Part II: Male Trouble

 

Sergeant Tanner: Don’t forget that Toretto did hard time for nearly beating a man to death. He’s a model of self-control.

 

-the Fast and the Furious

 

Roman: You see, I got a problem with authority

 

-2Fast 2Furious

 

 

Interstate 10 snaked across the Southwestern desert, a blue line on the map, in reality grayish-black. It stretched for two thousand four hundred and fifty-two miles from Santa Monica, California to Jacksonville, Florida. Every exit Dom passed felt like a missed opportunity.

 

He stopped on the outskirts of Phoenix to gas up and shove food in his face. He was just about to pull out onto the on-ramp when a Honda and a Nissan roared through the underpass with decals and spoilers that gave them the look of tropical birds. His kind of people. He followed them.

 

They caught sight of him at the second light. At the third light, they went single file so he could pull alongside. The leader, Asian with a goatee, listened gravely to his rev and waved for him to fall in line as they made their way out to the suburbs. They let him join the second race after they’d caught sight of what he had to offer, cash-wise.

 

Afterwards, when the dust had settled, he passed around the six-pack that was hiding in his cooler. The losers drank and talked a little trash. Considering that the beers had cost them each a cool grand, Dom was glad to just lean back and let them vent a little steam.

 

He was wondering how to start asking questions without sounding like a complete narc when someone noticed that he had LA, California plates.

 

“…Like that cracker who took six bills off of you, hermano,” Nunez toasted the leader whose name appeared to be Hero. Everyone tittered; this was obviously a story that they’d heard more than once.

 

Hero’s quiet voice made everyone shut up for a second to listen. Hero stroked his goatee, the picture of cool. “Four bills, Nunez. It was four.”  His girlfriend rolled her eyes ostentatiously. Hero turned to explain to Dom.

                                                                                                                       

“Kid came through here, a while back, but these losers won’t let me forget it.”

 

“White kid?” Dom asked after everyone oooohed at the insult.

 

“Like bleached, honey,” Hero’s girlfriend threw this in between snaps of her gum.

 

“Looked like he didn’t know his ass from his elbow,” Hero confirmed. “Looked like he’d borrowed his big brother’s car. He had cash though. I thought it was easy pickings.”

 

“’til the last two seconds,” Nunez mocked. Hero ignored him completely.

 

“Surfer boy breezed by me running cool at 140,” Hero spread his hands in an easy-come, easy-go way. “I should’ve looked under the hood.”

 

Dom stood up slowly, hoping they would mistake his excitement for boredom. “Well, it’s been real. It’s been fun.”

 

“But it ain’t been real fun.” Hero’s girlfriend smirked at Dom.

 

“One more for the road?” Nunez said hopefully. Dom shook his head trying to make it look like regret. This far…

 

Hero poured the dregs of his beer on the ground like he was placating the car gods. “Drive safe,” he said.

 

*************************************

 

Roman vanished for the week after the break-up. He’d call into the new garage in the off moment and he’d send along the occasional customer. Brian bought all the smaller tools new with cash, arranged credit for the lifts and drills. Tej sent his overflow and occasionally ‘forgot’ his referral fee. Brian managed to stay plenty busy with work. He’d stayed Tej’s number-one race cash cow and Tej didn’t like to feel like he was in anyone’s debt.

 

Brian worked it so he only had an hour or so to himself each morning and evening. Work, get drunk, get laid, do something. He rationed his time very carefully, the way he rationed his glances at the mug shot that he’d swiped from one of Muse’s files. Just long enough so he was never in danger of forgetting. Not that he thought he would.

 

*************************************

 

Dom had kept up an internal debate for the last hour before he’d hit Tucson. He’d finally convinced himself not to stop when he saw a tiny ‘Visitor’s Center’ logo on one of the gas, food, lodging signs. He’d swerved from his lane fast enough to make the steering column shudder in protest.

 

He pulled into the tiny tourist information office and dawdled for a while, buying a Coke. He waited until the office was almost empty and sidled in to examine the map. He’d checked the index and discovered that what he sought was only two exits up. He left before any of the perky elderly women behind the counter could foist any brochures on him.

 

He pulled up at 1825 North Crestview with trepidation. He sat in the car for long minutes, oblivious to the heat. Rows and rows of postwar housing stretched out around him, all of them uniformly modest and neat. It was impossible to imagine that anyone as amazing as Brian had ever lived anywhere like here.

 

At that moment, a woman emerged from the house. Pushing sixty, moving in that birdlike, short-stride way. She made it almost all the way to the mailbox before she noticed Dom’s car hulked next to the curb. She noticed Dom and looked away quickly then looked back and tried to look friendly and unconcerned. Like she wasn’t about to go back inside and call the police or at the very least, Neighborhood Watch. Like she didn’t judge books by their covers.

 

Dom slowly and deliberately opened the door and got out. He tried to make his posture harmless and his face guileless.  He imagined the intonation of Mia’s voice talking to a customer and tried to replicate her effortless charm.

 

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m looking for…one of my old Navy buddies and this was the last address they had for him.”

 

Dom was amazed by how easily the lie welled up. He must have sounded believable because the woman’s whole wary demeanor changed. When she spoke, her voice was warm. He could see that she was already imagining him in uniform, standing on a ship somewhere.

 

“That’s funny. What’s your friend’s name? My son’s moved away and he never served.”

 

“Uhm, Brian O’Connor. He’s a…little younger than me.”

 

The woman frowned, wrinkling her forehead in concentration. “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”

 

Dom thought fast. “He had a stepfather, sometimes he used his name: Spilner?”

 

She paused and Dom took a deep hopeful breath. Then she shook her head, “Sorry, dear. It’s strange though, I’ve lived here twenty years and I never heard of that family.”

 

“Ah, well. Army records aren’t the best.” Dom tried to squash his disappointment. He hadn’t been expecting much anyway.

 

“But you were in the Navy,” She didn’t make this an accusation; she just seemed to want to remind him, poor, confused sailor that he was.

 

“Thanks for your help,” Dom said hurriedly. He practically bolted back to the Plymouth and barely kept himself from peeling out. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Jesus.

 

*************************************

 

Roman won regular enough and lost regular enough to make him the most popular guy on the circuit. Brian was popular too, but people were starting to refuse to race with him. He had to rely on newcomers or people who’d just made some major new investment in their machines. That was okay. Roman was also really good at shaming people into racing, even if Brian remained untouchable.

 

“You just come to watch, Romero? Why didn’t you just stay home to polish your intake? That might get you another five horsepower.” Rome would taunt, playing to the crowd.

 

Or he would work them up ‘til they just had to bet five Gs. “Get that weak-ass shit off the line, Chan. You got more watts in your stereo than torque in your engine.”

 

Roman always made sure Brian had competition. No one ever commented on the fact that Brian and Roman never raced each other.

 

*************************************

 

His luck improved as he rumbled through New Mexico, letting the rhythms of his body set the pace. Stopped occasionally to let the sky soak into his eyelids. He imagined Brian filling up at this gas station. Flirting with this waitress. Sleeping in this crappy motel, his face bathed in neon. 

 

Every time he tried to imagine what the next step would be in the miraculous event that he actually found Brian, his mind stopped dead. He could imagine standing next to Brian. He could imagine Brian looking at him and breathing. But he couldn’t go any further for some reason. He imagined putting his arm around Brian’s shoulders and then it all faded to white.

 

It occurred to him that the last time he’d felt this pure, uncomplicated desire was when his dad had brought him out to look at the Charger for the first time. He shied away from that thought quickly. Drawing any comparison there was seriously bad mojo.

 

Dom comforted himself with the idea that he could probably just trust Brian to know what to do. Brian had always understood. What to do, what to say, when to say it. Brian had always just gotten him, even when he was half-crazy with rage and grief.

 

Dom stopped drawing patterns in the ketchup when the bell jangled above the diner’s door. Two highway patrolmen moseyed in, one white and slightly older, the other dark and lean. Latino, maybe. The handsome young cop looked at Dom for a long moment, working a toothpick appraisingly. Dom let his practiced look fill his face. He had literally practiced in a mirror to get the right mixture of good-citizen-curious and I-didn’t-do-anything-so-don’t-look-at-me. It seemed to work. They didn’t look at him while he settled his tab.

 

When Dom pulled out, he rated another glance from the Latino cop. He kept it pegged at the limit and scanned the rearview for 100 miles. But no one came.

 

*************************************

 

“So, what’s the secret?” Rome slurred all the ‘s’ sounds. Brian could smell the beer-sweat that soaked Rome’s shirt and it left a sour taste in his mouth.

 

“Huh?” Brian was having a hard enough time focusing on getting Rome inside without cracking his head on the metal part of the awning. Dealing with his own drunk and Roman’s cryptic questions at the same time was a little too much to ask.

 

“You won, again. Tonight.” Roman asserted, like maybe Brian had forgotten.

 

“Yeah. So what?” Brian sort of had to shove Rome through the tiny hall to the bed.

 

Rome stopped and suddenly Brian’s nudges didn’t do a thing.

 

“You always win,” Rome’s eyes were narrowed, he looked annoyed. “You been winning since I got here.”

