by Xavier Neal
“I'm done,” I let out a deep sigh.
Ben folds his arms across his chest. “What the fuck do you mean you're done?”
“I mean I'm done. I'm not racing anymore.”
“Vinnie-”
“Vinnie already knows.” Ben's mouth screws tight. “Gave me his blessing.”
“No fucking way.” When I don't dispute him being wrong he explodes. “What the fuck! How can you just quit!?”
Sitting up I pull my legs to my chest so my arms can dangle off them. “I don't wanna fucking do it anymore.”
“Because of that chick! She's just some fucking girl!”
“She's not just some fucking girl!” I yell back. “She's the girl! She's my girl! And you need to get that through your fucking skull!” His mouth twitches and I shout, “Stop fucking trying to make me choose sides, Ben! This situation is hard enough without you making it worse!”
“No one made you choose sides, Merrick!” He counters. “You did that all on your fucking own!”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck you!” Ben growls back tossing his hands in the air. “You're nothing but an asshole who betrayed his family for a steady piece of pussy.”
Flying off the bed prepared to lay into him worse than I would have ever Madden, I'm taken off guard when Knoxie appears in the doorway halting my reaction.
“Why the hell are you two yelling like we're at a WWE match?”
Ben glares at me. “Because my best friend betrayed me.”
“Grow up,” I snap back. “Just because I'm fucking tired of sleeping with random chicks and racing cars doesn't mean I betrayed you. It means I'm ready to move on with my life. I know where and what I want out of it. Why don't you stop being pissed off at me for knowing where I wanna go in life and figure out where the fuck you're headed.”
There's a strong silence before Ben sneers, “Right now, I'm headed to put a few grand in my pocket. Enjoy your night by the phone looking at your college brochures.”
He storms out of the room and I drop down on the edge of my bed before flopping backwards. On a sharp roar I yell, “Fuck!”
Fighting with Ben wasn't something I wanted to do. All the fucking stress of just...of just trying to do the right thing isn't settling well. Obviously.
Knox ponders out loud. “Did Ben say college brochures?”
With my eyes shut I mumble, “He did.”
“You're looking at colleges.”
“I...was.”
“Was?” Knox speaks up. “Not anymore?”
Lifting myself back up I look into her eyes. “I don't know what to do anymore, Knox. If I don't race cars and look out for his every stupid decisions, I'm a shitty McCoy. If I think about a future doing something I want to do with someone I fucking care about, I'm a shitty McCoy. I can't believe I'm gonna say this, but I don't wanna be a fucking McCoy anymore Knoxie. I just wanna be me.”
She lifts the corner of her lips. “They'll be pissed, but eventually they'll get over it. All Madden's ever wanted was for you to get out of this lifestyle, so when you do, he'll deal. And Ben...he'll take a little longer, but eventually he'll cool off. Just give everyone some time to adjust. You've done a complete 180 so fast they're not dealing well with whiplash. Give everyone some time to adjust.”
On a slow nod I tilt my head at her. “You seem to be doing okay with it?”
“I have less nitric oxide coursing through my veins than the rest of you.” When I snicker a little she winks. “Well now that the shouting match has been declared over, I'm gonna get ready to go to Olympus. Wanna come?”
Giving my phone a glance I shake my head. “Nah. Gonna crash. Have an errand to run tomorrow.”
“Suit yourself. I think I'm gonna put on that string top that makes Madden throw beer bottles,” she says more to herself than me. “That'll teach him to wash my jeep.”
Confused I call out, “Isn't that a good thing?”
“You don't touch my shit without asking.” She points a finger at me. “Don't forget that.”
I hold up my hands up in defense before she gives me a sharp nod, strolling away. Flopping backwards I shut my eyes tight, the sound of a clock ticking in my brain.
Soon this will all be over. Soon things will be so much better. They have to be.
Merrick
I stroll into the kitchen surprised to see Madden at the kitchen table this early. His phone is beside him and a cold bowl of cereal in front of him.
Anyone else picking up on the negative vibes leaking out of my brother?
Instead of just asking what's bothering him I nod to his breakfast. “Knox sleep in late?”
“She didn't fucking come home last night,” he grumbles looking up at me.
Surprised, but not completely, I shrug. “So? She does that occasionally.”
“Yeah and when she does we eat cold fucking mush for breakfast.” He pushes the soggy bowl away from him. “She should've came home last night. She had no fucking business going home with that tall weaselly looking motherfucker.” Knowing better than to give my older brother advice I simply listen to him rant. “And what does she see in dicks like that anyway? They look like they belong on a fucking surf board by the coast. Selling coconuts with straws in them.”
The dude who sold me Jovi's engagement ring comes to mind.
