Chapter 11 Lewis #2
I nod, only half convinced. I’m not going to feel okay until I see him trailing in the dust—ideally, clutching his nose.
Tyler hammers down on the horn, once and then a second time.
I glance nervously at Amy. “Why is he— Fuck! Stay clear!”
A souped-up pickup comes reversing out of an alleyway, its tail suddenly looming before us, and when Firebird yanks us to the right, my mind is blown. She’s got the reflexes of a goddess.
“Motherfucker!” she barks, pulling up alongside Tyler.
“You think that was him? How’d he pull that off on such short notice?”
“I know it was him—and who cares how he did it!” She scowls. “He wants to play hard? No problem, baby.”
She’s seething, and for a minute I’m scared she’s planning on pulling a pileup out of spite. My eyes widen as we careen dangerously close to the Dodge.
“Amy, we’re gonna…”
I brace myself for a collision, but she slams her foot down, and we skid left, the car swerving down a narrow passageway as we veer off-road. My stomach is flip-flopping all over the place.
That was literally a blur—it all happened so fast, I’m not sure Tyler saw us make a detour. He just carried on straight ahead, and now that the Dodge’s taillights have disappeared from sight, panic flutters at my edges.
“Is this shortcut a good idea?”
“Fingers crossed.”
“Sharing is caring, Amy!”
My sentence ends in a gasp—we just went sailing right over a major intersection without missing a beat.
“You’re insane!”
“The CB!” Amy barks, her eyes still latched on the road. “Get me the CB!”
I bring the transmitter to her lips and flick the switch.
“Hitman,” she yells. “Change of plan, I’m going underground. Just passed Seventh and Union. Cripps, clear the way. Bayboy, cover the entrance. I’ll be here. Over.”
A voice comes crackling over the airwaves. “Yes, ma’am. Getting pretty hard for it here, Hitman!”
“Don’t blow your load, Cripps. Just get it done.”
The guy starts whimpering down the line. Amy’s as impassive as ever, her jaw set like our lives depend on this.
Which they kinda do, considering how fast we’re going.
I have no idea how we’re speeding through town like this without anyone even raising an eyebrow.
The cops are nowhere to be seen, either.
How exactly is “Cripps” supposed to “clear the way”?
I’m not sure how that would even work, but then this isn’t my turf, and we’re going too fast for me to get my bearings, anyway.
The only thing I can see is the wall that just magically appeared right in front of us, and it’s pulling dangerously close—not that my driver seems concerned, or anything.
“What the actual fuck are you doing? This is a dead end!”
I grip the door tighter, tempted to close my eyes, until the metal shutter rolls up and I suddenly get where we are.
The warehouse we visited earlier. The Pontiac cruises into the hangar, and I cuss under my breath.
The crowds are baying on either side of us, people raising their cups as we streak through one end and straight out the other, bombing out into a parallel street.
“How did you even…” I think for a moment. “Is that what you were doing this morning? You had this whole thing planned?”
“Prepare for the worst, you know?”
“Oh my God.” I shake my head. “I can’t even… You knew this would happen? How’d you know this would be the route?”
“I was hoping Emil would save me having to race, but I knew that if he felt he had no choice, he’d go easy on me and pick the West loop.”
“You think Tyler’s got his own hacks going on?”
“No. I’ve never seen him before, and I’ve got a good memory. He’s not local.” She shrugs. “You never know, though. People know people who know people, so… maybe? Let’s hope not, anyway.”
She hits the gas, and we go swerving down the streets, every single one of her maneuvers razor-sharp and calibrated to perfection. I’m impressed.
“I can’t believe you stalled that day.”
“Are you seriously still hung up on that?”
“Oh, come on. You’ve got to admit, it doesn’t make sense…”
“I had my reasons,” she says. “Anyway, let me know if you spot the Dodge.”
“You think he’s ahead of us?”
“I doubt it.”
I twist around to look at her. “How long till the finish line?”
“Nearly there.”
She drops a gear, slamming down on the brakes to turn at the intersection, skirting past a sedan, so close my heart jumps out of my chest. This helmet is suffocating me. I rip it off, throwing it onto the back seat before turning back, mopping at my forehead.
“Are you honestly that chill, or are you secretly clenching the hell out of your butt cheeks every time we nearly die?”
“You really want to know?”
I pause. “No.”
We’re heading straight up a street, about to hit a much wider cross avenue, traffic flowing left and right.
“You sure you got this?” I ask nervously.
“Yeah… I mean, all I have to do is go straight across.”
“Technically, that’s exactly what you’re not supposed to do…”
“And it’s pretty chill from that point on,” she adds casually.
“Our visibility isn’t great…”
“Hey—don’t worry about it, man.” She narrows her eyes in concentration.
I’m past worrying—I’ve moved on to imagining my own funeral by this stage, and as she accelerates harder, every atom in my body is screaming that this is all wrong.
We’re going too hard, too fast.
I break into a full-body sweat, my breath coming in shallow gasps, and when we crest the hill, Amy doesn’t slow down.
Headlights swing in front of us, and I’m blinded.
I shut my eyes just as the wheels lift off for a handful of seconds—just enough time for me to whisper a prayer—and before I know it, we’re back on firm ground.
When I open my eyes, the Pontiac is hitting the open road again, the deadly intersection vanishing into the distance.
“Holy fuck,” I gasp. “You’re batshit. Your suspension looks good, but that was dicey. Like—really dicey.”
She grins at me. And in among all the chaos, I can’t help but find her devastatingly beautiful.
We’re still hurtling down the road, and finally, I understand where we’re at—back at the gathering, streaming past the tattooed bald guy we met earlier. Three blinks later, and Amy is blasting through the finish line, cranking the wheel to throw the car into a drift. The onlookers are going nuts.
We screech to a halt, and my vision settles. I glance around us, frantic now, desperate for a glimpse of the Dodge.
So? What happened? Who won?
The stench of burning rubber floods my nostrils, but as Tyler pulls up beside us, there’s only one thing I’m picking up right now—the sweet smell of victory.
Wait—did we win?
I look from Amy to my car, and back again, my eyes as wide as saucers, my mouth hanging open. I can’t believe what just happened.
We won.
I keep my gaze riveted on my car. I wouldn’t put it past Tyler to go back on the deal. When he slides out from behind the wheel, though, I can tell he’s pissed, but he’s a man of his word, too. I let out a victory cry.
We fucking won!
“Holy shit, we whooped his ass!”
I turn back to tell Amy how grateful I am for everything, but she’s been swept up by a gaggle of groupies.
Call it the stress of having my baby stolen, the fear I’d never see the Dodge again, or that heart-stopping race—I don’t exactly know what’s going on inside me, but I’m buzzing. This might just be the happiest day of my life.
I stumble out of the car and push my way through the throng, lifting Amy off her feet.
“You’re my hero, Firebird!”
Gently, I set her down, and the world tilts as I pull her in for a kiss.