 

“What are you saying, cuz?” Brian sighed. “Want me to throw one?”

 

“Naw, man,” All of a sudden, Rome seemed confused. He took a few heavy steps and then slid down on Brian’s bed. Brian toyed with the idea of pulling Rome’s boots off. Then he imagined Rome accidentally kicking him and settled for just taking his own shoes off.

 

“You didn’t used to win all the time.” Rome was obviously not going to give it a rest. His hands traced through the air while he tried to make his point. “It’s ‘cause no one else is as crazy as you.”

 

Brian took his belt off and flung it onto the dresser. “That so?”

 

“What do you think about?”

 

Brian turned back to the bed. Rome was slumped across most of it. “Rome, could you try to start making sense? What do I think about when?”

 

Roman bobbed his head, “When you do that wacko shit you do. What do you think about?”

 

“I visualize the win,” Brian said shortly.

 

“Bull. Shit.” Rome was squinting at him in the dim light. When he squinted, Rome looked adorable. Brian smiled to himself. He wormed into the tiny space that Rome had left him.

 

“Look, Rome, it’s bullshit if you think that it matters. I mean, Verone didn’t do us, the cops didn’t fuck us, but I could look the wrong way tomorrow and get mowed down by a fucking Cadillac. You’re always one step away from death, man. It’s always there, in the background and you can’t control it…if not the train, then the truck.”

 

Rome was trying to keep his eyes focused. “That’s some heavy shit, Bri. You are really one…deep…motherfucker.”

 

“Lick my ass, Rome,” Brian said seriously while Rome hugged himself and giggled.

“Really, man, what are you thinking about when you get that I’m-so-serious, constipated look?” Rome’s voice was fading out like radio static.

 

“Nothing,” Brian leaned over and wiped the sweat off Roman’s forehead. Roman grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Brian looked at him while Rome’s grip relaxed, while the hard angles of Rome’s face softened in sleep.

 

Brian hitched himself onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Not ‘what’. Who.

 

*************************************

 

Across the wide plain of South Texas he drove, drove until he was numb. The sun beat down like a hammer on an anvil. He became so accustomed to the engine rhythm that it hurt to stop. The absence of the constant buzz and hum felt like it would set his heart beating off-tempo. He made himself a moving thing, not a thinking thing.

 

The swath of earth that he was inching across seemed made for racers. He ran into pockets of his tribe in El Paso, Van Horn, Fort Stockton. He’d just be tooling along and someone would pull alongside and goose their accelerator. Dom felt like he was surfing a steady tide of races east. Races, money and information.

 

People remembered Brian. Dom hadn’t considered that. Moving completely on instinct, he’d fanned out from where Brian’s getaway car was abandoned. Like Mia had speculated, Dom picked up the trail at a tiny lot outside of San Antonio.

 

The proprietor looked like he was almost napping while he leaned in the shade, watching Dom examine his inventory. He answered Dom’s questions completely, but without a hint of a hard sell. Dom slowly steered the conversation to more general automotive topics until he managed to get invited inside the tiny office. The old man insisted Dom take part in an afternoon ritual that involved some truly terrible tequila. After that, Dom felt comfortable enough to ask him anything.

 

“You ever seen this guy before?” Dom passed over Brian’s head shot, folded around a c-note.

 

“You a cop?” The man asked with all the curiosity of a cow chewing its cud.

 

“I look like a cop?” Dom returned.

 

The proprietor looked at him for almost a minute without turning away. Dom just waited him out. Finally the old man said, “That kid knew his shit. He took this busted Skyline off me. Been ridden hard, pretty hard by some punk tuner. Forgot how I came by it. It just needed a little love, could’ve been something.”

 

“Yeah?” Dom passed over another bill for more details. The old man cheerfully supplied them, then stopped and muttered. “You ain’t the only one been through here looking for him, y’know.”

 

The excitement in Dom’s belly soured a little at this. They regarded each other for a long moment. Dom suddenly had to move.

 

“See which way he headed out?”

 

The old man nodded. “Headed east.”

 

“Thanks. Really, thanks,” Dom’s hand itched for the wheel but he paused to convey the full weight of his gratitude.

 

The old man looked absently past him like Dom had already left.  “I like people who pay in cash.”

 

*********************

 

Roman was chortling to himself as he bent over the beat-up card table that Brian was using as a makeshift desk. A crumpled paper bag sat in front of him. Brian dragged over another chair and rifled through the bag to see what had survived Roman’s appetite. He found a burger and slumped down to munch. Roman was drawing something, bent over his paper like it was a treasure map.

 

Brian leaned back and tried to roll the kinks out of his muscles. His sandwich was almost cold, but still fed the hunger that he’d stifled for hours. This long dusk was his favorite time of day. Outside, the sky shaded from a golden blue to a swelling purple. Inside the garage, the moist air started to gentle and cool. Roman looked handsome in a loose, white linen shirt. Probably a gift from some girlfriend.

 

Brian finished his burger and lit a cigarette. After a moment, Roman sniffed and looked up at him.

 

“Thought you quit,” Rome said.

 

Brian shrugged and rebelliously took a long drag. Rome looked at him hard for another minute, shrugged himself and bent back down over the piece of paper.

 

“What are you working on?” Brian asked. The smoke felt like pretty harsh solace.

 

“Business cards, man. We need ‘em,” Roman muttered at the paper.

 

“Business cards,” Brian didn’t try to mute the sarcasm in his voice. He couldn’t decide if he was up for a fight. Business cards. How fucking lame.

 

Rome heard the reproach in Brian’s voice. He grinned across at Brian and Brian could see the kid Roman had been. “They’ll come in handy, trust me. I’m thinking ahead.”

 

Suddenly, Brian couldn’t hold on to his annoyance. He couldn’t remember quite why he’d been upset in the first place. Roman didn’t owe him anything. Brian pulled the paper around to examine it. A modified Old English script spelled out “R & B Motors”. It did look cool.

 

Just to bust Rome’s balls a little, Brian asked “Why do you get to be first?”

 

Rome didn’t take the bait. He bounced up and whirled around the back of Brian’s chair. Rome pounded out the kinks in Brian’s back with the side of his fist, saying “’Cause I am the rhythm….and you are the blues.”

 

For a second, Rome’s lips tickled his hairline, Rome’s whisper was almost a kiss. “C’mon, homeboy, I’ll buy you a drink to go with that cigarette.”

 

******************************************

 

A cop trailed him for four miles past Baton Rouge.

 

Dom could feel the adrenaline from his shoulder blades to his fingertips. His own brand of cruise control was making the muscle in his right thigh cramp. This entire odyssey could be derailed by a little racial profiling. Dom tried to imagine a plausible story for his Mexican passport, his inordinately large amount of cash. He entertained a brief fantasy of some redneck, lynch-mob justice leaving his body in a bayou somewhere.

 

The cop pulled up next to him and Dom blinked. The trooper was black and he curled his mustached lip at Dom, smirked at him for a moment before gunning it and disappearing over the next rise.

 

Dom exhaled. The new South.

 

The landscape didn’t change much while Interstate 10 ran out of steam in north Florida. The long flat road crowded by pine trees eased into a wide plain dotted with strip malls. The highway started to get crowded. The air seemed to be gradually thickening.

 

Dom snorted with laughter at the interchange with 95. New York and Miami, that’s it? No Washington, D.C., no Philadelphia, no Boston? The entire Eastern Seaboard was just so much traffic for the Interstate. He thought about the long leg of Florida stabbing down into the ocean.

 

Dom had two miles to make up his mind. All he knew about New York was from movies and shows that were set there. He realized that this was how most people got all their knowledge about Los Angeles as well and grimaced. 

 

Dom tried to imagine Brian in the shiny steel canyons of New York. Shit. Impossible.

 

He couldn’t even imagine Brian wearing a hat.

 

******************************************

 

Rome called as he was half in and half out of the engine well of a Hyundai Tiburon. Brian fumbled in his pants for the cell, almost cracking his head on the hood.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You going tonight?”

 

“I guess. I could use the money.”

 

It was amazing; Brian could actually feel Roman rolling his eyes. “No, you don’t. I had your bank, I wouldn’t bust my hump like a....”

 

“You going?” Brian headed off the argument before it could start.

 

“Maybe. I wanna take Maria out, too. Maybe I’ll meet you there later.”

 

“Yeah, cool. But don’t leave Maria alone at a race too long, remember? Remember Heather? Leave ‘em alone too long, they go home with someone else.”

 

“All right, all right, I hear you.” Roman didn’t like being lectured. “Que puede hacer?”

 

“Nada,” Brian clicked the phone shut, shaking his head.

 

 

******************************************

 

Dom took a deep breath as he pulled up to the second-to-last garage marked on Miami’s map.  The breeze off the bay tickled the sweat on his forehead. This place was the opposite of the operation that Dom had inherited. The lifts stood out in the open, only the office was glassed in. Everything looked shiny-new and almost sterile, as if they were surgeons instead of mechanics.

 

A young Asian man with a round, friendly face walked up to Dom, wiping his hands clean. “Can I help you?”

