Stage 10 – You Only Die Twice
Two Weeks Later – Sunday Morning, Overlook Restaurant, Hotel Akina
“So yeah, Drew... as I said earlier, Next thing I know, I'm awake in Japan with a tracker bug stuck to my car's engine computer and mysterious texts from a blocked number trying to dictate my actions.”
The two young street-racing enthusiasts, one Davey Anderson and an Andrew Windall were both spending the morning finally tying their stories together at this quiet little countryside diner, the only two customers in the facility at an hour like 4 in the morning – not counting, of course, the people rooming upstairs in the rest of Hotel Akina.
Andrew had managed to draw himself a diagram of possibilities as to who the person might be, but every branch that was extended from his “tree” that was scribbled onto the napkins there beside their pancake platter seemed to prove inconclusive.
“So then Davey, tell me more about this Trey character. How does he know you?”
Anderson sat there for a moment in thought, his facial complexion shifting to one of confusion. “To be honest, I don't know how he knows me. He might be a spy working for the Boss, now that I think about it. He seems to be holding a grudge against him though, and also seems to be holding back information that could be crucial to discovering his identity.”
It was amazing, Davey thought to himself as he stumbled in his pocket for his pain pills, grabbing the orange bottle and popping the cap to double up on his dose. He was essentially putting his liver at stake with such a powerful medicine, but with temperatures in the low teens, now was not a time to let pain interfere with his driving ability. Such unusual weather for early spring as well, he thought to himself.
Drew overpowered Davey's thoughts by voicing his own opinion on the subject of this 'Trey' character. “If you asked me, I'd personally say that he's waiting for the right moment to catch the Boss with his pants down, and maybe help see that he spends some quality time in jail – or something along those lines.”
“All I know,” Davey mused in an irritated tone, “Is that I'm not going to sit here and let this schmuck continually morph me into some kind of ruthless street criminal. I'm a racer, not a goddamned hitman.”
“What do you mean by that?” Inquired Drew.
“My past two “jobs” have involved wrecking out another car on purpose, and not during a race. What's he going to ask me to do next, rob a bank? This is bullshit. I'm finding somebody who's itching to lose their ride, racing them for pinks, and then torching this car. If he wants me he can come find me and I'll settle this mano a mano. What about you? I've been talking a whole lot about me but you never did say what brought you to Japan.”
Drew took a moment to contemplate just that. It seemed silly at first, but his reason for visiting Japan wasn't ever clearly defined. “I guess I got bored with burning up people out in the United States. California, Colorado, New Hampshire, Montana, Vermont – all amateurs. You and I know I'm made for the streets, I'm never going legit. Bet some, win some, keep on racing. I've never been confident about anything having a future, but I can see myself beating more people, building a reputation and maybe forming a bit of a dynasty from this.”
Davey chuckled, crossing his arms. “Typical Drew. That's always been your style, at least until you got to the dynasty bit. Arrive, Raise Hell, Leave. At least you're having fun with your visa.”
Drew nodded in response. “Amen to that. Having a blast up here in Japan. The people here can really drive. Well, some of them at least. But here's a question. Most people around here race for honor. Who the hell's going to place a pink slip bet, and better yet, where's yours?”
Davey's answer was as simple and straightforward and very indicative of how he can use the art of deception to his advantage as he smirked. “I can print up something that looks legit at first glance, no sweat. As for the car and driver – I've got somebody in mind. Dude's big league for sure, but can really handle a wheel and has plenty of money to replace his ride.”
Drew's curiosity was really starting to get the best of him now. “Big league – as in, professional driver?”
Davey laughed, his smirk turning into a grin. “You remember that shit that went down in Spain, right? That tank hijacking with a bunch of fugitive street racers turned bank thieves and later cops from America that stopped those psycho criminals from taking a tank and blowing up every road in Madrid?”
Drew cocked an eyebrow. “Not quite worded like that, but yeah, I remember that – of course I remember that, it was news around the world. But what the hell does that have to do with Japan?”
Davey could hardly contain himself. “One of them moved to Tokyo. He's driving an FD3S. It doesn't look anything like an RX-7 anymore, but it's an FD underneath. RWD, modified and fast enough to race our outrun others in. Plus, it doesn't look like anything else on the road.”
“Davey, what are you saying?”
“I'm saying that by the end of this evening, Han Seoul-oh is going to need a new Millennium Falcon to battle the Hakone Empire with. The force is strong with him, but my force is just a little bit stronger. I'll see you soon.”
Davey departed from the Overlook Restaurant and climbed into his Trans Am. His tracking device was gone and so was his phone, but as far as he was concerned his Firebird was red hot. He had to get Han's ride – or at least, a different ride. But his 5.7L V8 wasn't going to cut it. At least, not on its own. Worry not, he thought to himself, there's no replacement for displacement. And where you can't add displacement, you use dynamic displacement.
