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Driven to the Edge [Blu and Driven]

driven to drift

driven to drift

Star
Joined
Aug 4, 2013
The sky was clear, the moon was full and the evening weather was crisp and cool: it was the perfect night for what a rather rambunctious group of young adults had in mind. Every so often - at least four times a month, lately more - this group of gear-headed young people gathered together to heat up their engines, burn their tires and see who could come out on top with some friendly competition. Some nights it was a simple quarter-mile drag; other nights it was more of an actual road course, and on a night like this, it was a scene damn near identical to a movie. Cars were parked in the empty lot that had been the designated meeting place. Winged imports from old to new, neon lights, cars more for show than for racing, sway bars, turbos, superchargers, everything. And, of course, the group wasn't without their own women taking advantage of the gathering of men to let themselves 'hang out', so to speak. Trunks were open and music was playing. It was definitely a good night for this.

God, Lara didn't love anything more.

She had put this group together her senior year of high school and as the years passed, it had only grown larger. This was her safe place and everyone knew it. No one asked about her personal life and she didn't ask about theirs. As of late, however, it appeared this balance of peace was being disrupted...

She made her entrance fashionably late as usual, approaching at a decent speed and flicking the car - her baby - sideways with spinning and screeching tires to drift a lovely arc at the empty center of the lot before coming to a halt to the laughs and cheers of her compatriots. She smirked as she shifted into neutral and tapped the gas to let the rumble of the American V8 accented by the faint shutter of a turbocharger blow off valve punctuate her arrival before engaging the handbrake for safety and turning the key to let the exhaust note die out. She opened the door and stepped out, her black sneakers hitting the pavement before she rose in tight-fitting jeans, red tank top and a smile, greeting several of the guys as they approached her.

Her self-proclaimed "baby" was a steel gray, 1991 Ford Mustang GT. From the outside, it didn't look like much. Except for some aftermarket rims, aftermarket hood, roll cage, a change in suspension to lower the ride height and a few other mods to help with handling, it wasn't meant to immediately grab attention. It was what she had under the hood and behind the wheel that she most prided herself in. A friendly connection had left her with the crate motor of the most recent 5.0 Coyote engine. With some sweet talk, she had helped and completed the engine swap, added some sway bars, upgraded everything she could in due time and threw on a turbo kit that the engine had taken to immediately. She had poured her heart and soul into making this car fun, fast and an all around blast, and she was proud of where she had gotten it.

She brushed her wavy brown ponytail over her shoulder before finishing her conversation with an old friend and moving on to another. She threw an arm around the lanky blond and hip-checked him into the door of his old Firebird. His lack of rebuttal disappointed her and she could feel the tension in his posture and shoulders. Clearly something was bother him and she had a feeling she knew exactly what it was.

"You haven't heard or seen anything yet, have you?" she murmured, just loud enough over the chatter and various noise around them. Luke was among the first to join the group with her when they were seventeen and they were still close friends five years later.

He shook his head and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Not yet but you know he's gonna show up again. He's found us twice, already. We've gotta be sneakier about this or someone's gonna end up caught or worse!"

She sighed and dropped her hand to her side. Despite the carefree attitudes around the group, she knew there was a little extra anxious cloud hovering over them. The efforts of local police to catch and stop these "raucous kids" had been amped up, and the officer that had showed up at their last few meets definitely put a twist to the game. She had managed to lead him away and distract him long enough to get everyone out of harm's way but she wasn't sure if that would hold up. And if she was totally honest with herself, she was rather enjoying the challenge. The guy was a far-better driver than the vast majority (if not all) of those left around.

"If he shows up again, it's the same plan. I won't let him get any of us, you know that."

Luke shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "I really hope you're right."
 
The sound of brakes squeaking to a halt stood out above everything in the mostly empty parking lot. The engine in the police-spec Crown Vic was surprisingly quiet for a 4.6 liter V8. The parking lot was met with a split moment of silence as the engine on the police cruiser was cut. However, that silence didn't last long. The driver-side door creaked as it was opened revealing what most would expect: An average-looking police officer. Slightly pudgy white guy who appeared to be about thirty. He was probably handsome at some point, but life and the job took it's toll on him. His police cruiser was parked next to a virtually identical one, directly in front of a local cafe.

With a ring of the classic cowbell mounted to the door, the officer stepped into the cafe only to be waved over by another one of the boys in blue. As he arrived at the table, he took note of the makeshift workstation. A map of the city covered with markings, sticky notes, even a few swear words. The man opposite to him had a stubble that signified a lack of shaving, and that aura of someone who had long passed their first cup off coffee.

"What is all of this?" The man asked, his eyes trying to take in everything.

Without even looking up, "Haven't you heard all the commotion? They're out there tonight. I know it. I just have to find them, Greg."

Greg's eyes narrowed, "Find who? Some kids in their mom's Honda Civic? You need to kick this shit before it gets you in trouble."

"These aren't the run-of-the-mill kids that get scared whenever you blare the sirens at them. At least not this one," Desmond dropped his pen onto the table and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I've seen those Foxbodies move before, but this one-"

Greg had cut him off, "They're still just street racers, Des. We've got other things to focus on."

Just before Desmond had the chance to respond, the waitress had made her way to their table. A brunette who was obviously in her early twenties. Her blue eyes met Greg's as she asked, "Are you ready to order?" She finished off with a polite smile.

Greg responded with an appropriate smile of his own, "Yes, ma'am. I'll have a BLT. Extra bacon please. White bread." He continued on, "And a diet coke." He folded up the menu and handed it back to the waitress.

"Alrighty then," she tucked the menu under her arm before bringing her eyes to meet Desmond's. "How about you, Officer Taylor?" The smile she gave him seemed a lot more genuine.

"Nothing but coffee for me, Rebecca, I-" his response was cut short as his eyes darted toward the window. Two sets of HID headlights, paired with the exhaust notes of high-revving four cylinder engines. "We gotta go," Desmond's tone was serious as he quickly shuffled out of the booth.

"Oh come on, Des-"

"I'm going. Whether you back me up or not, it's up to you. I'm catching that Five-Oh tonight." Des reached for his wallet and pulled out a $20 before handing it to Rebecca and making a brisk walk toward the exit. Shortly after, then engine of his own cruiser whirred to life as he made his way off to try and tail the racers.
 
The evening continued as normal. There was no racing, yet, just everyone chatting and catching up. Most hadn't seen each other in a while, considering that the previous bust attempts had set their next meeting back. They were attempting to take some level of caution, but the urge to drive had become a bit much for Lara, who had decided that her occasional late night joy ride wasn't enough. She was the one who had taken the initiative to call the meet together by their usual careful word of mouth. While most of them were friends in these meets, very few actually met up in the "real world". There were both spoken and unspoken rules regarding the safety of anonymity...

Lara was leaning back against the driver door of her Fox, rolling her eyes and laughing at one of the younger drivers who had yet to realize that she wasn't about to be taken in by his big talk and big-winged fart can. While she was thrilled to find anyone interested in cars, that didn't mean she understood the fascination with a front wheel drive, four cylinder engine that sounded like an amplified version of nuts and bolts in a tin can. The "All Show and No Go" movement, as she referenced it. But...she supposed everyone had their tastes. It was hard to sweep a woman like her off of her feet in something like that, though.

She glanced down at the watch on her right wrist and grinned to herself. It was about that time.

"Alright, guys, alright!" she shouted above the din. The crowd closest to her began to fall quiet while those farther out took the hint and silenced their sound systems and conversations. That little thrill of power tingled from her chest to her toes and she somehow managed to suppress the excited giggle in her throat. "We're not just here to chat! Let's get this party started! Anyone wanna start with a drag?" The question was met with whistles and hoots and she waved them away. "Alright, alright! Get your cars lined up! Luke!" she paused and turned to the blond who was already waving a hand dismissively.

"I got it, I got it! I'll mark the finish!"

"Thank you!" she called back with a broad grin before watching the crowd begin to re-disperse and settle to allow the various makes and models through to line up on the road. It was surprisingly more organized than one would expect, but most match ups were determined in the conversation preceding the actual start, anyhow. Not to mention even more spoken rules of etiquette...