 

Dom had learned that it was best to invent a problem to get in the door. “I think I’ve holed my mag. I been doing a lot of highway driving, though. I could just be imagining things. Could you take a look?”

 

The young man glanced around, making sure that no deadlines were getting ignored. Dom found himself liking the kid already. The kid was conscientious. He popped the hood and walked around. The kid just stared at the engine and whistled low. Dom suddenly liked him a lot.

 

“Superbird, huh? Is that what I think it is?” He looked at Dom with awe and stuck his hand out. “I’m Jimmy, by the way.”

 

“…Victor. It’s nothing special. Looks like you do shit like this all the time.” Dom gestured vaguely at all the state-of-the-art tools.

 

“We don’t Nos up much older stuff. This is some serious custom shit…did you do this all yourself?”

 

Dom looked appropriately smug. Jimmy punched his arm and hooted. Jimmy drew up the lift, still clicking his tongue in amazement. Then he grew serious, “Doesn’t that high of an amp make you…nervous?”

 

“Well, when you’ve got more current, you get a bigger, better spark.”

 

“Isn’t that kinda…volatile?” Jimmy poked his nose in, easily ignoring the engine heat.

 

“Naw, see it’s more complete combustion, it burns up everything, so actually it cuts down on the risk of detonation.”

 

Jimmy looked up and his eyes were shining as he said the words that Dom had been waiting for, “There are some people here that you really need to meet.”

 

***********

 

Jimmy wanted to introduce him around, but couldn’t quite manage to pull himself away from Dom’s custom engine. Dom reassured him that he could find his own way. He walked slowly past the bays, to the glass and metal of the pay station. Behind a fancy Formica counter, a slyly good-looking man was sprawled over a chair. His vibe radiated boss. A pretty, freckled girl was braiding beads into his cornrows.

 

“Help you?”

 

Dom leaned both forearms on the countertop and glanced down at the crumpled list that had been soaking up sweat in his pocket for over a week. Dom said impassively, “Thomas Edward James Parker?”

 

There was a small, ladylike cough and Dom raised his eyes to the young woman who was trying to stifle her sudden amusement.  The look of horror on the young man’s face made Dom’s own lips turn up.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.  My name is Tej, dawg. Tej.”

 

Dom had seen the sign outside and guessed its derivation…but it was kind of fun to throw Mr. Parker off his stride. Dom could tell that Tej was accustomed to being the coolest kid on the block. Tej had gotten up off his chair and was approaching Dom warily, trying to keep it chill.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“You’re already helping me. I’m new in town and I got your name from some buddies of mine…said you were the man to know.”

 

Tej acknowledged the truth of this and stood a moment, eyeing Dom, probably gauging how much money Dom was good for. “What kind of stuff do you need?”

 

Dom shrugged, “Like I said, I’m new in town. Why don’t you see what I run and we can go from there?”

 

 Tej and the pretty girl started walking back to the bays with him. “Nice place.” Dom added casually, “You install Musi parts?”

 

Tej cocked his head and looked thoughtful. “Yeah, I know some guys who can do that.”

 

Jimmy breezed up to them. “I checked and you’re clean. I just tightened you up a little. Tej, you should see what this dude is run-ning.” Jimmy’s enthusiasm drew the syllables out to a yodel. “Looks like a pro-mod. Look at the headers, Tej!”

 

“You tune, yourself?” Tej was looking at Dom like he didn’t quite believe it. Dom quelled a smirk.

 

“A little,” Dom briefly wondered how much Tej would be good for in a race. Probably a lot.

 

Jimmy was almost bouncing. “Hey, you from California, right? When’d you leave, like, this morning?” He chuckled at his own joke.

 

“Got some business out here and I’ve been thinking of relocating.”

 

Tej looked at him sharply and Dom could almost feel the edges of Tej’s thoughts.  “More West Coast playas. Just what we need.”

 

Something in Tej’s casual words made the hair on Dom’s arms prickle. More?

 

Suki introduced herself to Dom and he shook her hand over Tej’s back while he was bent over Dom’s shiny baby.

 

“Victor should join the party tonight. You know Bullitt would love some new blood,” Suki weighed in firmly.

 

Tej nodded slowly and scribbled an address on a Post-it. He slapped it into Dom’s palm.

 

“Come and watch, why dont’cha?” Tej curled his lip enough that his gold tooth gleamed. “See what you’re up against.”

 

*************************************

 

Dom pulled up early, on the fringe. Stayed by his car. Let eyes meet and hold his but never long enough to be challenged. The crowd kept growing.  He had a little while. Two or three waves before things got serious.

 

Dom watched the first contests with half an eye. Nothing he’d seen yet felt like a challenge. The whole scene felt familiar, as they all had. A race was a race was a race…be it Albuquerque, Anchorage, Atlanta.

 

Dom gave himself a little room to breathe. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this whole long detour was a mistake. Maybe Brian was tearing up asphalt in Framingham, Massachusetts. He was never going to find Brian.

 

There was no way in hell that Brian was here. This was a dream, a little fantasy that he’d spun to keep himself from looking down into the empty pit of his so-called life...

 

He was meant to be alone. He was meant to be alone, that was all there was to this. He could be alone in a huge city, alone with the coolest woman he’d ever known, alone in a crowd of friends, alone always. The glittering moment of connection he’d felt when Brian had reached out to him was just a delusion that had persisted a little longer than the other lies he’d told himself.

 

Then a roar went up and a silver-blue Skyline nosed its way through the crowd.

 

Blue neon from the undercarriage raked the street. Dom silently approved of the modish block-pattern decals. The car looked pretty but tough, not frilly. Dom had to open his own door and step onto his running board to get a glimpse of the driver. The crowd around him was thick as a milkshake.

 

Brian O’Connor stepped out of the car and grinned. Brian was sunburned, the flush of his skin turned his eyes a shocking blue.

 

Dom registered these details dimly. It’s Brian. Dom’s mind was whispering, while the sound of his own blood coursing in his ears was almost deafening.

 

Looking like he never looked in LA. Dom’s breath caught on a snort of laughter. He remembered like it was five minutes ago, when Brian had been so nervous that he couldn’t even stage up. But this Brian might as well have had the street to himself. Unconcerned, cold as ice. Brian was fucking Antarctica.

 

Tej acknowledged Brian with a high-five. Dom rubbed the knuckle of his thumb over his teeth when two women with real tans and fake tits started to chat Brian up. Brian grinned at them, drew them into a quick one-armed embrace and said something that made them both walk off, giggling appreciatively. Smooth.

 

These late night Miami races appeared to be a little more than a speed record. The route Tej was detailing to his racers sounded like an obstacle course. One of the streets mentioned made the spectators gasp and titter with appreciation. Dom shot a questioning look at the guy beside him.

 

“They gonna roll by a police precinct, man.” The guy bobbed his head in the rhythm of his island accent. Dom sucked his teeth appreciatively and nodded. A serious obstacle course. Dangerous game. The losers wouldn’t just forfeit their money; they’d be lucky if they didn’t have to lay out a little extra for the bail-bondsman. 

 

This kind of race was hard on spectators. The most they got was the sound of distant tires screeching. Tej was communicating with at least two people by cell phone, so Dom deduced that the course was supervised. Just how well supervised became apparent when the sound of distant sirens began to make the crowd nervous. Tej told everyone to hush and pretty much everyone did…though quite a few started to edge toward their cars.

 

The sirens and screeching tires reached a distant crescendo and then faded. Suddenly, the Skyline shot out of an alleyway like a bullet from a gun. It was obvious that the winner had left the po-po to clean up his competition.

 

Brian had stomped his brakes and jerked the wheel to throw himself into a stylish arc into the middle of the crowd. Brian rolled up out of the car and grinned like he’d been caught doing doughnuts in a parking lot. The crowd exploded at him. Dom felt a suffocating swelling in his chest.

 

Suddenly, Dom couldn’t see Brian any more because another man was standing in his way. A muscular man with skin like teak. High cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes that gave him an almost Asian look. He looked like Brian’s polar opposite, they shared nothing but the same glowing white smile. The handsome man punched Brian high on both shoulders and suddenly pulled Brian into a full-body hug. Brian didn’t seem to mind a bit.

 

Dom darted a quick glance around at the crowd of spectators. None of them looked surprised. So this was expected. Had to happen a lot. Dom felt like the moment the gasket had blown in the Charger with the train still seconds away. His stomach turned over.

 

 Dom couldn’t help it, but his tires yelped in protest when he reversed back off the line. He made his vision a tunnel, blocking out the blank faces that turned to look at the noise.

 

*********************************************************

 

Brian took a half step and stumbled on the curb. He tried to jerk himself upright but he swayed and nearly toppled until Roman’s hand darted out and pulled him upright.

 

“You okay, you clumsy ass?” Roman slid a hand protectively down Brian’s back.

 

“It’s cool,” Brian tried to look Roman in the face even though his eyes wanted to slide back and search the crowd. “I just thought I saw someone I used to know.”

