Staring Down The Whisper

Chapter 2....


*next morning, 2212 Baker St., Kensington Hills*
The steady buzz of the alarm clock was what woke me up first; I’d been lying on my back in a sort of half-asleep, half-awake manner. Stephanie was asleep next to me, her arm draped over my chest. I could feel her warm body next to mine as I remembered our lovemaking the night before. I turned to hit the alarm, then thought better and simply turned the alarm off and listened to some music; KVLO, I think, the sounds of "To Live and Die in L.A." played softly in the background.

Eventually I looked over at the clock and thought to myself, time to get up, Jackass Flats. I got up out of bed and walked to the bathroom. Reaching over to the shower, I turned the water on and let it steam up for a moment or two then jumped in, letting the hot water roll down like a waterfall. I stood there, thinking both how lucky I was and about the day ahead. After a couple of minutes I turned off the water and began toweling myself off; I was just ‘bout finished when my cell went off. Wrapping the towel around my waist I ran to get it; like a lot of people in Kensington Hills, I didn’t own a land line so a cell phone was a necessity, both for personal and business reasons...... Nearly tripping over our clothes, strewn about the hallway, I grabbed it just as Stephanie was waking up: I walked out of the room and onto the porch; down below one could see almost into Velo City proper. “Hello?”

“Did I wake you, Matty boy?,” came the voice on the other end. It was Jon Browning, a fence I worked with on occasion who was as much of a smart-*** as he was as moving goods. I knew something had to be up if he was calling me this early in the morning. “No, I just had to answer the phone anyway. So, what’s up?”

“Any chance you can meet with me later today, say around three?”
“Where and with whom?

“Just you and me, Matty boy. It’s ‘bout those Krugerrands' you and your crew took from that armored truck a few weeks back. I found someone who can get them out of Velo City and out of the country, but he’s wanting us to do another job for him–“

”Another job? Jon, my crew’s been working on a major score for later in the week and you’re asking me to give that up for something sight unseen? I’d rather be out racing a bunch of neanderthal muscleheads or anime wanna-be’s in my birthday suit.........where do you want to meet?”
“Any place you want, Matt.”

“Okay. Ristorante Alfredo, on Alameda in Century City. You’re buying.”

“Why does that not surprise me, my friend. 3'o’clock.” He hung up and I thought to myself, that’s brilliant, Jon. My crew and I work on a major score, a medals depository we’re going to hit that's going to take a chunk out of a certain VestaCo.'s exec's rear, only to have you want to interrupt that, but........we still got those 100+ gold bars we took from that armored truck to wash down the line. After a moment’s thought, I walked back into the house; Stephanie was in the kitchen, having made herself a cup of coffee. I walked over, put my arm around her and kissed her. “My, we had fun last night, didn’t we?,” I said with a broad smile on my face.

“We did indeed,” she purred seductively, getting up to kiss me right back. At just over 6', she was a good three, four inches taller than me but most of her height was in her tanned, sexy legs, which stuck out from underneath one of my large polo shirts. I looked at her wantonly but knew I had things to do as she continued, “.........unfortunately, my car’s back at the club and I have to be at the office this afternoon........”

“No problem, darling’,” I replied, reaching over to where I kept a set of keys. Grabbing a set, I handed them to her. “There’s a Lotus Exige parked on the street; just drive down to Zero’s and let Bulletproof know who you are and he’ll watch the car while they get you yours’. Meanwhile I gotta’ take off; lot of places to go, people to see......”


***early afternoon, Ristorante Alfredo’s***
Back in the late forties’ and early fifties, the West Coast Syndicate ran Velo City with an iron fist; places like Ristorante Alfredo were their meeting places; places where they could fix anything.......ball games, fights, elections, even the street racing scene. Hollywood stars, local and state politicians, business execs'......they all came to Alfredo’s or other Syndicate-owned joints like Regiano’s in West Hollywood or Cosmo’s in downtown to do their bidding.

While the Syndicate's power had faded now that the racing clubs held sway over Velo, their presence could still be felt in restaurants such as Alfredo’s. It was owned by Michelle de Lucia, who ran the Syndicate from the shadows but with an iron fist. I walked in and looked around for Jon; I was wearing a light blue polo shirt w/a sport jacket and Dockers, not the best clothes for racing but since the races weren’t ‘til the evening, I could afford to dress casual, even in a place like Alfredo’s. Almost I soon as I walked through the door, the host walked over. “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

“No, but my friend,” pointing over towards Browning, “is expecting me.”
“Right this way.” I followed the host over to where Jon was sitting; he was drinking a bourbon, on the rocks and enjoying some cherrystone clams. After pulling out the chair, I said, “another bourbon, please.” I sat down and looked over at my friend. “I already ordered; veal marsala to your liking?”

Once our meals arrived, we ate, chatting about this and that as the waiter every so often poured some of what he said was the house special, a fine Paso Robles rose’. Finally, we finished our meals and got down to business. As a busboy cleaned our tables I looked at Jon and began the conversation. “Okay, Jon. What’s got you so concerned about those bars?”

“I found someone who’ll take the bars off of you for a mil-six, which is a lot more than what anyone will take for them on the open market. He’s also agreed to cut you and your crew a nice quarter-mil each—“

”250k each, after all we went through heisting that truck? The mil-six....”, waving my hand in a expression of “what the hell”.....”I can live with, but for the risks we took, especially getting away from the Feds and local PD, not a quarter-mil. 325 for me, 300 for everyone else each plus 10 percent of the cut from when the bars are delivered.”

“Matt, you know damn well I can’t move those bars on the open metals market right now; no reputable metals dealer would touch them and they’d likely turn around and drop a dime to the cops; you want that kind of heat on you?”

“Jon, I damned well nearly lost one of my crew–“

”I know; Frech took two bullets in the leg....”

“I know that, Jon........I had to use my contacts in Velo City to hide him before the heat got to him.” Looking away, I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. “Tell you what. Forget the mil-six; that’s yours. Frech gets 300k, regardless. 250k for the rest of us each and five percent of the cut from those bars.” I got up to leave; Jon beckoned me to sit back down. “Alright, alright; sometimes, Matt, you’re too damned paranoid–“

”You’re damn right, Jon; eleven months at Terminal Island will do that to you,” I said, emphasizing the last part. “Anyway, did I tell you I met someone last night?”

“You? Met someone? Aren’t you always talking about having to split in thirty seconds–“
”Yeah, yeah, yeah.....but this one, Jon. I don’t know, man; we hit it off last night. I can’t stop thinking about her,” I said. Drinking some of the rose’, I continued on, “she’s from the same barrio I grew up in, so yeah, I knew her but hadn't seen her 'til last night. Who knows.....”