Lara's hazel eyes glimmered appreciatively in the headlights that swept past her and she released a long, slow breath. She didn't understand how anyone couldn't love this. The gathering of like-minded individuals just looking to have a little fun on some back roads was such a breath of fresh air to her. As the cars lined up in pairs on the road, her hands slipped into the pockets of her jeans and she turned to take in the full sight and noticed a few stragglers just arriving. She rolled her eyes. And people said she liked to be fashionably late?

Something uncomfortable settled into the pit of her stomach, that ever-cliche sense that something wasn't quite right. Her lips pursed into a thin line as she gripped her car keys in her hand. She had the feeling tonight wasn't going to go as planned...yet again.
 
"Just the small-fry I was looking for," Desmond thought to himself as he held back and followed the cars from a decent distance. He didn't even have to keep a close eye on them, as their reckless driving and loud exhaust note caused them to draw attention to themselves. He could tell these types of kids from a mile away.

One was a Cypress Green Integra coupe. Slammed to the ground, probably with some no-name suspension and stretched tires on wheels with excessive negative camber. Most likely Rotas or some other replica brand. Regardless, it was apparent that the setup did not have performance in mind. The aftermarket lower control arms reflected the light of every car he aggressively cut off and the N1 style exhaust was probably the closest thing his car had to any sort of performance modification. The other was a primer gray Civic hatchback. An early 90's model with similar 'stance'. Maybe it was just a phase for both of these kids that they'd grow out of. Though Desmond had lost hope of that sort of thing long time ago with this new craze that's going around. The Civic had some sort of lip kit, a duckbill, and the engine was mated to what appeared to be a straight-pipe. There was a chance it had more to offer than the Integra, but the odds were pretty slim.

Desmond shook his head at their foolish driving, "You are the type of kids who give Honda a bad name." He grit his teeth, having to resist the urge to pull them over. They deserved to be cited, but he was out for bigger game and he knew that pulling them over too soon would ruin his scheme. "Come on, come on. Quit bullshitting, I know where you're going. I just need you to get me there." His eagerness was getting the better of him. The feeling of nervousness gnawing at his stomach as he felt that they were drawing near.

Desmond's heart began to race as he knew his was within reach. The sounds of modified engines could never be mistaken for anything else. High lift cams, blow-off valves, straight pipes, all of which reminded him of the days when he used to go to the track. But this was bigger than the usual meets. The blaring music was almost in competition with the engine sounds. These street racers were getting surprisingly bold. He pulled his police cruiser over about a block and a half away and cut his headlights. He then looked into the mirror, his brown eyes staring at his own visage, "Shit, should I call for backup? They're probably tapping into our radios anyways." He then said aloud to himself, "They'll probably just get in the way." Desmond's dark eyebrows furrowed in a look of determination and he reached for his radio to request back up, "We've got at least 40 or 50 illegally modified cars down here." As he put down the radio, he threw the Crown Vic into drive and made his way toward the meet up, his eyes eagerly scanning for the steel Fox.
 
Lara remained steadfast beside her car, uncomfortable with the thought of straying too far from it at that point. The anxious butterflies in her stomach weren't settling; if anything, they were only getting worse. She sighed quietly and tried to just focus on the line up, instead. It was all in her head...it had to be. Most of the guys had an arm hanging out the window, feet on the throttle to rev and show off. A few guys did burnouts, some better than others. She just quietly rolled her eyes. All mostly show...

A matte black 2010 Challenger SRT8 equipped with a Vortec supercharger was on the line, driven by one of the guys she didn't care much for. He spent most of his time bragging about his car and his eight second eighth-mile times. Another show car: air bag suspension (currently at slightly under stock ride height), lime green Brembo brake calipers and he had changed his exhaust so many times she wasn't even sure what was on it. The guy came from a family of money and was generally all bark and no bite. The Honda S2000 on the line beside him, however, was just the opposite, and she had no doubt of what the outcome would be. An amused little grin tugged the corners of her lips upward. She couldn't wait to hear the excuses that came out of this one...

One of the girls stepped forward with an over-exaggerated sway of her hips and raised her arms up above her head after she had come to a halt in the middle of the road. Lara rolled her eyes once more. They used to just honk for the start...

Her arms dropped and the two cars took off, the S2K in the lead right off the line. Predictable. She moved to adjust her weight when Corey came running from his truck, waving his arms frantically. "They just called us in! We need to bail!"

Lara swore colorfully before waving her arms and shouting for those that could hear her. "Time to get out! Party's over!" She turned back to Corey. "Get the word out, you know the drill!" He nodded and she pulled her door open and dropped into the Bride racing seat and pulled the door shut. The crowd of primarily show cars around her was scrambling to pick a ride and get out. She pushed in the clutch and turned the key, releasing the handbrake once she could hear the cammed idle of the Mustang. People were starting to scramble and scatter in different directions, and she needed to make sure attention was on her.

Willing to sacrifice a bit of the tires she had just bought, she pushed the clutch in, shifted into first, mashed the throttle and dumped the clutch to peel out loudly from the lot and onto the clear strip of road in front of her. Cars were still trying to find their own way out and she had finally spotted the only car thus far heading towards them. Her brow furrowed and her shoulders tensed momentarily. She knew it was him - from what she had seen already, he was the only cop that would go after them alone.

So she did what she always did.

She accelerated through the throng of scattering cars, weaving between them probably faster than she should have but not caring. Her only concern was making sure he was distracted so that everyone else could put enough distance between themselves and the back up he had called for. By the time she was in third gear, she had broken through and was headed towards the Crown Victoria police car. She hoped the glare of her headlights was enough for him not to quite realize who she was, although she knew her car had a bit of a distinct sound compared to the others around her...

Nonetheless, it only pushed her to go faster, hitting fourth gear and accelerating around the Vic only to slam the brake and clutch and flick the wheel to spin and come to a halt now behind the police cruiser and facing him once more. Back in neutral, she modulated the throttle: voicing her challenge, so-to-speak in the high rev to blow off to cam idle and back.

She just needed his attention.
 
He heard that a few fellow units were scrambling out to his described location, but that was mostly background noise to him. Everything was going according to plan. The call sent the group into a scramble just as he'd anticipated. He knew that backup would manage to catch one or two stragglers. With meets of this size, a dumb-ass or two would always manage to get caught. The 4.6 liter V8 remained (relatively) quiet as Desmond guided his cruiser through the scrambling cars, all looking like bugs if one managed to turn over the rock they were hiding under. One particular set of headlights stood out to him. "That's the guy, I know it," he thought to himself. There was no way for him to truly be sure, but his gut was practically screaming at him to focus on that car. As the headlights drew near, the distinct sound of the boosted Coyote V8 drew his ire. Then it finally passed him, and in that split second that he was free from the blinding headlights, he confirmed his thought: A steel colored Foxbody.

"Not tonight," Desmond thought to himself, ready to break off in pursuit of the Fox. But in that same moment he heard a screech of it's tires and the glow of brake lights became the glow of headlights in his rear-view mirror. "Are you taunting me now?!" He said allowed, only to be met with intentional revving of the Fox's engine. That sound sent a particular chill down his spine before he reminded himself that most street racers have more money than skill. "Anyone can build a fast car," Desmond put his left foot on the brake of his Crown Vic and his right foot on the gas pedal, "It takes a certain breed to be a fast driver. With a hard cut of the wheel, he took his foot off of the brake, sending the police cruiser's rear wheels into a spin. The rear end of the heavy Crown Vic came around as planned and with a bit of countersteer he found himself staring at the headlights of the Fox. A grin crept across his face as he flipped on his siren, a sort of unspoken 'Challenge Accepted'.
 
Lara found herself rather eerily calm as she stared at the back of the police cruiser, left hand on the wheel and right still resting lightly on the gear shifter. There was no reason to be tense yet. She knew, though, that his decision had been made the second the red brake lights flared up in front of her. Despite the chaos around her and the actual, real danger of the situation, she found a broad smile slowly but surely pulling the corners of her lips upward.

