

* * *

Minutes later, Tobey was roaring through the streets of San Francisco, strapped in the powerful, ultra-expensive Koenigsegg sports car.

He rocketed through a red light without even noticing it. His thoughts were a million miles away. Just three days before, he was in prison serving the last hours of a sentence for killing one of his best friends—a crime he did not commit. Now he was driving the same car the real killer had used to end Little Pete's life. And with it, he intended teaching the real killer a lesson—or die trying.

But then, he saw the red light still glowing in his rearview mirror and immediately slowed down. It would not be good to be stopped by the cops at this point. That would send all his best-laid plans right down the drain.

He woke himself up mentally and started concentrating on what he was doing—and on what had to be done.

Minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. Climbing out of the Koenigsegg, he pulled his hoodie over his head and snuck in through a side entrance.

He quickly found the right corridor and saw Finn standing outside a hospital room. Finn put his finger to his lips, silently telling Tobey to stay quiet. The two friends pound-hugged, then Tobey went into Julia's room.

Julia was lying on the bed, hooked up to a gaggle of tubes, wires, and monitors.

She was asleep, but as soon as Tobey got close to her bed, she opened her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her quietly.

“Beat up,” she replied. “But I'm fine.”

“You are not the girl I thought you were,” Tobey told her sincerely.

She smiled a little.

“You find out a lot about a person after they've been hit by a truck,” she said.

Tobey smiled and Julia closed her eyes.

“What are you going to do tomorrow?” she asked him sleepily.

“I'm going to show up on time,” he replied. “Ready to go.”

“But you can't race in the De Leon,” she said. “In what car?”

“I found a car,” Tobey told her cryptically.

“And do I want to know where you got it?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, you don't.”

“Is it fast at least?” she asked him.

“Fast enough,” he replied.

Julia smiled but was definitely nodding off.

“I'll let you sleep,” Tobey told her.

“I don't want to sleep,” she replied. “Not while you're here. I just spent forty-eight hours straight trying to get you to talk because . . . you're . . . you're . . .”

But she was quickly fading and couldn't get the words out.

“I'm what?” Tobey suddenly wanted to know.

But she seemed to go back to sleep. Tobey quietly stepped away from the bed.

“You're Mr. Strong and Silent . . .” she finally said, though more asleep than awake.

She smiled, eyes still closed. Tobey stepped back closer to the bed and leaned in close to her. She opened her eyes.

“How about you be Ms. Strong and Silent for a change?” he said.

Then he kissed her . . .

“Rest, okay?” he told her.

“Okay,” she replied.

Tobey headed for the door, but then he heard her whisper.

“Tobey?” she said.

He turned back to her one more time.

“Yes?” he said.

She thought for a moment, then said, “Do it for Pete.”

Part Seven

Twenty-Five

IT WAS EARLY
morning and somewhere up in the mountains of Mendocino a starting line had been established.

Three dozen people had gathered there, an exclusive club, each one invited personally by Monarch. They'd all been sworn to secrecy—this was how the De Leon was run. The most exciting street racing event in the world had more layers of security than a CIA black op.

In addition to the small crowd, there were a dozen or so car crewmembers, including Dino's support team. Big Al was there, too, along with his big-ass truck. A black leather bra was covering its huge chrome grille. The grille had sustained some minor front-end damage recently, but it was important that the evidence of that damage stayed hidden.

Watching all this activity was Monarch himself. The mysterious maestro was still ensconced in his studio; its location was as top secret as the De Leon itself. He had a large bank of video monitors in front of him. They were beaming footage from the dozens of cameras he'd had stashed along the racecourse, its exact route unknown to anyone but him.

This was Monarch's baby, and he wasn't shy about letting everyone know it. Those in the immediate area were listening to him via a PA system set up at the starting line. Thousands more across the country and around the world were tuned in to his show as well. His voice swelled with both pride and audio volume whenever he spoke.

“This is by far the best De Leon I've ever put together,” he bragged over the air. “This is my
David
, my
Pieta
, my
Soup Can
. My
Sistine Chapel
.”

Then came a sudden rumbling sound. To the uninformed it was a startling noise—way too similar to how an earthquake sounded just before the ground opened up. After all, Mendocino
did
straddle the San Andreas Fault line. But this roar had a more mechanical origin. It was the sound of five supercars arriving at the De Leon starting line.

They were driving parade-style. First in line was the Saleen S7 Turbo, driven by a guy named Gooch. Hand-built and made mostly of carbon fiber, it was packing a 427-cubic-inch engine capable of kicking 800 horsepower or more. It also came arrayed with many scoops, spoilers, and other design tricks, all to make it as aerodynamic as possible.