So she has a type outside of my brother.
“Maybe you should treat her like a treasure.”
Madden quickly bellows, “What the fuck did you just say to me?”
Thankfully my phone vibrates in my pocket.
T.D.: Special Delivery.
Go time.
“I gotta go,” I ignore his unhappiness and head for the door. “But if you see Ben can you just tell him The Box, my treat.”
Madden shifts gears back to concerned father mode. “You two get into it?”
“We'll be fine. Don't get your boxers in a bigger twist.” Opening the door, I nearly run into Knoxie who is on her way in with her heels dangling from her hand. With a smirk I comment, “Walk of Shame looks good on you, Knox.”
Immediately she snaps, “Shut it rug rat.”
Madden's voice raises as I exit. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“China.” Her sarcastic response is the last thing I hear.
The drive to The Devil's is unnerving. I do my best to settle myself, my mind, but can't seem to get a grip. Not when the price is this high. Switching from my car to the Lotus is the easy part. His instructions are simple, which just causes more dread. I'm supposed to drive to the address, give the Lotus to some dude, get the keys to another vehicle and drive it back. No plates. No stickers.
Benefit? No time window. I could drive slow as molasses, but we both know that's not happening.
About two hours west off a nameless dirt road, I pull the Lotus up to an iron gate and wait to be let in. While the wait is short, the greeting through the gate is not friendly. Highly armed guards are pointing rifles at my head as I drive around the path as if they are just waiting for me to make their Sunday.
Not really candy and roses.
I drive around until I see a large, bald headed, black man who has his hand held up for me to stop. Instantly I do, shut the car off, and surrender my hands to let him know I'm not armed.
“Get out of the car,” he demands, his voice thick with a South African accent.
As soon as I do, another guard climbs in it and drives it off out of sight.
Not getting a good vibe from this situation.
“Where's my car?”
“You're Bernie Falls?”
“I am.”
“ID.” Slowly I reach in my back pocket and pull out the fake one I switched with.
My actual license is tucked into the bottom of my shoe. Not the most comfortable, but definitely the safest in a pat down.
While checking it out, he motions for a different guard to search me for weapons. He quickly does, tossing my wallet for the man to rifle through as well. When he's finally s
atisfied he hands both items back to me. “This way.”
Resisting the urge to make a smart ass comment, I follow him up an angled walk way into a glass green house. Carefully I observe my surroundings noting there's no easy way out. No safe way to leave if necessary.
Fuck I hope it's not necessary.
The guard stops by the door, but motions for me to continue further in alone. Cautious, I continue strolling through the area that's over flowing with exotic flowers being watered by sprinklers until I see a short man digging in a flower pot on the opposite end from where I came from.
“Hundreds of vases in this building, Mr. Falls,” he says not looking over his shoulder. Not showing me his face. “Where do you think I put the keys?”
Not prepared for a game of hide and seek, I carefully say, “Excuse me?”
“Where do you think I put the keys?”
“I'm sorry Mr. Traul, I was under the impression we were just swapping vehicles.”
“And we are,” he hums scooping more dirt into the pot. “But I wanna play a game. It's simple really. Find the keys and take the car. Only rule is...you can't die.”
Panic shoots on my face before the sound of a gunshot forces me to the ground in fear. He chuckles to himself, shoves ear pieces in his ear and returns to gardening.
So obviously all fucking higher up criminals are out of their goddamn minds!
Another bullet is fired and the echoing noise of it deafens my ears. Flustered I start scooting around on the floor hiding behind stands and tables that can conceal me. More bullets bounce around shattering pots, but the weird riddle dude doesn't seem to care.
Gotta focus. Gotta find those fucking keys.
Sneaking around quietly, I do my best to locate where the firing is coming from. My eyes do a heavy search finally seeing the man who brought me here for this sick hunt is the one doing the shooting. I give him a cold glare from a spot he can't see me, which is when I notice the pair of keys dangling out his back pocket.
Motherfucker!
Quietly I move my body back around so that I'll end up circling behind him, a quick snatch and hide being my best shot at the target. Annoyed that I have to play this fucking game, I hop up onto my feet, take a deep breath and knock a pot over knowing sound distraction is going to be my only hope. Sure enough when the first one hits the ground, he fires a few rounds that direction. Running quickly I knock over several more forcing bullets to fire in rapid succession into other pots creating quite a mess in what should be a sanctuary. On my way back around I knock over another and slide under a table to wait for him to stroll by. Sadly in that pot was much more than rooted roses. The cut off finger tests my gag reflexes.
See why I need out. I don't want my finger ending up in a pot any more than I wanna end up face down in a pool.