He wanted to play. And she was a little more thrilled than she should have been.

At sight of the siren she nearly laughed aloud. This was what she had been waiting for. He clearly wasn't just some cop looking to catch whoever he could: he wanted to catch the big boys. And she would give him just that. Her hands gripped tighter and she pushed in the clutch, shifted into first, mashed the throttle and dumped the clutch once more, this time keeping her left foot lightly on the brake as her rear tires spun behind her, a cloud of smoke beginning to develop from the spinning tires. She modulated the throttle carefully and began to ease off of the brake, letting the tires slowly grab more traction as she eased forward, began to turn and then buried her foot into the floor again, the rear of the relatively light, stripped car whipping out as the tires spun for traction and then grabbed.

As soon as she straightened, she shifted into second and glanced in her rear view mirror. "Come and get me, buddy," she grinned.
 
His eyes narrowed as he watched the steel gray Foxbody do a burnout before him. He wasn't the biggest fan of Mustangs, with the exception of a couple chassis. But it was something about this Foxbody that was almost entrancing. Upsetting at the same time. Through the wave of mixed emotion, Desmond gripped the wheel, despite the fact that his Crown Victoria was no match for the steel Fox performance wise. He planted his foot to the floor, the naturally aspirated 4.6 and the accompanying transmission giving everything they had. It may have been a late model, but the technology in the Crown Vics hadn't really changed since they first rolled out. The old girl had just enough torque to spin the tires a bit on the launch, but by the time the car hooked up, the Fox had already gained more than a length.

Desmond grit his teeth as the Mustang's raw power shook is nerve. However it wasn't nearly enough for him to back off. "You're not getting away from me tonight," he said aloud as his hands slipped to a position slightly above the 'nine-and-three'. A sudden calm swept over him and a neutral-yet-determined look swept over his visage. The cruiser gained speed, albeit not nearly as fast as the Fox, but Desmond knew that the big fish could only swim in a straight line for so long. So he waited to make his move.
 
Lara wasn't utilizing the full power of the boosted V8 under the hood. She didn't want to lose him entirely and wanted to make sure he kept on her at the same time. And perhaps a part of her was more entranced by the game than anything else. Even in an underpowered car, this guy didn't give up. He evidently trusted his own driving capabilities and wasn't going to let a disadvantage in equipment hamper his chase. She had respect for that: no one knew better than she did that it wasn't about the car as much as it was about who was behind the wheel.

The road they kept a heading on was primarily straight, and she was trying to make a decision on how long to keep on it. A few bends met them and she barely let up on the throttle, diving into the apex and fighting the car a bit through them. Despite the upgrades, it was no secret that a Mustang's handling was generally its weakness: a live rear axle was great for stability and the squat of a straight line but could be murder for just about everything else. However, she knew this car likely better than she knew her own body and handling it was not too much of an issue. She generally knew how much she could push the limit, and having the rear get a little squirrely was no major concern.

With the Crown Victoria gaining speed in her rear view mirror, she glanced back and then returned her focus to the road disappearing in front of her. There was a split in the road ahead: to the right, the road continued on straight with more off-shooting side roads and to the left, a banked curve that would either require her to slow down...or get creative.

And she was all about getting creative.

As the fork approached, she let the car slow just enough to downshift into third gear. A fleeting thought passed through her mind: I should probably look into some negative camber if I'm gonna keep doing this... She brushed it aside and focused on increasing her speed once more. She turned the wheel slightly to the right and then flicked it back to the left at the entrance of the turn, mashing the throttle and giving the clutch a solid kick as the rear of the car slid out behind her and she turned the wheel to counter-steer and control the drift through the curve. Was it an entirely necessary maneuver? Not at all. Actually, not in the slightest. But she wanted to have a little fun with this game of cat and mouse!...and maybe let him know that she wasn't going to go down easy. If at all.

As the road straightened back out, she let the car and wheel straighten as well and put her foot back down and brought the transmission back into fourth gear. Game on.
 
250 horses at the crank would be no slouch... in a k-car, but it wasn't enough to truly move that heavy police cruiser at a high rate of speed, even with the 300 pounds of torque. Not to mention that the old Modular 4.6 had probably lost a few horses along the way. Desmond had his work cut out for him, and he knew the driver of the Mustang knew it too. Even in stock trim, that old Fox should be putting the moves on the Crown Vic. That new engine had to be pushing at least 500 horse at the crank, if not more, but the fact that the Fox was still visible, mean't that the man behind the wheel wanted to keep Desmond within arm's reach.

The sounds of the other scrambling vehicles seemed farther and farther away. Maybe it was due to actual distance, or possibly due to Desmond subconsciously drowning them out as he focused on his pursuit. As both vehicles hit the windy bit, Desmond allowed a slight smirk creep across his face as he watched the Mustang driver attack the corners. That live-axle was always tricky to less experienced driver, but it started to seem more and more like this wasn't the run-of-the-mill street racer. "Alright girl, hang with me," Desmond said to his cruiser as he dove into the corners. It too suffered from a straight-axle and the added weight made it eager to push in the corners. A fresh set of Proxes might have been enough to save it, performance-wise. He was used to the relatively useless tires mounted to the equally useless steel wheels on his cruiser, his experience helping him keep the car in line at the limit and retain his sight on the Mustang.

It seemed like all was going well, as he inched the gap closed between he and his prey. That boxy rear end taunting him as it had in their last encounter. The chase didn't make him entirely unaware however, as he made sure to pay attention to the road ahead. The lack of brake lights had Desmond convinced that the Fox was going to keep on the relatively straight road. It wasn't until the downshift that he realized things would be nowhere near that easy. Slight turn away from the corner, hard turn in to bring the back around. His [the Fox's] entry was flawless, "Holy shit..." The words escaped Desmond's lips as he watched the equally flawless drift unfold before his eyes. Nearly every fiber of his being wished he were close enough to tap the rear end of that Mustang, but a small portion of him had to admire the talent that unfolded before his eyes.

He subconsciously sought the inside line on the curve, putting the cruiser's tires through the ringer as he tried to stay close to the Mustang that was so blatantly stunting in front of him. Desmond feathered the throttle, not wanting to exceed the tires' capability, right up until the corner exit when he pressed his foot to the floor, the 4.6 revving as high as the surly automatic transmission would allow. "Keep doing things like that and I'm gonna run you down."
 
The giddiness that swelled in her chest after successfully - and illegally - stunting in front of a police officer had her grinning and a breathy laugh parted her lips further. She gripped the wheel tighter and glanced back at the cruiser in her rear view mirror, having obviously taken the much more conservative route through the turn and gaining on her again. She was, admittedly, feeling just a little over-confident in the situation while also quietly admiring the guy's persistence. It seemed that none of the other officers had ever or would ever bother trying. She bet he was probably pretty good in a car designed to do a little more than chase...

Her foot pressed steadily heavier on the throttle, not even glancing at the speedometer reading a speed that was, as far as she was concerned, arbitrary at that point. She needed to keep herself a healthy distance ahead of him and couldn't let herself get too carried away: she was at the point where she had distracted him long enough and letting her need to play get the best of her would only make her sloppy. She couldn't shake the feeling that if she let the game drag on for too long, he would figure out a way to get the best of her...and that would end very poorly for her car, not to mention the legal repercussions she would have to face. Her lips pursed and she sighed. Alright, alright...playtime's over.

...okay, perhaps a little more taunting.

Carefully, she rolled down the window and extended her hand. She was approaching the end of fourth gear and had one last little thing she wanted to do. With right hand holding the wheel steady - somewhat precariously, at that - the other gave a very obvious wave out the window that first said one thing: Come on! As the engine noise climbed higher still and the need to shift into fifth gear became prominent, she gave one last wave. See ya!

She withdrew her hand, her ponytail and other wispy strands of hair whipping around her face in the wind as she brought her left hand back to the wheel and shifted into fifth gear. She accelerated hard, gaining as much speed as she could in order to attempt to put more distance in between them before she picked an off-shooting road and slammed on the brakes and clutch to drop enough speed to turn somewhat sloppily onto a side road. The rear swung out a bit, a tire dropped into the dirt, dug up some grass as it sought traction and then gripped and met pavement once more. She was accelerating hard again, not stopping to glance back to see if he was going to try to keep following.

