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When we arrive at the club about an hour before our meeting time, Axel directs Mateo and I through the back entrance to avoid the main club. As planned, we are the only ones occupying Club XXX besides some strippers who have been hired for the night. I take a chair in a secluded corner and wait, sipping sparkling water. Mateo hangs by the bar with Angelo, feeding him drinks. I don’t need him to be wasted, just drunk enough for him to realize his reflexes are off.
The oval, gold-dusted bar takes up one whole corner of the room. The room’s decor is swathed in purple and plush red velvet. A large stage with a ceiling-to-floor pole dominates the other side. Oversized chairs which allow plenty of room for lap dances are scattered throughout cornered areas. Usually curtained off to allow privacy, tonight the drapes are drawn back. Couches and chairs with tables all facing the stage make up the rest of the room. A few naked women, along with leather-clad doms, are sitting or walking around. Overhead, there are swings and golden cages filled with women and even a few men. I notice there are only two points of entry and exit.
Moments later, Axel directs Garza Jr. and his entourage enter discretely through the same back entrance as planned. As Axel seats them at a table, the waitresses immediately supply each man with a welcome shot. Angelo and Mateo slowly meander over and allow Axel to make the formal greetings. Sam is upstairs surveilling the cameras, making sure there’s no ambush.
“Garza,” Angelo reaches out to shake the stocky bastard’s hand.
“Angelo Ferrari, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen your pretty boy face. I was surprised when your friend,” Garza points to Axel, “sent me an invitation to this fine establishment on your behalf. Does this mean I’m an honorary member now?”
I know it’s killing Angelo not to say something sarcastic and demeaning. I notice he’s discretely clenching his mouth and fists, but he shakes it off, reeling himself in.
Watching him in action, I’m impressed. No one but me would even notice the disdain he has for Garza. After he sits down at the table, the waitress brings Angie another drink and walks away. “Let’s get down to business and the reason we wished to meet with you,” suggests Angelo.
That being my cue, I walk over and reach out my hand. “Good evening, I’m Santos Ferrari, thank you for meeting us tonight.”
Garza looks up at me then over to Angelo with a questioning look. Remaining seated, he extends his hand. “Never had the opportunity to meet the famous Ferrari twins together. To what do I owe this dubious honor?”
After a very brief shake of his sweaty hand, I take a seat next to Angelo and take control of the meeting. I nod to Mateo, and he walks over putting a black duffle bag down in front of Garza.
“What the hell is this?” He asks suspiciously. “What’s in the bag?”
I lean towards him slightly and nod at the bag. “That is the full amount of money you loaned the Leonis, along with a substantial amount of interest.”
Giving a mocking laugh, he looks at me and says, “I wondered who was supplying them with money to pay me back. So, it’s been the Ferraris all along, interesting. Which one of you is shagging the bitch?”
Ignoring his words, I tell him, “As far as we are concerned, the Leoni debt is now officially paid off.”
Inclining his head towards the bag, Garza orders one of his men to open it and count. He turns back to me, “Okay, sure, the loan is paid off. Poof!” He says with a contemptuous laugh, and like a hyena pack, his men follow suit. He’s feeling confident, thinking he has the upper hand.
I clap my hands together not just for affect, but for control so as not to punch his smug, ugly face. Dust particles flare in the air from the action. “Now, on to the second part of the debt the Leonis owe you. To make things perfectly clear, I’m referring to you still holding fifty-one percent shares of Lion Whiskey distilleries. I would like to pay that off as well.” Once again, I’m impressed by how stoic Angelo remains. He had not been privy to this part of the negotiation plan. Knowing him as I do, he’s seething on the inside while maintaining a completely relaxed facade.
Garza takes a healthy sip, his lips making a snapping noise, and leans back. “What are you offering, more money? You know it’s not what I really want.”
Yes, I do know. He wants respect; he wants to step up the ladder of power, and I’m going to offer that to him. Also, I’m guessing he wants his way with Lia and that I’m not about to let happen. Having gotten enough intel on Garza, I know he has been on the top tier of racing. Yet he has never beaten Lia, a.k.a. the mystery rider. He’s vain and possesses an over-cocked attitude, which will lead to his downfall. Another reason why he’s never really succeeded. His old man is going bankrupt just paying for his son’s misdemeanors. He should take the extra money and help his father out.
I begin with part two of my plan. “We race for it tonight. You can even decide the location.”
I look over to Mateo, who walks over again and lays down the legal documents along with a pen. I can see the cogs in Garza’s head moving. He glances over at Angelo, who he knows has dabbled in street bike racing. It’s also not gone unnoticed that Angelo’s been throwing back a few drinks, but Garza still seems a bit hesitant. As Garza casually looks over the document, I throw the last of the bait to lure him in. Slapping my hand down on the document, I pronounce, “What the hell! It’s your lucky night as I’m feeling generous! If you win, we will willingly give you any pick of a motorcycle out of our Ferrari collection.” Reading the immediate interest that appears on Garza’s face, I can feel the deal coming to a close. He’s practically salivating, and his eyes reflect greed.