“That’s good to hear; you need a woman in your life, my friend. All that racing....no wonder you don’t have–“
”Spare me the sex life lecture, Jon; like you’re one to talk. I’m single; I can afford to look around. How’s Elizabeth?”

“Fine; she’s heading to Denver for some teachers’ conference, which means I might come out and watch you race sometime. You as good as they say?”
“Well, I haven't been hooked for excessive speeding or any other reckless activity by the authorities, if that's what you mean......."

“Cute. What’s this I hear about you going the club route? You didn’t join one of them damn street clubs?”

“Yeah, a few weeks back. What’s it to you?” That was the only thing I detested about my friend, Jon.. You see, Jon’s a great fence and has been a sounding board for major scores-to-be over the past few years, but he has a tendency to stick his damn nose into things that it doesn’t belong. If anyone in Exotic Ice Customs had heard him say what he did..... “Why don’t ya’ come out to the club, Zero Degrees? You’ll have to pay a cover, you not being a member and all, but it’ll get you out of that tomb you call a house,” I said, chuckling for an instant.

“I might do that,” he said as his pager went off. Looking over, he rose, coming over to shake my hand and wish me a fond day. He was like that; taking markers, calling out favors, always looking for scores to pass along. “Sorry I pulled you away from whatever you were looking at, but I really want to get those bars out of Velo City, ya’ know? See ya’ around, Matty boy.” Jon walked out of the restaurant, his two bodyguards right behind him. Both of them looked like dead ringers for a couple of Blackwater mercs'. I sat back, finished the ‘rose, then got up and walked over to the host. “Check, please.”

“No need, sir,” the host replied in a cheesy Italian accent. “Madame' de Lucia said it was on the house. No charge.” With that, I walked out of the restaurant and headed back up to the house; there was a race up in the North Hills in the late evening and I needed to get ready.

***that night at Ascot Park***
If there was one thing I did not like about Velo City, it was driving to some of the racetracks around, especially Ascot Park, which was located about the same distance from Acceleration Point but to the northwest, which meant instead of taking the 205 up to the Point, you had to take the 110, which ran to the northwest, towards the Verde Canyons area. Speedtrap City, I call it; the whole stretch was crawling with Smokies and the last thing I needed was a ticket. But, as luck would have it, I made it up there without any hassles from the CHP. Finally I could see the lights of Ascot Park in the distance; there were hundreds of people there, from the gearheads to the tuner set. I looked around and found my crew waiting near the track; Stephanie was there as well, which sent my heart flying.

Parking the Audi R8 near the track entrance, I headed over to my crew, an eclectic bunch of EIC members that I knew and worked with on countless occasions. I walked over and gave Stephanie a kiss; she returned it, asking, “so this is where y’all race?”

“One of them, anyway,” I said, pointing towards the track. As tracks went, Ascot Park wasn’t much; just under ½ mile, it was wide and perfect for drifting, which tonight’s race was all about.........the drift.

In the background I could hear the track announcers announcing the night’s schedule; the air was surprisingly clear and looking back down towards Velo City, I could see the lights of the city’s skyscrapers shining like sentinels in the night. I started to prepare; off came the sport jacket and polo shirt and on went a bomber jacket, racing shirt, crash protector; I set the helmet aside for a moment as my crew stood close by, watching everyone file into the stands. Taking out the Bren Ten .45 I carried, I made sure it was unloaded before handing it to Marquis, who ran over to the Jag she was driving and placed it there for safekeeping while I was on-track. Looking around, I asked, “Looks like a full house, guys.”

“It is,” Frech replied, leaning on a cane he’d been using ever since the gold truck heist. “All the big-wigs are here tonight; Mayor Sunny, Deputy Mayor Baldomero, Paige Hastings, Lucy Swift, the whole breadth of upper Velo society. Who ya’ up against?”

“Couple of big-tuned gearheads and a few drifters,” I replied in a “what, me worry?” manner. “Shouldn’t be anything the Audi can’t handle.” Which was true; the R8 I was driving possessed a lot of high-end items, from a custom 5.2L V10 TFSI twin-turbo engine which could lay about 540hp to the wheels to the 19" custom sport tires(Pirelli Grand-Am Specials) to the car’s frame/chassis, ‘specially built for speed and handling. I didn’t have any worries; if anything, I thought my opponents ought to be the ones who should be worried.

As to the race itself...........after an abortive false start by one of the Horsepower Posse racers, we got the second start clean and green and we were all off to the races. It was a tough fight, everybody racing in a close-quarters, go-for-broke style befitting Velo City’s best racers but in the end nothing could stop me; I took the checkers holding off some broad-shouldered Musclebomb driver in a ‘87 Pontiac Grand-Am GNX that was tricked out as the Audi R8 I was pedaling around.

All-in-all, it was a good night’s work; $5k in cash, a trophy from the event promoter and handshakes from Scandalous and all the EIC leaders. Even the guy I had beaten to the line at the end of the race, Sandman[who I later found out was one of Musclebomb’s bosses] came over to shake my hand; I returned the handshake and wished him well next time around. Soon enough, though, it was time to leave. After making sure everything was good to go, Stephanie and I left the track and drove back towards Velo City.

The return trip down the 110 was uneventful to start; every so often, I kept glancing over at Stephanie and thinking to myself, how lucky can a guy be? I’ve got a good life here, I’ve got a beautiful woman by my side, I’m winning races and representing EIC. Life is good. However, all was not right with the world; back, several cars to the rear, someone was following us. I spotted the tail, got off the 110 and took to the surface streets for a little bit, not wanting to disturb Stephanie, who was catching a few zz’s while I drove. After driving around for a bit I felt certain someone had been following us; I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, though and decided not to give it a second’s thought.

Chapter 4


***the Harbor District***
They say every part of Velo City is different from one another, from downtown’s hustle n’ bustle to the glitz and glamour of Hollywood to the relaxing beauty of Kensington Hills........the Harbor District was no different. On a map, you’d swear the Harbor area was separated from the rest of Velo City by nothing more than string cheese at certain points, geographically speaking.

This was because of the fact that there were several small cities on either city of Velo’s southern reaches; Compton and Inglewood to the west, Easton, Fulton Heights and South Gate to the east. It was a slow trip down the 405 freeway, but eventually I found the exit and pulled off onto San Pedro, heading towards an industrial area near the docks. I kept thinking to myself, why out here, Jon, in the heart of Musclebomb country did you want me to meet with the buyer; why not downtown or up in the Valley?