Her game plan had shifted from distract to flee. It was time to get herself the hell out of dodge before she had herself in too deep.
 
It was a wonder that the police ever caught anything in these cruisers. More often than not, it was the intimidation of flashing lights that got criminals caught. Or their escape vehicle was somehow less athletic than a Crown Victoria. The way that the Fox managed to keep a distance, regardless of any momentum Desmond carried through the corner, or any drafting he might have picked up, implied that this "game" may have been a bit one sided.

Desmond's aura of determination had already begun to take it's leave. "Even if this guy just so happened to know how to drift, no way in hell he'd attempt that with a cop on his ass unless he knew he was gonna pull it off," he thought to himself. The final nail in the coffin was seeing the driver of the Fox taunt him. His eyes narrowed in that split second, "It's a woman?" His eyes could have been deceiving him, but that didn't look like a man's hand. Not to mention, the Fox driver didn't give him much time to analyze as that upshift put a fair distance between them.

The glare of brake lights painted the entire area in a hue of red as the Mustang rapidly took the off-shoot. Desmond jumped on the Crown Vic's brakes in response, bringing the cruiser to a stop parallel to the branch in the road and quickly disembarked the vehicle. Just as quickly, he drew his handgun and aimed it down the road at the fleeting taillights. His finger lingered over the trigger as the Fox drew farther and farther away. "Fuck!" he returned his Glock to it's holster only to whirl around and kick the front tire of his Crown Vic to vent his rage. That partial tire mark in the dirt and the exhaust note of the Fox echoing throughout the backroads was an affirmation of his failure.

He dropped back into the driver seat of the police cruiser with a defeated sigh. He turned off the siren and just sat there for a minute. The radio chatter being nothing but white noise. After a few minutes, Desmond snapped out of his trance. He heard over the radio that a few stragglers got caught. All while he sat there in the middle of the street empty handed. He finally closed the door of the cruiser and threw it into Drive, the engine giving a slight whirring sound as it calmly rose in RPM.
 
It was only when Lara finally took a second to glance in her rear view mirror and noticed that there were no longer any lights of any kind behind her that she finally took notice of her racing pulse and the adrenaline pumping thickly through her veins. A giggly laugh bubbled up her throat as she finally eased off of the gas slowly but surely, down-shifting to keep herself in easily manageable speeds and give herself time to calm down. A thrilled, excited hum throbbed in her chest as she let herself focus less on getting herself home and more on what had just happened.

The reflection produced a little pool of pride in her chest. He could have gone after anyone else, but he kept coming after her. Did that make her the "big dog to catch", so-to-speak? And there she had been stunting in front of him, taunting him and egging him on. She might not have produced testosterone like a man, but being behind the wheel could certainly get the best of her personality and generally conservative driving style...especially in the face of a genuine threat. It was somewhat surprising, even to herself. She had always loved to drive and race and certainly didn't lack any amount of confidence, but she knew when she should drive cautiously. And despite how anxious she was with the impending threat of the police, she had gone a little overboard in her attempts to distract him.

...and had loved every second of it.

Shaking her head somewhat, she rolled her window back up and set an easy, steady cruising speed as she weaved in and around back roads and the stray car that was likely lost. She was more familiar with these roads than she was most in town. It came with the territory of what she loved to do. And luckily she lived far enough out of town that she had any number of routes back home that way. It didn't take too long to reach the small home her parents had left her. She pulled off of the driveway carefully and slowly to a shed in the back, the doors of which were already open and backed in. Once satisfied with the position of the car, she killed the engine and breathed a long, slow sigh. They weren't going to be able to have another meet for a long time...

With a quiet groan, she stepped out of the car, closed the door and pulled a cover up over the back, leaving it half-folded on the roof considering the engine temperature was far from cooled. It was only after she had closed, chained and locked the door that she registered the buzzing of her phone in the front pocket of her jeans. She pulled it out, noted the caller-ID and answered it quickly. "Luke, I just made it back, how'd we do?"

There was a pause and then an exaggerated sigh that made her heart drop into her stomach. "They got a few of us."

"Fuck," she spat, rubbing her forehead. At least only the ones she trusted had her last name...and no one would know her address...although it likely wouldn't be much of a stretch for the police to find it if they really wanted to. She might have to take her baby to a friend in the morning...
 
The backroads went by like one huge blur as Desmond drove back into town, the feeling of getting licked by the same opponent multiple times looming over his head. Not just licked, really. She proved to him that she was talented. She kicked the man's ass. The city lights reflected off of his cruiser as he finally made it 'back into civilization' as he liked to call it. The occasional glare from oncoming traffic shone in as he drove back to the station, still trying to rationalize what happened. Did he bite off more than he could chew? His mind would dwell on that thought, the beaten 4.6 humming in the background as he questioned his own skill behind the wheel. Was he a professional racing driver? No, but he knew he was good and most of his colleagues would be hard-pressed to disagree. He was never the type to blame the vehicle, but in this instance it had to be the case. If they were wielding similar equipment, there was no way in hell would she have evaded him.

Eventually the police cruiser pulled into the station. The adrenaline from the chase had long worn off, but it was still eating at him. Desmond made his way inside. A couple of officers had people in cuffs, whether or not they were from the street racing bust wasn't readily apparent. Even if he'd magically brought in five of the little fish, that wasn't what he cared for. He straightened up on hearing a familiar voice call out to him.

"Taylor! Come here." It was Greg, offering a welcoming wave over to where he was seated.

Desmond's walk was heavy, at 6'2" he wasn't the tallest man, but he was far from small. Not to mention that everyone had an extra weight to their step when they were agitated, "How the the hell--"

Greg did that subtle hand motion to signal for Desmond to lower his voice.

Reluctantly, Desmond continued on at a more appropriate volume, "How did you get back here so fast?" He grit his teeth, "Where the hell were you?"

"Whoa whoa whoa, one at a time, man! You sound like the old ball-and-chain," Greg chuckled.

"This shit isn't funny. You left me hanging back there. I coulda used that backup."

"No, -you- left -me-." Greg shifted in his seat, "Nobody told you to up and try and play super sleuth." His demeanor suddenly became a lot more serious as he leaned in closer to Desmond, "You need to cut this 'Super Cop' shit out, and cut it out soon before it bites you in the ass. Everyone else in here plays by the rules, what else makes you so--"

"Taylor! My office. Now," the aged voice barked from across the room, cutting Greg's lecture off immediately.

Desmond felt that chill down his spine that every kid does when they think they're about to get in trouble. Followed by that walk that seems three times longer than it really is as he made his way into the Sergeant's office. He closed the door behind him and awaited what he knew would be nowhere near just a friendly chat.

"Taylor, I need you to explain something to me here," the Sergeant's eyes trained on some paperwork at his desk, "How is it that you were the first on the scene tonight, yet you're the only one who came up empty handed?"

"I engaged in pursuit, however the perp got away--"

"The perp got away? You claimed there were over 50 cars out there, and your excuse is that, 'The perp got away'?" The sergeant looked up to Desmond, "That wouldn't have anything to do with your active refusal to obey protocol, would it? Seeing as this isn't the first time something like this has happened."

"No, sir--"

"Get it together, Taylor. You're a good cop, but you're not a one man army. The world doesn't revolve around you, life is not an action movie. You need to start doing your job and doing it right before I have to bench you. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

With a silent nod, Desmond left the sergeant's office. Only to see Greg laughing and shaking his head. Desmond's immediate response was to flip him the bird.
 
The following morning, Lara had risen considerably earlier than she wanted to, sweating as she switched the Fox's tires to a set of drag radials. With that done, she loaded the vast majority of her tools into the large white enclosed trailer that was already hooked up to an older model F350 and then pulled the Fox on as well. It was something she rarely did: the sight of the bulbously wide tires on the old Mustang tugged at buried memories that squeezed at heart and tear ducts. That Mustang hadn't seen a regular drag strip since her father had handed it over to her after he had gotten sick...

