sidewayz glory, Page 4

  “Great,” Tony said. “Getting bigger. Eats a lot. Sleeps through the night. My wife keeps telling me we got lucky. All I know is with the price of diapers, I sure don’t feel lucky.” He looked at the cast. “You sure you can work?”

  “No choice,” said Kennin. “Thanks for not giving my job away.”

  “You kiddin’?” Tony patted him on the back. “No way. Go ahead and change.”

  Kennin went into the locker room and changed into his khaki uniform. The left leg of the pants barely fit over the cast. Back out in the garage he joined Tito beside the BMW.

  “You see what they’re doing out back?” Tito asked.

  Kennin shook his head. He dipped a brush into a bucket of soapy water and started to scrub the BMW’s wheels.

  “You know that empty lot they use when there’s an overflow crowd?” Tito asked. “They’re turning it into a drift track.”

  Kennin nodded silently.

  “So what do you think?” Tito asked.

  “Feels a little soon to be thinking about that,” Kennin said.

  “I’m not so sure you can wait,” Tito said. “Ever since the crash, the talk’s been about moving the scene off the street. Not just because of the cops, but the whole danger thing. Seeing what happened to you kind of shook everyone up.”

  “I bet,” Kennin said.

  “So the timing’s kind of fortunate,” Tito went on. “No one wants to run tsuisos on the street anymore, and now Mercado wants to make it legitimate. That can only be good for us.”

  “Oh yeah?” Kennin said.

  “Sure,” Tito said. “Think of the opportunity. Legitimate racing. Sponsorships. Teams. Real money. Better cars. Safer conditions. Everyone comes out a winner.”

  They’d finished soaping the BMW. Tito picked up a hose and started to rinse the car down. At the same time he moved closer to Kennin and lowered his voice. “I’m telling you, Kennin, this is our shot. Just between you and me, I’ve had it with this car-washing crap. The only reason I haven’t quit this job is because it keeps me close to the action and close to Mercado. This is gonna be the best thing that ever happened to drifting around here.”

  Maybe, Kennin thought. But he also remembered something his father once said: If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is.

  Their shift usually ran from four p.m. until midnight. The offer of a free car wash with valet parking ended at eleven thirty p.m. Just after midnight Tito and Kennin were in the locker room changing back into their street clothes when they heard the high-pitched whine of Mike Mercado’s Ferrari Scaglietti out in the garage. Next came the heavy, soft thud as one car door shut, then another.

  “Mercado’s just getting to work,” Tito said, shaking his head as if it was hard to believe. “The casino never sleeps.”

  A moment later the locker room door opened and Mike Mercado, the owner of the casino, and Derek Jamison, his right-hand man, stepped in. Mercado was a short man with a gleaming bald head. He was dressed in a dark suit, shirt, and tie. Derek was heavyset with a mop of unkempt black hair, dressed as usual in a wrinkled jacket. Both men stopped and looked around at the dented green lockers, and the pictures of cars and babes torn from magazines and pasted to the walls.

  “This could be the one room in my casino I’ve never been in,” Mercado said.

  “This and the ladies’ powder room,” Derek corrected him.

  Mercado turned his attention to Kennin’s leg. “How is it?”

  “Getting better,” Kennin said.

  “Guess it shows you the danger of racing in the street,” Derek said.

  Kennin wasn’t sure it showed him that at all, but he wasn’t going to argue.

  “I assume you’ve heard that Derek is developing a drift team,” Mercado said. “As soon as you feel up to it, we’d like you to join.”

  Kennin looked down at his leg and back at the casino owner. “I appreciate that, sir.”

  Mercado turned to leave, with Derek right behind him.

  “Uh, Mr. Mercado,” Tito suddenly blurted.

  The casino owner stopped. “Yes?”

  “Sir, I’d just like to point out that the foundation of any competitive automotive venture of this magnitude has got to be the tech crew,” Tito said, using more big words in that sentence than he’d probably used in the entire past year. “I’d like to offer my services in that regard.”

  Mercado’s forehead furrowed slightly. “And you are … ?”