-
7:00 PM – Super Autobacs, Shinjuku District, Tokyo
Davey's form was almost completely concealed by the cloak of darkness as evening had long set in. Just as expected, even the closing manager was gone for the evening and the gates at the front of the store were down. Convenient enough for Davey, his business was being carried out at the back. Using a dim flashlight, he was examining wires near the transformer that ran power to the store.
“Ah, there you are...” Davey took a swing back with the hatchet he brought with him, and chopped the cluster of telephony wires leaving the store with ease. “Now that leaves me a 15-minute window before one of the managers arrives to see why the alarm isn't communicating.”
His next obstacle was the back door. Actually, it wasn't that much of an obstacle at all when he tugged on it. The latching mechanism on the door was jammed and the door was only held closed by the hydraulic pressure of the door closer. “Oh, that's just lazy right there. Now I don't even feel bad for doing this, you guys were asking for it by not fixing that.”
Davey wasn't too terribly concerned about security cameras since he was wearing a George Bush mask, so the overnight lighting was more of a help to Anderson than a hindrance. A small amount of movement in the store was suspicious, but a flashlight beam darting around in the store was straight-up Watergate status. Best to just act natural... be a shopper. Davey casually walked to the front of the store and grabbed a shopping cart, and then began browsing the aisles he'd cased just two hours earlier. Ah, there was the plexiglass lockup with the gauges. That plastic is sooo going to protect that wideband AFR and boost gauge, he thought to himself.
**CRACK**
Not. Davey continued strolling down the aisle, his cart beginning to collect parts. “Oh, perfect, a ladder. Easy for me to climb up and grab that big box with the turbocharger kit that nobody's going to have the chance to buy, complete with upgraded injectors and piggyback!”
He then went over to the gas R/C car section, and whistled innocently as he slipped a gallon of methanol R/C fuel into his shopping cart, then over to the miscellaneous parts section to grab a universal electric fuel pump and oversize windshield washer-fluid reservoir. After he was done with that, he pushed his cart over to the tool aisle and made quick work of the display with his hatchet, then helped himself to a cordless electric impact gun, a complete wrench-and-ratchet set, a screwdriver set and a set of impact sockets.
Davey glanced down at his watch, wary of the time. “7 minute shopping spree... not too shabby!” He started making his way towards the rear of the store before glancing one more time at the overhead shelf, one more turbo kit left on display. “You know what...” He thought out loud, realizing that a single turbo would be over-sped by his large-displacement engine, “One turbo unit is good, but two is even better.”
Anderson exited out the back and quickly tossed the merchandise into the hatch of his Firebird and stalked out of the area as quietly as he could. Not bad, Davey. No confrontational store manager, no shootout, no police chase, no drama... now to find an empty garage and turn these parts into a set of keys to my next car. Davey then flipped his phone and began dialing for a little bit of help piecing this all together.
Yo, Davey, what's going on man?
Nothing much, nothing much. Hey, I need to get a turbo kit for my car up and running TONIGHT. You busy?
I think I can help. If all else fails, I can tune the computer to accept the turbo.
Sounds great Don. Alright, I'll be there in 15 to pick you up. Later.
Later.
-
9:30 PM – Mitsune Rage's garage
Mitsune's cell phone buzzed with a text message, interrupting the conversation she was having with the paranormal. “Hang on a second Nana, lemme just read this real quick.”
Reports of a yellow Firebird and its
driver breaking into Super Autobacs
near you. I think it's our mark. Find him.
Take care of business.
Nana-Maru took a sigh when she saw the look on Mitsune's face. “I can't see physical objects you know, only human spirits, and only up close. But something tells me you have another job.”
“Yeah, that's correct, darling. My bills don't pay themselves, after all.”
“Can I come? Our last drive was such a blast!”
“I'd love to take you, but... I've got a sinking feeling in my gut. I better take ol' Jimmy. I know you're tough, but I don't want you to get banged up tonight. Alright?”
“You'll look out for my owner, right? Davey has to be in this city somewhere.”
A small sign from Mitsune. “I'm pretty sure he is. I'll find him soon, but first let me get out of here and get this job taken care of.”
“Alright. I won't ask what your business is, I know better by now. Just come home alive, Mitsune, so you can drive me again.”
“As always, you know I will. See you later.”
-
11:00 PM, Shibuya district, Tokyo
Well, in a flashy city like Tokyo something as obvious as a bright orange FD-turned-supercar isn't nearly as easy to pick up as it would be, say, anywhere else in the world. Not bad for a three-hour turbo install, not bad at all. He was easily up to 550 horsepower, maybe even 600. Dom really helped piece it all together and it showed as the car smoothed out more and more after each run. And the methanol-injection scramble boost... it's like nitrous, but lasts way longer.