She brushed the memories away, made sure the car was appropriately secured and covered and then closed and padlocked the door and then headed back into the house once the shed was closed to shower and change. Once she was changed into a pair of denim shorts and tank top, she grabbed a banana from the counter on her way out the door and jumped into the driver's seat of the diesel truck. She drove with the window rolled down, letting the still-cool morning air dance with the wispy strands of her light brown hair that wouldn't be contained by the braid.

Her mind was only half-occupied by maneuvering the rig around the mildly busy streets. The other half chose to dwell further on the night prior. She had no idea what would happen to those from her group that had been caught. Well, she had some idea, but whether or not they would be questioned and what they would say was completely unknown. All she knew was that she had to be careful, and despite the fact that what she was doing was a bit of a poor excuse for hiding, it was the best she could think to do for the time being. She shielded a yawn with the back of her hand before shaking her head quickly and turning up whatever miscellaneous song was on the radio. She wasn't really listening, just needed the extra noise.

By the time she pulled through the open back gate of Pony Pete's Garage, the weathered face of Peter Rogers appeared from one of the bays, eyebrows high and an amused smile on his face as he watched the young woman carefully back the trailer into line with two others. By the time she was satisfied with the placement and had hopped out of the truck, he was only a few steps from her.

"Well, well, well...if it isn't little Miss Donovan. Up awful early for ya day off, aren't ya? Have a little trouble last night?" He had known the stubborn girl her entire life. Not knowing what she was up to on the night before her days off was an impossibility.

She rolled her eyes and threw an arm around his waist in a half-hearted hug before moving to the back of the truck to unhitch the trailer. "I put the radials on...and you still have the extra plate registered to you, right?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Just for you. I'll go grab it."

Lara hated leaving that car anywhere, but there was only one other place she could leave it in good faith. Ryan had been her father's best friend and had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on her and even keep her employed...not to mention supplying her with a few things here and there as necessary. She was beginning to feel like she was taking advantage of him, but whenever she brought this up, he waved her off. He'd never had any children of his own and needed a daughter to spoil.

With the license plates switched and the trailer secured she leaned against the truck door. "I have a few errands I need to run today. You need anything?"

He shook his head and swatted the tail of her braid off of her shoulder. "Nope. Enjoy your day off. I'll keep an eye on 'er for ya."

She smiled lightly. "I'll probably be back later to talk about maybe increasing steering angle..." Her eyes twinkled mischievously, her mood lifting considerably as he groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Get the hell out of here with that drift shit! Go do your errands!" he snorted as she laughed, climbed back into the truck and headed on her way. She would figure out a plan of action later.
 
Desmond awoke from his lackluster stint of sleep. "Never get a break from this job," he turned off the alarm on his phone that had begun to go off after he'd already awaken on his own. He sat up and threw his feet off the side of the bed and sat there for a second, his bare feet meeting the hardwood floor. With a long sigh he rose from the bed, followed by a stretch before plodding along to the bathroom. His brown eyes stared back at him in the mirror. His unkempt facial hair signalling just how much he'd been letting the little things slip by. "I guess this is the life eh?" he chuckled, braking his staring contest with the mirror and shaking his head ever so slightly before making his way over to the shower.

The shower should have been short, but it got stretched to about a half-hour due to Desmond getting lost in his own head. As he'd just about finished drying himself off, he heard his phone ringing from the bedroom. The name on the caller I.D. brought a smile to his face. Marshmallow the screen read, the nickname going back to high school days. He tapped the screen and brought the device to his ear, "Hello?"

"Chocolate Chiiiiip!" A female voice rang out.

Desmond made his way back to the bathroom with his head tilted to the side, wedging the phone between his ear and his shoulder, "Hey, Dani. What's up?" He opened is mirrored medicine cabinet and pulled out a few basic things before sitting them on the counter.

"Not much. I want to angry Mr. Policeman out to breakfast though," she responded with a light-hearted tone.

"I think I have enough time for a breakfast burrito," he said, struggling to not drop his phone as he bent down to grab some clippers from the cabinet at the base of the sink. "Hey, Dani," he stood straight up and sat the clippers on the counter, "Can I put you on speaker? I just got out of the shower and I need to shave."

"Like... naaaaaked, or--"

"I'm wearing a towel."

"So naked then."

They both laughed. Desmond placed the phone down on the counter as he finished getting ready, "I'll go ahead and clock in, pick up the ol' beater and meet you at that one little bistro downtown. Hopefully no crime happens along the way," he chuckled.

"Cops actually clock in?" She asked in a more serious tone.

"No, I mean't our version of it. Which means that our breakfast will probably be a lot closer to a brunch. So I'll just call you when I officially leave the station."

"Alrighty, byyyye," she said. He hung up his phone and expedited his process of getting ready for work. The clean shave looked like it took a couple of years off of his actual age, but it made him look significantly more professional in his uniform.

The cruiser pulled up to a parking space in front of the bistro about an hour later as promised. Desmond stepped from the vehicle and made his way over to a table out front, occupied on one end by a relatively pale young woman with dark brown hair that rested just past her shoulders. Her green eyes met his as she rose from the table to give Desmond an extremely friendly hug. After they exchanged greetings, they sat down at the table. They had been best friends since ninth grade. Sure, they had gone through their bits of drama, but nothing ever made them any less close in the long run. "You look extremely exhausted. Your eyes look like you just got maced," Dani said to him as he reclined in his seat, crossing his legs at the ankle.

He chuckled, but she was right. The night before was rough and it's not like the job was entirely easy when he wasn't off chasing street racers, "I tried to bust this ring of street racers last night. Well, I was mostly after this one. A gray Foxbody Mustang. The fucker got away."

"Got away from you? Aren't you supposed to be like 'The Wheelman' or something?" She made air quotes as she said it. "I mean, I thought that was your zone."

"I thought so too. The worst part is that this isn't the first time they got away."

"More than once? Ouch, you're getting sloppy," she teased with a toothy grin. "Why didn't you just run the plate or whatever. Can't cops do that?"

"I... didn't even think of that," Desmond said shaking his head. The fatigue was obviously getting to him. "What would I do without you, Dani?"

"Obviously be a shitty cop," she laughed at him only toning it down due to the waiter approaching.
 
Lara had just settled into the driver's seat of the old truck after picking up some oil from an auto parts store when her phone loudly blared a tweaked version of Barbie Girl from her pocket. She couldn't help but laugh to herself every time it went off, no matter how long it had been his ringtone. With the jug on the floor of the passenger seat, she settled back into her seat and brought the phone to her ear. "Hey, Luke, you recouping alright?" A pronounced yawn was her answer and she rolled her eyes before he actually spoke.

"You wanna get some grub? Kel is working until three and I'm gonna starve until she gets back."

She laughed and agreed. "Yeah sure, I've had a long morning and the banana isn't cutting it."

A drawn out, feminine "ew" was her immediate answer. "Skank, I don't wanna know about any 'bananas' you're eating in the morning! I just want good bistro food!"

"Christ, will you ever grow up? Or are you forever going to be the tit-obsessed sixteen year old boy-child I met in high school?" she laughed as she turned the key and started the truck.

"Hey, you've seen Kelley! Isn't that your answer? Meet me in twenty at our usual!"

She didn't even get a chance to retort before the call ended. She snorted to herself and dropped her cell into the cup holder before throwing the truck in drive and pulling out of the parking lot. It would take her at least ten minutes to get there, anyway. The rest of her errands would have to wait. The drive was surprisingly easy: no one had cut her off, everyone was at least going the speed limit...maybe it would be a nice day to recover, after all!

Her optimism faded somewhat at sight of a police cruiser parked in the lot of the bistro and she couldn't help but to scowl. That was the last thing she wanted to see right now after one of its comrades in arms had broken up her fun last night and likely many nights to come. The Fox was on temporary leave yet again until she felt safe enough to start taking her out on solo runs and eventually attempt another meet, and nothing made her crankier than being reminded of that fact. With a frustrated sigh, she made the conscious decision to park in an empty spot on the opposite side of the lot before ensuring her wallet was in her back pocket and heading inside.

