Need for Speed (4 page)

DJ drew the five of clubs and his shoulders slumped badly. Tobey didn't feel much better, as that left him with the four card—in other words, he would start out in the second row next to Jeny B.

It was better than being last like DJ—but not by much.

“Okay, that's done,” the race organizer said. “I suggest you get to your cars quickly so we can get this bad boy up and running.”

Tobey dialed Joe Peck while he was walking back to his car.

“Fourth pick,” he told Peck when he answered. “Second row, next to Jeny.”

He heard Joe groan on the other end.

“Where's Petey at?” he asked Tobey.

“That little son of a bitch picked the ace,” Tobey reported with dark humor.

“Well, at least it's still in the family,” Peck replied.

“I know,” Tobey said. “But it ain't his garage we're trying to save.”

“Okay, you don't need me to tell you this,” Joe counseled him. “But you're just going to have to pick your spots. Bide your time, and then push in the dagger when you see the opportunity. During the rest of it, just stay cool.”

“Roger that,” Tobey replied.

Tobey hung up and Peck relayed the position news to Finn.

“Not a disaster,” Finn said. “He's overcome worse.”

Besides putting Tobey's Gran Torino in its best condition ever, the Marshall crew had also installed a video camera on its front bumper. Anything the cam saw would be beamed to Finn's fired-up laptop. This way, the crew would be able to see every move Tobey made. It would be like going on the ride with him.

Finn pushed a few keys on the laptop, and in an instant they were looking at the video image being transmitted live from the race's starting point back at the drive-in. After a few bouts of static, the signal locked in and the picture became extremely clear. It showed what was left of the crowd in the drive-in parking lot—many of them were now heading for the finish line—as well as the ghostly images of nearby lights, glaring weirdly in the night.

Once the visuals were set, Joe Peck once again activated his air-to-ground radio handset. He called Benny.

“Status?” Joe yelled into the handset.

“Still all clear,” was Benny's reply. “No cops. No civilians. No one in the way at all.”

This was good. In races like this, it was always better for all concerned if the course was “clean.”

Crews for the other four cars were nearby. Joe yelled to them: “Our eyes in the sky says it's all clear. Time to rock and roll.”

But suddenly Joe felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He turned to find Dino Brewster, of all people, standing behind him. It was as if he'd come out of nowhere.

“Go away,” Joe told him.

“Not so fast, Joe,” Dino replied. “We're all brothers here—brothers of the wheel, right?”

“I don't know anyone who'd want to be your brother,” Joe shot back at him.

But Dino just laughed. He pointed to Finn's laptop and the live feed from Tobey's bumper cam.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked.

“Can't you afford one of your own?” Finn asked him bitterly. “Why are you bothering us?”

Dino just shrugged. “I left my laptop in my other Mercedes,” he said. “You know, the SL550?”

Any other time, that would have been enough for either Finn or Joe to level Dino, or at least cuff him upside the head. But other things were happening here. This wasn't just another race. There were high stakes involved. If Tobey didn't win, Marshall Motors, their home away from home for many years, would probably be no more.

Plus the race was about to begin.

So this was not the time to start a brawl. This was time to pay attention to the big picture and let the little things ride.

With much reluctance, they let Dino watch the race with them.

* * *

Back at the starting line, located on the road just outside the drive-in theater's entrance, Little Pete had expertly maneuvered his Camaro next to Jimmy McIntosh's Goat, making up the box race's first row.

Jeny B slid her Porsche in side by side with Tobey's Gran Torino, completing the second row. DJ's BMW 3.0 filled out the line in the third row.

On a signal from the race organizers, the drivers began revving their engines. The sound quickly became deafening, like the roar of distant thunder. Exhaust smoke and blowing dust filled the night air. Each driver gave a thumbs-up—they were all ready to go.

Then the five drivers focused their attention on something off to the right. Their muscles became tensed and unmoving. They were all hair-trigger nervous. For good reason.

Off in the distance, a freight train was approaching. Its dull mechanical growl grew rapidly, the cry of its oncoming whistle cutting through the night.

