Need for Speed (3 page)

“Maybe he just came to watch how a real race driver drives,” Finn said boldly. “Maybe he'll learn something here.”

But Tobey just shook his head at the chatter.

“That guy raced Indy,” he told his friends. “It doesn't get any more real than that.”

“Yeah,” Joe Peck said. “But he only lasted a season and a half at Indy.”

“In other words, he sucked,” Benny said.

But Tobey just kept shaking his head.

“He made the top five in three races,” he said. “He didn't suck. Far from it. He knows what he's doing.”

“But you've got to remember,” Joe Peck said, “he wrecked a guy under a caution flag—that's about as low as you can get. That's why they banned him.”

Again, that was Dino all over.

Finn turned to Little Pete. “Telling us that your sister was ‘kind of' seeing Dino Brewster was one thing,” he said. “But actually seeing that she is seeing him? That's totally different. That's a real mind fuck.”

“It's a nightmare is what it is,” Little Pete said gloomily.

Meanwhile, the lovefest around Dino continued unabated. He signed autographs with the patience of Hollywood's friendliest leading man. Smiling and laughing nonstop, he posed for pictures with the locals. At one point, he tried to pull Anita into some of the photos, but she posed only reluctantly. It was all she could do just to keep smiling.

While the Marshall crew couldn't take their eyes off the little scene, Tobey was more affected by it than the rest. But none of them liked it.

“If your parents had the cash his parents did,” Joe Peck said to Tobey, “you'd be racing open wheel, too.”

Tobey just shrugged. Who knows?

“And you'd be beating him,” Finn added. “Just like you beat him every time you guys went head-to-head.”

Tobey shook his head again. This one went deep.

“Not every time,” he said sadly.

He was looking at Anita when he said this—and now she'd spotted him across the parking lot. Their eyes met. Hundreds of emotions flowed back and forth, slow-motion electricity bouncing between the two of them.

She broke the spell by giving him a little wave. All he could do was nod back to her.

That's when she started walking in his direction.

“Oh, shit,” Joe Peck said. “This can't be good.”

The gang immediately surrounded Tobey.

“Let's go, man,” Finn said, trying to get Tobey out of her line of sight. “You don't need the distraction.”

But Tobey shook his head again.

“It's okay,” he said. “It's cool.”

But his words didn't convince anyone—including himself.

Joe Peck turned to Benny. “You better get going, dude,” he told him, checking his watch. “The race is gonna start soon.”

Benny smiled and swung his arms behind him as if they were wings.

He began to sing, “I believe I can fly . . . I believe I can touch the sky . . .”

With that, Benny “flew” off, pretending to be some kind of human, singing bird.

Benny being Benny.

A moment later, Anita arrived.

She was even prettier up close, but was very shy as well.

“Hey guys,” she said sweetly. “Hey, Petey.”

“Hey,” Little Pete replied, almost under his breath. He hadn't seen her in a while.

They hugged, and Anita asked him, “Are you racing tonight?”

“Yep,” he replied curtly.

“Well—be careful, okay?” she told him sincerely.

Pete just nodded. Then Anita turned toward Tobey. The rest of the group took their cue and wandered away. Tobey and Anita were alone.

She touched his arm, just for an instant. But it sent a jolt through him.

“Hi, Tobey,” she said, trying to smile.

“Anita,” Tobey said with a nod, trying to stay cool.

“I was really sorry to hear about your dad,” she said softly. “You got the flowers, didn't you?”

Tobey nodded again—this was very uncomfortable. There was a long pause. He stared at the ground, and Anita stared at him. She had stopped trying to smile. The look in her eyes said it all. She should've stayed with him . . .

Anita broke the silence. “Thanks for watching out for Pete,” she said.

Tobey just shrugged. “Glad to do it. He's like a little brother to me.”

Her smile returned briefly.

“How's the shop?” she asked, trying to sound cheerful. Truth was, it was harder for her to talk to Tobey than it was for him to talk to her.