While grabbing a table for two, she spotted the uniformed officer in question and let her hazel gaze study him for only a moment before she took the seat facing away from him at the free table. When the waiter approached for drink orders, she requested a tea and coffee and waited a quiet five minutes or so until Luke unceremoniously dropped into the seat in front of her, looking disheveled as always and muttering under his breath.

"You get my coffee, bitch?"

"Don't I always, shithead?" she laughed, gesturing to the waiter just as he dropped off the two warm mugs, one with the string of a teabag pulled neatly over the side. She thanked him and asked for a few minutes to peruse the menu and make her decision. He nodded and fell back, giving her some time to revel in the warmth of the mug and take a cautious sip.

"So they got Mikey last night."

The quiet declaration sent Lara's mood spiraling south in a hurry. Her gaze darkened to liquid amber. "The Chally asshole?" The affirmative nod had her sighing. "Can't say I didn't see it coming...he talks too big as it is..." They both paused and took a sip of their respective drinks, Lara's gaze idly scanning the menu she probably should've had memorized by that point. "Any idea how much he knows?"

"Nope."

She swore quietly. "Guess we'll see what happens." She let the course of their conversation shift as the waiter returned for their meal orders.
 
"I'll have a breakfast burrito," Desmond looked up to the waiter before continuing, "Egg whites and turkey sausage. Aaaand I'll take a black iced tea. Sweetened please." He then closed his menu with a smile, prompting the waiter to shift his attention to Dani.

"I'll haaaaaave," she playfully tapped her chin, "An egg white omelette wiiiith English muffins on the side aaand a coffee!" She smiled and folded her menu closed, taking Desmond's and stacking hers atop it to hand to the waiter. "That should be all for now," she said to him before he took his leave.

"Are you ever gonna go back to your natural hair color?" Desmond joked, slightly readjusting his seating position.

"If I did, you'd have to change my name in your phone, so..."

"Yeah, but I'm literally twice the size I was in high school and you still haven't changed my name in yours."

"Well that's because Chocolate Chunk sounds kinda offensive," she said, causing them both to give a light laugh. "Plus, you'll always be my Chocolate Chip."

"That sounds like something a mom would say to their kid. So thanks for that," he teased.

"Well we won't count all of the times I've had to treat you like a child," she smirked, crossing her right leg over the other. "So what are you going to do about this elusive gray Mustang? I mean, on the off chance that this whole license plate thing doesn't turn up anything."

"Well, I'll probably see if I can question a few of the low-lifes we picked up the other night--"

"~They~ picked up--"

"Fuck you!"

"Be a better cop, Desi."

"Anyway! I'm going to try and question some of the scrubs. Maybe lean on 'em a bit. Should get some sort of information. A lot of these kids talk right around when you start telling them you're going to crush their car," Desmond idly scratched his chin.

"Okay, so let's say you find him. What if he's not on foot? Or like... what's stopping him from just hopping in the car and leaving? He's already ditched you multiple times. What's going to be different this time?"

He sat there silently for a few seconds, processing what she had just said. "I have a plan. Well I have parts of a plan. I'm just not exactly sure how I'm going to pull it off," he continued on, "And honestly? Like, I haven't told this to anyone yet, but... I think it's a girl."

"What? Cars are just ca--"

"No, Dani. The driver. I think it was a woman..."
 
"Just an omelet for me, please. Sausage, cheese, peppers and mushrooms..." she paused as the waiter scribbled down her order and then dropped the menu onto the table near him. "And can I replace the toast with a blueberry muffin, please? Thank you!" she finished, smiling politely at the waiter who nodded, scribbled down Luke's order and then hustled off to turn it in. They settled into a comfortable silence once more, both sipping at their appropriate drinks as the two exhausted drivers mulled over their own thoughts in the silence. One of the benefits of their friendship was their comfortable silences. It was how she knew they would be great friends from the start. With her hands wrapped around the mug, hazel eyes studied him a moment.

"So what'd you do with the Bird?"

His brow furrowed and he exhaled a long sigh. "The usual. Drove it out to my parent's so my dad could hide it in the shed. Not having covered parking at our apartment really sucks," he grumbled unhappily. "What about the Fox? Just covered in the shed without the plate?"

Her lips pursed and she shook her head. "Took the plate off, yeah, but switched her to radials this morning, loaded her and just about all of my tools onto the trailer and brought it out to Pete's. He swapped trailer plates and I'm gonna let her hang out there for a while..." she shrugged.

Luke's brows rose high upon his forehead. "Really? That much?"

She nodded glumly. "I think I might have pushed it a little too far last night, in retrospect. That cop was really gunning for me and I got a little carried away..." she trailed off, unable to mask the sheepish grin that tugged the corners of her lips upward. Luke's gaze narrowed and she started laughing. "What? I respect a guy who chooses to go for the big dogs even when his lil' cruiser is just a tad overwhelmed. So what if I might have stunted a little in front of him, waved, taunted him..." her voice had begun to trail off at "So what" and by the end of the sentence she was drowning the words with another swig of tea. He rubbed his forehead, exasperated.

"Jesus, Laur, you're going to get your ass handed to you so hard if he gets anywhere near you! You have got to be pissing this guy off and at some point he's going to catch you and you and the Fox aren't going to stand a chance!" he hissed, causing her to frown and shake her head.

"He's not going to get near me. Not in the P-O-S and not ever. Nothing is going to happen to her."

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I hope you're right...Kelley wants me to stop the shit and either sell the Bird or just keep her on a track..."

The change in conversation made Lara's stomach drop. "She...what?"

"I asked her to marry me two days ago and there's-..."

"You what?" she cut him off somewhat loudly, her eyes lighting up as she shoved his shoulder across the table and laughed. "Why didn't you tell me, sooner? That's so awesome! Congrats, man!"

He smiled shyly and nodded. "Thanks...but I don't know what to do about the Bird..."

At that, Lara played with the string of the teabag quietly. "Well, it's your lives. I can't say I blame her for wanting you to cut the game...but that just means I have to find a different right hand," she teased, though waved a hand dismissively. "On the bright side, from what you've told me, she had some killer quarter times back in the day, right?"

He sighed and chuckled. "Yeah, I guess so..."
 
"Whaaat?" Dani said in a teasing tone, "You let a girl do the double dip on you? Maybe you need to retire, you're getting sloppy in your old age." Before she managed to continue on, the waiter returned with their drinks. "Thank you, kind sir," she said for the both of them before grasping her coffee mug and bringing it up to her lips like a kid holding hot chocolate in the winter. She blew on it a few times to cool it down before taking a sip.

"I still don't know how you can drink straight black coffee like that. I tried it once, and that shit took me all the way through puberty," Desmond said jokingly in his deep, but appropriate for his size voice. He then took a sip from his tea, "But... I don't even know for sure if it was a woman. I didn't see a face. She... it waved a hand out of the driver side window at me right before it slipped away for good. It looked like a woman's hand, but it also could have been a really skinny guy."

"Yeah, but remember that Jeff guy I dated?"

"Jeff A. or Jeff B.?"

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you that I never fucking dated Jeff Anderson. I went to once dance with that asshole and he tried to feel me up. That's it! That. Is. It."

"So... Jeff A. then?"

"No," she playfully kicked at his shin, "Jerk. The point is, Jeff was smaller than me, but he still had those Area 51 alien hands. Like, I understand that I'm tall, but he was like 5'6" on a good day and his hands were still bigger than mine. Guys are just built differently, y'know?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. It's just--" Desmond was cut off by a nearby feminine voice. He turned back to see where the sound had come from, eyeing the two strangers a few tables over before returning his gaze to Dani with a bit of a shrug, "Anyway... I know I shouldn't care, but this thing is like a damn unicorn. For one, street racers are never good drivers. They simply are not. They all think they are, but they can't hold a candle to people who see regular seat time at the track. Then, then if it really is a woman... I mean, most girls buy cars because they're cute and panic whenever something simple goes wrong. I mean, this isn't Initial D or some shit. This shit isn't supposed to be happening."

