Need for Speed (13 page)

Seventeen

FINALLY OFF THE
hustle and bustle of the interstate, the Mustang was rocketing down a two-lane back road, passing vast stretches of farmland filled with crops, watering holes, and farm equipment.

Julia was beginning to get a handle on how to be a “right-seater.” She'd started following police communications with a laser jammer dialed in. Using this device, which was built into the dashboard of the Mustang, it was possible to jam signals emitting from a radar gun. In other words, under the right conditions, the Mustang could become as invisible as a stealth fighter.

But she broke her focus on the high-tech anti-detection equipment when she felt Tobey staring at her.

She locked eyes with him and realized something surprising just by the way he was looking at her. Tobey was smitten with her. She could see it all over his face.

“What?” she asked him coyly. “Were you going to say something to me?”

“Huh? No,” Tobey replied awkwardly. “Nothing important.”

“C'mon,” she coaxed him. “It's okay.”

He thought a moment and then asked, “I guess I was wondering, you know, how did you get involved in all this? The cars? The glamour?”

She laughed. “The glamour?”

She spread out her hands to indicate the rural setting they were driving through.

“I'm not sure the word ‘glamour' applies at the moment,” she added. “But if you want to know how I got here from there, well, I'll tell you—but try not to fall asleep at the wheel.”

“I promise,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, with a sigh. “I grew up in England, obviously. My parents were hippies. Damn, my bloody grandparents were hippies! They were all very artistic and crunchy and organic—or at least they thought there were. There was always sixties music playing in our house when I was a kid. I was named after John Lennon's mother, you know. I was raised on granola and yogurt, and we only drank rainwater or melted snow. To this day I can't stomach yogurt, and I think granola is revolting. It's like chewing gravel, isn't it?”

“I hear you,” Tobey replied.

She went on, “As you can imagine, I rebelled against all that as soon as I was old enough to realize that I could. I insisted that I go to a strict girls' boarding school. My goal was to learn all about business and mathematics and numbers and then go to work for the biggest mega-corporation on the planet. All this, just to toss off my parents.

“But then a strange thing happened. I started doodling in class one day—growing bored, you see—and that progressed to doing drawings and then I realized that I had some artistic talent in me, too. I had inherited it, quite to my surprise. But for some reason, I began drawing cars. Race cars. Bentleys. Lambos. I could see the artistic quality in their designs. By the time I left boarding school I was hooked.

“I went to university, took half business courses and half art classes, and when I got out, I went into the world of expensive cars, evaluating them, putting a price tag on them, not just for their performance but also for their beauty. I did it because it's what I loved, which is exactly why my parents and their parents did what they did. I had to grow up a bit to understand all that. Then, I met Ingram and . . .”

She looked out the window of the speeding Mustang, studying the American landscape going by in a blur.

“But just how I got here, to this point?” she asked herself. “I'm not quite sure yet.”

Suddenly, the police radio began squawking. The police report was disturbing, though.

“All units be advised,” the dispatcher said, “Ford Mustang, New York plate Alpha, Delta, Tango, four, six, one, niner, last seen headed west on I-94. Believed to be driven by one Tobey Marshall. Mike Alpha, Romeo, Sierra, Hotel, Alpha, Lima, Lima. Wanted on parole violation and possible grand theft auto. Spotted traveling with a blonde female, identity unknown.”

“See what I mean?” she said. “‘Blonde female, identity unknown.' I'm just one step away from being a wanted woman.”

Tobey shook his head in disgust. “Well, they know who I am now,” he said. “But I guess that was just a matter of time.”

“If it was, you sped it up with your little stunt back in Detroit,” Julia told him.

“That had to be done,” Tobey replied.

“Just to get Finn back in the fold?” she asked.

“No, not just that,” he answered.

They were approaching an intersection, traveling at 100 mph. Suddenly, Tobey ripped a hard right, and an instant later they were traveling on Highway 12 West.

That's when the Monarch chirp sounded inside the Mustang. This meant the
Underground Racing
show's private streaming website was coming on live.

Monarch's voice crackled out of the speaker.

“I am looking at footage of a car that's not supposed to exist,” he began in his usual droll way. “The trolls are lighting up my inbox, people telling me that this is the car that Ford and Shelby were building when Carroll died. Just like him, it's a ghost.”

While he was saying this, Monarch began showing video of Tobey's stunt in Detroit in front of Finn's office building. The footage had been taken by Tobey's POV camera, and included aerial shots from Benny's helicopter escapade as well. Tobey and Benny had uploaded the footage practically as it was happening, and it eventually found its way to the
Underground Racing
show.

Monarch went on, “No one's ever really seen this car. No one with a bank account under one hundred million, that is. But it's gorgeous. Ford Motor Company birthed this baby and I'll be damned if it's not the finest Mustang I've ever seen. But here's the real news flash: Tobey Marshall is driving this chariot of the gods. Yes, the same Tobey Marshall who was tearing it up around Mount Kisco two years ago. I bow to Ford and Shelby for conceiving such a car. And I salute Tobey Marshall for what he's doing behind the wheel.”

As Monarch spoke, he continued showing footage of Tobey's antics in Detroit, including him rocketing away from Finn's office with the Motor City police in hot pursuit.

Julia smiled and nodded in Tobey's direction. She understood now, and she had to give him his props—obviously he'd thought through every detail of his very bold plan.

* * *

On the other side of the country, Dino was listening to Monarch's elevation of Tobey to one of the best drivers in America. And though he wasn't showing it, he was furious.