I kept those thoughts to myself, though; if Jon had indeed found a buyer for the bar then that was good news in and of itself; 126 5lb. gold bars, Krugerrands, belonging to a South African industrialist, were sitting in a Valley warehouse and even though the heat had died down since the heist, I knew we had to get those bars out of the Southland.

Finally, I saw where Jon was parked, his blue Toyota Tundra w/the TRD striping parked in an abandoned lot. Next to it was a Hummer H2 which was parked catty-cornered from the Tundra. Pulling into the lot, I parked the Audi facing the highway, more for my self-preservation than for any other reason. Cutting the ignition switch, I sat there and got out of the car, keeping my jacket buttoned and walking over towards the Tundra. Browning got out of the Tundra, along with two individuals in the H2. One I recognized from the heist, the other one I didn’t know. I looked at Jon and thought, time to get this party started. “So, nice place, Jon. Come here often?”

“Wise-***,” was his reply. We shook hands and he introduced me to the two gentlemen standing next to him. “Matt, you already know the first one, David Young–“

”So we meet again, Whisper. I wondered where you were hiding after the heist.............”
The two of us shook hands, but you could tell there nothing but hatred between us and for good reason. It all went back a few months ago when we pulled off that heist...............



***the Harbor District***
Not releasing my grip on his hand, Jon quickly introduced the second man. “Matt, this is Brandt Krueger, the buyer I was telling you about.” I shook hands with Krueger; it was a firm, clean handshake. “So, is this the buyer, Jon?”

“Yes; you want to hear the terms?” Nodding my assent, Krueger began to speak. I kept one eye on Whisper as Krueger spoke; Jon stood in the background, nodding quietly every so often. Krueger spoke with a thick Afrikaans’ accent, but I understood a lot of what he was saying. After all, we’re talking millions, right? Money’s a universal language. Finally, Jon spoke up. “Okay. So let me get this straight; 3.5 million for the bars themselves, along with 275k each for Matt and his crew for the risks they took securing the load?”

Krueger nodded; I was fuming......not at the money, but at the Whisper getting a cut of the money; after what he did and the result........but I didn’t let it show. We exchanged terms, cell numbers and another round of handshakes and that was that. As the pair walked away, Jon and I had a brief conversation, then we parted ways. Finally, I thought, we’re going to get rid of those damn bars! But that was another worry for down the road...........


***East Velo Dragstrip, 2 days later***
Now, there’s more to racing than just races. Every so often, all the major clubs will get together in a sort of a mass challenge event; $200,000 from the Velo City Racers’ Association went to the club that won the most challenges that day. As expected, my talents on the track earned me a spot on the boards.

The way the challenges went, each club entered 50 people; once all 150 names were collected, the VCRA people then paired them off, making sure not to put two from the same club together. The challenges went on for several hours.....I won my challenge, a very close 1/4-mile fight between me and some anime-looking dude from Rising Sun. It was very close; he actually got the jump on me in his Lancer Evo, getting the holeshot on me at the arm drop. But the start is only part of the race........by the 600ft. mark, I had caught up to him. While the Evo has better front-end torque, the Pontiac Firebird I was entered with(brought straight to the track from Zero Degrees’ rearside garage) had better top-end speed and it showed.

Although I won, it wasn’t by much; VCRA officials spent several minutes looking at the finish-line photos before giving the challenge win to me. Tell that to Stephanie or my friends; they were yelling, “He won! He won!,” pointing at the timing boards on my side of the strip the whole time.

After my run, I went up to one of the luxury boxes as other challenge runs were being made. It was like a king’s court of sorts; Stephanie was sitting next to me, her arm lounged along my upper back. To my left sat Matt Frechette, a/k/a Frech, nursing a mojito, a long, wooden cane next to his seat. To his left in the box sat Michael Chevalier, a/k/a Slick, who was enjoying a Miller while his wife, Sarah, sat next to him engaged in a conversation w/Stephanie, over what I had no idea. Jason Ridenaur, J.R. to the rest of us, sat to the right of me and like most everyone else, was watching the challenge runs go on and on with interest. Finally, sitting demurely at the end of our little soiree’ sat Melissa Marquis and her husband, quietly chatting and each nursing a cup of coffee. After a moment, I reached over and picked up the bourbon glass I had and clinked a knife to it. Everyone looked over at me; I held up the glass in turn. “I propose a toast. To friends!”

“To friends!!” We all raised whatever we were drinking and cheered. Then Mike looked at me and asked, “Matt, who is that very gorgeous woman with you there? For that matter,” he added, leaning over to give Stephanie a brief kiss on the hand, “how did you two ever hook up?”
“Thanks for embarrassing me a little bit there,” I said, blushing ever so slightly. Gathering my composure, I began. “In case you didn’t know, this is Stephanie Harrington. Stephanie, these roustabouts’,” I said, pointing to everyone and bringing a laugh to the table, “are some good friends of mine with Exotic Ice Customs.”

Pointing at Frech first, I started, “Steph, this is Matt Frechette, Mike Chevalier and his wife Sarah, Jason Ridenaur and Melissa Marquis and her husband, Kyle.” After some introductions, we must’ve spent the next hour or so talking and carousing; part of the racing culture doesn’t just revolve around the track.........it revolves around the people you know and the people you hang out with...it almost amounts to a surrogate family of sorts. As I was telling a joke I felt a small tap on my shoulder. A waiter from the catering firm that ran the block of luxury suites we were in was standing behind me. “Mr. Little, there’s a call for you in the lobby.”

Wondering what it was, I set my bourbon down and got up, pausing only to say, “I’ll be right back,” brushing my hand along Stephanie’s back as I walked over to the lobby. In the background as I exited I could hear Michael’s wife say, “Stephanie, I never in my life have seen someone fall as head over heels for someone like that boy has,” referring to me. “You two are perfect for each other........” I smiled, hearing that, as I walked to the phone. “Hello?”

“Mr. Little, I’ve got a package for you. There’s a drive-in along Sawtelle Blvd. just off the 705. Be there tomorrow, 3pm.” The caller hung up, but I figured it was about the bars. The deal Jon and I had struck with the South African was they would pay us for the gold bars; we in turn would take them to the bars’ location. Once they had possession of them, that would be the end of it and things would go back to normal for all of us.