"Yeah and I know how you hate Mustangs. Except for that one red one you showed me. You called it something weird. That one with the ugly fin on the back!"

"The Terminator?"

"YES! That one!" Dani's response was definitely on the louder side.

"Yeah, no. This wasn't one of those. It was one of those ugly late-80s ones. It was fast, no doubt. But it... ugh, I just don't really care for 'em."

"Yeah, ew. Ever since you started showing me car stuff, I learned that I pretty much hate everything from the 80s. It's all so boxy!"

"Nothing wrong with boxy. Just that Mustang--"

"That keeps getting away from you. Why don't you chase it in your own car?"

"It's against the law if I do that. I have a plan though, because my colleagues are about as useless as that cruiser. I'm catching him, her, it next time. I'm telling you." Desmond looked up at the waiter as he returned to the table with their plates, "Thanks man."
 
Luke eyed Lara a moment and then tilted his head to the side somewhat. "Speaking of quarter times...remind me, again why you won't just take the Fox back to the drag strip? With your new engine set up and everything you'd slaughter. And if you're so determined not to let anything happen to it then-"

She waved her hand to cut him off. "No. I know dragging was my dad's thing...I just can't do that shit all the time. And we don't even have any decent autocross tracks around here. I just..." she began to fiddle with the end of her braid in thought. "I just need something more than the quarter mile, y'know? I know that's why my dad originally built her for but she can do so much more...despite what everyone wants to say about American cars," she mused with a little laugh.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, I guess. Always looking to change everyone's minds aren't you? Prove everyone wrong?"

She smirked and batted her eyelashes at him innocently. "It's what I fuckin' do," she declared somewhat crassly, the waiter arriving just then to deliver their plates, at which point she offered a genuine smile and thanked him. She picked up her silverware, eyeing the beautiful, fluffy muffin but diving for the omelet first despite herself. As she picked up a forkful and took a bite, she was momentarily distracted by a woman's voice carrying above the normal chatter of the restaurant. She reflexively turned slightly and determined the source to be the woman sitting with the uniformed officer. She bristled slightly and turned her attention back to Luke. She was not in the mood to see officers, quite frankly.

"Anyway, enough about my issues, when are you guys tying the knot? And do I get to be your best man?" she prodded, watching as he picked idly at the hash browns on his plate. A small, giddy grin was on his face that only made Lara's own grin grow.

"Yeah, you get to be my best man when you grow a dick, how's that?"

She pouted and clutched dramatically at her heart. "That hurts! I whoop your ass all these years and I don't even have an honorary dick?"

He discreetly flashed his middle finger before picking up a fork full of hash browns and shoving it in his mouth rather rudely. "How's this: I'll consider you having an honorary dick when you actually keep a steady relationship. He can be your honorary dick."

Her nose scrunched and the sentence that left her mouth was laced and dripping with sarcasm. "Ha-ha, ha-ha. Tell you what: find me a guy that can either beat me or is okay with being beat by a girl and maybe I'll consider it. In the mean time, I don't have time for that shit," she huffed, continuing to eat the warm omelet. Relationships had been on the back-burner of her life for the past year and a half and she had no interest in changing that.

Luke just laughed and shook his head. "Hey, your loss. I still think you need to get laid on a regular basis. Masturbating to your car is unhealthy, y'know."

It was his turn to have a good-humored middle finger waved in his face. "Fuck off, shithead."
 
Desmond dove into his breakfast burrito with haste, he then pointed to it and nodded his head with his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel all coupled an approving grin on his face. He didn't say a word, but it was their way of saying, "This is so on point right now." He then looked up at Dani who was just sort of staring at him. "What?" He said, his mouth full of breakfast burrito.

"You really needed that, didn't you?" She asked him, chuckling at how intently he had been eating it, before cutting off a small piece of her own omelette.

He gulped down his massive bite of food before responding, "I really did. I get so busy lately, that little things like this sort of just slip through the cracks, y'know?" He let his eyes scan over for a bit, "You look nice by the way." He stole another bite of his burrito.

"I know I do." They both chuckled before she continued on, "Thank you!" She smiled at him. She always did put extra effort into her appearance. Even if it was something simple like what she'd donned today. Her top was a white, cotton sleeveless blouse. Which she'd layered over a dark-wash denim pair of skinny jeans and finished off with a pair of black, strapped pumps. "You look... blue," she said to him, almost sarcastically.

"I know. It's terrible. I honestly haven't bought any new clothes since me and Claire broke up," he responded in between bites of burrito.

"That was like... three years ago."

"Exactly."

"I know that must be killing you. I remember when we were the best looking couple at Winter Formal our senior year. Which I dunno if I ever told you, but I knew you were gonna ask me to that."

"Really? How?"

She took a sip of her coffee before continuing, "Well, remember how it was a 'Black and White Affair' or whatever the hell they called it? 'Cause everyone was supposed to wear black and white?" He nodded in response to her. "Well Ms. Morgan told my class that some kid in her earlier class was like, 'Does it count if I bring a white girl?' or something like that. And I was trying sooo hard to hold in laughter, because I knew that was something only you could say."

Desmond chuckled at her taking him down memory lane, "Yeah. Yeah, that's definitely me. I couldn't help myself. I still can't help myself sometimes, but y'know... being an officer of the law, I have to straighten up. We did look fly as hell though." He snagged another bite of his quickly disappearing breakfast burrito.

After about 20 minutes, they finally went their separate ways. Immediately he immediately searched up the plate from the night before. ""4B4L10... that... hm. That can't be right," Desmond's eyes narrowed as they scanned the screen. The results showing a deceased old man. "Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised at street racers running false plates," He sighed in his seat before turning on the engine of the cruiser and throwing it in reverse, pulling out of the spot. He would then throw it into drive and make his way in the direction of the station.
 
The duo chatted through the rest of their meal, the conversation shifting from nothing, to reminiscing, to Luke's wedding and, inevitably, back to cars. Their history was too entwined with the machines to avoid it for any length of time. The conversation stayed light, though. Neither brought up the slight blunder of the night prior and by the time the bill came, Lara was quite literally slapping Luke's hand away.

"Absolutely not."

"It's my turn to cover it!"

She scoffed and managed to yank the black folder from his grip before slipping enough cash to cover the meal and tip and holding it in her lap until the waiter returned. "Hell no. Consider this an early wedding present," she winked, at which point he rolled his eyes.

"Cheap ass."

She stuck her tongue out at him and handed the folder back off to the waiter before thanking him once more. "C'mon, I have to get out of here. I was running errands before you so rudely interrupted me," she teased as she rose from her seat and stretched her arms above her head. She felt surprisingly rejuvenated as they strolled back into the parking lot arm in arm. "Let me know how it goes with Kel and tell her congrats for me, alright?" she said with a grin before punching his shoulder.

He nodded and flipped her braid over her shoulder. "Will do. Stay out of trouble for a few days. I can't afford to bail you out of the slammer."

She rolled her eyes and waved as she turned towards her truck. "Appreciate the vote of confidence. See ya later." She climbed into the truck and wasted no time to head towards the grocery store. Regular life and an empty refrigerator called. And with her mood significantly improved, she found a classic rock station, turned up the radio and sat back in the worn leather of the driver's seat to enjoy the easy-going drive there.
 
"Hey, Cara?" Desmond asked as the doors connecting the lobby of the station to the outside world closed behind him.

"Yes, Officer Taylor?" the young woman behind the counter responded to him.

With a few more steps, he closed the gap between him and the front desk before continuing on with his question, "Do you know if we still have any of those kids in holding from last night? The ones from the street racing thing."

"I remember one was picked up earlier, but..." she trailed off, pecking at her computer to see if anything else had come up in his absence, "Nope. Just the one. Apparently he wasn't actually racing or... something, so he got off." She shrugged lightly, "You guys don't pay me to pay attention, so..."

Desmond chuckled, "Alright. What about the cars?"

"Hmm... says all of them are still in impound." She gave another light shrug.

"Alright Cara, print their info out for me, will you?"