He was sitting inside the office of his company's new customizing garage in California. The place was state-of-the-art and, of course, it was enormous. It had twelve lifts, banks of the latest diagnostic equipment, and top-of-the-line computers everywhere. The tools alone cost several hundred thousand dollars. Yet the floor was waxed and so clean you could eat off of it. The place looked more like his dealership's showroom next door than a customizing shop. The sign above the door identified it as Dino Brewster Motors.

The office itself was as well-organized as the workshop beyond, but with a lot more good taste. This was evidence that Anita had had a hand in its design.

She was sitting across from Dino at the moment, watching the footage Monarch was displaying and following along on her laptop.

The podcast host raged on, “My people, reigning De Leon champ Dino Brewster is on the line with us right now. Dino Dino Bambino—Fee Fi Fofino—you need to see what I'm seeing. It's aerial footage, my man! I don't know who's shooting it, but Tobey Marshall is flying across the country right now, cops in tow, in a phantom Ford that would make your bowels loose.”

Dino just laughed.

“So Tobey Marshall is doing something stupid again?” he asked. “Is that what you're saying? Did we all forget that this is the guy who just got out of prison for manslaughter?”

Monarch replied: “Accidents happen in racing, Dino Dino Bambino. And that car he's driving is one of a kind.”

“I know it's one of a kind,” Dino said defiantly. “Because I'm the one who put that car in Tobey's hands.”

The Mustang was still tearing down Highway 12 at that moment. Its current speed was near 120 mph and climbing.

Tobey and Julia were closely following Monarch's conversation with Dino.

Tobey in particular was taking it all in, staring straight ahead—but increasing his speed to more aggressive limits. It didn't take a shrink to tell that Dino's comments were having an effect on him.

Suddenly, Julia spotted two cars up ahead, driving side by side, taking up both lanes of the highway. She sensed a problem right away.

“Lane four,” she said simply.

But Tobey didn't respond. He was still accelerating—and getting closer to the pair of dawdling cars.

“Lane one?” she asked.

Still, Tobey stayed mute. Monarch's show was continuing, providing a strange soundtrack for the suddenly growing drama inside the Mustang.

Dino's voice fell out of the speaker again.

“Tobey Marshall is simply reckless behind the wheel,” he said in no uncertain terms. “That's just about the only thing he's famous for.”

As if to prove Dino's point, Tobey refused to change lanes. Instead he punched the gas pedal, accelerated tremendously and split the two slower cars at an ungodly speed.

Julia was getting used to this sort of thing by now. Still, she said to him, “Do you know a fully loaded commercial airliner takes flight at a hundred seventy miles an hour?”

Tobey seemed unimpressed. Dino's words were still burning in his ears.

“So?” he replied.

“So, we're just doing one eighty-five,” she said, pointing to the speedometer. “Just thought you'd enjoy that fun fact.”

Meanwhile, Monarch was having a hard time believing what Dino was trying to sell.

“
You're
worried about reckless driving?” he asked Dino directly. “
You?
The same Dino Bambino who got thrown out of Indy for wrecking guys under a caution flag? Methinks you protest too much, Fee-Fi-Fofino.”

What Dino said next shocked Monarch's audience, including Tobey and Julia.

“If that's his plan, I don't want to see Tobey Marshall at the De Leon,” Dino said emphatically. “Matter of fact, I'm willing to give my Lambo Elemento away to anyone who can stop him.”

Monarch cut in. “Now, wait a second, Dino,” he said. “I know you're rich. But that's insane. You're willing to give someone your Elemento? That car is one of three in the world. You're just going to
give
it to anybody who stops Tobey Marshall? Do you realize that means you'll also lose your place in this year's race?”

Anita was staring intently at Dino as he was going back and forth with Monarch. She was supremely puzzled and shocked at her boyfriend's bizarre offer.

Why would Dino want to give up his spot in the De Leon just to stop Tobey?

At that moment, Dino glanced out his office window and into his shop beyond. Two men in suits had just entered the garage.

They looked like they were right out of a mobster movie. One of them was Paul “Pauly Nuts” Lawrence. He was the “other” investor that Dino had mentioned at dinner not long before. Lawrence was talking to Big Al, Dino's obese and sweaty garage manager.

After a brief conversation, Big Al headed toward Dino's office, obviously bearing some kind of message.

Dino stood up immediately, his inflammatory conversation with Monarch forgotten for the moment. He knew these guys needed his immediate attention.

Anita had spotted them, too. She studied them through the office window as Big Al came in.

Dino held up his hand—a signal for Big Al to keep his mouth shut for the moment.

He got back to Monarch.

“Yes, that's right,” Dino said. “I'm posting a picture of that Mustang now, so everyone knows what they're looking for. Consider it a bounty on Tobey Marshall's head.”

With that, Dino hit upload, then walked out from behind his desk to talk to Big Al.

“That douche bag out there wants to talk to you,” Big Al told Dino.

But Anita wanted to talk to Dino first.

“You realize you just put a three-million-dollar bounty on Tobey, don't you?” she asked in disbelief. “Why are you doing this?”

“He killed your brother, Anita,” Dino replied harshly. “I'm doing this for
you
.”

Anita was so floored by this response, she couldn't speak for a moment. But Dino didn't notice. He was too focused on the men in suits.

He put on his best charming face, then walked out into the garage to meet them.

* * *

Back on Highway 12, Tobey and Julia were still glued to Monarch's show, hanging on his every word.

“Oh, the drama!” Monarch bellowed. “I've got star-crossed lovers doing one fifty across the country.”

“Make that one eighty,” Julia interjected.

“And now,” Monarch went on, “the reigning De Leon Champ—Dino Brewster—just painted a huge bull's-eye on their backs!”