Handing the phone back to the waiter, I walked back to our table; right before I got back, I mimicked being quiet. Sneaking up behind Stephanie, I lightly began massaging her shoulders at the point where the muscles intersect the ones in the neck. Looking startled for a brief bit, she arched her back in the seat and purred quietly. “Keep doing that, would ya’? A little lower might help......” I kept at it for a few more seconds before sitting back down. “I could try that some more tonight, love; with some candles, white wine, silk sheets....,” I said mischievously. Swatting me away for a moment, I sat down as Mike asked, “So, how serious is it between you two?”

The question caught us both for a loop; I hadn’t thought of it, yet there was that persistent voice in my head that had been whispering to me the past few days, “She’s the one......” After reflecting about it, I looked over at him. “I’d say its’ serious. Its’ only been a short while, but if you’re asking if its’ just a short-term hookup......it’s not. It’s not.”
He mused over it before tipping his glass towards me. “Cheers, Matthew.”

“Thanks, Mike. Now, as I was saying earlier.......” The rest of the day we spent talking, laughing, goofing around as young, professional-looking people are want to do, but even the best of times come to an end. As we gathered outside the boxes at Pomona, we hugged each other and bid farewell as we split off for the evening; unbeknown to any of us, someone was watching us from afar.

For the briefest of moments, I looked around, the hairs on my neck standing around but I thought better of it and opened the passenger door of the Audi R8 for Steph, then closed it, got in the driver’s seat and pulled out onto the seat. Maybe we are being watched, I thought to myself........but who was doing the watching? And........who was the one being watched? I didn’t know the answer to either question............but it would soon enough rear itself up.

Chapter 6


All day, I had never been more nervous in my life than I was that day. It was the beginning of September; the Santa Ana winds were blowing down the hills, providing a bit of relief to the early fall weather. All day, whether at the track or driving around, all I could think about was that ring.........her.......the paths our lives had taken to that point.

After a long workout at the house, I showered and went to the bedroom, where I got dressed for a night at the club. Twenty minutes later, wearing a black, button-down shirt, Dockers and a pair of black Sketchers, I walked out the door, keys to the Caddy in hand. Hopping in, I turned the ignition on, set the air to high and backed out the driveway towards the street. A few minutes later, I turned onto Kensington for the drive down; traffic was dense but not as bad as it could be at times.

Finally, I saw Zero Degrees off to the left; I slowed and turned into the main lot. Pulling up to the curb, I gave the valet the keys and a tip; as he drove off, I walked to the front. Like most evenings, there was a good crowd; Bulletproof spotted me and waved me in. Walking through the doors, I walked over to the bartender. “How’s it going, Kent?”
“Fine, fine. Expecting a big night tonight. You?”
“The same–“

”Listen, Stephanie’s already here; I got her a corner table near the dance floor, Matt,” pointing over towards the row of tables along the end of the club’s dancing space. I looked over and spotted her, nodding over to her, I turned back to Kent. “The usual, Kent. 2 bourbons,” sliding him a twenty in the process.

I walked over to the table, where Steph was sitting with a few friends and acquaintances. I leaned down and kissed her; she returned it instantly. She was wearing a long black silk dress w/a hunter-green top vest; the vest accentuated her upper body while the dress, long as it was, did the same for her hips and legs. As I sat down, Chris looked over and said, “Matt, I know you told me she was beautiful, but...........”

Taking a moment to reach out his hand to Stephanie, he introduced both himself and his wife. “Unless Uncle Matt hasn’t told you about me,” drawing a groan from me and a stifled laugh from Steph, “I’m Chris Shiflett and this is my wife, Holly,” ; both Holly and Stephanie said hello before I spoke. “In case I didn’t mention it, the little twerp here is my nephew, who at times could be mistaken for a younger version of me. Which almost never happens.......” Just then a couple more familiar faces showed up.

“What’s up, brother?,” said J.R. Right behind him were both Michael Chevalier, his wife Sarah, and another EIC member, Michael Smith. I beckoned them to sit and greeted both with, “Took ya’ long enough to get here,” I said.

“Well, we’re here, the night is young and all’s right with the world,” J.R. retorted. As they were sitting down, a barman walked over with our drinks; 2 bourbons and a couple of Bacardi & Cokes’. As everyone was chatting around, Chris looked over at me. “Hey, Uncle Matt......tell us the beer cooler story again? Just where did that guy....”

Chuckling to myself, I started, “Well, my dad could tell that story better than me, but here goes......y’all know, back in his prime, my dad was a crew chief, chief mechanic, head wrench, etc., etc., for a bunch of USAC and CART teams over the years. This one year at Indy for the 500, he was the head wrench for Jim Hurtubise and they’d entered an old, front-engine Mallard/Offy that woulda’ had no chance that year against the sleek, sexy rear-engined cars of the day. Cars, mind you, that were a lot better to drive then than the POS Dallaras’ they run at the Brickyard nowadays. Anyway, they get the car up to the tech line like they’re going to qualify the damn thing. Starter’s gun goes off, 6pm, field’s frozen for the Indy 500 that year and all the track officials, including ole’ Tony Hulman, I might add, are looking at Herk and going, ‘what the **** was this guy thinking?’ He’s already got one car qualified for the 500... Anyway, by now, there’s got to be a couple of hundred people around Herk, my dad and a couple other crewmen and the chief steward is losing it, absolutely losing it... He looks at my dad and starts asking, what is your driver doing, sir? Now, as he’s asking that, Herk gets out of the Mallard, opens up the front cowling above where the engine would be.........and there’s five coolers of Miller High Life where the engine’s supposed to be, chilled and ready to drink. He then starts passing bottles of Miller High Life around to everyone, including both Hulman and the chief steward, who, without missing a beat, pop the tops and start drinking 'em right there in pit lane......”

Everybody laughed; the thought of someone pulling that at a racetrack today would be enough to send the authorities after you in an instant. As we were talking, I thought to myself, now or never......”If you’ll excuse me a moment.....” I got up and walked over to the bar; everyone at our table, most ‘specially Stephanie, looked at me wondering, what is he up to? After walking over to the bar, I said a few words to Kent, pocketed the ring box with the engagement ring in it and walked back to our table. Leaning down, I whispered to Stephanie, “The floor’s open.........care to dance?”

“Lead the way,” she said. After a few steps onto the floor we were dancing, Steve Winwood playing over the speakers. As we were dancing, I made a quick flick of the hand; Chris saw it and motioned to everyone, ‘Get up...get up...’ Steph had her back turned as they approached; once they got up to us I pulled out the ring box and knelt on one knee before her. When she turned around, she was shocked to say the least. “Matt, what...what are you doing?,” she stammered.

