the Lexus, Tito gave Kennin a curious look. “Okay, here’s what happens next,” he said. “I’ll say, ‘What’s that about?’ and you’ll say, ‘Nothing,’ and I’ll say, ‘Mr. Mysterious again,’ and you’ll just shrug. The silent routine is getting old, dude. Maybe it’s time to come up with something new.”
“I thought you’d be happy,” Kennin said, and nodded at the Lexus. “If I’m with her, I’m not messing with your sister.”
“Right,” Tito replied. “Let’s keep it that way.”
Mariel got out of the Lexus and walked toward them. Tito slapped his hands together. “All right! Let’s go!”
They went around the parking garage toward the overflow lot behind the casino. The squealing and screeching of tires and the whine of the engine grew louder.
“Does it sound like he’s having fun, or what?” Tito asked eagerly.
Kennin saw white smoke rising in the air before he saw either the car or the course. Workers had erected a temporary plywood fence while they’d turned the lot into a track. Next he smelled the oily scent of recently laid asphalt. They found an opening between the plywood sheets and went in.
“Oh, man!” Tito groaned loudly at the sight. Spread before them were four acres of smooth, glistening black asphalt. Workers with a tall crane were installing a bank of lights on one of four towers designed to illuminate the track at night. A winding, overlapping course had been laid out using orange cones, and Chris’s shimmering red 240 SX Slide or Die was drifting sideways in a storm of smoke and screeching thunder.
“I’m frickin’ dying watching him,” Tito moaned. “He’s got boost and pushing four hundred rwhp!”
A group of people were standing about fifty yards away, near several piles of tires. Kennin recognized Ian, Derek, Driftdog Dave, and Mutt and Megs. Parked on the tarmac behind them in what resembled a pit area were Ian’s white Toyota Cressida and Driftdog’s Nissan 180 SX turbo splotched gray and black with body putty and primer.
A moment later Chris finished the course and rolled Slide or Die to a stop in front of the group. He got out and pulled off his helmet, then stared for a long moment at Kennin and Mariel. He turned to the others and started to talk, mostly to Derek. Kennin was too far away to hear what he was saying.
Driftdog spotted them and came over. He was a tall guy with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a scar through his left eyebrow. Earlier in the fall he’d blown the 180 SX’s engine in a tsuiso against Chris. The car had caught fire and Kennin had helped him get out before he got seriously burned.
Driftdog gave Kennin a high five. “Hey, how’s the leg?”
“Just got the cast off,” Kennin said.
“Way to go,” Driftdog said.
“You been out on this yet?” Kennin asked, nodding at the course.
“Yeah, just killed a set of tires,” Driftdog said. “What a frickin’ blast.”
“How’s the surface?” Kennin asked.
“Still sticky,” said Driftdog. “Makes it a little harder to break free. But in a couple of weeks it’s gonna be awesome. You want to take my car around the track a few times?”
Ever since he’d “saved” Driftdog, the guy had been trying to pay him back. “It’s a nice offer,” Kennin said. “But my left leg’s still kind of weak. I have to build it back up before I start working a clutch.”
“Gotcha,” Driftdog said. “But when the time’s right, you let me know.”
Meanwhile, the group over by Slide or Die was still talking.
“What do you think they’re gabbing about?” Tito asked.
“Mostly the track layout,” Driftdog said. “They’ve been fiddling with it all afternoon.”
Sure enough, Megs and Mutt walked out on the track and started to move the orange cones around, widening the apex in one of the curves. While Ian headed for the white Cressida, Chris joined Kennin, Tito, and Mariel. He glanced from Mariel to Kennin and back.
“Where you been?” he asked Mariel.
“I took a friend to get his cast off,” Mariel replied.
Chris looked at Kennin. “You gonna drive again?”
“Not sure,” Kennin replied.
“He will,” Tito declared. “All he has to do is get his hands on a decent beater and you’ll see.”
An engine revved loudly behind them as Ian took off in the white Cressida. He entered the first curve with a big sideways slide and wound up doing a donut. The Cressida stalled in a cloud of white smoke, Ian quickly started it up, redlined the engine, and promptly turned another donut, this time plowing through half a dozen orange cones before stalling a second time. Starting up again, he took off for the next turn, creating a loud scraping sound.
“What’s wrong with his car?” Mariel asked.
“Nothing,” Kennin said. “He’s just dragging two cones.”
“Oh yeah.” Tito grinned at the sight of the cones jammed under the Cressida.
Ian must have heard the noise, because he stopped in the middle of the track and got out of the car. Everyone watched from the pit area while he walked around the car, searching for the source of the scraping sound, which had stopped when the car stopped. Next he popped the Cressida’s hood.
Finding nothing wrong, Ian got back into the car. No sooner did the car start to move than the loud scraping noise began. Once again Ian stopped, got out of the car, and walked around it for the second time, obviously mystified by the source of the noise.
“That’s so phat!” Tito chuckled. “He can’t figure it out!”
“Neither would you if you were out there,” Chris muttered.
That was probably true, but it was still funny to watch Ian get back in the car and start to drive, only to stop as soon as the scraping began again. For the third time he searched for the source of the sound. Finally, he got back into the car and drove slowly back toward the pit with the dull sound of scraping still coming from under the car.
“Is this a tryout for the team?” Tito asked Chris.
Chris shook his head. “They just asked if anyone wanted to come over and try the track.”
“What do you think?” Kennin asked.