Right now though this thoroughbred horse of an F-Body Trans Am was definitely being held at the gate. A classic Tokyo pedestrian gridlock. Well, not actually gridlock. Just those annoyingly long pedestrian signals. Just 20 more seconds of this mind-numbing... wait... something was going on. Davey heard people panicking and the crowd parting and the afterfire and growl of many engines charging towards the intersection.
“A race? Alright!” “Davey!” “Oh, come on Don, we gotta break this turbo in.” “No way, man. You can participate in that assholery elsewhere. Just drop me off or something.” “Oh, LOOK!”
Catching a glimpse of what he thought to be a blur of orange, but wasn't quite able to tell yet, Davey floored the gas while gripping the bottom sleeve of the shift knob, and the revs of the engine shot up to 3K and hung, as the exhaust burbled momentarily and then -BANG!- fire erupted out of the exhaust with gunshot ferocity. It seemed to add further confusion to the crowd but Davey kept banging that launch control until people started scattering away from his car as well.
The first car flew by – a couple in a newer Evo VIII. Next in line... it was exactly the car he was looking for. “Alright, Han, star of the show this evening! No way I'm letting him get away.” Han's RX-7 really was holding a smooth line, his driving not having changed a bit. Davey also saw a flat-grey Fairlady Z33 pass, noting a heavy amount of body damage on the sides. That car was irrelevant to him for now though, he wanted to see this crazy racing up close and personal. “YEEHAW!” “God damn it, we're going to get arrested.”
Davey slipped his foot off the clutch and the Firebird let off an angry chorus from its exhaust, not terribly unlike the way it was before but accompanied by a deep undertone and the telltale 'whoosh' of the twin turbos working their witchcraft up in the engine bay. First gear came and went in a blur as the wide rear tires struggled to keep up. Then second, then third... now the scenery was starting to blur, and Davey was starting to feel good behind the wheel.
They rounded another busy intersection, collecting two more vehicles into what Davey wasn't quite aware was much more than a typical street race just yet.
-
Officer Kurumi Saitoh sat stopped at a red light, waiting for the signal to turn green. She was finally getting the hang of driving this stick-shift “interceptor” which was good, because she had an uneasy feeling that the vehicle in front of her was going to make a break when the light turned green.
After waiting to see why her computer was malfunctioning and not picking up the plate number of the vehicle in front of her, the radio finally crackled with a response. ”1-Baker-11, this is HQ, our computers turned up no match for vehicle registration either. Requesting complete vehicle description”
Kurumi grabbed the microphone on her lapel calmly, responding to the inquiry. “Black 4x4, dark tinted windows, driver is not visible from rear. I'm going to 11-95 him when the signal turns green at at... 44th and Park Ave., heading southbound.”
”10:4.”
As Kurumi felt her stomach turn and tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her ears picked up on foreign sounds overpowering the usual bustle of the city. The sound of roaring engines. It was bad enough that Wangan racing was a problem, but she only heard rumors that some people were crazy enough to race on surface streets.
She then heard the car in front of her beginning to get loud and making a whistling sound, her brake lights still lit but the engine making a constant growling sound as the cars were approaching. One thing at a time, rookie! She saw all 4 cars approaching – a yellow sports car, an orange sports car, a red sedan and a black sports car. You've gotta call in those cars and ID them! Someone else will get them. She grabbed the microphone again, shouting in a much more urgent tone,
“1-Baker-11 to HQ, I've got 4 subjects code 510 on Park Ave. Three sports cars, orange grey and yellow and one sedan with a spoiler!”
”Roger that. All units in area Hotel Delta, confirmed street racing on Park Ave at 44th heading southbound. Any available units please respond.”
Then the SUV in front of her let off its brakes and turned right, making a break for it. Kurumi's heart was pounding as she revved up her engine and dropped the clutch of her own car, yanking the wheel to the right to give chase. Her next instincts told her to hit her lights and siren – done and done – and update on the situation. “1-Baker-11 to HQ, my 11-54 just went code 595! Giving chase to suspect!”
”Roger that 1-Baker-11. Use caution."
Kurumi felt the car jerk backward before realizing her rev gauge was tapped out at 8,500 RPM. Gritting her teeth, she slammed the gearshift into 2nd, hitting her horn to switch from a wail tone to a yelp sound as her interceptor surged forward again, her hearing that same 'whoosh' sound that street racers' cars made. Note to self: Find out why fast vehicles make hissing noises. She used that thought to distract her from the panic attack she felt coming on, this was her first hot pursuit. The SUV was putting ground on her – but, the whole pack of cars in front of the SUV were putting distance on the truck. They were fast, real fast, and her only hopeful thought was that traffic was getting congested up ahead and would slow things down. That belief held water... sort of.