 ******************************************************************************

Who the fuck was that guy? Dom drove aimlessly, trying to find a deserted stretch of road. Somewhere that he could leave his feelings like tire marks on the pavement. But the roads got narrower instead of widening out and he was soon hopelessly lost. Miami spread out around him like an open sore, throbbing with infection.

 

You didn’t think he was going to make friends, loser? Dom kept himself from punching the steering wheel, but only just. He’s a friendly guy. The scene was branded on Dom’s memory and he turned it back and forth looking for reassurance. I was surprised, that’s all. He remembered the black man’s arm jubilantly wrapping around Brian’s shoulders again. No harm in that really.

 

Dom’s throat tightened up while his stomach churned. He didn’t know exactly what he’d been expecting. Did you think he was just going to be waiting on the beach for you like a gift-wrapped package? Has your life ever been that easy?

 

Dom jiggled his left foot. The easy carelessness of Brian’s stance had been so graceful and unselfconscious. Brian had seemed in his natural element, his straightforward beauty gleaming like a beacon through all the flash and glamour of the scene. That other guy standing beside him close enough to be a mirror image, a photo negative. Dom’s heart clenched as unfamiliar emotions battered him. He grabbed his gearstick and shifted viciously.

 

Jealousy. The word came to him like a whispered curse. 

 

Another feeling started to thrum in his lower belly. He’d driven through a dozen pitted streets before he recognized it. His blood felt like a frozen river that had finally thawed. His competitive spirit, his will to win obviously hadn’t died. It had simply taken a vacation and come back strong and rested.

 

He felt his fists clench, his jaw clench, his chest swell.

 

I’m Dominic Toretto. I can beat that guy.

 

He nodded at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He rolled his head on his shoulders unconsciously. His body was ready for anything, but doubt suddenly made him slow the big Plymouth down to a crawl.

 

He twisted the rearview mirror to examine his face.  His eyes looked back at him, wide and anxious. He traced a finger over his nose doubtfully.

 

Maybe that guy was exactly what Brian wanted. Maybe Dom wasn’t.

 

What the fuck are you thinking, man?

 

Dom wrenched the mirror off angrily and tossed it in the backseat. He scanned the road for any signs to the highway. He could be back in LA by the end of the week. Or go back to Mexicali via Texas and from there to Baja. Or he could gun the Plymouth up to 150 mph and drive it off a bridge somewhere.

 

You only gonna play if you know you can win, Toretto?

 

“No,” he surprised himself by speaking. The ghost of hope, of possibility would drive him mad if he left without trying. He was ready to run this race. Well, as ready as someone with no strategy, no skill, no plan could be.

 

The calm steadiness of Brian’s eyes when he’d handed over the keys had drawn him here like a magnet. That memory could cut through the haze of the intervening year like a scalpel. It had to mean something. It had to mean something.

 

Well, what did he have to offer? Confidence, speed, strength, loyalty, cash, a car, a nice place in Baja California. What else? A bad attitude. At least a dozen warrants out for his arrest.

 

He imagined walking up to Brian and saying, you need to be looking at me like that. Not that guy. Yeah, I’ve been stalking you. Shit. This was impossible. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. And he had no idea how to learn.

 

It suddenly occurred to Dom that he was an accident waiting to happen, driving around lost and preoccupied. He pulled into the shadow of an old Deco building and took note of his surroundings. The barred windows, graffiti tags and general sketchy atmosphere let him know that he’d left the beach behind. Great. Lost in a neighborhood that was crappy enough to match his mood. Wandering into gang turf like some hapless German tourist.

 

Dom scanned the street for a sign, some hint that could send him back the way he’d come. The block was a long one and the light was uneven: sputtering neon in the shops and piss-yellow moons around the streetlights. Some junkie had twisted the nearest street sign down like a wilted leaf.

 

Dom could hear the muffled sound of music, the weird radio hum of distant voices. But the street he’d found was momentarily quiet except for a young dealer who’d staked out a corner down a block. Dom’s eyes caught the barest hint of movement in one of the doorways two blocks down. Probably another mule. No pay phone in sight….no doubt it wouldn’t work anyway.

 

Wait a second, back up. He scanned the street again. Something was wrong, he’d misunderstood something. Misread some signal.

 

His eye lit on the dealer again. The young man was standing there, pale in the street light and obviously at a loose end. Slim, but muscled like a soccer player. He was wearing a mesh shirt over a tank top, which looked wrong on his wiry form. His blonde hair looked faintly yellow in the weak light. When a car would cruise by, he would lean back with his hands on his hips, letting his pelvis jut forward. Not a drug dealer.

 

That guy is for sale. For some reason the thought shocked Dom more than it should have. He’d seen enough crap in Hollywood or the far eastern reaches of Santa Monica Boulevard to be foolishly blasé about the phenomenon. Boys on the corner, you’d maybe say something under your breath and not meet their eyes. But for some reason at this moment, the sight of the hustler unsettled him.

 

He had a sudden moment of leaning over an engine with his father, his dad’s strong hands pointing and prompting him when he forgot something.  His father’s voice telling him, you only learn something when you’re ready to know it.

 

This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. Don’t do this. But the drumbeat of possibility pounded in his skull.

 

I’ll go over and ask him…ask him….ask him something. If it gets weird, I roll off. He gunned the Plymouth up the street at a snail’s pace and paused under the streetlight.

 

 Before he could speak, the hustler leaned into the car and half-sang. “Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, you wanna play a song for me?”

 

Dom’s carefully rehearsed line shriveled up and died in the face of the rentboy’s knowing grin and clear blue eyes. The guy had bent at the waist to peer into the car. When he got a good look at Dom, he backed up a step and his hand curled around to the small of his back. The smile vanished. The hustler cocked his head at Dom from a safe distance and asked in a harsher tone, “You lost?”

 

Dom breathed again and his voice came out funny. “Yeah.”

 

Wary confusion was sketched in every line of the young man’s stance. He suddenly looked very young. “Yeah, you’re lost?” He repeated with disbelief. “What do I look like? The fucking Chamber of Commerce?”

 

“I thought…that…Maybe you could…uh…show me the way back to my place?” Dom tried to make his voice as non-threatening as possible, though he realized that it was a hopeless task.

 

The hustler shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Gonna cost you.”

 

“I’m sure it’ll be worth it.” OK, that sounded maybe a little threatening. Or sarcastic.

 

But the kid didn’t back off, the corner of his mouth turned up a little. Dom had somehow passed the not-a-psycho-killer test. He was in the car before Dom had time for second thoughts. Dom started driving, wondering how late in the game he could back out.

 

Dom looked at the hustler out of the corners of his eyes. His eyes weren’t as blue as Brian’s; they were lighter. His features weren’t as defined as Brian’s; they were softer. When Dom noticed that he was making a mental tally, he realized with a sinking feeling that whatever happened tonight, he was already screwed.

 

“So where’s your place?” Unsurprisingly, the kid was all business.

 

“14^th Street.” Dom looked around for a receipt from the motel or something.

 

The kid sighed like he was surrounded by idiots and was only now getting used to it. “Is that Little Haiti 14^th Street or Little Havana?” He studied Dom’s face for a long moment. “Looks like you could go either way. We’ll try both. Turn right here.”

 

Dom figured he had no choice but to obey. He was the one paying for advice.

 

“So what’s your name?” The kid had settled into the Plymouth’s upholstery like he was glad to get off his feet.

 

“I’m…Dom,” No point in fucking around. Dom winced at his mental choice of words.

 

“Steve,” the kid returned with an air of nonchalance.

 

“How old are you?” Dom asked softly.

 

Steve replied so abruptly and curtly that Dom knew it was a lie. “Twenty.”

 

Sometimes you could get past a lie if you just pretended you didn’t hear it. “How old are you?” Dom repeated.

 

Steve sighed impatiently and looked unhappy for a moment. “Old enough.” Dom realized he must have some vaguely disapproving look on his face when young Steve said in a plaintive voice. “Really, man. I promise.”

 

Dom tried to push past the moment by blurting out the first thing that came into his head, “Do you dye your hair?”

 

Steve looked shocked for a moment, “What the f…?” He broke off and a wisp of humor threaded into his voice. “Yeah, man. L’oreal. ‘Cause I’m worth it.” He turned his slim form to lean against the car door and sat sideways with his legs curled on the bench seat. “Besides, blondes have more fun. Haven’t you heard?”

 

Dom’s shoulders loosened and he relaxed a little. “I had heard that.”

 

“And gentlemen prefer them,” Steve rolled his head back to show the long line of his throat. “You a gentleman?”

 

Dom could deal with this, this trash-talking, teasing banter. This was easy. He shook his head ruefully and answered, “I’m a mechanic.”

 

“That’s cool.” Steve looked like he was about to add some sly doublespeak joke but then decided against it. “So what brings you to Miami, Dom?”

 

Steve dropped his hand to Dom’s thigh and Dom did a creditable job of not flinching.

 

“Ummmm,” Dom started, very articulately.

 

“Hey, is that your place?” Steve asked, pointing out at the nondescript motel.

 

Dom dropped his head an inch and felt a weird prickle of excitement. “Yeah, that’s me.” He coasted to a halt in front of the bungalows.

 

“So I guess my work here is done.” Steve said like someone who was too polite to stick his hand out.