"Of course, Officer Taylor."

After a few minutes of studying the 'files' of the men in question, Desmond settled one in particular. "Michael B. Wachowski eh? Well, it looks like today is your lucky day," he said aloud to himself before tucking the papers under his arm and heading down to the few cells the station had. "Mister Wachowski?" Desmond called out, to which the man behind the bars lifted his head in response. "Congratulations, kiddo. You get to come with me." With a couple of clicks of the key, the cell guard let Mike into Des' custody.

He would then guide him through the station into one of the interview rooms, closing the door behind them. "Have a seat, Michael." Desmond would sit across from him, crossing one leg over the other casually as he scanned the few pieces of paper he had in front of him. "So what exactly happened last night, Mr. Wachowski?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mike snarled.

"Come on, Michael. Let's make this easy. We've already caught you in the act. I know the only reason you're still in here is because daddy is trying to teach you a lesson."

"I want a lawyer."

"Well, this isn't Law & Order, so thing's don't exactly work that way. But here's what we can do," He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, "You can help me catch someone very very elusive." Not to mention that Desmond wasn't exactly a detective, so he'd be getting himself into trouble if he didn't do this right.

"Why would I do anything for you, pig? I ain't a snitch," Mike retorted.

"It's simple. We've got you for exhibition of speed, reckless driving, endangerment, destruction of property... I mean the list goes on--"

"So?!" Mike cut him off.

"So. We have your Challenger in impound."

Mike tried to keep his composure, "And? I'll just get it when I get out."

"It doesn't work that way, Michael. We crush street racers' cars. I thought you knew that?"

"You wouldn't fucking--"

"Oh yes, I would. But let's say there was a way I could save your baby. All I need you to do is give me a bit of information."

Mike remained silent before reluctantly saying, "About what?"

"A steel gray Foxbody."

"Do you know how many Foxbody Mustangs I see at these things?"

"Driven by a woman."

"Oh -that- bitch?" Mike slipped. And a sinister-looking smirk crept across Desmond's face.

"Sounds like you two have met."

"Look, word is she pretty much kickstarted the scene a few years back. All I know is, she's a stuck up bitch. She prolly bought the car off someone," Mike said with anger in his voice.

"What's her name?"

"I dunno. A bunch of nicknames go around. I just know her as that bitch with the Foxbody. But look man, please don't crush my car, okay? I love that thing. It runs eights at the track!"

"Quarter mile?"

"Eighth mile..."

Desmond resisted the urge to shake his head, pinching the bridge of his nose instead, "When is the next meet?"

"I don't know for sure, they don't have set dates. Look man, I'm telling you all that I know, I swear."

Desmond shook his head. The mock interrogation hadn't turned up much, but at least it gave him an idea. He lead Mike back to his cell before marching back out to his cruiser. He dialed up his best friend with an eagerness to his voice, "Dani.. I'm going to need your help. Possibly the biggest favor I've ever asked of you."

"You asked to put it in---"

Desmond cut her off, "Bigger than that!"
 
Lara's arm was leaning out of the window of her diesel pick up as she kept an eye on Peter while backing it up against the trailer. It was finally time to get the Fox out of storage and back on the road. She had waited long enough and the little maintenance she had done to make sure the old Mustang had stayed in perfect working order cried for use: the car cried to be driven. She hadn't heard any word about what had happened to any of the guys that had been caught, but chances were things had not gone well...for the cars at the very least. It made her cringe to think about but that was not something she would let happen to hers...

When the middle-aged man put his palm up for her to stop, she did so, threw the truck in park and waited to make sure the rollback didn't throw off the line up. With the reassuring thumb up, she shut the truck off and hopped out to go stand beside him as he insisted on lower cranking the trailer down onto the hitch. She leaned against the side of the truck, clearly antsy and he cast a glance her way.

"You sure you're gonna do this tonight?"

Hazel eyes met an older, considerably wiser gray-blue pair and then darted away as she sighed. "I need to do this. I can't take her out to the drag strip...I need to run." Perhaps it was childish; perhaps her inability to control the urge to scratch the eternal itch a sign that she was still no where near growing up. She honestly could not have cared. She belonged in the driver's seat of a well-built car and didn't feel right if she couldn't be in that position periodically.

Peter hesitated on the crank, his eyes studying the strong-willed, stubborn young woman who currently looked and behaved too much like her late father to be safe. He knew that look in her eyes well enough. He could only look out for her as much as she would let him. Well, at least she's built like her mother, he mused to himself before returning his focus to the lowering socket which had just covered the hitch, the weight of the trailer now transferring to the lowering bed of the truck. He kept his focus on that as he spoke.

"Just...be extra careful this time, wouldja? Stop trying to play the hero all the damn time." His tone was definitive, but had the forever undertone of a concerned parent. Her gaze shifted to him once more and she smiled gently before running a hand through her long, loose hair and pulling it to the side.

"I will, Pony Pete, don't you worry. The Fox is too important to lose," she assured, to which he chuckled, locked the trailer down and dropped an arm around her shoulders in order to pull her in and kiss the top of her head.

"You are too important to lose, sweetheart. Your parents would kill me if I let you get hurt doin' this shit."

---

Shortly before eleven o'clock, Lara had settled into the seat of the '91 GT and breathed a long, slow, calming breath. They had been much more careful about this one, or at least tried to be. The meeting place had been moved to a spot farther out, lookout roles had been given at least three miles out on every off-shooting road and word had been spread much more slowly and much more quietly. There would be no straight up party this meet. This would be more about the cars and the racing.

She took her time to push in the clutch and turn the key, closing her eyes as the rumbling, cammed idol of the V8 vibrated in her chest. She didn't take enough time to just sit and appreciate that sound anymore and how soothing it was for her. She really wanted this meet to go well. Or else she was going to have to find a track somewhere else to drive how she wanted and something about that made her feel a little too sentimental for her old home...

After buckling the straps of the harness around herself, she waited a few more minutes for the engine to warm and then took slow, deliberate movements to shift into first gear, slowly let off the clutch and push in the gas as the car began to roll forward around the house and onto the pavement of the road. As soon as the fresh set of tires made contact with the pavement she was shifting into second and accelerating a little harder than necessary, a grin curling her lips upward as she felt that connection between her car and the road. That was the feeling she never got sick of and was certain she never would...

She didn't go too hard on her way there: just hard enough to warm up the tires and hopefully put just enough wear on them to make them grippy when necessary. They were a little more high-end than she was used to, courtesy of a customer who had decided against them after the Pete had already ordered them, and she was currently enjoying herself well enough.

Four miles out, a pair of headlights from the side of the road flashed on and off twice. In response, she flashed her brights four times and mashed the throttle as she passed the dark-colored Mazda RX-8. She smiled to herself and continued down the winding road until it straightened for a several mile stretch, which was where she finally spotted the gathering of cars, most parked along the side of the road and those whose cars were a bit too low to the ground for comfort stayed to pavement of the two off-shooting roads in the immediate vicinity. The music throbbing from the subwoofer in someone's trunk was not nearly as loud as it had been and the crowd was considerably smaller. Everyone was still on edge and clearly feeling much more cautious.

She couldn't blame them.

Instead of her usual, flashy entrance, she simply punctuated her entrance with a few throttle taps as she coasted to an empty side of the road, making sure the Mustang was parked facing the pavement beside Luke's familiar Firebird. She killed the engine and stepped out, not even bothering to remove the key as Luke walked around the front of his own car and greeted her.

"All's quiet so far," he confirmed and she nodded.

"Let's hope it stays that way. I need to run tonight."

He chuckled and shook his head slowly. "You always need to run. That never changes. Just maybe no dancing with Officer Friendly tonight if he shows up, eh?"

She kept her gaze focused on an unfamiliar Toyota Supra and shrugged, choosing to dwell more on her surprise at finding the car there than her feelings towards the potential - or perhaps inevitable - bust attempt. She was pleased to see it there, that was for sure. It was always nice to see new people, especially if the 2JZ under the hood was in the shape Supra owners usually kept it in.

"We'll see."
 
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