The grey car had gotten close to the orange car and was riding beside it in the oncoming lane – traffic charging directly at the fleeing subjects. Work as a highway patrol girl for a little bit to get your mind off the shootout, they said. It will be boring and you'll be begging to be handling real crime in no time, they said. She then saw flashes coming from the inside of the black car and heard a sound that could only mean that this wasn't a street race, this was much, much worse than that. They were full of shit. “1 BAKER 11 TO HQ, 10-71 SHOTS FIRED FROM GREY SPORTS CAR! SHOTS FIRED FROM GREY SPORTS CAR!” This was getting ugly fast. ”1-Baker-11, what's your 20?” “Southbound on Park Ave, passing 36th, chasing the 11-56... who appears to be chasing the street racers!”
Kurumi's head was pounding as she watched the pack ahead swerve through traffic and the red car ram into the grey car, trying to force it to spin out. This was a nightmare happening before her very eyes. And just as she thought things couldn't get any worse, the SUV's window rolled down, the black truck finally close to on the rest of the cars and closing in on the yellow car. And then, just as she feared, an arm came out of the window – wielding what appeared to be a handgun with a modified magazine. The amount of rounds that banged out of the gun quickly revealed it to be no handgun. It was an MP-5 sub-machine gun, but of course Kurumi didn't know what the hell kind of weapon it actually was. She threw her code discipline out the window, desperately crying for help into the microphone. “WHERE'S MY GODDAMNED BACKUP!? 10-71 FROM THE BLACK 4X4, AUTOMATIC SMG!”
”1-Baker-11, can you clarify that second part!?” “HQ, THE SUV DRIVER IS FIRING A FUCKING UZI AT THE YELLOW SPORTS CAR!” ”All units in the entire Shinjuku district, we have a confirmed Code Purple on Park Ave – 1 SUV, 3 sports cars and a sedan. Grey car and black 4x4 are confirmed armed and dangerous. Any 11-95's hand the subject their documentation and respond to this call. All involved units in this incident, switch over to channel 4 now.” Kurumi pressed the button for channel 4, then heard a 'zap' sound and the display on the radio went dead. I'm on my own... This is just like the shootout. God help me.
She watched as the yellow car swerved in front of her through the traffic and then slammed on its brakes, forcing the SUV ahead. She cringed when the red car, traveling at – nearly 80 MPH swerved into the SUV's rear quarter and knocked it off its course. There was nothing she could do but watch the SUV cross into the intersection for 25th street and plow right into stopped traffic, watching the front end of the truck tear off and the body spin. She couldn't stop in time, and wasn't ready to face a hitman with an Uzi or whatever if they were somehow still breathing. In this hysterical state, all of her gearshifts were starting to come naturally – but things were getting crazier in front of her. Much crazier. She found herself between 4 other cars, none of whom seemed to care about her emergency signals. It looked like both the red and yellow cars were now trying to force the grey car off the road.
She didn't know what to do, other than grab the PA microphone for her siren and scream “STOOOOOOOOP!” She did just that, and it had zero effect on the driver of the grey car. His tag number is Tokyo 34-580 Good luck trying to run that through the computer in this madness. She wondered if she could get the grey car to crash somehow. The driver fired his gun at the orange car and this time it looked like the gun either jammed or was out of ammo. Kurumi tried to control her breathing and figure out if there was a way to stop this guy. She didn't have a gun either as a traffic cop, so shooting the guy wasn't an option.
As she was contemplating the situation, the grey car was able to overtake for the lead and spin a 180*, seemingly having managed to clear out his weapon and fire off more rounds. Whoever this guy in the Z was really wanted the driver of the orange car dead. The fact he was now exposing his face to a law enforcement officer – albeit vainly – and not caring one percent about that was proof enough. The orange car rammed the grey car, forcing it into a spin. Kurumi thought the car would go left, so she went around the right of the orange car – only to hear the sound of what she could only describe as her car exploding from the impact force of being t-boned by a Mercedes Benz sedan that blew the intersection.
Kurumi tried to gasp, but the brute force of the oversized sedan completely crushed through the crash beam of her R34 Skyline GT-R Police Interceptor – and then directly into her right ribcage, lung, thigh, arm and whatever organs were contained on that side of her body. Paralyzed by a ripping, burning pain that completely overcame her sensory, only her eyes could observe as the car rolled over itself multiple times and her unsecured body thrashed inside of the cabin like a pair of shoes in a clothes dryer. So this is how I die. God, please forgive me for everything I've ever done wrong in my life, knowingly or otherwise was the only thing she could think as the car came to a rest on its roof, what was left of her body and increasingly-blood-soaked police uniform laying motionless half out the hole where the driver-side window once was.
Please have mercy on my soul. Kurumi couldn't feel anything below her neck anymore as her vision began to become muddled by the blood from her head injury beginning to pool over her eyes. She heard what sounded like blood gurgling from her throat, and then saw a tall bald-headed man clad in black pants, a black shirt and a blue blazer approaching her and leaning directly over her body. In British English, he spoke with only a hint of remorse in his voice. “Sorry, lassie. You weren't my intended target. Pity – you look like you had potential.” Before the heat of the flames of her now-burning car could reach her, Kurumi felt her vision slowly blurring out to black as the cloak of death lowered over her and severed her spirit from her body.