The McLaren F-1 came next, driven by Texas Mike. Dark gray and sinister-looking, it was actually a production car, and
not
hand-built. But it was also incredibly light and incredibly fast—no surprise as it boasted a 6.1 liter twelve-cylinder turbo-ized engine. Like a jet fighter, it had a rear aileron-type spoiler that moved automatically, depending on its speed.

Next came the Bugatti Veyron, driven by the gentleman of the race, a guy named English Paul. The Veyron looked like the offspring of a Volkswagen that'd had sex with something from the movie
Tron
. It had curves where other racers had sharp angles; it was round in places where other racers were square. With its highly polished bronze wheels and diamond-cut, glass-like body, it might have been the most glamorous car in the race.

The GTA Spano pulled in behind the Bugg. Driven by a guy named Johnny V, it was the perfect car for the De Leon because very little was known about it. It was built in Spain, and its creators had kept its existence top secret from the rest of the racing world until 2008, and even then, they only offered a peek. Its engine was a V-10 that kicked 820 horsepower and its body was made of carbon fiber, titanium, and Kevlar—the same material used in bulletproof vests. But beyond that, it was the phantom in the field.

Then came Dino's Lambo Elemento.

It was a very cool car—V-10 engine, sexy Italian shape, weighing barely 2,000 pounds, it was one of only a handful ever built. But cool car didn't automatically mean cool driver. Just the opposite in this case. Dino might have been a rock star at the Mount Kisco Drive-in, but here, at the very soul of the street racing universe, he was widely considered to be an asshole. His reputation for wrecking guys at Indy while under a caution flag preceded him. Racing was a brutal, sometimes heartless, sport. But bouncing a competitor when the yellow was out was considered extremely bad form. Even the fact that he'd won the De Leon the year before did not count for much with the crowd. As proof, when he arrived, some boos could be heard over the roar of his Elemento's engine.

The supercars began to maneuver themselves into their assigned slots at the starting line. Before them stretched a long, winding, hilly course, one that would need a combination of skills to conquer. Speed, of course, would be the number one factor. But steering, strategy, patience, and, most of all, guts would also be required. This would not be a closed track—like all street races, civilian vehicles would most likely be found driving on the course. In all likelihood a police car or two would probably show up, too.

“We have our lineup!” Monarch bellowed. “In the first row, we have English Paul in the Bugatti Veyron and Dino Brewster in his Lamborghini Elemento. Row two is Gooch in his Saleen S7 and Texas Mike in his McLaren F1. Third row and lonely is Johnny V in his GTA Spano. We're looking at seven million dollars in cars and horsepower here folks! Winner takes all—and the losers walk home.”

* * *

The sun continued to rise. The air grew warmer. The race was about to start—but Tobey was not there.

Monarch had noticed.

“There is still no sign of Tobey Marshall,” he told his listeners with just a minute to go. “Maybe this race won't have as much soap opera as we thought.”

Sitting inside his Lamborghini, Dino smirked on hearing this.

“Chump,” he thought aloud.

But Tobey
was
on his way.

At that moment, he was flying up the mountains in the Koenigsegg, tearing up the asphalt on the rapidly ascending roads. Once he was in earshot, his presence was quickly known.

“Hold on,” Monarch told his listeners. “Do I hear a sixth car approaching? I can't really see who, but . . . stand by . . .”

When Monarch realized who it was, his voice went up another notch in volume and excitement.

“My people!” he announced. “Tobey Marshall has just arrived! And he's driving a Koenigsegg Agera! But hold on, my children—do the math with me—where's the Shelby Mustang? Or do we even care?”

Tobey rolled up to the starting line and let the crowd drink him in. He knew it didn't matter to Monarch or anyone else that he was here in a Koenigsegg and not the Shelby. Just the opposite—it only added to the drama, the soap opera, which was what the De Leon and Monarch's followers thrived on.

But when Dino spotted the Koenigsegg, a soap opera was the farthest thing from his mind. He nearly voided himself on his hand-brushed Gallardo leather seats. Tobey was driving the car he should have burned a long time ago. Dino knew he'd been found out for sure now—and he knew there was only one person who could have snitched: Anita.

He actually thought aloud, “I had Big Al hit the wrong person.”

Tobey eased the Koenigsegg into his assigned slot, last row, next to the GTA Spano. He looked down at the “Pete 392” tattoo on his arm and felt a kind of tranquility come over him. Finally, all the bullshit was over with. Everything he'd done in the past two years—and in the past two days—had led up to this moment. Despite all the obstacles, the cops, Dino, despite everything, here he was, ready to race.

This moment was what it was all about. For his mom, for his dad. For Julia. And most of all, for Pete. He tapped his tattoo twice for good luck and whispered: “Do or die little brother—this one's for you . . .”