 

Dom pulled his roll free, peeled off a double sawbuck and asked as if it was just occurring to him. “Hey, you want to come up? Have a beer?”

 

“Come up?” Steve repeated as if it were a real novelty. “Have a beer?” He pressed his tongue into the side of his mouth and stared at Dom as if Dom had just turned blue.

 

After a long moment, when Dom was just about to say fuck it, Steve jiggled his head and said, “Sure, man, that’d be cool.”

 

They trudged to the far end of the lot, where Dom’s bungalow sat alone. The darkened windows seemed to watch the two men approach. Dom keyed open the lock and stepped inside, tossing his jacket at the chair in the corner. He strode over to the mini-fridge, determined not to lose any momentum. He grabbed a couple of bottles, straightened up and turned to offer one to Steve.

 

The kid had disappeared.

 

Dom scanned the room, shocked at how completely the kid was just gone. It was like he’d vanished in a puff of smoke…in fact, Steve’s shirt lay in a heap on the floor with his right shoe and then his left shoe pointing outward. As if their owner had been suddenly called to final judgment.

 

Just then, Dom felt the slight pull at his groin that typically accompanied his zipper being undone. He felt a weird sense of dislocation as he looked straight down to where young Steve was crouched at his feet, blithely reaching into Dom’s pants and cupping his holiest of holies.

 

Here, this was one of the big things that he needed to learn. Lesson numero uno: a guy wanted you, he didn’t do all that buy you a drink… or so tell me about yourself… kind of stuff. Guy wanted you, he just dropped to his knees and reached for your cock. Hmmmm. That was kind of a lot to digest all at once.

 

It took a split second for the heel of Dom’s palm to connect with Steve’s collarbone and stiff-arm him so hard that the hapless hustler measured his length back onto the thin carpet. It took another split second for Dom to regret it. Shit. 

 

Steve looked back up at him wide-eyed and scrambled backward, yanking a butterfly knife from his waistband and flipping it open with a shaking hand. Dom noted the long blade almost as an afterthought, the kid was way too scared to be much of a threat to him. In the tired 60-watt light, Steve’s pale chest gleamed with long scar, a jagged, half-moon tear that Dom recognized as the leftovers from a previous encounter with a broken bottle. Dom abruptly felt like something that had just crawled out of a sewer.

 

“Sorry,” Dom grunted and reflected that that wasn’t quite enough. “I’m really sorry. You surprised me.”

 

“I surprised you?” Steve’s voice was loud to cover his alarm. “Look, dude, is it not obvious just why I get invited to motel rooms? I mean what the hell is up? You don’t look like you’re about to yank out the pamphlets and start yakking about my life with Christ so just what the fuck is going on here?”

 

“I’m…” Dom suddenly noticed that there was a full-length mirror on one of the closet doors. He winced at his reflection. “I’m just…I’m trying…”

 

“You’re not quite…sure?” Steve surmised. His pale blue eyes surreptitiously measured the distance to the door. “You’re experimenting? What?”

 

Dom opened his mouth to deny it and then realized that he had no fucking clue just what he was doing. Dom sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and in the space of one hundred and seven minutes told Steve the whole sorry story.

 

“So, you wanna get a pizza or something?” Roman asked. “Meet Tej at the club?”

 

“You go on,” Brian remembered at the last second to put an urging note in his voice. “I’ll be along in a little while.”

 

“You seen some honey you wanna make a little time with?” Roman scanned the crowd with a lascivious eye.

 

Brian had already beeped the car open and slid behind the wheel. “Something like that. Catch you later.”

 

“Whoa,” Steve started when Dom had completely finished. “That’s…just…”

 

“Fucked up?” Dom was on his fourth Corona. Corona kept the words coming.

 

“No it’s…” Steve looked up from his perch on the floor. “It’s just…cool.”

 

“Cool?” Dom rubbed at his eyes.

 

“Well, yeah, I mean…” Steve suddenly seemed at a loss. “I mean you drove 2500 miles through a country where you’re, like, a known felon because this dude gave you a car?”

 

And a look, Dom thought. He reached over and pulled another beer from the mini-fridge.

 

“You had no idea where he was?” Steve had asked this the first time disbelievingly, now he asked like he wanted to convince himself of something.

 

“Nope, just got lucky. People remembered him,” Dom remembered to give credit where credit was due.  “This is all really stupid. I mean, I don’t even know if he’s…”

 

“A fag? Homo? Queer?” Steve’s eyes challenged Dom wryly.

 

“…that way,” Dom finished weakly.

 

“Look, I don’t mean to bust your chops.” Steve said kindly. “But if you were thinking that looking for him was hard…”

 

“I know. I get it,” Dom said miserably.

 

“You think you can trust your instincts?”

 

“Maybe,” Dom shrugged. “I guess.”

 

“He’s really hot?” Steve hazarded.

 

“He’s a fucking blowtorch,” Dom affirmed, glumly. “So he could probably have anyone.”

 

Steve grimaced. “C’mon, man. Don’t sell yourself short. You seem cool. You’re working that butch thing.”

 

For some reason, it was easier to talk to a…professional. “And…butch is good?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Butch is very good.”

 

Dom must have looked dubious because Steve struggled to reassure him.  Steve was rolling his beer back and forth, not really drinking it.

 

“Well, I mean, you’re forgetting something.” Steve started, hesitantly. “I mean, sure, he may be gorgeous. He may look so fine that men, women and dogs all roll over for him, yeah. But…”

 

“But?”

 

“Just ‘cause everybody wants you…doesn’t mean that anybody loves you.”

 

Dom nearly spit out his beer. He managed not to by accidentally inhaling it. Steve smacked him on the back helpfully, while Dom tried to cough up his lungs.

 

“So what should I do?” Dom said when he could talk again.

 

Steve rolled his eyes again. “Well, let me go out on a limb here: have you had a talk with the man in question?”

 

*******************************

 

Brian drove in ever-widening circles out from the race, scanning the streets like a cop. His senses felt sharper than they had since he’d been floating in metal, crashing a car onto Carter Verone’s yacht. He kept the windows rolled down and the salty air made his hair sticky.

 

As he rolled along looking, he tumbled the memory around in his head, turning it this way and that to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. That his starved mind hadn’t just tried to wish Dom into being.

 

He had to pull to a stop, while a crowd of pedestrians passed, drunk, young and beautiful, on their way to some club. One of the girls turned to stare at him, her cocoa skin looked like burnished gold in the streetlight’s glare. The heavy gleam of brown eyes blinked at him slowly. She vanished around the corner with a last flick of her eyelashes.

 

Lots of liquid brown eyes in this town. Lots of golden-brown skin. Easy to see what you desperately wanted to see.

 

He’d imagined it.

 

****************************

 

“…and then you’re ready to go. So that’s not too hard, right?”

 

“I dunno,” Dom said skeptically. “Sounds like it hurts.”

 

“Jesus H. Christ!” Steve exploded. “Have you been listening at all? Look, it’s like anything else…”

 

Dom felt uncommonly defensive. “I’m just saying…”

 

Steve was holding his head like it hurt. “Forget it, man. Just…this is all…premature.”

 

**********************

 

Brian parked up on del Coronado and walked down to the beach.  The sand shushed against his Chucks. The moon was almost full, but the stars couldn’t compete with the light of the city.

 

He sank down on his haunches right as the sand got damp. He crumbled the sand in his fingers idly, watching the surf without seeing it.

 

Without the newness, without Bilkin’s adventure, this time in Miami felt like a holding pattern. A whole lot of time and a million ways to waste it.  Brian considered wryly that he’d never had the right kind of ambition in the first place.

 

He mentally reviewed all the decisions he’d made just because they seemed like good ideas at the time. Boosting cars with Roman, that had been fun while it lasted. Becoming a cop, seemed more exciting and immediate than the military, better by far than twisting a wrench in Barstow for the rest of his life. Brian had known that it would drive a wedge between Rome and himself, but he’d naively assumed that it would be temporary.

 

Transferring to L.A., that had seemed like a great idea. Making friends in the department, putting himself forward for all kinds of assignments, playing up his other skills…wasn’t that what you were supposed to do for a successful career? Wasn’t that how the American dream was supposed to work?

 

Get a plum assignment, fall stupidly, desperately, insanely in love with your primary target who was not only a man, but also a heterosexual man and not only a felon, but also a dangerous felon. With dangerous enemies.

 

Brian had to admit, that one had sounded like an incredibly bad idea at the time.

 

But it had happened.

 

His last decision in L.A., Brian couldn’t quite decide whether that one was good or bad. Give the keys to Dom, become a criminal, give up your life, flee. Come to Miami, get picked up, earn a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ for you and a friend. And for my next trick, I’m going to need a volunteer from the audience…

 

Don’t give the keys to Dom, Dom goes to prison, if he doesn’t will himself to die first. You stay a cop, they give you a detective’s shield and both Roman and Dom rot in prison.

 

Wasn’t too hard to prioritize when you put it like that. No one in prison was probably the best that could be expected. And yet, Brian was left wondering what he could have done differently so that he didn’t have to feel so achingly alone.