  “Tito Rivera.” Tito offered his hand and Mercado shook it. “We met in your office about a month ago, remember?”

  From the expression on Mercado’s face, it was obvious that he didn’t remember. But Tito didn’t seem to notice that.

  “You should speak to Derek about tech matters,” Mercado said. “I’m sure he’ll be interested.”

  Tito eagerly turned to Derek, who raised his hand, palm forward. “I’ll keep it in mind, kid. Don’t you worry. But right now I gotta run.” He and Mercado left.

  “You see?” Tito said as soon as the men left the locker room. “If I wasn’t still doing this stupid job, that wouldn’t have happened. Those guys aren’t thinking about tech right now. They’re too busy with the track and the drivers. But one of these days they’re gonna figure out that without tech support, the whole thing’s gonna fall apart. And that’s when they’re gonna remember me.”

  Kennin looked at the clock on the wall. It was after midnight and he still had a forty-five-minute bus trip home, and then school the next morning. He slid his crutches under his arms, and he and Tito left the locker room. Out in the garage the valet office was empty.

  “Where’s Tony?” Kennin asked.

  “He’s been leaving early lately,” Tito said. “He gave me a key so I can lock up.”

  Kennin gazed out toward Las Vegas Boulevard just as a familiar-looking yellow Corvette cruised by. Jack the jackass was driving and Shinchou was in the passenger seat. While Kennin couldn’t hear what was being said, he could definitely see that Jack was shaking his head and gesturing angrily. Suddenly he reached over and slapped Kennin’s sister. Kennin felt his stomach knot with anger. His first reaction was to run to the car. But on the crutches he wouldn’t get close before the light changed.

  He quickly hobbled to the valet parking office door and tried it. The knob didn’t turn. He looked at Tito. “You said Tony gave you a key?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Give it to me,” Kennin said.

  “You crazy?” Tito stammered.

  Kennin had no time to waste. “Give it to me or I’ll take it,” he said in a way that left no doubt about his intentions.

  “What are you gonna do?” Tito asked as he handed over the key.

  Kennin didn’t answer. He let himself into the office and grabbed the first set of keys off the board. They were on a BMW fob.

  “Are you frickin’ crazy?” Tito gasped as Kennin came out of the office. “You know what’s gonna happen if you get caught? Not only will you get fired, but you’ll never get on the drifting team.”

  At that moment Kennin’s concerns were a lot more immediate than the drifting team.

  “This is so wrong, dude,” Tito said as he followed Kennin into the valet area. “Forget what’ll happen to you. If they find out I let you have the key I’ll get fired too.”

  There were half a dozen BMWs in the valet lot and Kennin didn’t have time to try the keys on each one. He pressed the red panic button on the key fob. The lights on the silver 760Li started to flash and the alarm went off. Kennin quickly killed it and headed for the car.

  “Oh no,” Tito groaned. “This I don’t believe. Tell me this isn’t happening!”

  With the long, straight cast on, it wasn’t easy for Kennin to get into the BMW. He tossed his crutches in the back, moved the seat back, tilted it, and got in.

  Vrrrrooooooom! The sedan started with a roar.

  Screeech! The wheels spun in reverse, leaving tread and smoke as Kennin backed it out of the parking spot, then shifted
into forward. He stopped beside Tito and quickly lowered the window. “You coming?”

  “Are you insane?!” gasped Tito.

  Kennin started to bring the window back up.

  “Wait!” Tito suddenly cried, and yanked open the passenger door.

  7

  the passenger seat, Kennin wheeled the big sedan out of the parking lot and onto the street, just in time to see the yellow ’vette turn a corner up ahead.

  “What are we doing?” Tito asked, breathing hard.

  “Following someone.” Kennin made the same turn as the ’vette. Inside the 760Li the instrument panel glowed orange and yellow.

  “You know this thing has a V-12 engine?” Tito asked. “Know what this car costs? Hundred forty grand all in.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Kennin said. The ’vette was a block ahead, going through an intersection just as the light turned yellow. Kennin dropped the hammer and the big sedan’s V-12 tapped into its 440 horses and shot forward like a rocket.