I look over to a tipsy Angelo and give him nice pat on his shoulders, then look back to Garza Jr. “So, do we have a deal?” I ask.
“The red Ducati I saw walking in?” He asks. I nod yes. Leaning in, he quickly signs the paperwork and has one of his men, probably his first in command, sign as a witness. I do the same along with Mateo and a county clerk who Mateo has worked with in the past to notarize them. Standing up and looking towards a two-way mirror, I signal Sam to start up the music and strobes, finishing the recorded meeting.
“Text in ten minutes with the location, or the deal’s off.” I state.
Licking his lips, Garza stands up taking his copy of the agreement and signals his colleagues to follow him as he heads out the door.
Angelo gives me only a few seconds after the door is securely shut to begin shouting and cursing at me. “Son of a bitch! I knew you were holding back information from me! That’s not how things work in this world! Now I have to race the dick ass, and I’m blitzed.” He picks up a glass and throws it against the wall and proceeds to kick the couch. I ignore his outburst as he maintained his cool during the meeting and now needs an outlet to vent.
Meanwhile, Mateo walks up beside me shaking his head and whispers for only me to hear. “He’s right. We trust each other in this world, or shit happens. I warned you. I’ll be waiting outside. Don’t want to be around when you drop the last bomb that he’s not the one who will be racing. He’s going to completely implode.” Mateo walks out, signaling at the private mirrored window to Sam that he’s leaving.
“Great! Of course, the asshole wants to race Silberstrasse at night, knowing damn well I’m under the influence.” Angelo shouts in frustration, looking at his phone. Garza Jr. must have just sent the location of the race. I was betting on him picking the most difficult, curvy street in the area.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not the one racing him.” I stand with my arms crossed waiting for Angelo’s reaction.
Waving his phone in my direction, he locks eyes with me. “This was your plan all along? Hell no! Not happening Sonny! You are not racing that son of a bitch! You betrayed me completely!”
Waiting, while not at all impressed with his rant, I raise my eyebrows at him quizzically. “Are you finished with your temper tantrum?”
“No!” he bursts out, eyes bulging. “I’ve just begun; I will not let you do it! This is Barcelona all over again!” He shouts.
“Angelo,” I plead, “I’m going to need your voice on the mic tonight not Mateo. So, I need you to compose yourself. This is not a rush drunken decision. I’ve thought it all out. Plus, you know that route better than anyone. Let’s go, brother, I’ve got a race to win.” I walk out to find Mateo and Sam to let them know the location. Leaving a stunned Angelo to compose himself, I know he will be there for me.
As predicted, Angelo calms down and gathered himself together in time for the race. After consuming copious amounts of coffee and water to sober himself up, he insists on doing his own pre-check setting up of the chassis. Although I had already checked everything multiple times, I agree he should do it yet again. He needs to be at ease during the race. Inspecting the bike with time-consuming precision and thoroughness, Angelo finally deems it satisfactory. It is also agreed upon that Sam and Angelo would observe the race from the van, prepared to intervene only if necessary.
Mateo and I both arrive at the location with Garza nowhere in sight. Mateo assures us that Garza always likes to make a grand entrance and will most likely arrive at the last minute. It’s a breezy, balmy evening, with a small crowd beginning to form while our names are broadcasted out for final bets to be placed.
The scent of burnt rubber permeates the air. The sounds and smells bring back memories of the first and only illegal bike race I ever attended. I was sixteen and Tony sensed I had interest so, he invited me to go along with him to watch Angelo race. Angelo had recently taken up a new hobby, that of unsanctioned motorcycle racing. My brother had been busy making a name for himself that summer by eating up every contender he was matched up with. Races were held at out of the way locations, usually on back roads of Nevada. Increasingly high speed with the addition of reckless maneuvers escalated the danger for racing participants. That particular night, Angelo was going up against the undefeated king who has held the crown for a number of years. The huge event held much at stake for both parties involved. If the king lost, that would be the end of him—a nobody. If my brother lost, that would make the Ferrari name look weak. Of course, Angelo went into the race feeling like a boss and left it as the king.
“Angie, can you hear me?” I say into the headset. “I rolled up to the starting line and now waiting for that dip shit Garza to show.”
Seconds later, Angie distinctly responds with reassuring words. “You’re coming in nice and clear Sonny. Don’t worry about Garza. He likes to showboat a grand entrance. Stay focused.” He replies confirming what Mateo stated.
As though Garza heard us, he arrives seconds later revving the throttle as the now massive crowd of cheering fans part and allow him through. Speaking into the mic, I let Angelo know he finally arrived. Dressed in my leather riding gear and my black helmet which totally conceals my identity, I let Garza think I’m Angelo. That’s what I want him to think until I leave him eating my dust as I kick his ass.