All the nervousness that I had been nursing the whole day disappeared like water over a waterfall as I looked up at her, my hand holding hers’. “Ever since that first night I saw you, I’ve known you’re the one. I just have but one question to ask..........Stephanie Harrington, will you marry me?”

For a brief moment, she stood there, stunned at the question. It was only for an instant though as she began to cry tears of happiness. “Yes.” The instant she said it, everyone in Zero Degrees cheered; Kent and some of the bar staff began handing out glasses of champagne as Stephanie and I kissed for the longest time. Eventually our lips parted and I held her closely, wanting to savor every moment. Her engagement ring shone brightly under the lights; Sarah and several of the other members’ wives looked at it in awe. “It’s beautiful,” they all seemed to say. For the next hour or so there wasn’t a dry eye in the club as everyone celebrated; while they were enjoying themselves, Stephanie and I continued to dance, savoring the moment. As we were celebrating, though..............BOOM!!!!

A loud explosion from outside rocked the building; all of us stood there wondering what had happened. “What was that?,” Scandalous, EIC's president, yelled. As all of us stood there, frozen at what was happening, several security guards ran out to see what was going on. Seconds later, there came another loud explosion, followed by a third and a fourth. Looking over at Scandalous, I said, “My guys will check it out; cover us.”

“Go; Bulletproof and Ravyn’ll cover you guys at the door.” In the back, several members were pulling out assorted rifles and shotguns; whatever was going on, we weren’t taking any chances. While they were loading up and heading towards the door, my crew and I, weapons drawn, walked....no, ran to the door. Stephanie started to follow; at first, I said, “No, stay in here–“

”Matt, I can take care of myself,” she firmly replied as she looked over towards the bar. “Bronder, toss me my purse," yelling to who I later found out was another FBI agent w/the SRTF. Seconds later, she pulled out both her badge, placing it around her neck, and her P239; making sure a round was chambered and ready. “You were saying?”

Soon, several of us.....myself, Stephanie, Mike Chevalier, Michael Smith and Matt Frechette, were outside the club. Off in the distance several cars were burning, thick smoke obscuring them. We ran to where the cars were; spreading out, we looked for any sign that someone was around when Chevalier yelled, “Here they come!”

Several trucks beared down on our location; we dove for cover as a hail of bullets flew over us. The trucks kept going at us; back at the club, Bulletproof and Ravyn, both armed with M4s’, opened fire in an effort to give us a chance to move back to another row of cars. It kept like this for several minutes; they’d fire at us, we’d return fire and move to another location, etc., etc.. Eventually, we made it back to the last rows of cars in front of the club; for a brief instant we thought they were gone......so all of us made a run for the door. Suddenly another hail of bullets flew by........except for three which caught Stephanie square in the upper back, knocking her to the ground.

We had just made it to the door when I saw Sarah’s horrified expression; she was pointing back towards the parking lot. I turned around......and all the color drained from my face; Steph was lying, facedown, a pool of blood beginning to gather around her mid-section and chest. Running back out there, I turned her over; she was alive but dying. All three rounds had hit her in the upper back and the frothy bubbles percolating from her lips meant her lungs had been shredded.

As Ravyn and several others ran out to secure the parking area, I sat down beside her and held her tight; her back was soaked wet with blood and tears began streaming down my face as I tried to comfort her. “It’ll be alright, Stephanie......it’ll be alright.......,” I said, rocking her back and forth, brushing a stray hair from her face. Her almond-colored eyes were darting every which way, like she was looking for something or someone but couldn’t see.

“Promise me, Matthew.......,” she said weakly, in between coughs. I looked down at my beloved, the tears falling from my face unabashedly down onto her. Off in the distance, sirens could be heard but I had no illusions about them; I kept rocking back and forth, holding Stephanie to me.

I could see her face was very pale, the color draining from her as she moved her lips again. Very faint sounds came from them........”Promise me..........,” she said; I could see from her expression that she wasn’t long for this world. “Avenge me, my love..........avenge me..........”. Looking right at her as she said that, I nodded, burning those words into my mind...........”Avenge me.” Moments later, her eyes lost all focus and she slumped, dead in my arms. For a brief instant, I couldn’t think, couldn’t focus.........then I looked upward and with all of my strength, cried out like a wounded animal. I didn’t care if anyone saw or heard me crying.

For the longest time I held onto her lifeless body, swaying gently back and forth, not wanting to let go.........not wanting to release her. As the first ambulances arrived, I looked back up at the night sky; for a brief moment I saw a shooting star flicker by. As paramedics and police arrived onscene, I quietly said to myself, “I’ll avenge you, my love. This I swear........I will avenge you.”

Chapter 8



***the Harbor District, early afternoon***
The trip down the 405 to the Harbor District took longer than I had thought, but that was to be expected in a city that seemed to stretch forever on a map. Practicing my skills on the trip down, I kept the Lotus around 90mph, slipping through holes in traffic and enjoying the beautiful sounds the Garrett twin-turbo made. Exiting the freeway, I made my way down San Pedro towards the marinas’ that lined the west-central end of the district.

After a few minutes of searching, I pulled into a parking lot outside a non-descript dockside quay; the sign out front read Brinson Pacific Tours. Along the dockside behind the building were several large sport-fishing vessels tied to the docks; just down the road a distance was a nearby lighthouse. Getting out of the Lotus, I began walking up to the building, the ocean breeze gently blowing around. Opening the front entrance, I walked up to the desk; a small, wiry girl of 16 was at the front desk. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?”

“Yeah, is Lee Brinson around?”
“Let me check.” Picking up a phone from the table, she dialed an extension and spoke to someone on the other end. Placing it back down, she said, “Lee’s in his office; he’ll be right out.”

Moments later a tall, trim gentleman wearing a sport shirt, chinos’ and boat shoes walked out of the office. Seeing me, he walked over, hand extended. “Well, if it ain’t Webster himself! Matt, my friend, how are you? Still raising hell?” I shook his hand in return; he was still the same wiseacre that he’d always been.

“Can I talk to you for a bit, Lee?”
“Sure; hang on a second.” After turning to the girl at the counter, he turned back around. “Let’s go to the docks; there’s no one out there right now.”

For about thirty minutes we spoke; I told him what had happened, to which he commiserated, “I heard, Matt. That was brutal, what happened; you have my condolences.” Then he continued, “So, what brings you down here?”

“You still got your networks up or are they dormant?”
“They’re still up; can’t guarantee they’re all available–“
”You think you could find out who paid the Whisper to off both me and Stephanie?”
“I can try, but......”
“But what?”