  “Whoa!” Tito gasped next to him as they were both pressed back into the soft leather seats.

  They sailed through the intersection just as the light turned red. Half a block ahead, the ’vette pulled into a parking lot in front of a dimly lit motel called the Time Out. A flickering red neon sign said VACANCY. It was the kind of place where rooms rented by the hour, and the doors opened directly into the parking lot so visitors could come and go without passing the front desk. Kennin killed the Beemer’s lights and pulled up to the curb.

  “That the guy we’re following?” Tito asked, pointing at the ’vette.

  Kennin nodded. He had a feeling things were about to go from bad to worse. “I wish I had a phone.”

  “You’re in luck.” Tito dug into his pocket and pulled out a shiny new silver flip phone. Kennin didn’t have time to ask where Tito had gotten it, or how he could afford it after losing all his money, He found the slip of paper Leon had given him and quickly punched in the number. He could tell from the way Leon answered that he’d woken him. Kennin apologized and then quickly explained why he’d called. Leon said he’d see what he could do.

  “Who’s Leon?” Tito asked as Kennin tossed the phone back to him.

  “Tell you later,” Kennin said. In the motel parking lot Jack got out of the ’vette and pulled open the passenger door.

  “That’s the guy?” Tito gasped.

  “Yeah. Why? You know him?” Kennin asked.

  “Uh, no, no, it’s … just that he looks … I don’t know, like someone you don’t want to mess with.”

  Jack leaned into the passenger side of the ’vette and said something to Shinchou. Kennin couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was angry and forceful. When Shinchou wouldn’t get out of the car, Jack reached in and yanked her out. It took every ounce of Kennin’s self-control not to leap out of the BMW.

  “Whoa! What’s that about?” Tito asked.

  Kennin watched with simmering anger as Jack held Shinchou’s arm tightly and led her toward the motel. They stopped under a light while Jack knocked on a door. Shinchou hung her head. The door was opened by a fat guy in a sleeveless T-shirt. He gave Shinchou a quick once-over and then nodded. Jack pushed Kennin’s sister into the room. The door closed. Jack lit a cigarette and strolled back to the ’vette.

  “Number nine,” Kennin said.

  “What?” said Tito.

  “She went into room number nine.”

  “Who is she?”

  “My sister,” Kennin said.

  Tito didn’t answer. He and Kennin both had sisters, so he understood what Kennin must have been feeling at that moment.

  “Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Kennin said. “As soon as the guy in the cowboy hat gets in the ’vette and takes off, you—”

  “He doesn’t look like he’s taking off anywhere,” Tito said. Jack was leaning against the ’vette, smoking.

  “Believe me, he will,” Kennin said. “And when that happens, you go to room number nine and knock hard and keep knocking until the fat guy opens the door.”

  “Crap,” Tito muttered.

  “When the guy opens the door, you tell him if he doesn’t let my sister go right now you’re gonna call the cops.”

  “What if the guy wants to kick the shit out of me?” Tito asked.

  “He won’t,” Kennin said.

  “How do you know?” Tito asked.

  “I know.”

  Tito wasn’t buying it. “I’d really like to help you, dude, but there’s no way I’m getting involved in this. It just ain’t my problem.”

  The seconds were ticking past and Shinchou was in that room. Kennin didn’t have time to argue. He held Tito steadily with his eyes. “Tito, I know why that wheel came off your sister’s car the night I crashed. Someone loosened the lug nuts, and I’m pretty sure I know who did it.”

  Tito’s eyes went wide and his face grew pale. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do,” said Kennin. He gestured toward Jack, who was still leaning against the ’vette, smoking. “Maybe we should go ask him. And then we could go talk to Angelita.”

  Tito crossed his arms unhappily and slid down in the BMW’s seat. “Dude, you don’t know what happened.”

  “Tell me later.” Kennin pointed at the motel. “Right now you’re going in there and getting my sister. Wait for me back at the intersection.”

  Without a word, Tito opened the door and got out of the BMW.

  “Hey.” Kennin pointed at an empty beer bottle lying beside the curb. “Give me that, will you?”

