It seemed like a good idea with a change of clothes, perhaps washing up a bit, stuff like that. Which had then turned to be the most stupid idea, when the truck stop's restroom looked like someone had used it for stuff that restrooms should not be used for, and further, when he had to conclude two out of three of his jackets were currently in someone else's possession, and the last one was matching his Mephisto. In the middle of North American late fall, and trying to keep a low profile, that was not a combination that would work out. At the very least, he could change his t-shirt and try to look less like someone on the run. It didn't go well.
A pale young boy skulked through the front entrance of the diner attached to the gas station somewhere along the highway between Albuquerque and god knows where, New Mexico. Only Kai did not even know which state he was in, only that it was nearly impossible to find a pump that had 98RON, the bare minimum for his Mephisto, the other love of his life. The sheer size and number of trucks at this particular station, however, seemed like a more likely bet than most and thank goodness it paid off, because his HUD was blaring at him that the engine was about to choke on air, which was pretty telling, since the Mephisto was supposed to have two thirty gallon fuel cells stashed somewhere in the space behind the seats. And once he had attended to that, it suddenly occurred to him that he had his own needs to attend to.
Such as it were that he realised, exactly three steps too late, how incongruous he must have seemed to the dozen odd truckers sitting around the table in a booth in the diner directly adjacent to the counter. A motley bunch of various beasts of the north Americas, from hog to wolf to stag, they immediately stared at him at precisely the same moment the realisation hit him. Inwardly, he froze, but outwardly, he sauntered in as casually as he could, keeping his gaze down and averted, hands in the pockets of his jarringly bright red leather jacket with the devilish logo and the giant embossed MEPHISTO beneath, and attempted to sit on one of those swivelly stools at the counter. His façade almost failed when, slightly too short to slide onto the stool, it swivelled from under him, almost pitching him onto the tiles, but he barely saved himself by grabbing onto the counter. Smooth.
“Howdy!” the ridiculously affected voice of the waitress (or maybe that was just how she was) suddenly made more sense when he looked up and saw a Golden Retriever wearing the frilly apron and flared skirt of the 50s diner waitress. He almost did a double take as he imagined Tesla in the same getup, then shook his head, not sure he wanted that mental image to hang around, not least because Tesla was in her late twenties and this waitress appeared to be somewhat more advanced in the years, slightly weathered, slightly homely, all smiles and warmth and vaguely reminding him of his mother. “What’ll it be hon?”
“Uh…” Kai swished his hand around the jacket pocket, finding a couple of crinkled pieces of what he hoped were dollar bills. He looked up at the board and his heart sank. A couple of dollars was barely enough for a black coffee, and that was not what he needed right now. “Trouble deciding?” The waitress gave him another of those warm, heartfelt smiles, and leaned forward with interest. He stopped his hand from inching up towards the persistent cut on his cheek, and returned her smile with an apologetic one of his own. "I'm sorry, I d-" "Breakfast’s on me son." Kai started as the deep voice boomed directly beside him, and whipping around, he came face to chest with a huge man, a shire horse at least twice the size of Strop, and apparently more ninja too.
The waitress giggled. "My, aren't-cha generous this morning, George. Then it's your pick, hon." She gave Kai a questioning glance, like some giant man walking up to you and offering to pay your food was a normal, everyday thing that happened, and not super confusing and, with no sleep for the past 24+ hours and a car chase later, filtered through paranoia as a clear trap. Or something. "I- It's migthy nice of you, sir. But, you really don't have to waste your money on me." Except, now, in the middle of the food smells of the diner, it seemed like an awfully good idea. "Ya hear him, George. A kid driving a car like that doesn't need a handout." One of the truckers, a wild boar who probably couldn't have scaled the bar chair either, added loudly from his spot behind them, and from that corner erupted a consensus of guffaws.
"It's really-" Kai mumbled, but the shire gave him a look that made him shut up. "Up to you son, but you probably need it with all the driving's you got left." The shire said, as casually as he had been talking about the weather. Kai's blood ran cold and he also got a very sudden craving for a smoke as he hit the limit for stress for the day. "Excuse me?" He tried, though it seemed fairly obvious what the trucker had been talking about. George tossed his head at the Mephisto, sticking out like a red hot sore thumb amidst the road trains and massive truck cabs. "Ain’t nobody got wheels like that round here." Nope. "So I was set to thinking you weren’t from round here. Long way away, from the looks of things. And since this is the middle of nowhere, I’m betting you’ve some real tracks to make." That was awfully convenient assuming there, bro.