 

Brian shivered and wrapped his arms around his knees. He should be stuffing his face somewhere with Roman right now. He should be nicer to Rome, it was great having him around again. Rome was so. Uncomplicated. Brian shifted uneasily. He hadn’t been fair to Rome lately. Roman Pearce was his oldest and best friend, but Rome couldn’t do everything.

 

This ‘friendship with privileges’ that he’d developed over the long years with Roman felt like a drug addiction. He’d built up a tolerance for the affection that Rome could give him and he needed more and more just to get the same high. And Roman didn’t want to give him any more. Or he couldn’t. Or something. Roman could give him pleasure, but not joy.

 

Brian shivered again and felt the sudden urge to just get back in the car and go. He could be back in L.A. in forty hours if he never slept. He could probably get Tanner to find Mia. He could watch Mia, steal her phone bills out of her mailbox, find Dom somehow.

 

He imagined himself showing up unannounced on Dom’s doorstep. Behind door number one, Dom embraced him and led him inside and the screen faded to black. Behind door number two, Dom made him swallow his own teeth. Maybe he was better off here, with whatever Roman decided he could spare.

 

 Brian turned and looked back at the Skyline. He was proud of the work he’d done on that one. He’d had to rewire a new computer, replace the alternator, the battery and all the fuses. The bodywork alone had taken over a month. Lots of people had assured him that it wouldn’t ever run right again. But he’d done it.

 

Brian pondered the irony of having the fastest car in the city and having nowhere to go.

 

*************************

 

Dom drove Steve back to his crappy apartment as the sky was turning gray. Steve’s eyes widened as he fanned out the wad of cash that Dom pressed on him.

 

“Jeez…you sure about this? I didn’t even blow you.”

 

When Dom winced, Steve continued sarcastically. “See, that was a test. And you flunked.”

 

“Well, maybe I’ll get better with practice.” Dom was punchy with lack of sleep and now more amused than aggravated.

 

“So what are you gonna say?”

 

“Maybe I won’t say anything,” Dom grinned as Steve clapped him on the shoulder.

 

“Okay, so you’re not hopeless.”

 

“Thanks for all the advice.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m Oprah fucking Winfrey,” Steve said, shoving his way out of the car. “Good luck, man. I think he’s gonna be psyched to see you.”

 

“You know, Steve,” Dom stopped for a long second, he wasn’t sure if he should say this. “Why don’t you make yourself easier to find?”

 

Steve stopped halfway in and out of the car. He looked over his shoulder and the shadows under his eyes made him look a hundred years old.

 

“There’s no one looking for me, man.” Steve gave a little salute. “But it’s nice of you to say.”

 

********************

“Tej?”

 

“Who’s this?”

 

“We met yesterday, …Victor from the garage?”

 

“Oh yeah. You catch that action last night?”

 

“Pretty intense. I wouldn’t mind putting my baby down by the silver Skyline. That’s not some flukey shit, is it?”

 

“Naw, Bullitt always delivers hardcore. He’s the man to beat around here. But the privilege don’t come cheap.”

 

“Well, you know I’m a well-dressed man.”

 

“Is that right?” Dom could hear Tej’s grin.

 

“Yeah, I’ve got deep pockets.”

 

“That’s what we like to hear. See you tonight.”

 

********************

“Hey.”

 

“Tej, what’s the deal, bro?”

 

“You up to go it again tonight?”

 

“Awwww, Tej….I am beat through the band and back. I’m taking off tonight.”

 

“You race tonight, you can take off the week.”

 

“You’re very generous with my time,” Brian replied dryly.

 

“Bri, since when do you not like money?” Tej started to wheedle. “C’mon, this dude’s new and he don’t know you. It’ll be candy-from-a-baby time.”

 

“What’s he run?”

 

“Well,” Tej paused. “The body is from an old Superbird…but after that, it’s your best guess.”

 

********************

 

Rome hid his yawn behind his cupped hands. It wasn’t so late, but it had been an exciting day. He’d unexpectedly found one of his ‘clients’ away and had managed to repossess the man’s yacht without fight or fuss.  He was growing to love his job, mostly for the opportunity to sail stolen boats around the bay. Opportunities like that had been thin on the ground in Barstow.

 

Brian had caught the yawn and grinned at Rome over Suki’s head, going cross-eyed for a second until Rome had to laugh at the goof. Brian looked tired himself. Rome flipped him off and leered back at him, hoping that his worry didn’t show in his eyes. Brian shouldn’t race tired. It’d be too damn easy to make a bad mistake. He punched Brian, knuckles out, in the shoulder and tightened up until Brian punched him back. Maria laughed at them.

 

Rome turned to Tej, “So how much time we got?”

 

Tej shrugged, “Say half-hour.”

 

Brian said lazily, “You think this guy is lost?”

 

Tej was clever about utilizing road construction for race sites. Showing a surprising amount of foresight, Dade County scheduled all their road work for the wee hours. Rome couldn’t even begin to imagine how Tej had bribed or blackmailed someone to give them this half-hour between the road closing and the work crews arriving.

 

Now they were down in this swank area on the causeway between the city and the beach. Waiting in a parking lot. For some new dude that Tej had lined up for Brian.

 

“Maybe he’s pussied out,” Rome volunteered.

 

Tej shook his head, “Didn’t seem like the type.” He looked to Suki for agreement.

 

Suki lifted her chin at an approaching rumble. A car pulled up slowly past the assembled rice rockets, a bigger, older car. Like a heavyweight making his way into a cruiserweight ring.

 

Rome couldn’t see the driver. The car was glassed darker than a rap star’s SUV. Illegal, yeah, but it looked like most of the car was illegal. Plymouth Superbird ’69, good choice, pretty rare.  Intensely geeked up with a fancy hood intake, side ports and racing stripe. Rome knew that if the guy pressed his foot down for a rev, it would drown out all their voices. American muscle.

 

Brian grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at Rome, hearkening back to their little tag-team on those bozos with the Yenko and the Dodge. Heh. That had been fun.

 

“How much you want off him?” Rome asked softly.

 

“How much you think you can get?” Brian teased. Brian slid into the Skyline and cool, hey, they were ready for business.

 

Tej had gestured all his people up off the line, giving the racers a clear path out of the lot and back onto the causeway. Lights twinkled off the bay and the slap of water against pilings mingled with the voices and stereos.

 

The Plymouth pulled up to the right of the Skyline with no hesitation. Whoever this guy was, he’d done this before. Rome felt a flash of renewed worry for Brian. Brian had had a long streak, but everyone got beaten sometime. Brian didn’t look worried though, he just looked at the black windowpane with that I’m-too-cool-for-you, California-boy smirk.

 

Then the window rolled down and everything changed.

 

**********************

 

This was the moment, Dom decided.

 

This was the moment when he was going to find out if this whole journey had been one enormous waste of time. He rolled down his window next to the Skyline, knowing that the right-hand drive would put him within three feet of Brian’s face. Close enough to see everything, he hoped.

 

Brian’s face was curiously blank for what felt like a long moment. And then he smiled.

 

Dom felt as though he’d stepped off a ledge between one long heartbeat and the next. Fallen into a beautiful world that was populated only by himself. And Brian, smiling, like he’d just learned how.

 

**********************

 

This was just all too fucking weird.

 

Rome had stepped up to the car to start joshing the challenger into betting the house. He’d registered the details of the man’s serious face quickly, the shaved head, the broad shoulders. Rome had tried to meet Brian’s eyes to gauge what kind of cash they might hope to pull off this mother, only to find Brian grinning at the stranger like an idiot.

 

Brian was smiling that smile of his that made the air feel a few degrees warmer. The smile so wide that it was almost a laugh. The smile that Brian usually wore just seconds before he did something incredibly life-endangering.

 

Rome turned back to look harder at the stranger, who obviously wasn’t a complete stranger. Rome suspected he was biracial, but it was hard to tell for sure. Big nose, wide lips, brown eyes that looked intelligent and resourceful. Not handsome in the conventional sense, as Roman knew himself to be. But an interesting face.

 

The man wore a peculiar expression. Most people who saw Brian’s smile, they smiled back unconsciously. It was catching. But the man’s face reminded Roman of a little boy who’d stubbed his toe, too old to cry, but too hurt to laugh.

 

“Hey,” Rome said. “Hey!”

 

Both sets of eyes turned toward him unwillingly.

 

“We gonna do this?”

 

Two sets of eyes blinked at him.

 

**********************

 

 “They’ve been working on the A1A…” Tej started.

 

Brian shifted uncomfortably but he didn’t say anything.

 

“So we borrowed some of their cones. I thought we’d do it old-school tonight. I was thinking, short track down the causeway, bridge…exit Alton Road…finish the second block up.”

 

“You got people there?” the challenger asked.

 

“Yup. Plus we’ll be right behind you.” Tej said.

 

By this time, Brian was unconsciously shaking his head.

 

“You got a problem with that, Bullitt?” Tej asked evenly. “All of a sudden, the iceman is melting?”

 

Yeah, Rome thought. That’s a damn good question.

 

Brian seemed like he was going to protest, but then he looked back at the stranger and came to some internal decision. He stopped fidgeting.

