SideShow

It was a scene unlike anything Karl had ever witnessed:

There was an unmistakeable smell of burnt rubber. The tire smoke was so thick it was hard to breathe — unless through his shirt. At times it was hard to see — the smoke stinging his eyes like tear gas. Every time an engine revved the crowd jumped back to make space for the beast to enter the ring. The loudest growl won, claiming rights to enter the territory first.

A piece of a tire ricocheted off, bouncing to a stop at Karl’s feet. He reached down to touch it and immediately recoiled from the heat — the rubber was on the verge of melting.

Every time one car entered the arena and begin to swing around the perimeter, a few brave matadors would step forward — hands extended — and try to tap the bumper. One of them got a little too cocky, juking back like a running back to avoid getting sideswiped. The second time around, he wasn’t so lucky. As the Nissan swung back again, he couldn’t move fast enough and the crowd howled loudly as he was sent flying to the ground.

“Stay back or get SMACKED!” yelled a girl hanging out the passenger window up to her thighs — one hand grabbing the roof rack and the other waving gang signs flagrantly in the air — hyping the crowd up more with each pass.

Twin shot him a glance, as if to say, ‘I told you so.’ As a pro driver, this wasn’t his first rodeo. He knew where all the best spots were, and often drove in them. He’d brought Karl along to give the kid his first glimpse into the wild nightlife of underground sideshows. Being a vet, he also knew when it was time to get out. Now, something had set off his sixth sense. He tapped Karl and started off down the block to where he had hid his car.

Twin fired up the engine. The motor erupted to life, roaring so loud it set off the alarm of a nearby minivan. No time to deal with that now though. He threw it into first gear, as a blend of police sirens and dog barks echoed in the distance.

“we gotta jet… now.”

Karl reached for his seatbelt, but not in time. Pushing the stick into 2nd, Twin accelerated into the turn — flinging his co-pilot out of his seat against the right door of the coup. They drag raced down the block towards the scene of the crime, smoke still pillowing into the air as they neared. Reaching the end of the block, they saw the crowd still gathered in mass. He scanned the street lit silhouettes for a red hoody.

Spotting the hoody he shouted out, “Ey yo — Five O! Five O!”

Immediately, everyone within earshot scattered — panic setting in. The figure in the red hoody turned around to reveal a young light skinned girl with braids.

“…Keesha we gotta dip, GET IN.”

As they cleared he could still see two corvettes in the center circling one another — drifting in tandem perfectly. He froze. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, smoke billowing upwards across the clearing. Frozen — captivated by this dance of beauty — Twin was awakened by a jab to his shoulder.

“Push it! She in.”

Snapping out of the trance, he turned his eyes to the road, igniting the engine once more. The muffler sputtered to life, sparks coming out the exhaust. Tactically swerving through two bystanders fleeing down the street, tires drifting left, then right — threading the needle. The three disappeared down the block into the distance.

Three blocks later, they saw the lights. Blue and Red reflected off the windows of the YMCA down the street. Karl, “Yo Yo Yo (Lookout Lookout)”

Twin busted a left. The back end of the car hung sideways, drifting, before catching up to the front. The cross streets flew past faster and faster as they accelerated, the mailboxes sounding like the propellers of a helicopter starting up as they whipped past the windows. Keesha glanced right down the parallel street to see a cop car now keeping pace with them.

She picked up the phone, “Meet us at the Dock in 5. Make sure the garage is open.”

10 miles away, Tucker was minding his own business. He was smoking a cigarette peacefully leaned up against his Benz — tucked off somewhere in the warehouse district. Always calm and collected, he held a zen-like aura, seeming to keep his cool through even the wildest circumstances. And there were alot. Maybe he got that from his Japanese mother, because his Jewish father damn sure worried every situation to death.

He loved this parking lot. It was a perfect dead end. Wide enough to practice donuts, calm enough to go fishing during the day. If ever he needed to clear his mind, this was his secret personal oasis. Savoring a final puff, he extinguished the Marlboro, and began walking over to the warehouse. Pulling down a rusty remote, he pressed a large red button and the cargo doors began to creak open.

Tucker looked at his watch, lit another cigarette, and leaned against the warehouse.

One inhale later, he heard it. The unmistakable sound of tires screeching in the distance.

His screen lit up with a text, “23rd and Webster.”

Tucker looked at his watch and set a timer for 41 seconds. Another Screech. He stared intently down the block.

10 streets into the distance, Twin’s Camaro came sliding around the corner and into clear view. The tires evened out as the car rounded the bend and began charging directly for the warehouse. He checked his watch again — hand tapping nervously. Glanced up one more time. With 4 streets to go, he hit the button. The warehouse doors began to close.

The engine kicked like a rocket — decelerating into the warehouse with an echoing whir, the doors shaking to a close behind it. At the same time, cop lights illuminated the block, as the patrol car turned onto the main drag 10 streets down. Tucker casually walked away.

Back inside the warehouse:

Karl: “alright we gotta split up. I’m taking the boardwalk. Y’all are on ya own now.”

Twin crept out the back door of the warehouse, and rounded the corner, squeezing his way between the fence and the outer wall. The alley emptied out into the street. Checking both ways and seeing no lights anywhere, he slipped out onto the sidewalk and began casually strolling down the street. He made it about a block and a half before a patrol siren pierced the air 2 times — a spotlight pointed right at him.

“Shit!” he cursed under his breath and away from the sight of the squad car.

2 blocks down the street, from the warehouse parking lot, Tucker watched the whole situation unfold:

The two officers confronted his friend, appearing to berate him with questions. Twin waved his hand innocently, making a face that suggested he had no idea what they were talking about. They pointed, he pointed. They motioned at his pockets. He slowly emptied them. The officers were getting frustrated. Perhaps, they could sense he was playing dumb.

Tucker rushed across the clearing and into the conversation, “Excuse me officer is there a problem ?”

The first cop looked at him slyly, “Yah. There is. We’ve had multiple complaints of street racing all night. One of the cars was last seen in this neighborhood. You wouldn’t happen to know something about that would you ?”

Tucker responded as innocently and calmly as he could, “No not really. I just came by to pick up my buddy here. Did he do something wrong ?”

First cop, “You tell me ! Does he drive a bright yellow Camaro ?!”

Second officer took a call on his radio, while Twin replied, “Maaan. I don’t even drive ! I was just going for a walk to meet the homie here.”

The second officer whispers something to the first and returns to the cop car. Twin and Tucker stand there holding their ground against the remaining officer.

After what seemed like an eternity, the last officer shook his head and returned to the squad car. A few seconds later, they lit up the sirens and pulled off — leaving Twin free to walk off with Tucker towards his parked car.

“Where are the others?” Tucker asked as he approached, opening the car door.

“We had to split up. They should be somewhere down the boardwalk.”

“They couldn’t tell it was you driving ?”

“No Plate, No Case.” Twin smirked, as he got in and closed the door.

“Haha, fair enough.”

“Yo cruise over to the alley real quick?” pointing back to the scene of the crime.

“You went out the fire exit?”

“Yah…” he began as they pulled up to the sidewalk and he jumped out the car.

Reaching behind the fence, fishing around for something in the grass and then re-emerging from the darkness, he finished, “…and then I threw away the keys.”

Twin slid back into the passenger seat. Tucker revved up the engine. And they cruised off smoothely into the night.