-
“Crowded. Surface. Streets. You are completely out of your mind. Also, you're a retard.” Dominic Wanger's complaining seemed to have little influence on the reckless Anderson's actions as he swerved his car from lane to lane, passing taxis and city cars as if they were sitting still. It was almost like a performance act the way all of the cars in the pack swerved from lane to lane. Wanger was clearly unhappy about Davey's choice to follow Han in this madness of a street race, but there was little he could do other than complain and potentially hinder Davey's concentration just long enough to smack into a truck head-on, so he just kept his mouth shut. He diverted his attention back to the computer in his laptop, keeping an eye on the fuel maps. This car was just about dialed in, and every time Davey switched gears Dominic noted a nice little healthy afterfire before the boost kicked in and punched them back in their seats.
Davey grinned as he watched the other cars dancing in front of him. While the Evo driver was just a little sloppy, the moves from Han and the grey Z were spot-on. Davey only wished he had more time to observe but he was so preoccupied with going from lane to lane to lane – They really do need to switch to the highway or something, he thought to himself, going from 3rd gear down into 4th. Then on the brakes again, back into 3rd – Man, these guys are just killing it! The LS1 V8 was responding quite nicely to the boost, Davey had also realized. It was almost as if the engine was built from the factory to be turbocharged. Sure, he was kind of stressing the bottom end of the engine but he also knew that an LS motor can take at least 17 PSI before the internals start to give – and he was barely at 12. They came up on a near-jam of traffic and Davey was forced to downshift all the way down to 2nd gear.
“That's it”, Dom muttered, “Get into second. Wait. Davey. Oh fuck, we really are going to jail tonight!” In the rearview mirror, he saw flashing red and blue lights. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK! You ASSHOLE! As soon as that cop passes this GMC that's in its way, our asses are grass!” Just as he had feared, a cop would get in on the chase and end up running them down, and that's exactly how this situation was playing out. Except... it wasn't playing out like that at all. The cop couldn't pass the GMC, because the GMC wouldn't let them. Also, they were being followed by the same GMC that tried to run them down just a few weeks ago. “Davey... DAVEY!”
“I'm trying to get away from the co- ...Oh FUCK, it's that goddamned Typhoon!” Davey grimaced as the grille of the SUV was all over the back bumper of his Firebird – but he knew that the car he was piloting now was above and beyond what the Typhoon was capable of. Problem was, in a congested, French Connection-style chase that they were stuck in now, that meant exactly jack shit. “Getting arrested is currently the least of my worries. I don't know who he is or what he wants, but he probably wants me de-”
BANG! went a gunshot from close vicinity. It wasn't coming from the GMC, it was coming from the Z33 up ahead. Davey then noticed a fresh bullet hole had shattered the RX-7's right taillight. Now all of a sudden, all of the nudging, pushing, beating, bumping and otherwise rough driving from the “racers” in front of him all made sense. This wasn't a race, Han was in some serious shit and running for his life. Okay, so is the Evo an enemy or not? The Evo then jammed on its brakes in front of the Z and almost caused a wreck. I guess that answers that question. I need to take this asshole out! Fuck the Jimmy, I'll deal with that thing after this! Davey slammed the Bird into 3rd gear and got on the boost good, trying to give the Fairlady a rear bumper full of American payback.
Unfortunately for Davey, the GMC didn't like being ignored. That fact was made a reality by a barrage of gunfire and bullets penetrating the bodywork, rear glass and interior of his car. The GMC driver definitely wanted him dead if he was nuts enough to let an Uzi rip loose on his car. One stray bullet penetrated Dom's tuning computer, the dashboard and managed to shatter the side window, sending fragments of glass flying into Dom's face.
“SHIT!” Dom screamed. “That fucking hurt!”
“You got shot, man!?”
“No, but the glass... fuck... ow... ”
“Just stay down man, we gotta lose this Typhoon before it sweeps us off the map!” Davey started quickly scanning side streets for a place to bail, but suddenly every exit avenue was either gridlocked on one side or blocked off by oncoming traffic and the risk of an ugly head-on collision. “Fuck me, how did he get onto me so quickly!? That's why I wanted to race someone for pink slips, so I could torch this fucking car!”
In the meantime, Davey increased his swerving and tried to get ahead of the Z. It was clear that there was nothing but absolute chaos and confusion dominating this situation, because the Evo blocked Davey's initial advance, before gunning it and giving him a chance to pass the Z that was now getting shuffled about in the mix. If anything, the survivalist figured that the person driving the Z would make for a nice human shield and perhaps he could get lucky and at least have the Jimmy guy take out this asshole in the Z. It didn't work. The Typhoon driver withdrew fire and the Z started opening fire on Han. This was bad. Really bad. And next thing Davey knew, the Typhoon driver found an opening on the sidewalk and used it to get around the Z and directly onto Davey's ass. He knew he wouldn't likely win this battle, but he felt this was his last choice. “Dom, hold on.”