George gave him a short look, before turning towards the counter properly. "Or is that a load o’ horseshit?" Kai sat for a moment and stared at the horse, while the people behind them had fallen silent to hear the response. And it was far too early for these stunts, but slowly his mind started up again after the initial shock of fear. "No. No, that's right. That’s very… astute of you." Kai tried to smile, but it didn't work out right. The waitress had jumped at it right away, however, laughing at how observant it was indeed, and saying that George had logged thousands of hours on America’s highways and of course he would know about these things, and thankfully she started up a one-sided conversation with the shire, rather than going back to questioning Kai about the menu. Or worse, the car. Where was Strop, when he was needed for crazy ideas... or even for that matter, Sam. Sam, that incorrigible player, would have been all over this shit. What would Sam do?
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“And then, coming down the mountain, this car here, it’s a real supercar, so it has so much downforce I might as well be glued to the road, so I said fortune favours the brave and floored it!”
“Oh my goodness! What happened next?”
“Well, because I’m a professional race driver, I can maintain the balance well around the corners, you see. That’s the secret of racing, you have to know the limit and stick to it as much as you can. Anyway, my opponent couldn’t keep up and I totally left him in the dust.”
Leaning against the dirt-caked carbon monocoque Sleipnir, Sam casually gestured as he spun his wild and disturbingly true tale of the Barely Street Legal League. He had strategically placed himself directly next to the window so that, under the low-rising late Autumn sun, nobody from the growing crowd could peer into the cabin and see all the snack wrappers and empty cans of guarana-laden energy drinks he had consumed. Fuelled by dangerous doses of stimulants, Sam had failed to realise the fuel situation until it was too late, and now he was pulled up at another gas station god knows where, with not enough money to pay for the good stuff, having spent it all on snacks, and had resorted to bumming cash off unsuspecting passers-by, who naturally wanted to know what the hell a guy in such a flash car was doing panning for petrol money. Also, he wasn’t sure, but he had an inkling that he was going in the wrong direction, seeing as Tulsa was in Oklahoma, which was heading southeast, and now… actually he had no idea where he was. Anyway! At this stage, he figured the truth was so ridiculous it was the best kind of lie, so he gave the account, unabashed, unadulterated, and it had everybody hanging on his last word.
“When we got here we were planning to have a race on the Bonneville Salt Flats only our idiot host forgot you can’t drive on the Salt Flats any time other than summer.”
“So THAT was why there was a high speed chase in Utah?”
“Oh you guys know about that already? My, we’re famous!” He half-joked with a laugh, and the crowd laughed with him. “There was some crazy super-cop there too, crazy car faster than half of us, took one of us out with some kind of alien technology before we ran them off the road. I swear the government is hiding something out here somewhere, where was that place, Area 51? Nevada’s right next to Utah isn’t it?”
“Yeah, them goddamn government got no business meddling in our affairs!” someone mostly obscured by facial hair shouted from the back.
“Yeah!” Sam pumped his fist in automatic affirmation. “When those cops dropped in on us I had to drop everything and summon every last bit of my professional skill to get away, but get away I did. Now I’m just your friendly fugitive, with no cash and no petrol, and I need your help in my quest to stick it to the man.”
“Stick it to the man!” rose the cry. “U-S-A!” Sam shouted. “U-S-A!” the crowd echoed, and pretty soon, the chant was resounding through the station, and dollar bills were being passed forward and into Sam’s hands.
That turned out way better than he expected.
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Yeah no, Kai didn’t have quite enough gumption to pull that kind of stunt. So he decided maybe it was just better to stick to some more innocuous half-truths.
"I’m on my way to see my girlfriend. She lives out East, and we haven't seen each other in... forever, it seems... And, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time to just go, right? Not so much now, but I'm half way, so I can’t stop now."
While some mocked him with a sarcastic “Awww,” clearly the sentimental story struck a chord with most, and they nodded, muttering various things like “I feel that,” and “Amen brother.” They were all road warriors who know the rigors of the long haul. Meanwhile, George was intently staring at Kai, nodding to himself.