Heating up his back tire, Garza makes his way toward me. Pulling up beside me, he lifts his helmet visor up and begins to bait me, boasting that he’s going to beat me. Again, thinking I am Angelo, he tells the crowd I am a has-been while expounding on his own racing prowess. Lastly, he jeers that he is looking forward to beating a Ferrari and taking my Ducati as the prize.
I give him a barely perceptible nod, rather than responding, and gear up for what’s ahead.
Finished with me, he turns to nod at the bimbo standing in front of us and waves her over. Wearing tight jeans, high heels, and a black bikini top, she smiles at him and saunters over. Jiggling her enormous breasts at me for just a moment, she leans into Garza for a sloppy kiss. He proceeds to motorboat her boobs with great satisfaction, then swats her ass as she strolls back to her original position, turning in front of us. Smacking his lips, he shouts for everyone to hear, “Eat your heart out because I’ll be banging those mounds later on. Say goodbye to the Ducati, Ferrari!” He laughs clicking his helmet down.
“Angie, it’s go time.” I say into the mic. As much as I hate Garza and want to say something back, I turn my head forward and prepare for launch. Placing my stomach flush to the fuel tank, elbows out, I focus on the flashlight.
“Stay in the zone. You want to be the first out when the girl turns the flashlight on. Remember, the first launch in traction is key to winning. You can do this.” Angelo lectures back to me.
It’s show time. Providing launch power to my rear wheel as the flashlight lights up, I surge off the line with a screech. I keep my boots down for the first few feet in order to keep the bike stable, while at the same time, I focus on the tachometer. Quickly, I drop the clutch and open the throttle. Angelo is right. The first few feet of traction are key. The traction speed increases with a quick flip of the wrist to throttle off allowing a second gear slam. The RPMs instantly go up and dropping it instantly bringing power back slightly. Just like in life, the one who is first out of the gate with the most traction wins.
“You’re leading Garza and controlling the race, Sonny.” I hear Angelo saying. “You are coming up to the first turn. Stay low, and slightly shift your ass back in the seat. Keep up the speed.” His even-toned voice sings through the speaker.
I am now in complete avatar state as I approach the first turn. Scanning what’s up ahead, I shift back a fraction into my seat and lean into the first corner. My reflexes have adapted to the speed and voluntarily move as one with the half ton machine. I clear the first turn and straighten out accelerating on the straightaway.
“You are coming up to the most difficult turns on this road, Sonny. I want your knees touching the ground on each curve. I want to see the metal on your knee pads at the end of the race. And don’t brake.” Angelo commands once again.
I feel like it is my conscious speaking as I hear my twin project each move I should make. I feel the exhilaration as I do exactly what Angelo says.
“Trust it, brother, keep tight. You’re doing great. No way Garza can keep the pace.” He says.
I clear the sixth turn just shifting with instinct. Leaning into each turn, I feel my knee slightly grazing the pavement.
“You have three more turns, and then it’s straight to the line.” Angelo’s voice bellows with satisfaction. I lean into the last curve, hitting the pavement with a grand finale of sparks jousting in all directions.
I slap it down the straightaway like a missile. Crossing the finish line, I feel a rush of adrenaline, a high like no other I’ve experienced. I down shift so that now I’m just coasting with my arms out feeling the energy. I place my hands back on the bars and head back to the finish line. I never looked to see where Garza was during the race.
Seconds later, he roars past the finish line and past me. Stopping his bike, he lifts his helmet and spits toward my bike. Then, abruptly, he turns the bike in the direction of the meet up destination.
It’s going to give me an insane amount of pleasure showing him my face.
A few days later, as Angelo and I are driving in his Porsche to pick up some last-minute items on Josie’s wedding list, Angelo insists on blasting some AC/DC. With the top down and the suffocating heat of the summer sun beating down on me, I decide he is exacting a not-so-subtle punishment for race night’s escapade. He’s been scarce and intentionally avoiding me. I’ve let him have his space, which gave me quiet time to work.
Wearily, I lay back on the headrest trying to block out both the music and Angelo singing to it. Closing my eyes, I replay the race against Garza. At the meet up after the race when I took off my helmet, the expression on his face was priceless. It had only taken Garza a moment to realize it was me and not Angelo who had beaten him. With an angry snarl, Garza threw his helmet to the ground. Gesturing for one of his men to come forward, he was handed the papers on the bet. Taking them, Garza threw the papers at my feet, spit on them, and stalked off. While he had angrily recognized defeat, I also recognized I had made a bitter and dangerous enemy. Still, it was worthwhile to keep Lia safe and get Lion Whiskey Distilleries back in the right hands.
Besides, the race had been exhilarating. The adrenaline that flew through my veins was like nothing else I had ever experienced. I better understood what drew Lia and Angelo to the sport. Perhaps in another lifetime, I could actually see myself as a high-octane adrenaline junkie.