  Tito scowled and handed him the bottle. “Why?”

  “It’ll come in handy.”

  Jack was still leaning against the car, smoking. Kennin steered the BMW about fifty feet past the motel entrance, then stopped. With the motor running, he braced himself in the doorway, clutching the beer bottle in his right hand. Jack didn’t notice him. Kennin hurled the bottle at the ’vette’s windshield. He was sliding back into the BMW when he heard the sound of breaking glass.

  “Hey!” Jack shouted.

  By now Kennin was behind the wheel in the BMW, confident that Jack hadn’t seen him. In the rearview mirror he watched as Jack jumped into the ’vette. Kennin gunned the big sedan and left a long strip of rubber and smoke.

  The race was on.

  The BMW had a 438 hp V-12 engine compared to the Corvette’s 400 hp V-8, but the ’vette was lighter and quicker. Kennin knew he had to lose Jack in the turns. And why not have some fun, too? The BMW might have been an automatic, but with some deft heel and toe work Kennin could slide the car around corners with control and power. Tires squealing, he turned right at the next corner and sped down a dark street. In the rearview mirror, the ’vette skidded around the same corner, the rear end swinging too far around, almost doing a donut. Kennin swung left at the next corner and Jack followed, again oversteering and almost spinning out. Kennin actually had to slow down to wait for him to straighten the Vette out before making the next right and flooring it. About halfway down the block he passed a row of plastic garbage cans and had an idea.

  He quickly led Jack in the ’vette around the block again, and this time, when the garbage cans appeared in the Beemer’s headlights, Kennin punched the accelerator hard. Just past the garbage cans he cut the wheel and yanked the e-brake, doing a 180 just as the ’vette came around the corner.

  Kennin floored the BMW. Only now he was heading straight back at the ’vette.

  8

  left side of the Beemer’s front bumper toward the left front fender of the ’vette. With less than fifty feet between the two speeding cars, Jack had a split-second choice: go head-on into the BMW or veer to the right.

  The result was an explosion of garbage cans and white plastic garbage bags flying through the air as the ’vette plowed into them.

  It was a small reward compared to what Jack had done to Shinchou, but Kennin could feel a smile creep across his lips. He quickly drove back to the inter
section where he’d told Tito to wait with Shinchou. They were there, standing under a streetlight. Kennin skidded to a stop and pushed open the passenger-side door for his sister.

  “Get in,” he said.

  His sister frowned. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Tell you later,” Kennin said. “Now get in fast before Jack gets here.”

  Tito got in the back while Shinchou got in the front. Kennin took off. Shinchou opened her bag and took out a cigarette.

  “Better not,” Kennin said. “Don’t want the owner to know we borrowed his car.”

  Shinchou slid the cigarette back into the pack. “How’d you know I was there?”

  “Just lucky,” Kennin said.

  Kennin’s sister slid down in the seat and raked her fingers through her long black hair. Kennin glanced at Tito in the rearview mirror. “How’d it go?”

  “Like you said,” Tito said. “The guy was totally freaked. As we left he said something about his money.”

  “Guess he’ll have to work that out with Jack,” Kennin said.

  Shinchou gave him a sour look. “Don’t think you’re doing me a favor. As soon as Jack finds me, I’m going to get it bad.”

  “Then he better not find you,” Kennin said as he drove toward the south side of town.

  Shinchou straightened slightly and became more alert. “What do you mean? Where are we going?”

  “Someplace where Jack won’t find you,” her brother said.

  “Maybe I want Jack to find me,” Shinchou said.

  Kennin glanced at his sister. She looked thin and pale, and the makeup around her eyes was smudged. Before she got involved with Jack, she’d never looked this bad. For a moment Kennin didn’t understand why she’d want Jack to find her. Then he did. The crystal meth. He had what she craved.

  A little while later they pulled up in front of a run-down wood-frame house. In the darkness Kennin noticed a couch on the porch. Sitting on the couch was a heavy woman wearing a ratty-looking housedress. Leon was sitting in a rocking chair next to her.

  “What is this?” Shinchou asked nervously.

  “A place where you can get help,” Kennin said.