Davey slammed on the brakes as hard as he could and locked up all 4's. Surprisingly, the SUV swerved wide – far wide, all the way into 2 lanes of oncoming traffic – and avoided hitting him. Then the driver of the Lan-Evo did something unthinkable. From his rear, Davey witnessed the Evo execute a perfect PIT maneuver and sent the Typhoon spinning into side-street traffic and slamming into a stopped car with impressive force. Okay, that person is officially on my friend list, he thought to himself. Only one problem was forged from that resolution; that cop car, now revealed to be a BNR34 GT-R, had made at least one of the remaining cars its primary target.
“Looks like the cop doesn't want to make an easy arrest, she really has the hots for American Muscle.” Dom sarcastically stated. Davey checked his rearview and indeed it was a female cop now chasing... them? It was hard to tell who exactly she was chasing, as she was all over the road. Why does that cop give off such a familiar aura...? Doesn't matter, I can't leave in the back of that squad car. “I think that perhaps the cop didn't want to get turned into swiss cheese. Who said the crash didn't kill the maniac behind the wheel? Who said he didn't have plenty of ammo left? Traffic cops aren't armed in Japan you know.” Davey's response seemed to shut Dom up for the time being, which was good, because he just noticed as he glanced ahead that the Z managed to get in front of the FD and pulled a flying 180* to get in more shots against Han. “Damn it, you fucker, don't kill Han, don't hit him” was all Davey could mouth. Fortunately for both Davey and Han, the guy driving the Z33 was a horrible shot and was just wasting ammo and putting speed holes in Han's windshield.
Davey then heard a stressed “STOOOOOOOOP!” through the PA, temporarily interrupting the siren of the police interceptor. Oh, yeah, we totally thought you were just showing your lights and siren off, now that you've actually ordered us to stop we're going to. Stupid rookie. Davey felt a chill rattle up his spine as he thought the word 'rookie'. No way, it couldn't be Kurumi, she's a detect- He didn't have time to finish the thought as Han slammed into his would-be assassin's car, forcing a spin and Davey had to think fast and get on his brakes to avoid totaling out the Firebird – but the cop gunned it around Davey's car and made a move to side-swipe the Z. Her move failed. Spectacularly. Davey and Dom could only cringe as a full-size Mercedes-Benz sedan blew an intersection and plowed the GT-R right off of the road, sending it tumbling down a cross-street and barely avoiding being hit by Davey in the process. That didn't look good at all... Davey thought to himself, but he had to keep his head in the game.
The Evo, which was now almost a hundred feet ahead of the remaining cars, had lost control and slammed its ass into a parked car rather impressively. Davey knew the cavalry was on its way and made a judgment call to bring his F-body to a screeching halt. “Dom, get in the back. We're picking these people up.” Dom hopped out of the Trans-Am and ran to the totaled Evo, its driver and passenger stumbling out. “GET IN!” Dom screamed. “COME ON!” It only took 7 seconds for the 3 people to pile into the Firebird, the girl and Dom in the back and this Southern American-looking dude riding shotgun. Davey dropped the hammer and lit up the Firebird's tires in smoke once again as he charged down the center line of the roadway; funny, now that they were behind the main feature, most cars were pulled over to the side of the road and Davey could just slam his gearbox into 3rd, 4th and 5th gears as he quickly neared the 150 MPH mark on his speedo.
The good news was, Han was still alive and had put a lead on whoever was driving the Z. The bad news was whoever was chasing him seemed to have an infinite amount of ammunition and was continuing to perforate the FD with bullet holes. “Cocksucker,” Davey muttered. At least Han was playing it smart. Han was leading them off of surface streets and onto the C1 Belt Line. Less opportunities to make an evasion, but more space to flat-out run into the abyss and lose the Z in a speed trial. Han crashed right through the toll gate, sending plastic debris flying as the Fairlady stuck to his back end like glue and continued to stalk him – not for much longer though. Now that both Davey and Han could open up their cars, the power advantage that the not-grey cars had would shine on the open stretch of road.
“So, why did you pick us up?” The front-seat passenger suddenly asked Anderson, now that Davey had a moment to concentrate on something other than avoiding traffic. Davey's response was simple, curt and effective. “You saved my life, and you weren't shooting at Han.”
“Shooting... gun...” the female back-seat passenger suddenly interjected. “I almost forgot about this.”
Davey couldn't see what was going in in the back seat, but the dialogue between the passengers made it clear as to what the girl just remembered.
“That's a fucking REVOLVER. How the HELL did you get your hands on one of those?”
“That guy in the grey Z? That's my ex-boyfriend. He's Yakuza, and this is one of his guns.”