 

“Watch out for that last turn.” Brian advised. “It’s a bitch.”

 

“Thanks,” The challenger looked like he would have said more, but Roman cut in.

 

“So pony up, homeboy, we don’t do this shit for our health.”

 

“So what’s your health worth?’

 

Roman shared a look with the stranger for the first time. The guy’s eyes were determinedly neutral, but Rome had instincts honed in prison. Roman could see that this man, on five minutes acquaintance, didn’t really like him very much.

 

“We usually go about three-five,” Tej started.

 

“But make it four, y’know, so we know you’re serious,” Rome was unrelenting.

 

The stranger didn’t flinch, “Make it five,” he said mildly, tossing five grand in a clip at Roman like Rome was some kind of exotic dancer.

 

Rome kept himself from kicking this arrogant asshole in the head by reminding himself that Brian would beat this fool. Then they would go have some chile rellenos and Brian would insist that Rome take some small commission for his invaluable services as a promoter. And that would be that.

 

Rome turned and took the same from Brian who still wasn’t looking at him. Rome handed the money to Tej and motioned Maria into his car.

 

*************

 

Dom felt like they were racing underwater.

 

He couldn’t hear the screech of their tires, the high whirr of the Skyline, the low drumming that was his own engine catching hold. And though he knew that they’d both hit sixty in the first five seconds, it felt like time was stretching for them, expanding the moment.

 

The causeway stretched in front of them perfectly straight. Edged by a thin strip of water on both sides, like an arrow pointed directly at Miami Beach. They had all three lanes to themselves.

 

Dom knew that he could lay it down and edge in front, make Brian use his nitrous prematurely. That would be the conventional tactic. It was more fun to do what they were doing, pull up on 90, 95, 100, side by side. Inches apart, playing some sideways chicken. Brian wouldn’t let go of Dom’s eyes. Dom could have stretched out his arm and stroked Brian’s shoulder with the tips of his fingers.

 

Brian caught a slight rut and they nearly traded paint. Brian glanced forward and raised two fingers from the wheel. Dom took the bait and looked forward to where Brian was pointing. A sign flashed by, Alton Road, the 907, their exit. Dom’s gaze tracked up, up, up, oh shit, they can’t be serious. The exit was an overpass that arched across the sky like a bow. One lane across with a slight curve edged by a high steel median. It looked like a roller coaster. And they were about to hit it at Mach 2. He glanced over at Brian again. For some reason, imminent destruction didn’t look so bad mirrored in Brian’s clear eyes.

 

Brian smiled at him, a tiny secret smile. Then he turned his eyes forward and suddenly tapped it down and scissored in front of the Plymouth and up the ramp. And before he knew it, Dom was roaring up behind him, inches from his tail.

 

With gravity pushing his head back on the seat, Dom did something that he hadn’t done in living memory. He eased up off the accelerator. If he hadn’t known that it would make the Plymouth judder back and forth into the guardrails, he would have tapped the brake. In the split seconds that they had, he could envision what would happen. They were almost to the crest of the ramp which was an easy deceleration at 35 miles per hour. At their speed, they would catch air. Physics would throw the Plymouth forward much faster than the Skyline and if he didn’t rear-end Brian in mid-air, Dom would come down hard on the Skyline’s rear bumper. Maybe hard enough to make it flip on its end, back onto the Plymouth.

 

But now he was a yard away from Brian, six yards, ten yards, fifteen. Brian was airborne and Dom could hear him whooping. Dom’s stomach jerked upward as all four tires seemed to get spring-loaded. He was sailing through the air and he tightened his hands on the wheel. He was going to hit Brian, wait, no, he wasn’t. The tires grabbed earth again and Dom’s head slammed into the roof, hard enough to rattle his teeth in his jaws. The Skyline danced just ahead of him.

 

The pain in his head made him wince, the ebb of adrenaline made him limp, but suddenly Dom felt fucking fantastic. Brian thought he had won, that was obvious. He was slowing before the line. Dom grinned to himself, shoved his foot down and punched the spray. Dom caught a nanosecond of Brian’s startled glance as Dom’s engine bellowed past him and crossed the line with two feet of hood leading.

 

***************

 

Brian stood silently as Tej handed Dom the wad of cash. Dom took it, tucked his original bet away and tossed Brian his stake back.

 

“You don’t want it?” Roman’s voice rang with challenge and disbelief.

 

“No.”

 

“You made the bet, man, fair’s fair,” Rome shrugged.

 

“You made the bet,” Dom turned a hard stare on Roman. “Wasn’t what I was in it for. And he knows that.” Curling a finger at Brian.

 

Brian said, soft enough that only Rome and Tej overheard, “You want my car?”

 

“I want your respect,” Dom returned, equally soft.

 

Déjà vu all over again, they could stand like this in the stunned crowd and Brian had eyes only for Dom. The dozens of conversations around him had been reduced to static. Dom looked as cool as ever, as if there wasn’t already a lifetime’s worth of pain, betrayal, murder and mayhem between them. Dom was right here, standing by his car, like his presence wasn’t just fucking miraculous. Talking like they weren’t surrounded by a mob of curious people. The silence stretched.

 

“You know, I’ve come a long way…” Dom leaned in until his chin was next to Brian’s shoulder. “…aren’t you gonna…invite me to lunch or something?”

 

Brian shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from just grabbing Dom and shoving him into the car. It came to him then, the perfect thing to say.

 

Brian pulled out his business card (thanks, Rome!) and tucked it into the breast pocket of Dom’s shirt. “Come by tomorrow. My treat.”

 

It could have been just a trick of the uncertain light, but Brian was sure that Dom’s eyes had flashed then. Dom had tilted his chin down, suddenly looking a hundred times more predatory. And a thousand times sexier.

 

Dom nodded and sank back into his ride. Drove off without a word for anyone else.

 

Roman was in his face within seconds. “Who the hell was that, Brian? And why’d you let him win?”

 

“I didn’t,” Brian gave Rome a little shove to show that he wasn’t playing.  “I gotta go.”

 

*************

 

“Hey!” Brian hoped he didn’t look like a person who’d been watching the door obsessively for the past two hours.

 

“Hey.” Dom pulled at his t-shirt nervously.

                                

Dom seemed to relax a little when he stepped out of the sun into the shade of the modest garage. He moved around easily, touching Brian’s tools. “This all yours?”

 

“Yup,” Brian tried to look unself-conscious.

 

“You got the warranty on those, right?” Dom pointed at the lifts.

 

“The standard, yeah? You think I should have gotten more?”

 

“Nah, a couple of the Forward 9000s had a design flaw, but you’ll know soon. A year is enough.” Dom nodded to himself.

 

Brian looked at Dom sideways to make sure he wouldn’t disappear like a hologram.

 

“That was a good race last night,” Brian had to turn away to mask his grimace, haven’t seen him for a year and that’s the best you can do, dipshit?

 

“Pretty sick,” Dom agreed and Brian sensed a hint of relief rolling off him. “You’d have won if you hadn’t gotten cocky.”

 

“Yeah, I assumed whoever had the ramp would have the race,” Brian agreed. “And if it had been anyone else, I’d have been right.”

 

Dom chuckled. Brian grinned.

 

“You scared the shit out of me,” Dom confessed. “Being scared makes me mad and when I’m mad, I get…vengeful.”

 

“Yeah, really? Is that why you’re here?” Brian decided to jump right in with it.

 

“Uhhh, no,” Dom knocked a wrench off a tray and the clank seemed loud in the silence. Dom bent down to pick it up and just kind of…stayed down. He looked perplexed.

 

“So you didn’t come all this way out of some residual cop-hatred?” Brian couldn’t quite believe that he could make himself sound so cool and indifferent.

 

“Are you still a cop?”

 

“No, I’m…” Brian looked around the garage, noticing suddenly how he’d unconsciously modeled it on Dom’s old place. “Free and clear.”

 

“Free and clear, huh?” Dom repeated.

 

“Yeah, I squared it somehow,” Brian shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

 

Dom just looked at him and Brian felt moved to explain. “So they won’t arrest me but I can’t arrest you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

 

Dom sat back on his heels for a long moment, and then rose slowly to his feet. “That’s not what I was thinking. Seems like if you were gonna do that, there were better times to do it.”

 

Dom twisted the wrench in his hands for a long moment and then set it down gently. Dom took a couple of purposeful steps toward Brian and Brian braced himself against the Chevelle. Dom’s voice sounded…weird. “So, no, that’s not what I came for.”

 

Brian was opening his mouth to ask, yeah, so what then? but suddenly he was getting washed by a wave of Dom’s pure attention.  Dom was standing pretty close and his heat and scent were making it hard to think.

 

“Well, what have we here?”

 

Oh shit. Roman.

 

Dom took a short step back and pivoted to face Rome’s sneer. Brian straightened quickly and pushed himself off the car.

 

“Hey, big homie. Decided you want your money today?” Brian could see where Rome’s shoulders were flexed. Like an angry cat. “Too damn bad.”

 

Dom paused for a long second, like he was trying to decide whether or not Rome was serious.

