Marcus sat back in the XR-3, relaxing as he held the wheel with one hand, and lazily smoked a cigarette with the other. He had the radio on, despite not being able to hear it all that clearly over the growling rumble resonating from under the hood and down the length of the car, but it helped him relax. The fog was no real issue for his piercing green foglights and glowing neon tubes, and so he didn’t mind. In fact, this dense fog had him even more relaxed than ever.
“Fucking helicopter can’t see us in this shit. Cops’ll only see us when they’re about to drive right up our asses, and the Mafia has to be able to see to actually hit shit with their heaters. Yeah, there’s likely some dunces who didn’t pack a pair of fog-lights, or didn’t install some rally off-roading lights, and they’re shittin’ bricks right about now, but they’ll be easy road-blocks to drive around.” Marcus said. At this point, he’d grabbed the little micro-cassette recorder from the center console and had been recording the events up to this stage, in hopes that once everything was all said and done, he could have his ‘stupid younger brother’ write it all down, compile it into a book, and get it published. That way, his younger brother wouldn’t feel the call of the streets as much, as he could see it already in his choice of video games. Anything to deal with cars or racing, Cody was into it.
“You know, driving this road reminds me of that time you brought the Hot Wheels track to the hotel room.” Marcus said, grinning. “Mom was so pissed when you broke the window and that the only thing you cared about was that your Twin Mill ended up in the pool. I knew then that you were going to be into cars. Then you got that go-cart when you were a little older and it was pretty much confirmed. I’ve said it before, I don’t want you racing, it’s dangerous and there’s a lot of crazy people out here in this world. And the cops are relentless. You street race, you spend a lot of your days looking over your shoulder, jumping at every siren. And when the cops do finally catch you, and they will, they put you away for a long time. Been thinking about that a lot lately. Wouldn’t be my first time in jail, that happened when I was 15 and got busted stealing the neighbor’s car. Won’t be my last time in jail, either. Just hoping that when that day comes, that the police come knocking on my door, that you don’t have to see it, Cody.”
Marcus used the XR-3’s big engine to slow down as he cruised down the mountain at speed, the big triple barking and backfiring and banging as it dumped unburned fuel into a screaming hot exhaust manifold. And as soon as he was down the mountain, it was back up the mountain again. He took the opportunity to change the tape in the recorder, wrote “Racer’s Diary, Part 11” on the tape he’d taken out, and placed it neatly in the suitcase sitting on the passenger seat. He then peeled the plastic wrapper off of another tape and popped it into the recorder, ready for the next stage, and the next bit of history.