“Would have been awful nice of you to pull it out when he was storming the garage!”
“Shut the fuck up Sean, I know, okay, I know. Just be glad I remembered okay?”
“Wow, Davey. So Han's in with the Yakuza. Great bunch of friends you have.”
“Wait, you're telling me the wheelman's friends with Han? How come I've never heard of this Davey guy then!?”
Davey reached over to the passenger and snatched the revolver clean out of his hands, before barking at everyone collectively. “Will you niggas PLEASE shut the FUCK UP!?” Davey took the moment of silence to study the pistol. “.38 special, 6 round cylinder, filled with full-metal jacket ammunition. Thanks, female passenger.” He placed the gun in his jacket as he closed in on the Z, glancing around the car. Everybody was staring daggers at him. “Look, I'm easily the best shot here, let's save the meet-and-greet for when we're NOT trying to save Han's life, okay!?” That seemed to bring the gravity of the situation back into focus for everyone and quiet the cabin. He glanced ahead at the Z. This guy was relentless, it looks like he just reloaded.
The action was starting to get alarmingly fast as Davey grabbed for 6th gear, now traveling at over 150. Han had a real strong lead being built up against the Z33, but a box truck decided to overtake another at just the wrong moment, blocking the entire roadway. Han got on his brakes, but it looked like the guy chasing him was going to try to pass on the shoulder – and it looked wide enough to do so. Davey kept his foot in it, closing in on the Z. He knew that there was going to be only one chance at ending this nightmare before Han was dead, and he had to take it. As he suspected, the Z made a motion to get on the brakes in an attempt to box Han in and finally get off the perfect shot.
Davey wouldn't let that happen. He kept the gas depressed all the way as the Z started slowing, and rammed his bumper at an angle. The Z's back end broke loose, and physics did the rest of the dirty work. The back end of the car picked up like an airfoil, and the whole car went airborne... out of control... and the tail end of the car tapped the median, sending it into an airborne cartwheel over the divider.
What happened next was sheer footage for the news reel. It just so happened that there was an 18-wheeler lost and illegally navigating the C1 in the opposite direction and in the fast lane. As Davey saw Han come up on the shoulder, his attention was diverted by a literal explosion as the Z hit the semi truck head on at a combined impact speed of 210 MPH and the car vaporized into a fireball of metal and rubber fragments. The girl in the car screamed at the top of her lungs, horrified by the sound she heard and knowing all too well the officials would be lucky if they could find a tooth and identify the driver by his dental record. The Z driver was killed – killed so hard, he died to death. The carnage was unbelievable... and soon nothing more than a distant memory as Davey backed off the hammer and eased the war horse of a Trans-Am down to pedestrian speeds, the orange RX-7 soon catching up and getting beside him on the inside.
The nice thing about a left-hand drive car was in a right hand drive country, it was stupid easy to hold a conversation with another driver as long as they were in the left lane. And Han was. The dialogue was brief and to the point.
“You saved my life back there.”
“Your friend here saved mine.”
“And you kept my two best friends out of handcuffs. Han Lue.”
“Davey Anderson. Pleased to meet you. Dude, this place is going to be swarming with cops.”
“Follow me. I know a quiet place.”
…
12:00 AM, Tokyo docks
Sean Boswell crossed his arms, trying to process all the information that Davey just fed him. “So you're that kid who supposedly died in that high speed pursuit back in New Jersey, except you didn't die, and now you're here in Tokyo on the run from whoever put you here.”
Davey chuckled a little, before finally reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small container of pills. “Anyone got a drink?” Dominic reached into his bag and threw Davey a water. “Thanks.” Davey took a moment to down another pain pill because his leg was acting up again, before responding to Sean's analysis. “Sounds like you nailed it. It's a bit of a more interesting backstory than just repeatedly getting in trouble with the cops and being flown here with your Navy father, isn't-”
“Hey now,” Sean cut Davey off, “Who said this was a competition of our histories?”
“Easy, brother.” Davey smiled. “I'm just making fun of the situation. Han, Neela, Dom, Sean, we should all be either dead or in jail right now. We've conquered some serious odds and I think we should use this time and wind down a bit.” It was then that Davey noticed Han had pulled out his phone and was on the line with someone.
“Dom. It's Han. You should turn the TV to the Asian news. I've found myself in some serious shit... They're calling it a Yakuza attack against innocent bystanders? … What about that SUV? … The cop died . . . What about me? Any mention of my name? . . . So the search for me isn't being considered a criminal investigation? . . . Dom. You're asking me to just go to the police station and tell them everything that happened tonight? . . . Right, only the parts they need to hear . . . The guy accused me of trying to infringe on the family business . . . Stop telling me about my unhealthy habits. Look, I don't know if the family's going to seek revenge against me or not, they might blame me for his death . . . You sure? . . . Alright. I'll see you in 12 hours.” Han flipped his phone closed, before laying eyes on the group of people. “Alright guys, listen up.”