“Fine,” Tobey lied. “Everything's going good . . .”

Anita was a little surprised to hear this. “Really? Well, that's nice . . .”

She was trying her best to hide the skepticism in her voice. There was another awkward silence. Now it was Tobey who broke it.

“So how's the big city?” he asked her.

“Different than I expected, I guess,” she replied. “But it's not here, that's for sure.”

Tobey forced a smile. “You still allergic to Mount Kisco?”

Anita almost laughed. “You still think you're funny, huh?” she said. “Well, I'll tell you. There's a few things left in Mount Kisco that I really like.”

Tobey shook his head a little. “Seems like you found what you're looking for.”

Anita knew what he was talking about: Dino.

“I'm taking it real slow,” she said, almost like she had to convince herself.

Tobey looked her right in the eye.

“Dino's not a guy who takes anything slow,” he said, carefully pronouncing every syllable.

She glared right back at him. “Then you should have moved a little quicker,” she scolded him.

A third awkward silence—but this time their eyes were locked on each other.

“Is that what you came here to tell me?” he asked her in a harsh whisper.

She shook her head. “No—it isn't,” she replied. “In fact, Dino has something he wants to talk to you about. Something important.”

“I doubt that,” Tobey said.

“It's true,” she said. “But not until after the race. I don't want to distract you.”

Tobey had had enough. He said to her, “Then you should've stayed in Manhattan.”

With that, he walked away.

* * *

It was almost midnight.

Joe Peck was standing under the Mount Kisco overpass, the finish line for the upcoming race. Crews for all of the cars competing in the race were standing nearby.

Finn was also there, working on his laptop.

Joe's cell phone rang. It was Tobey, still back at the drive-in.

“What's your status?” Tobey asked him.

“We're in place at the finish line,” Joe replied. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm okay,” Tobey told him. “Do you have the road locked down?”

“Well, Benny is up there,” Joe said. “Or at least I think he is. Hold on . . .”

Joe Peck pushed a button on his radio handset.

“Liar One?” he called into the mic. “Are you standing by?”

Benny's distinctive voice came through the handset's tiny speaker.

“Not this again,” he moaned. “Why do you have to use that shitty handle?”

“I wouldn't have to use it,” Joe Peck told him, “if you would just stop telling people you flew Apache helicopters when you were in the army.”

“I was a mechanic in army
aviation
,” Benny replied testily. “And I once took an Apache for a joyride. That's all I ever said.”

This
was
an impressive boast, however, which is why the others in the Marshall Motors crew had their doubts about it.

Apaches were the most powerful combat helicopters in the world. An Apache was like a tank with a rotor spinning on top. They could carry hundreds of pounds of bombs, missiles, or rockets. Each was also equipped with a massive gun, a weapon that could put some serious hurt on just about anything. An Apache could definitely ruin your day if you were on the wrong end of its weapons.

But it was not just what they were packing that made Apaches so fierce. The copter could fly nearly 200 mph, could do loops (rare for any helicopter), could stay aloft for hours, and in general could mimic a lot of maneuvers jet fighters were famous for doing. Only the cream of the army aviation's crop were qualified to fly them.

Again, while he was a great guy, Benny was known to exaggerate, and since he'd come back from the military, his tall tales seemed to have grown even taller. This was why his buds were skeptical about his claim to have gone joyriding in an Apache.

“I know that's what you said,” Joe Peck told him now. “It's just that I don't believe you.”

Benny's exasperation came through loud and clear. “Just because I was a copter crew chief, that doesn't mean I don't know how to fly a chopper,” he said.

“All right, Liar One,” Joe Peck said, emphasizing the last two words. “Whatever you say. Now, please, what's the status?”

Benny
was
full of dubious claims, but at least one of them was true. He
could
fly an airplane. That's where he was now. Inside a Cessna Skyhawk, flying above the proposed racecourse.

While the Cessna Skyhawk was definitely not an Apache, it did take some skill to fly one. It had a big engine, could fly more than 150 mph, and at more than three miles high. While the Cessna was among the most popular airplanes ever built, only a pilot who knew what he was doing could fly one safely at night.