“Steph was FBI, right? There’s about 50 or so Fibbies’ now in the city, looking for whoever killed her.....rumor has it they want to bigfoot the case from the locals–“
”Bigfoot?”

“Whenever you have two competing agencies working the same ground, it’s often common for whichever has the more power to appropriate, or ‘bigfoot’, a case from the weaker. And there’s no love lost between the FBI and the VCPD. The Feds’ think the VCPD are nothing more than nightstick-wielding brutes’ wearing badges, while the locals look at the Fibbies' as nancy-boy prima' donnas'... Usually the FBI wins. With what happened to Stephanie, however.....they’ll want their hands on this case, my friend.” As he spoke my cell rang again. “Hang on, Lee,” I told him, flipping it open.

“Hello?”
“Matt, its’ Mike; I just got off the phone with my Vice contact. We now know who put up the front money to get both you and Stephanie–“
”Who, Mike?”

“That South African fellow, the one who bought the bars from us, Krueger. Turns out, those were his bars we took that day. He was hiding them form the IRS, of all things---”
“That’s understandable. His bars, but why the hit money, though?”

“My contact didn’t say. He did said, however, that Krueger put the money up after the truck heist back in May. Apparently Krueger didn't like the way the heist went down and put the contract on you out. Then the Whisper heard about it and decided to pay Brandt a visit. After he told the guy who he was, Krueger upped’ the contract money and specifically put the contracts out for both you and then added one to Stephanie, the stipulation being her first. How cold is that, my friend?”

I stood silently, right hand holding the cell to my ear, left hand tapping out a note on my leg, but I wasn’t paying attention to anything in particular. I was thinking of only one thing......avenging what I had lost. I said bye to Chevalier and hung up the phone; Brinson had walked back to where I was standing. “Everything all right, friend?”

Not wanting to alarm him, I shook my head back and forth. “You say your contacts are still up, Lee? Find out where the Whisper hangs out; his haunts, his dives, every move he makes on the street, okay? Also, see what your networks can find out about a South African named Brandt Krueger and let me know, a’right?” I gave him my cell number as I was speaking. Lee nodded; if his rat-lines were still operational, he’d know soon enough. “Anything else, or should I call out the National Guard also?” We both laughed; Brinson still had his irrepressible sense of humor. “You ever been to the races, Lee? I gotta’ run in a few nights out at Fontana.....come out and watch.”

We walked back to the building where his sport-fishing business was located; I got my back in the Lotus and soon was headed back up the freeway. My mind was running as if it were full of burning nitrous, thinking, Krueger set all this up? Those were his bars.......why would he have his own bars stolen? It was becoming more and more apparent; the time for talking was quickly ending. Oh, I’d still be doing some talking...........just not verbally, if you know what I mean.

My mind was doing cartwheels as I headed back up the 405 when I noticed a car following me, shadowing my every move. I’d make a lane change, the Spyker would make a lane change; if I slowed down or sped up, it’d do the same thing. Without hesitating I goosed the Lotus as fast as it could take me; the cars began flying past as I weaved skillfully through the freeway traffic, heavier than it had been earlier.

The Spyker kept up but was slowly, imperceptibly, losing the little battle we had. Seeing an opportunity, I jerked the steering wheel hard right; the sport’ tires on the Lotus gripped the road, squealing in protest but holding on for dear life. As I made it off the 405, I looked behind me and watched as the Spyker couldn’t make the turn, flipping over as its’ tires had caught too much grip and had flung the car over like a dog’s chew toy. As I made my way onto Manchester Avenue, I could see the traffic begin to back up on the freeway; the Spyker ended up cartwheeling a bunch of times before resting on its’ roof........only to have a semi nail it flush on the driver’s side as it attempted to slow down and avoid it. Ouch, I thought to myself, but then thought...........whoever wanted to play with me just got a nasty lesson in how not to play with others.

The rest of the drive back up to the club was on surface streets; while the trip took longer, it gave me time to think. Think, Matthew..............why would Krueger have his own bars stolen? He was trying to avoid having the IRS breathing down his neck, hence the reason for the theft. But why me and my guys? Why not have his own people do it? Furthermore, why the contract on both him and Stephanie?.......

That last part stumped me; throughout our relationship, most everyone knew Steph had been an FBI agent; she had been open and honest about her work with the bureau’s SRTF and everyone in EIC had respected her immensely for it. Did Krueger not realize what a can of worms he was opening? It was one thing for someone to come after me; as many heists and scores my crew and I had accomplished in Velo City, that was expected. It was another to go after a Fed.

It was a lot to digest, but I thought, I now know who to go after. It was said that whenever I got my hands on something, I didn’t rest until the job was completed; same thing for whenever I was out on the racetrack; all-out, 10/10ths’ each lap. As I began heading up Kensington to the club, I thought to myself, I hope Krueger and the Whisper are enjoying themselves..........for they’ll be dealing with me soon enough.

Chapter 10


***Harbor District, 6pm***
Pulling into the parking lot in front of Lee’s sport-fishing business, I looked over at the center console. 5:49pm. I made great time coming down the 405, I thought to myself. Of course, you’ll always make great time going on the freeway when your averaging 85+ mph while everyone else is traveling 65-70mph. Mike’s truck, a early 90's Chevy S-10, was parked in front alongside a dark red Lamborghini Murcielago that could only have belonged to Lee Brinson.

While I waited for Agent Bronder to arrive, I turned on the radio; Rage Against the Machine’s “No Shelter” was playing and I could feel the sound waves asa they bounced around the car’s interior. How appropriate, I mused, after tonight there might not be any shelter in Velo City. I sat back and let the music infuse itself into my mind and body. While I listened, I watched the traffic flow along San Pedro Blvd. when a Dodge Challenger with California plates pulled into the parking lot. That must be Bronder, I thought. The Challenger looked, for all practical purposes, like a VCPD detective car. It wasn't though; the reason being Mayor Armin Villareal, a/k/a Mayor Sunny, was too cheap to let them use any decent cars. Sure enough, Agent Bronder got out of the car and began to walk towards the Lotus. As she approached, I got out of the vehicle. “Glad you could make it down here.”

“Sure, and you didn’t break the speed limit coming down here also, I’ll bet.” This got a chuckle from me. She looked around. “So, who else is here?”

“A few friends of mine. When we go in there, Agent Bronder, let me do the intros first. If you announce you’re FBI before I can introduce you to them, they’ll wonder what’s wrong and might panic. If I introduce you, both as an FBI agent and as a friend of Stephanie’s, they’ll likely relax and welcome you in. Now, let’s go find out what they know.” We walked over to Brinson’s main building and entered; standing there in the main lobby were both Brinson and Chevalier.