“I’m not here for money.”

 

“What are you here for then?”

 

Dom deadpanned, “Lunch.”

 

Rome snorted with disbelief. “This that dude from LA, Brian?”

 

“Well, he’s a dude from LA,” Brian hoped that snark and sarcasm would maybe be enough to get them out of here without…whatever. At the moment, Dom still looked puzzled by Roman’s antagonism, not pissed off. Cool.

 

“You come out to say, ‘thanks’ to the boy here, for helping you dodge the law?” Roman had leaned onto another car and looked like he wasn’t going to budge. “That’s real sweet. You’re welcome, don’t mention it, buh-bye.”

 

“As I was saying…” Dom turned back to Brian, moving his body only slightly, but managing to convey a truckload of disdain. Rome’s eyes sparked like a livewire. Brian suddenly desperately wished he could pull each of them aside for 20 seconds. Look, Dom, the one thing that Roman just hates is being ignored.

 

Rome interrupted. “Look, homes, you want to cut him in on a job, that’s cool, but he can’t go getting in trouble. We just got out of trouble, you feeling me?”

 

“I’m not here to cause trouble.”  Dom’s voice was very soft. Brian knew that the softer and lower Dom’s voice got, the higher the likelihood that one of the three of them would leave bruised. He tried to head it off.

 

“Rome,” Brian said sharply. “He’s here to see me, not you, cuz.”

 

“So?”

 

“So chill out, man! Mind your business!”

 

“Shut up, Brian!”

 

“Hey,” Dom’s voice suddenly had a hot edge that it hadn’t had before. “Don’t you tell him to shut up.”

 

Roman rolled his eyes and started to advance on Dom, “Tell him what I want to tell him, ‘cause I’ve earned the right, boy. Don’t you start thinking that I give a shit about your opinion, you pigeon-toed, high-yellow…”

 

Whatever else Roman might have been planning to say was knocked back down his throat so fast that Brian didn’t even see it happening. Rome stumbled two steps backwards, clutching his mouth. Brian’s heart plummeted, Dom doesn’t ‘do’ trash-talk, Rome.

 

Dom had followed up quick with a snarl and another fist raised. Dom sure hadn’t seemed to like that little ‘high-yellow’ crack and seemed intent on discovering what color Roman was on the inside. But Dom stopped for a second and glanced back at Brian, almost apologetically.

 

Roman used the moment to jump on Dom’s back and rocket a blow into the side of Dom’s chin. Dom bent double under the weight and staggered, knocking the tray of wrenches down with a fierce metallic clatter. Dom straightened up and then arched forward with purpose, throwing Roman to the ground. Dom stepped over Roman’s body and leaned in for another vicious punch. Rome kicked Dom on the side of the knee hard enough to make him grunt and half-collapse. Rome followed up with a head-butt and they became a sudden flurry of arms and legs on the floor.

 

Brian was frozen, speechless with horror. It was like watching dogs fighting. There didn’t appear to be any rules.  Brian watched with the sick realization that these two had a collective five years in prison and neither of them had been real sweethearts to begin with. Brian wished desperately for a hose. Or a net, maybe. Reaching for one of them, through their unseeing rage, seemed like a mistake.

 

Rome managed to break free and rolled up to his feet, lightning-quick. He turned back to hammer down on the kneeling Dom. Dom lowered his chin and pushed forward to tackle Rome and force him backward onto the Chevelle. Rome kneed Dom in the diaphragm and bought himself a little distance. Rome twisted and slid his arm around to pull Dom into a choke hold. Dom straightened up to his full height and began worming his hands under Rome’s bicep while backing up to where Brian stood.

 

Roman was having a tough time keeping his balance. When Dom had straightened, Rome had been lifted free of the floor. Now Rome was struggling to keep his grip and not get plowed under. Suddenly, Dom wrapped his fist around Rome’s wrist and wrenched himself free of the chokehold. It happened so fast that Brian didn’t have time to step back or duck.

 

 Both sets of elbows swung into his face like twin baseball bats. Brian felt the white-red pain and heard the slight crunch at almost the same time. He squeezed his eyes shut as a hot iron-flavored cascade washed down the back of his throat. Brian cupped his hands around his broken nose and leaned forward. He dimly registered that the fight had stopped and looked up.

 

Both Rome and Dom stared at him helplessly, like he was some prized toy they had broken. Rome was bleeding from the mouth, Dom was bleeding from a cut above his eye and Brian was almost gushing from his nose. In that moment he hated them, as much as hated the sudden thickening of his voice.

 

“I’b going to ged dis fixed,” Brian turned and hawked a glob of blood on the floor before striding away. “And you can bodth go fuck off and die.”

 

***********

 

In the end, of course, they wouldn’t let him drive. Dom came out and tentatively gestured at the Plymouth and Brian found it hard to argue while his mouth kept filling with blood. Rome slid into the backseat and his eyes dared Dom to say anything. They drove in silence. Rome started to mumble something, but shut up when Brian threw a handful of blood at him.

 

“Sorry aboud dis,” Brian gestured to where Dom’s front passenger mat was getting kind of gory.

 

Dom waved it off with an embarrassed little frown. He looked into the rearview and caught Rome’s eye. “Hey, you, you know a place to go?’

 

Rome’s lip twisted in disgust, it seemed like he was about to spit out something poisonous. But then Rome glanced at Brian’s bent profile and sighed, “Yeah, turn right up here.”

 

**************

 

They found the tired-looking county hospital quickly. Brian tried to outpace them but they stayed in his shadow all the way inside. Brian stood at the check-in counter and tried not to bleed on it. A young Latina in scrubs silently handed him a clipboard and a gauze pad. He took both gratefully, relieved to be spared conversation. She raised the tiniest hint of an eyebrow at his entourage. Already, mothers in the waiting room were whispering to their bug-eyed children not to stare.

 

He finished the forms and handed the clipboard back. Waiting through her silent review, he noticed that he’d soaked the gauze.

 

“You’re not insured, Mr. O’Connor?”

 

Roman popped into her face like a jack-in-the-box. “Hey, look, the man is hurt. The man is bleeding, see that? So why you gotta…”

 

Dom’s voice cut in behind him. “You still accept cash payment for services, isn’t that right?”

 

Her eyebrows arched higher at the sudden fan of bills. She seemed to make a quick executive decision. “Curtain two.”

 

********************

 

The doctor gave him a bedpan before she reset his nose. “If you need to puke,” she offered helpfully. He was opening his mouth to ask her what she meant, when she lined both thumbs over his cheekbones and he found out exactly what she was talking about.

 

He fought down the nausea by listening hard to the half-assed conversation taking place on the bench outside the curtain. He could hear Rome muttering to himself. He could hear Dom ostentatiously ignoring Rome.

 

“So is that all the money you got?” Rome suddenly burst out.

 

Brian winced and the doctor apologized softly. “No, it’s fine, it’s not you,” Brian murmured.

 

A long moment of silence passed on the other side of the curtain until Dom said, “No.” Very quietly.

 

“Good,” said Roman, unexpectedly.

 

Silence for a few more minutes. The doctor seemed like she was coming to the end of the gauze and tape.

 

“What’s your name?” Rome asked.

 

“Dominic Toretto.”

 

“And you let people call you Dom?”  Roman said nastily.

 

“You let people call you Rome, huh?” Dom sounded like he was just making conversation. Brian wanted to snort, but held it in.

 

“Fuck you,” Rome snapped.

 

“Fuck me?” Dom’s voice was going dangerous-quiet again.

 

“Hey!” Brian raised his voice a little and the doctor stepped back with surprise. “Both of you shut the fuck up.”

 

“Good advice,” muttered the doctor, half to herself. “Well, Mr. O’Connor. I think we’re done here. You don’t need a script, you can just take ibuprofen. You can take these bandages off yourself. Are your…friends going to need any stitches or anything?”

 

She snapped the curtain back on the sheepish Dom and Rome.

 

“We’re fine,” they said in unison.

 

                                                            ******************        

 

“You look like shit,” Rome said, tactfully.

 

Brian wished he had some appropriately nasty body fluid to fling at Roman. He settled for just giving him the finger.

 

“Your eye’s going black,” Rome continued.

 

Brian looked sideways at Dom. Christ, now even doing that hurt. Brian wanted to go crawl into a darkened room and sleep until this whole afternoon felt like a dream.

 

“You look tough. Like a boxer,” Dom and that quiet voice were killing Brian. In a nice way.

 

“The Great White Hope,” Rome snorted. Rome seemed oblivious to the fact that his own split lip made him look like a fish.

 

Dom nodded to himself, “Very butch.”

 

Brian leaned back and closed his eyes.

 

********************

 

He opened his eyes as the back door slammed. They were back at the scene of the crime. Dom had turned the car off and was looking after the retreating Roman like he would look at a particularly nettlesome carburetor.

 

Dom turned back to Brian. Brian could see the slight dimples that framed Dom’s almost-smiling mouth and his fingers itched to touch.

 

“Can we try this again?” Dom’s cut was swelling.

 

“Tomorrow,” Brian said with a confidence he didn’t feel. He levered himself out of the car.