The guard falls for my trick slowing down right in front of me. After two slow deep breaths, I slip my finger through the key ring making sure not to tug. When he bends down to pick up the finger, I carefully remove it, and return back to stilling my movements. Like the hunter he is, he starts stalking again, the window of escape as small as the object I just acquired. I tuck the key deep into my pocket and slowly start to crawl under the table, carefully moving the pots out of my way that I can. Any time his footsteps stop, so do my movements. Eventually I manage to crawl myself closer to the door but not close enough.
I can't die here. I can't.
Fighting back the panic in my throat I scoot over a pot noticing I've managed to maneuver my way around to an outer wall. With good instinct there's only one way I'm going to make it out, I push as many pots out of my way as I can before I kick the glass with everything I've got. The shattering sound draws the gun fire, heavily, but I know it's now or never. In one swift motion I'm on the other side of the broken window and sprinting back down the path I came. Unsure if I've passed the sick psycho test or just got momentarily lucky, I keep running back the way I drove up. While the path is still littered with guards, they don't have their weapons drawn and don't seem to be bothered by me running.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
By the time I reach the front gate, I'm out of breath, exhausted, and a little woozy. However to my surprise, waiting for me is a black and red Bugatti Veyron.
Daddy hit the jack pot. Such a shame this has to go to The Devil. If I didn't want my freedom as badly as I do, you bet your ass I'd be taking her for more than just a courtesy spin.
Unlocking the door, I slide myself inside and relish the beauty that is this machinery.
If Heaven had a highway, this would be the only car on it.
When the gate starts to slide open, I realize I better not waste another second of time on the property. Starting her up, a sexual groan purrs out of me as she vibrates with me in her clutches.
Makes a guy wanna propose twice in one month.
Promptly, I pull out and take off down the dirt path, freedom the only thing on my mind.
The drive down the highway is smooth and sexy. I try to keep her under reasonable speeds considering I have no cop detection whatsoever, but it becomes harder and harder when the stretches of road are so empty. Knowing we're getting closer to the city, I know I'm going to have to slow my speed down tremendously, but decide to give her one final push before I do. The thrill of the speed and roar of the engine mix inside creating a feeling very similar to an orgasm.
I don't have to give up cars right? Jovi would never ask me to completely give this shit up. Cars mean as much to me as painting does. And no she didn't tell me stop racing, but she didn't have to. I need to. Break a few less laws and hope my new father in law counts those in my favor.
Slowing back down in the city, I'm impressed with the fact that I'm actually following all traffic laws. Doesn't stop heads from turning.
You wanna tell me you wouldn't turn your head to stare?
Just as the anxiety from this nightmare job starts to subside, a sound every person dreads appears behind me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Cautiously, I pull the car over slowly, to the emergency lane as if preparing to stop.
Wish me luck.
I reach for my cell phone and hit one of the emergency numbers. While looking into my rearview mirror, waiting for my moment, I listen to the phone ring. As soon as the cop prepares to open his door, my feet get us back into gear, and fly me down the emergency lane. With a decent head start, I soar back onto the highway weaving through traffic as the cop tries to play catch up.
He's not gonna make it. But he's gonna call in back up and that's bad. Very bad.
“Yup,” Vinnie finally answers my call.
“Hey, I need a favor,” my voice tries to remain calm as I see another cop fly onto the highway. Annoyed by the increasing numbers, I accelerate. “And quickly.”
“Cashing in your one?”
“Yeah.” The answer is fast. “I need a swap. And I need one now.”
“Full or half?”
“Full.”
“Location?”
“Uh...” I try to get a glimpse at a highway sign and can't. Looking at the sky line of buildings I state, “Passing Old Money district.”
It's the oldest bank downtown.
“Take your next exit. Three lefts and a sharp right.” Vinnie pauses for a second and then questions, “Are those fucking sirens?”
“Yeah,” I cut over, cutting a car off to take the exit as the cops continue forward. “Lots of 'em.”
“What did you do?”
“Not a good time, Vinnie.”
“Real quick,” he continues talking.
Sure. A police chase is a great fucking time for a Q&A session.
“Ben was supposed to pick up his winnings this morning, but he flaked-”
“Probably hung over in some chick's bed.” I hang a left and accelerate again not bothering to slow down to properly merge. “I'll remind him when I see him. Hang up the phone!”
The line goes dead and I hear another round of si
rens, but don't see them. Knowing if I can just stay a few seconds ahead of them, I have a chance at getting out of this, I take another left at my next chance, then another at a light and making a sharp right into a parking garage.
As sirens increase like they're closing in, the guard looks down at me, and pushes the button.
Best part about technology. Instant shit like this. Vinnie probably sent him my picture.