“No you best not. And I best not hold you up else your grits’ll get cold. Eat up son.” He patted Kai on the shoulder with a meaty hand, then went back to sit down at the booth. Kai stared at his food, suddenly feeling ravenous, and thinking actually, for once today, something just might be going his way. That feeling persisted all the way past the food going down the hatch and now warming a nice spot in his tummy. Kai didn’t want to push his luck, so made good his departure and was out the door and just about to thumb the switch to unlock the Mephisto when the deep booming voice of George issued behind him again.
“Fancy seeing you out here, Mister Kristensen.”
Yep, the feeling had just vanished, right there. For the second time that day, Kai froze. He didn’t remember mentioning his name at any point in the diner, which meant-
“I did suspect Gryphon Gear had something to do with this, but boy, that chase across Utah, I didn’t want to believe you guys were involved in that, it just seemed like too much of a coincidence to be true.”
Kai’s mouth was still hinged open. “How did you…”
It was as if somebody had flipped a switch in George, for he came to life with an intensity almost worrisome in a horse his size. “There’s a blog that came up on the Speedhunters radar, related to this Barely Street Legal league or something, it’s photos and videos only but I recognised a few things in it. Some Gryphon Gear cars. The Hulk. Mephisto, I didn’t realise that it was your own! And I knew you were in the US of A, but I never imagined that I would run into you like this.”
Of course. Noah’s blog. Kai, suddenly self-conscious, tried slicking his hand through his hair again but to no avail. “Eheh, about that.”
George clapped a hand on Kai’s shoulder, almost crushing it in his vice-like grip. “Don’t worry son, I won’t tell a soul. I don’t really talk to nobody about this anyway, ‘round here it’s all NASCAR… don’t get me wrong, NASCAR is great, but there’s something about what Gryphon Gear do. Anyway. Good luck with it all, wish I could be there but I gotta be on the road and seeing as it’s not exactly cop-friendly… still it’s an honour to meet the driver in the flesh, please, tell Mr McHorseguy I’m a fan and, hang on…” George fumbled in his pocket for a pen and a napkin and hastily scrawled something onto it. “Here’s my email, just in case, you know.”
Kai pocketed the napkin, gears still grinding in his head, not sure what was going on anymore. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do that.” He popped the wing-door open, and it swung forwards and upwards. “Thanks for breakfast, really.”
George swung the door shut and let his fingers linger on the body of the Mephisto just that little bit too long. “Nice to see horses in the industry. Racing was always in your blood, you know.” He gave the car a little pat. “Alright son, I won’t hold you up, you better get to your girl.”
Despite still feeling sticky and dirty, sleep-deprived and nerves jangled by his renewed desire not to get in any more tangles with the authorities, Kai smiled briefly. “Yeah you bet I will.” Then he shifted into gear and rolled back onto the highway.
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It was around dinner time, and about four hundred miles later, that the CB radio crackled to life. “Aaaaaand we’re back! Testing testing, come in!”
Kai bolted upright and grabbed the walkie-talkie. “Noah! You have no idea how glad I am to hear from you.”
On the radio, Noah was heard to mutter something like that was nice for a change most times people were telling him to stop being a dick, before there was a muffled ‘oof’ and Hannah’s voice crackled over. “Crash! Hello! How are you travelling?”
"Hey. I was getting lonely."
"Aw, did you miss us?"
For once in the span of his career with Gryphon Gear, Kai did not have to be facetious, sarcastic or in any way disingenuous: "Of course."
"Me too?" a new voice crackled over the radio.
"I'll have to think about that, Sam," which was met with a derisive “Pfft!”
"Anyway, how are you holding up, Crash?"
"I have two dollars in my pocket, and I could do with a shower and a nap, but my car is running and I'm in good health. Could be worse."
"You sound almost optimistic!"
"I guess so. How about you guys?"
“We’re back in business. We should be in Tulsa by tomorrow morning, provided the truck holds out that long. It’s kind of making funny noises we don’t even know how to diagnose.”
“Well good luck with that, hopefully I’ll see you there then!” Hopefully indeed. Provided nothing else went wrong and no more crazy cops showed up, England beckoned.
But first, time to get to round four.
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Okay, we're just about ready to get back on with this shebang, so I'll probably be posting the events and results of round for in less than 24 hours!
Sat Nov 22, 2014 5:03 am 
