kas-ottenheimerā:
trevhansonā:
leeelanderā:
Hissing out a curse Lee threw her hand on the volume knob, the pounding bass having cut straight through her eardrums, āFuck dude, save it for when the wind is roaring through the car.ā Her dirty look was instantly mollified when Trev reached over to hand her the sickeningly neon red slushie. āThanks babe,ā she called out happily to Kas, her grin widening when a bag of her favorite snacks came sailing through the car into her lap. Lee had only raced once in her car once alongside them, and she came to the conclusion afterwards that she was far happier riding shotgun in the passenger seat than hurtling her baby around sharp corners at violent speeds.Ā
Slouching down in the leather seat, she sipped on the slushie happily, biting down on the straw with a cutting smile when their final missing piece rolled up next to them. āLate as always,ā she called out the window without malice, giving Ari a playful upturn of her chin in response to his wave. Got your pussies strapped on?Ā
With a dramatic eye roll she slid her drink into the cupholder, slapping the dashboard with her now free hand. āAs the only member of the crew with their pussy permanently ready to rock, I would like to uphold the tradition of me waving the metaphorical racing flag. Objections to this will be over ruled.ā
Trevās nose wrinkled, had he been more immature heād of stuck out his tongue in Kasā directionā (he was in truth, childish enough, but the action was halted by the bag of Funyons being tossed at his face). He reached to give Lee her slushie and treats, muttering something about trying to not get the gross dust all over the interior. All of their heads turned when the Hellcatās high beams blinded in every reflective surface of the two vehicles, a groan was matched by an impish smile. Everyone was here now, it meant that the night was surely about to begin. This was what he lived for; even despite Kasā teasing, it wasnāt winningā it was the itch that rolled through them as they idled on a starting line, the sing of his blood as the Merc chewed up a tight turn. They all drove wicked machines, there was joy in simply competing, but it seemed to help that this mindset was paired with the fact that he was the least sore loser in the bunch.
He reached over, putting the music up one more notch before looking through the windows at the neat line up that they had created. Their silhouettes in the dim glow of the streetlights was almost menacing. Kasā straight nose and flippant smirk and Ariās scowl were dark marks against the asphalt behind them, both of them had their fingers curled tight around their steering wheels. He nodded before tipping his head back to grin at Lee. āGive us a countdown then, babe.ā
When he and Trev had scouted out this local road, theyād eyeballed the width and decided that it was equal to three cars side-by-side. This proved to be trueā just barely. No one couldāve opened a door all the way, and the Mercās passenger-side tires were probably edging off of the road. By comparison, theyād been spoiled by those luxurious six-lane Pacific Coast highways wide enough to land a Boeing on, street lamps blazing like stage lights on either side, all but abandoned in the dead of night. But the proximity here did have its own kind of thrill; he could hear the muffled thump of music confined to each cabin, and beneath it, a rippling current of tension as side by side, the cars vibrated the air, awake and alive, engines straining.
Once his friends disappeared behind the tinted windows of their cars, that was who they became: the lurid green of the compact Merc mirroring Trevās flashy grins, the brutish, muscular Hellcat indistinguishable from its driver. The M5ās presence was the most understated of the three, but it was a weapons-grade car, a powerful piece of German artillery. In the yellow aura of street lamps, it gleamed as if oiled.Ā
Kas answered the conference call as soon as it came through, hearing Lee snap something unintelligible to Trev before music was turned down. Then her voice cleared itself over the speaker-phone. Give us a countdown, babe.Ā The BMW was soundlessly accumulating power as he pressed the clutch to the floor. He saw the Merc kicking up loose gravel, rear tires spinning in frenzy and clouding the air, as the Hellcatās engine revved once, twice, crackling exhaust bouncing off the trees like semi-automatic gunfire.Ā With his windows firmly shut, he finally turned up the volume on his own music; somewhere in 1981, an ancient PA system woke in a screech of feedback. A snare accompanied Leeās voice as she began to count down. THREE, she yelled over the driving bass line.Ā TWO, as the guitars began to chop.Ā -ONE!Ā He released the clutch, sunk his foot down on the gas. The BMW surged.Ā
It tore through the smoke, zero to sixty in a matter of seconds. On either side, he could feel the neck-in-neck closeness of the other two, but his eyes were fixed only on the disappearing road, working the gear shift from second right into third, needle leaning towards eighty. Trees whipped past. Black Flag exploded into a harsh vocal assault. Above the music, he could hear the engine climbing to a high-pitched whine, could feel it bringing his own heart closer to the surface. The road swung out and he accelerated into the turn; the BMW obeyed intuitively. For something this large, with these sightlines, this much weight, it could take corners with incredible precision. Not a single second lost on the bend. The road straightened, unfurling like a black ribbon, and he pushed all the way to sixth gear, letting the six-hundred-horsepower engine finally run loose.
Their voices came through the speakers tinny, the echo of the music they pumped through filtering in, Leeās command picking in excitement as the countdown reached one. The wheels of the cat spun and squealed, peeling off thick smoke as he heated the tires. There was a science behind it, some yuppie in a polo shirt tried to explain it to him at the Grand Prix one year, but mostly he liked the fanfare of it. He liked to picture the way the back lights gleamed red through the smoke, making horrible red eyes in the night. There was method to this, something heād perfected back home, rolling out of the stagnant Calabasas gated community he grew up in to race on the streets of central LA, against the modded monsters and illegal street racers. Thatās where he lost the most, but by the time he met up with guys heād begun to learn how to win.
His heart beat in his throat, his smile stretching across his lips wide at the take off. The cat was heavy but it lurched forward to nip at the heels of the lighter models. Theyād take the lead but heād close the gap in any straight bit of road. Kas and Trev had chosen a road with a curve in it, probably looking for a way to cut him off in the beginning and buy enough seconds to make the difference in the end. It as his Achilleās heel, guiding the ink black monster around the bend while still trying to pick up speed, it killed him that he couldnāt crush the accelerator like he was itching to. No, they couldnāt be stupid. Trev had plucked himself out a wreck before, Ari wasnāt about to try pulling himself out of his own.
The curve had given them an advantage, and Ari was honour bound to give them shit for it later, but as the road straighten his shoulders relaxed, the tension holding them draining. This was his fucking arena, and the Hellcat whined in response. There was nothing out here but the occasional farm and miles and miles of vineyard, the streetlights dotting the road whipping past in a solidifying blur of yellow light. He was only a car length away from the two and the needle was climbing still. āYou motherfuckers,ā he crowed, almost breathless into the speakerphone, but there was no malice in his voice, not this deep into a race. He felt lighter out here than he ever did in his life.