Mike spoke first, asking me suspiciously, “Who’s this?”

“Gentlemen, this is Special Agent Erica Bronder, with the FBI’s Street Racing Task Force here in Velo City. She was a close friend of Stephanie’s and she’s agreed to help us find the Whisper. Agent Bronder, the tall gentleman here is Lee Brinson, and the stocky guy with the crewcut over here is Mike Chevalier,” I said as everyone greeted each other. Once the intros are completed, Lee spoke up. “Let’s go to my office; it’s large enough to accommodate all of us.”

The four of us headed over to Lee’s office, where he offered all of us a cup of coffee, which all of us accepted in turn. Lee grabbed himself a cup and sat back behind the desk; I sat on the left, Mike sat in the middle and Bronder sat to the right. Let’s get this dance started, I thought. “Okay, Lee, what did you find out about our friend Krueger?”

“First off, my.....friends,” he began, trying to hide who his friends were and where his friends worked, “tell me that Krueger definitely isn’t someone you’ll sing hosannas’ with at Sunday Mass. Krueger’s been a member of several major Afrikaner groups which don’t like--; no, scratch that, which hate the post-1994 South African government; back in the mid-1980's, he brought over several hundred gold bars–“
”Krugerrands,” I said.

“Several hundred and deposited them in various banks around the country. Now, that much gold imported into the country had to raise red flags, especially with Customs and the IRS.”
“He’s right,” Bronder added. “That much gold......why didn’t anyone spot it?”

“Who knows? The thing is....every so often, he’d get wind of IRS criminal audits concerning the gold and voila, the gold disappears. He then writes it off as a tax loss, while the IRS goes away, looking like a bunch of fools. Now, a couple of months back, he gets a summons from the U.S. District Court here in Velo City that the IRS wants to audit him again.....”

“Which is where Mike and I come into the picture,” I finished. Bronder looked over, wondering, “What do you mean?”

“Don’t ask,” I said, shooting Bronder a look. Lee continued. “Anyhow, he used you guys to hide the bars; unfortunately, that’s where our Whisper comes in. You see, Krueger didn’t like the way the bars vanished, so he decides to put the word out that he’s looking to put a contract on our friend Matthew here,” pointing over at me. “By this time, though, Matt’s fallen for a very beautiful woman, one Stephanie Harrington, so Krueger decides to add her to the list. out of spite” As he continued, I thought, had I known, I would’ve killed Krueger right there in that lot a few months back along with the Whisper. Instead....”Just out of curiosity, Agent Bronder–“
”Please, call me Erica,” she replied.

“Okay. Anyway, Erica, did the FBI know about the contract on Harrington?”
“We knew but we weren’t able to get anything specific other than CI information that a contract was out for Agent Harrington’s life. We did what we could, though. We reassigned her to support and headquarters’ duties. In addition, we kept at least three pairs of agents in a revolving tail near her from late June to.....that night, we had five agents besides myself in the club; Harrington, of course, along with myself and Agents Cardones, McKeon, Wolcott and Carano. When it all happened, all of us inside the club helped with security and tried to keep everyone calm.”

Then Lee spoke up, “Anyway, back to the gold bars. After he puts the contract on both of you, that’s where the Whisper comes back into the picture. He agrees to take the contract but on one stipulation......that he gets to kill Agent Harrington first, then our friend Matthew after that.”
“And the money?”

“Remember the money you guys paid Krueger’s people to get rid of the bars, Matt? Well......Krueger turned right around and paid the Whisper the entire amount, 6.2 million dollars.”

Digesting all this, I turned to Mike, “What about your sources?”
Mike shrugged. “My info jibes with what Lee just mentioned." I sat back and thought about what we were going to do. It was very risky, but.....”Okay. Here’s what we’re doing to do.......” I spoke for about ten minutes, both Lee and Mike nodding every so often while Bronder sat quietly in the background. “You sure this is going to work, my friend?” Mike asked.

“Mike, it either does or I’m going to get a one-way ticket to the next world,” I opined. “Anyhow, Mike, go get however many people you can from EIC and get them out on the street; give them a description of the Whisper and tell them if they see him, they’re to call either you, Frech or me.” Looking at Lee, I continued. “Lee, put the word out on the street that Krueger’s turning state’s evidence concerning what happened that night.”

While Lee was staring at me a “what the **** are you smoking?” look, I added, “As far as the Whisper knows, Krueger’s still a free man. If we can put the word out that Krueger’s ratting out the Whisper, the Whisper might come out from whatever rock he’s under.” Turning to Agent Bronder, I continued on. “As for the Feds, whenever you guys conduct surveillance, is it always ground-only or....”

“Usually, unless the target’s on the freeways, in which case we usually add a helicopter or two to the chase.”
“Can you get one of those choppers to help us or does Inspector Baldy have to know about it in advance?”
“Usually, Inspector Christensen has to approve but.......”
“But......”
“Besides being a crack shot and an expert in tae kwon do, I’m also the bureau's lead chopper pilot in Velo City,” Bronder said with a confidence I really hadn't noticed before; it reminded me a lot of how Steph spoke at times.

“Good. You’ll fly high cover for us.” Turning back to the others, I concluded. “Let’s meet back at the club, say around 10pm.” Everyone nodded; outside, the sun was beginning to set in the west and nightfall was approaching. We had plans to make and not a lot of time to make them in.

Chapter 12


As I took off after the Whisper, I kept thinking to myself, hope you know how to ride this damned thing! It was well-known my disdain for motorcycles, having once said that “anybody who willingly rode a motorcycle had serious issues......” Then again, if I ran back to my Lotus, he might get away from me, so I had no choice; either chase after him on the Ninja or let Stephanie’s killer get away from me. As I rode after him, I gunned the throttle as hard as I could, feeling the power pulse through me as I headed up the narrow highway. It was hard to see him, as he had gotten a head start and, although there weren’t very many lights on this stretch of SoCal highway, traffic was light and I made the most of it, putting the skills I had learned all these years racing to the test.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I began catching him, remembering a quote my dad had often told me when I first started learning the racing ropes........”Son, when you’re out there on the road or the racetrack, you’ve got to imagine that whatever you’re driving..... You've got to imagine that it is like a suit of armor, an iron eagle that nothing can stop.” As I kept catching up to the Whisper, I saw off in the distance the canyons that lined this stretch of Hwy. 7 and knew the road ahead was going to get very sharp-curved very quickly.