Suddenly it came around the bend at Battery Hill. Its ultrabright front light slashed through the darkness.

At the very moment its beam appeared, the combined revving of the five engines hit its peak.

Then, tires began to spin. More smoke rose into the air. The noise decibels reached the maximum. One of the race organizers dropped a handkerchief and all five cars suddenly exploded off the line.

Little Pete had the best start—it was almost
too
good. His Camaro shot into the first right-hand turn, reaching it way before anyone else.

But he took this first corner too aggressively, drifting much farther out than he wanted and almost spinning into a ditch. It was only a slight delay, but even a moment's loss could be costly in these types of races. As proof, Pete's miscue allowed Jimmy McIntosh to get the inside line. Jimmy laid on the gas and quickly gained a lot of ground on Little Pete.

Meanwhile, just two seconds behind, Tobey, Jeny B, and DJ drifted violently around that first crucial corner as well, but with a little more control.

A short downhill straightaway lay ahead.

Beyond that was a railroad crossing.

* * *

A mile to the north of the race's starting line, CSX freight train Number 12, traveling from Wassaic, New York, to Oak Point Terminal in the Bronx, was running right on schedule.

The train consisted of thirty-two freight cars being pulled by two massive diesel locomotives, each boasting 4,000 horsepower. The Number 12 was traveling at 55 mph at the moment, its average speed, and was due in the Bronx at 12:35 a.m.

As it cleared Battery Hill, it reduced its speed to 45 mph, but only temporarily. After the bend there was a gradual decline that ran for several miles. Once the train reached this stretch of track, its speed would increase to 65 mph, its fastest for the entire eighty-two-mile trip.

As running trains was all about staying on time, this increase in speed was built into Number 12's thrice– weekly schedule. So, just like every other time this midnight train passed through Mount Kisco, it was due to cross the open road intersection at Chase Avenue, arriving there at precisely 12:05 a.m.

The railroad crossing was only a mile from the Mount Kisco Drive-in, near the end of the appropriately named Railroad Street. The crossing had many warning lights and an alarm bell that rang to high heaven whenever a train was approaching. It also had a standard St. Andrew's caution cross on a high pole looking over it and a street-level sign that advised all to “Look Both Ways.”

But Chase Avenue was a passive crossing. It had no crossing gates. It was located in such an isolated spot, on such a little-used road, the New York transportation department had long ago deemed crossing gates unnecessary.

At 12:04, the crossing came alive. Its red lights began flashing and the warning bell began ringing madly. But none of the five race drivers, now just a quarter mile away, lifted off their accelerators when the commotion began.

Just the opposite. They were all heading as fast as they could toward the railroad crossing.

* * *

Not unlike Tobey's Gran Torino, the train crew had a video camera attached to the front of their locomotive. Unlike Tobey's bumper cam, though, the train's video setup was equipped with infra-red night vision capability, allowing the train crew to see any unusual heat sources that might be looming in their path for up to a mile away.

And at the moment, the train crew could see five extremely bright blobs of heat traveling at high speed down Railroad Street, heading right for the crossing.

“Those punks!” the engineer cried. “Not again!”

Suddenly the night was cut by a sound that drowned out even the roar of the five race car engines.

It was CSX Number 12 blowing its collision horn. The train crew had seen this type of thing before—crazy kids in souped-up cars playing chicken with their train. They knew how insanely dangerous it was. That's why they were laying on the emergency horn so long and loud, even as the race cars were just seconds away from reaching the crossing.

But the horn had no effect. None of the racers showed any signs of slowing down. If anything, they were trying to go faster.

* * *

Little Pete's Camaro was the first to streak across the railroad crossing.

He hit the raised track bed so hard and so fast, he went airborne for a few long seconds. Then he came down just as violently as he went up, crashing back to the asphalt roadway. But his extra heavy-duty shocks cushioned the blow just as advertised, and he was unharmed. Pete shifted down just one level, to get back some of the speed he'd lost while in flight, and then booted it again. He was soon back up to 110 mph and still solidly in first place.