Chris studied him for a moment, as if uncertain how to answer. Finally he said, “I’m not sure I like it. It’s kind of like going back to where most of us started. Killing tires doing donuts in an empty parking lot. And it’s mostly a first-and second-gear course. Kind of hard to get up any real speed. I guess the safety thing is pretty big right now, but I don’t know about judged events. It’s not the same as a tsuiso.”
“But you could get sponsored,” Tito said. “Think about a deal with Yokohama or Cooper and then never having to buy tires again.”
Chris nodded thoughtfully, then turned to Mariel. “I’m finished here. Gonna put the street rubber back on and bounce. Want to go?”
Mariel looked at Kennin, then back at him. “I might want to stay.”
Chris’s face hardened, and once again he looked from Mariel to Kennin.
“You should go,” Kennin said to Mariel. “I’ve got to get to work.”
Mariel shrugged a shoulder, as if she didn’t care one way or another. “My car’s in the front,” she told Chris. “I’ll meet you there.”
Chris and Driftclog walked back toward the pit. At the same time, Mariel, Tito, and Kennin headed for the parking garage.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, mi amigo, but you’re running out of time,” Tito said to Kennin. “You gotta make up your mind about the team.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Kennin said. They got back to the parking garage. Tito went into the locker room, leaving Kennin and Mariel alone.
“I really appreciate that ride today,” Kennin said.
Mariel’s eyes darted left and right and Kennin could tell she had something on her mind. She took Kennin’s hand and placed his palm against her cheek. Her eyes burrowed deep into his. “I meant what I said before,” she said, slowly moving his hand down to her throat, and then lower. “About what a girl needs. Think about it.”
A little after midnight Kennin caught the bus home. The city bus system was nicknamed the CAT, short for Citizens Area Transit. There usually weren’t many people riding after midnight, and Kennin had gotten to know the driver, a woman named Sheila.
“Hey, you got the cast off!” she said when he climbed on, using the cane.
“Yeah.” Kennin sat down in the first seat by the door.
“How’s it feel?”
“Weak, but better without that heavy cast.”
“Well, your timing’s good,” Sheila said.
“How’s that?” Kennin asked.
“Looks like the CAT drivers are going on strike,” Sheila said. “We’ve been working without a contract for almost a year and the union’s had it.”
The ride home could be pretty fast some nights, with Sheila passing empty bus stop after empty bus stop. Pretty soon they were near the Sierra Ne-Vue. Kennin got up.
Sheila gave him a concerned look. “How’re you gonna get home from work at night if we go on strike?”
“Not a clue,” Kennin answered.
“Well, good luck,” Sheila said.
Kennin got off and started to limp on the cane toward the Sierra Ne-Vue. His left leg felt weak and had begun to throb. He’d just passed the dead brown palm trees at the entrance to the trailer park when he spotted a black Escalade parked outside his trailer. The car had twenty-inch custom rims. The black windows were partway down to let out cigarette smoke. Kennin knew who was inside.
He stopped in the dark, knowing he had two choices, and they both sucked: He could either not go home, which left him with no place else to go, or he could go home and face Jack and his goons. It had been a long day, and Kennin was tired. All he wanted to do was go to sleep. He limped toward the Escalade. When he got close, the passenger door opened and Jack the jackass got out.
“Where’s my sister?” Kennin asked.
Jack stopped, obviously caught by surprise. Then he grinned. “Nice try, boy. Almost got me there.”
“Tell me where she is or I’m going to the police,” Kennin threatened.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”
“I am frickin’ serious,” Kennin said. “First you got her with the loan sharking and stupid weekly vig. Then you got her on dope. The cops are gonna have a field day with you.”
A guy the size of a sumo wrestler got out of the Escalade. Kennin had met him a few weeks ago when it had been Jack’s turn to do the threatening. His nickname was Tiny and he had a shaved head and wore a thick silver chain with a medallion around his neck.
“Everything okay?” Tiny asked.
“Yeah, get back in the car,” Jack barked, then turned to Kennin. “I wouldn’t go to the cops if I was you.”
“Give me one good reason why not,” Kennin said.
“Because I don’t know where she is,” Jack said. “She’s not at the club and she’s not here.”
Kennin glanced at the trailer. The windows were dark. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Four or five days ago,” Jack answered.
“Where?”
“The club.”
He was lying. The last time Jack had seen Shinchou was when he left her in room nine at the Time Out motel. But Kennin couldn’t reveal that without Jack figuring out who’d broken the windshield of his ’vette.
They’d reached a standoff. Kennin’s thoughts raced as he tried to figure out if he could use this situation to his advantage. After all, Jack was the SOB who not only had messed up his sister, but also had forced Tito to loosen the lug nuts on Angelita’s car.
“Your sister owes me a boatload of money. Sooner or later she’s gonna show up, and when she does, believe me, boy, she’s gonna pay.” The jackass turned around and got into the Escalade. The lights flashed on and the SUV rumbled out of the trailer park. Kennin watched the red taillights disappear into the passing traffic. He breathed a sigh of relief. Once again he’d managed to protect his sister. But there was a ton of money on the line, and sooner or later Jack and his goons would be back.
Kennin climbed up the loose cinder-block steps to the trailer. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and turned on the lights. An envelope was lying on the floor just inside the doorway. Kennin tore it open. Inside was an eviction notice for nonpayment of rent. Kennin crushed the notice into a ball and shot it into the garbage can. Looked like he and his sister just couldn’t catch a break.