If we’d been in cars chasing up this road, I’d have caught him in no time......on bikes, though, neither of us had an advantage. It was then that I felt that same spirit with me as I had earlier in the day. A tear pricked from my eye when I felt it; it was Stephanie, with me in spirit as I kept after the Whisper. It was as if she was saying, “Go get him. Go.”, to me as I rode ever onward. Pretty soon I was beginning to catch up to the Whisper; he must’ve seen me, for he took off even faster, daring me to test my luck on the narrow, sharp road. Knowing that nothing was going to stop me now, I thought, “to hell with it” and gunned the throttles as far as I could, nearly yanking the throttle past the stops on the handlebars.

Soon I was hitting over 80, then 85, then 90, on the bike, knowing one little slip, one tankslapper moment would be the end for me; not hearing a helmet, I wouldn’t likely survive any bike crash this far from Velo City. Whatever I was doing must be working, for the gap was closing...........then the Whisper got even more desperate as tried to get away from me. Seeing a flash in front of me, I ducked as sparks flew up from the asphalt. He had decided to pull him 9mm out and started firing at me, not paying attention to the road up ahead.. Big mistake on his part, for as he kept firing at me, I did the unexpected.......I laid off the throttle ever so slightly; it must’ve have looked weird. Why was I slowing down? Looking ahead, I saw where the Whisper was headed..........and then it happened; off in the distance a loud semi's foghorn could be heard, followed by what was a loud crashing noise.



As he continued to hatefully stare up at me, I thought, I could kill him right now and no one would ever question my decision.........[/i]but as my mind continued thinking about what to do, the sirens grew ever louder. Maybe the trucker had called it in; looking over, down towards the city, I could vaguely make out the lights of a chopper against the backdrop of the cityscape. It was then that he spoke. "Want to know why I killed her? Huh? Is that what you want to know?"

Slowly, I pulled the gun away from him and sat back on another stump, glaring at him just as much as he did in return. "You got an audience of one, Whisper. I just want to know why."
"Money," he said. "Money. Remember that gold heist? The one where you nearly beat me to death afterwards? Well, when that Afrikaner put the contract on you, I had to jump on it, try to get you back--"

"That still doesn't explain why you killed Stephanie, though. I mean, why her; she didn't have anything to do with it, you *******."

"Still naive about the world, huh? After what you did to me that day, it was all I could not to repay you in kind. Of course, I didn't know back then you were dating that Eurasian *****....... I shoulda' gotten rid of her at the--"

Remembering what S.A. Bronder had said about Steph's time at the Academy, I dragged the Whisper up to his feet and punched him hard in the gut. He doubled over with a loud groan. I threw him back to the ground in disgust; the sirens were getting closer and closer now.

Looking at him with an unequivocal look of disgust, I said to him, "Talk about Stephanie in that manner again and, so help me, you won't live to see the sun come up." Grabbing his arm, I dragged him up to his feet. "Come on, Whisper. Up on your feet!"

Keeping the Bren Ten pointed at him, I motioned with it for him to start walking up the hillside towards the road. By the time we made it back up to the road, there were several cars parked near where both the Ducati's remains and the Ninja were at; most were CHP, but there were a few other cars, including a couple of slick-backs and a few cars from Zero Degrees. Several people jumped out of their cars; Mike Chevalier was the first to reach us. "Matt, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Can't say the same for him, though," nodding towards the Whisper. It was then that we felt the rotorwash from a chopper nearby; it was the Cayuse that Bronder had flown from the roof of Zero Degrees earlier. As the rotors slowed to a stop, she climbed out of the chopper as another man climbed out from the other side. They walked over as Chevalier, Smith and a few others gathered around me and the Whisper. "What took you so long, Agent Bronder?"

"I had to pick up Inspector Carson on the way here," she said, motioning to the other person. Shaking his hand, I said, "Well, you've been looking for the Whisper. Here he is," shoving him forward. Carson motioned to a couple of CHP troopers, who cuffed him and began walking him towards one of their patrol cars. He then turned around and looked at the bunch of us. "I should be chewing Agent Bronder out for not following procedures and for bringing in civilians on a case like this......but under the circumstances, I think I can excuse this breach of protocol. Besides, she's filled me in on your relationship with Agent Harrington, Mr. Little. Stephanie..........was a fine woman and a great field agent; her loss hit us hard, very hard indeed." Turning to Agent Bronder, he continued. "Unless there's anything else, Erica, head back downtown with one of the CHP officers and book Mr. Young for the murder of FBI Agent Stephanie Harrington and for any other related crimes." As they walked away to a nearby CHP vehicle, Chevalier looked over at me. "You alright, Matt?"

I looked at the others and thought, I've avenged her death.....it's over. I looked at Chevalier and said, "Yeah, Mike, I'm alright. Unless they," pointing to the CHP investigators, "want to talk to us, I just want to get away from here."

"Amen, brother," Chevalier said. After talking to the lead CHP officer, the bunch of us began to walk away from the roadside, heading for our respective vehicles. Mike and I walked over to his S-10; getting in, I sat back and relaxed for a moment, thinking to myself, I'm out of one life......and into another. Starting up the S-10, Chevalier looked over at me. "Where to now, partner?"

"Back to my Lotus," I said. "Then...........I'll probably see you at the club tomorrow, Mike. I'm going home to get what sleep I can."

"I hear you, Matt; you know, you could use some shuteye." I chuckled as he pulled away from the side of the road and headed back down towards Velo City. Off in the distance the lights of the downtown skyscrapers shined like distant sentinels, but my mind wasn't focused on them. My mind was thinking of the woman I had loved. As I thought of her, I could feel her spirit leaving my side, as if she was saying, "Goodbye, my love." I thought about the good times Stephanie and I had and the love we shared; if you could've seen it, you would've noticed a tear in the reflection of the passenger window. I looked out at thought to myself, "you're at peace now, Stephanie."

Rubbing the bridge of my nose for a moment, wiping the odd tear away, I looked back over at Mike. "You know, I was just thinking.....there's always going to be a place for private eyes' in Velo City, right?"
"What?", was his reply.

"You heard me, Mike. As much as we know about the criminal life, surely we'd make great P.I.'s. Surely we can fit in some work between our busy racing schedules......." Inside the truck we both laughed at the idea. "We can even base it from Zero Degrees.......wonder what Scandalous would say about it?"

That brought more laughter from both of us, but an idea had been born.......would it work? I don't know, but after years of living both sides of the life, it was certainly worth a shot.