Benny looked out over the controls of the Cessna, studying a small TV screen showing a night-vison view of the racecourse below. The race would be run on public streets, but the course itself wasn't strictly about driving fast on straightaways. Almost half of the course would take the drivers down some of Mount Kisco's narrowest back alleys and side streets; places with lots of sharp corners and tight turns. How to get through this rat's maze quickly was part of the overall strategy—and danger—of the event.

Benny's job up here was to be on the lookout for the police, or civilian cars, or any kind of vehicle that might get in the way of the race. This was critical, as the speed of the cars involved might go as high as 140 mph.

“It's looking good,” Benny finally reported. “Looks like most of Mount Kisco has gone to bed.”

“Okay, Liar One,” Joe Peck responded.

“Hey, you got a death wish, Pecker?” Benny yelled at him. “My call sign is ‘Maverick.' Got it? Call me Maverick, or—”

“Or what?” Joe asked, laughing.

“Or I'll kamikaze this bird right into your nut sack,” Benny replied.

* * *

The start of the race was just minutes away.

Back at the drive-in, Tobey pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and counted it quickly.

One thousand dollars. This was a lot of money for him. The mortgage on the garage. Providing paychecks for his crew. Ordering supplies and car parts. Keeping the electricity on. The thousand dollars might have been put to better use.

But Tobey had suddenly found himself in survivor mode. Just seconds before his father died, Tobey had promised him he'd do anything and everything to keep Marshall Motors going. And so, desperate times called for desperate measures. He knew it was time for him to put his skills as a driver to better use than just getting a rush at 150 mph. He knew it was time for him to keep his word to his father.

He counted out the cash one more time and then joined the other racers in a circle near the race organizer's station.

This was going to be a box race, a well-known event in underground racing circles. It was simple. A predetermined entrance fee was put into a box by each racer. Whoever won the race won the contents of the box.

One of the race organizers was holding the box.

“Everyone knows the rules,” he told them. “There's no handicapping in this race. No set-out lengths. You'll leave from a standing start; first bumper to cross the finish line wins.”

Tobey thought about it for just one more moment. Then he threw his money into the box. The other four racers did the same.

They would be formidable opponents. Jimmy had his balls-out GTO and Little Pete would be driving his beautiful '68 Camaro with its 427-cubic-inch Corvette engine. A cute girl named Jeny B would be driving a very sweet Porsche 944 coupe with a 3.1 liter, heavily modified 300 horsepower engine under its hood, a powerhouse for such a small car; and a guy named DJ would be driving a BMW 3.0 E9 with a 3.2 liter engine bumped up to 310 horsepower, again, a lot of power for such a tiny featherweight burner. Tobey knew none of them would be a pushover.

With the money in place, the race organizer handed Tobey five playing cards.

“Do you want to do the honors, Marshall?” he asked Tobey.

“Why not?” Tobey replied, shrugging.

The race was going to start with the cars lining up in two-car rows. The selection of the cards determined where the racers would line up.

Tobey checked the playing cards. They were all Clubs, from the ace to the five card. He held them face down and gave them a quick shuffle.

“Okay?” the race organizer asked the others. “Everyone agree the cards are clean?”

They all nodded.

“Okay, Jimmy,” the race organizer said. “You pick first.”

Jimmy McIntosh selected a card. He turned it over to reveal the two of clubs.

“Not bad,” he said with a smile.

Little Pete went next.

He crossed fingers on both hands, seemed to say a quick prayer, then picked his card. It was the ace.

“Yes!” he shouted. “The spirits are with me!”

Because Little Pete had picked the ace, and Jimmy had the two card, they would comprise the first row, one-two.

Jeny B went next. She selected the three of clubs.

“Could be worse,” she said.

Now it was just DJ and Tobey, and Tobey was not feeling the love. He'd hoped to get a start closer to the front, but that was impossible now.