But in these kinds of races, being solidly in first place was just a matter of inches. Jimmy McIntosh's GTO had been right on Pete's bumper, when Pete went flying over the tracks, and by mimicking Pete's maneuver, Jimmy went airborne, too.

He landed, just as Pete had, hard and fast, bottoming out a bit, but causing nothing more than a brief storm of sparks before regaining form. Pushing his pedal to the floor, he reclaimed his solid second position in an instant, gluing himself to Pete's ass.

Just seconds behind them were Jeny B and Tobey. They were neck and neck as they approached the railroad crossing, traveling side by side in excess of 100 mph. But Tobey was in the dead man's slot. He was closest to the oncoming train and if something went wrong, it would hit him first.

The locomotive's extremely bright headlight blinded him as it filled up the interior of the Gran Torino. It was like the sun itself was coming through the passenger's window. But there was no turning back now—and Tobey knew it. There was no way he could stop in time; no way he could swerve out of the way. He had to either beat the train or get crushed by it.

He roared across the raised tracks a heartbeat later, Jeny B going over just an instant before him. Both of them went airborne. Though she was a hairbreadth in front of him, had the train hit Tobey, she would have been killed an instant later as well.

But none of that happened. They both cleared the tracks—and the rush that went through Tobey's body was like nothing he'd ever felt before. He'd never been that close to being killed in a race or anywhere else. He'd come within mere inches of being obliterated by the train, but in this race within a race, car versus locomotive, he'd won.

He and Jeny hit the pavement at the same time, creating a twin storm of smoke and sparks. At that moment, Tobey looked over at her, his face lit by the sparks they'd both just created. He was surprised to see her glancing back at him, the same look of exhilaration and relief on her face as he was sure was on his.

Their twin expressions said it all . . .

This
is why we race.

* * *

DJ was still in last place, though.

Doomed by his poor placement at the start, he knew as soon as he saw the first four racers go over the crossing that there was no way he could make it in time.

Everything happens fast while traveling at 110 mph, sometimes faster than the human brain could process. DJ was just twenty feet away from the railroad crossing when CSX Number 12 reached it. Its emergency horn was still blaring, yet DJ was still heading straight for it, seconds away from colliding with it. He pulled on his emergency brake, instantly locking his brakes. But this was not enough. He was still going way too fast to avoid disaster.

In the next instant, he turned the BMW's wheel violently to the right, propelling him into a ragged drift which, in among a lot of smoke and dust, put him driver's-side-first with the train—
not
where he wanted to be. Desperate, he put both feet on the brakes and went into a full skid. He turned the wheel violently again, this time to the left, causing him to drift wildly in the other direction. He turned 180 degrees and came to a stop so close to the crossing that his side mirror was hit by the passing train. The mirror exploded into the driver's window, sending shattered glass all over him.

It all happened in just three seconds—and the first thing DJ did was check his crotch. It was not wet, thank God; not even a little moist.

He was out of the race, and out $1,000. But at least he was alive—and dry.

* * *

Now there were just four—and they were racing practically two-by-two, bumper to bumper, down the rest of Railroad Street.

They came to a sharp corner. Little Pete and Jimmy went into a drift side by side, but Jimmy's GTO got wobbly as his outside wheels hit the dirt.

He tried to correct the problem, but was forced to dive right. Cars were parked on the shoulder of the road and he was just seconds away from smashing into them.

Tobey and Jeny B saw what was happening and tried to take advantage of the situation. With Jimmy in trouble, they both powered themselves around the corner at the same moment, almost making it three wide. But Jimmy was a great driver. He recovered quickly and was back up on the street in a flash. He immediately split between Jeny B and Tobey, almost smashing Tobey's right front quarter panel in the process.

Tobey shook his head in frustration. Jeny B had managed to get ahead of Jimmy and claim second place, but Jimmy's astute driving had not only shut the door on Tobey—it had pushed him back into fourth place.