Then came the words everyone had been waiting for. Monarch bellowed: “It's time, gentlemen . . .”

A portable dragster light grid had been put in place at the starting line. It held three yellow lights and one green. The racers revved their engines to full peak now—the noise was the loudest so far.

Suddenly, the lights fell down the grid and the green light exploded in a puff of smoke.

The six cars screamed off the starting line.

The Bugatti was in first place in an instant, the other five cars right behind it. But the race almost ended before it could begin. The six supercars came very close to a massive pileup going into the first turn, which was a hard downhill right. Bunched together, door-to-door and tail to nose, they all took the corner like they were running on rails.

Watching intently on his remote video setup, Monarch began barking like an announcer at the Indy 500.

“English Paul in the Bugatti has taken the hole shot!” he yelled into his mic. “With Dino Brewster holding a tight second. Then we have Gooch's Saleen, Texas Mike's McLaren and Johnny V in the Spano. Bringing up the rear is little old Tobey Marshall. If the kid from Mount Kisco plans on winning this race, he'd better get his ass in gear!”

Hitting 120 mph already, the cars were so close together some of their mirrors were scraping each other. The noise, the fire, the smoke—it was all mind-blowing. Exploding out onto a straightaway, Tobey was shifting like a madman. His speedometer was climbing by the second . . . 125 . . . 145 . . . 175 . . . As much as he loved the Shelby Mustang, the Koenigsegg was frighteningly powerful. The adrenaline rush was incredible.

As the road rose ahead of him, Tobey settled in and started thinking strategy. He studied his nearest competitor: the GTA Spano, off to his right and just a few inches ahead. It was still early in the race, but he decided to make a move. He hit the gas and swerved right at the Spano. The sudden maneuver stunned Johnny V. He overreacted, sending him wide right and causing two of his wheels to go off the pavement.

Monarch saw the move and became very excited.

“Tobey Marshall and Johnny V are already battling for fifth!” he yelled. “Tobey is actually exchanging paint with the Spano, and wait . . . Johnny V is off the road!”

Tobey watched the GTA go sideways behind him. He didn't have time to think about it. He hit the gas again.

“Okay, Johnny V has recovered!” Monarch reported. “But Tobey has already moved up a notch. He's taken over fifth place!”

The racers were climbing a hill now, each driver with the gas pedal mashed, each waiting and wondering where the road went from there.

But, suddenly, a police helicopter appeared over the racecourse. It came out of the trees and was looking down on the supercars as they neared the top of the hill.

Monarch was incensed.

“Flying cops!” he shouted. “Like flies in my ointment, my children. The California Highway Patrol is in the air over our course!”

The police helicopter was a Bell 412, a powerful, agile machine. Nose down, it was flying at full tilt just twenty feet off the ground. It was almost as if it was signaling the racers that they'd been found out.

Monarch picked up a paperweight and hurled it against the wall of his secret studio.

“Someone snitched!” he bellowed. “Someone spilled the beans to the fuzz! They might have been thinking they were doing some good—but take it from me, you add cops to this race and people
will get hurt
!”

There was nothing the racers could do about the helicopter but keep going. They roared underneath the aircraft, all in a serpentine line, and at tremendous speed flew over the crest of the hill.

But the copter immediately climbed, did a smooth 180-degree turn, and took off after the racers.

Monarch was still supremely pissed.

“Racers should race,” he yelled into his microphone, “and cops should eat doughnuts. This has just become a death race!”

With the GTA Spano no longer beside him, Tobey was able to take over the middle of the road. He was now directly behind the McLaren and the Saleen S7.

But as soon as he settled in behind them, two police cars appeared up ahead. Traveling side by side, lights flashing, sirens wailing, they were coming from the opposite direction and heading right at the racers.

Tobey knew this was more than just an ordinary race for him. Of them all, he had the most to lose if the cops stopped the De Leon and apprehended the drivers.

With this in mind, he became focused like never before. It was almost as if he began seeing everything just a few seconds ahead of time. The McLaren and the Saleen were in front of him. When he sensed the McLaren might go wide to set up his next turn, Tobey saw another opportunity to make another move. He hit his brakes while going into the turn and began drifting violently between the McLaren and the Saleen S7. The object of his desire was a space right between them.

Monarch saw the gutsy maneuver and approved.

“Tobey Marshall is going to roll the dice!” he yelled. “He's trying to try to split the McLaren and the Saleen . . . Wow! . . . Ballsy!”

Tobey successfully squeezed himself between the McLaren and the Saleen. But he didn't want to stay there for long. They came up on a curve, still sandwiched together. But just when it came time to turn, Tobey hit the gas a second before Texas Mike did, and suddenly the McLaren was behind him. Just like that, Tobey was in fourth place.