Everybody turned to face Han, listening closely to what he had to say. “Dominic Toretto is bringing his crew with him in from California and he'll be meeting with us out in Gunma around noon. He says he knows some ex-Yakuza personally, I couldn't imagine how though but apparently he can sort this out. He doesn't believe that we're going to be blamed for Takeshi's death but to be on guard anyway. We're going to find a cheap hotel out in Shibukawa and lay low for a bit while he reaches out to his contacts. If all goes well, we'll be able to return to our regularly scheduled lives as soon as 8PM. If anyone has any object- … Dammit, what now?”
Davey Anderson's eyes were fixated on the silhouette of a beautiful, baby-blue MA70 Supra casually approaching the group from the warehouse parking lot, slowly rolling to a stop a mere 100 feet away from the trio. It looked every single bit like Nana-Maru to him. The Kazera wheels, the Turbo spoiler, the yellow foglights... yet undamaged, gleaming and new. On top of that, the car was left-hand drive... just like Nana. He was almost spellbound by the sight, it brought back so many memories. But that car was destroyed, there was simply no way it could be her.
Davey continued to stare as the young female driver climbed out of the cockpit and slowly glided towards the group. He took the time to carefully observe her form; Standing at a rather tall 5' 7”, she was clearly a gaijin but her facial expression seemed to be one of complete apathy. She had an amazing poker face. So mysterious. Why did he feel like he might have known her at one point in time somewhen or somewhere? He couldn't hear the questioning coming from Dom, Han, Sean or Neela on who she was or why she was there. He just watched her, motionless as she got within 15 feet of him. Then, without him having a moment to react or think about the situation, she quickly drew a large-caliber handgun out from under her jacket, quickly trained it at his heart, and pulled the trigger.
Davey could hear the bullet ripping through his chest and penetrating him to the core, but couldn't feel any singe, burn or impact on his body. What he felt instead was a dreadful wave of cold rising up and crashing over him. Disguised behind the jade-green eyes of his assassin was a traumatized young girl watching her own parents being riddled with bullets as she was left with no choice but to hide silent under her bed. He could see her killing – be it by shooting, stabbing or snapping the neck of whoever was in her path, who wouldn't cough up the information she so desperately sought. He coughed up blood and collapsed onto his legs, glancing back up to see her slowly losing hope as she went through enemy after enemy trying to track down and bring justice to those who stole her sister Isolinear, her brother Julian, and her parents from her at such a young age.
As Davey began getting light-headed and blurry-eyed from his now-destroyed heart failing to deliver oxygen to his brain, he could see the fire fading from the woman's eyes. Becoming more jaded with every kill, with every passing day. Watching her transition from hating those who killed her family, to hating people, to hating the entire world. Using her skills as a killer to simply gain money here and there. Picking off humans as nothing more than written bounties. Wanting to die. Wishing for someone to kill her, and hating that nobody could match her wit, skill or instincts.
“You... poor thing...” Davey gasped, collapsing to the ground. His vision was giving out, but he was somewhat sure he heard the girl gasp. Davey knew he was done for, that shot was clean and the ammo quite powerful. Damn you death, always taking me out at the pivotal moments... Davey relaxed and closed his eyes. He wanted to find this guy and discover the truth, but fate just didn't have that outcome in his cards. As he felt the menace of death beginning to spirit him away, he used the last bit of energy he had to force a smile. Thanks, though. I can finally rest.
-
01:30 AM . . . A small corner shop in Shinjuku. Audio only.
“Boss. Treyandli Faust is dead. Looks like Mitsune got him. And Mitsune died in a car crash. It's all over the news.”
“Thank you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Thanks for letting me know. I wasn't aware yet.”
“I just said, Mitsune Rage is fucking dead. The police didn't identify her, but what's left of that blue car that hit a toll booth HAD to be her Supra. The sky blue paint and estimated 180 mph speed of impact can only be her.”
“I heard what you said. Listen, if Mitsune is dead than it's because of her own mistake. I warned her that car felt haunted and she didn't listen and now she paid the price.”
“...That's one hell of a eulogy. Is that the same type of speech you'll give if I die? If Kenji dies? How about Warren?”
“Look, Angie. This isn't Palmont City. We've entered the big leagues. We're making big money. With that big money comes big risk. If you have an issue with us then why are you in this with us? You know there's a risk of dying. We're not just racing and boosting cars anymore, we're becoming a powerful gaijin mafia. There's real crime and risk. We're on the road to being unstoppable. And why did we hire Mitsune again?”
“. . . To kill Trey.”
“Exactly.”
“Darius is right you know. She understood the risks she was taking, and considering her past, death would come and find her one way or another.”
“Thank you, W. Now isn't the time for remorse, it's time for celebration. We've knocked our biggest obstacle out of the picture, and the police don't even have a clue. In fact, I have a spirit just for thos moment. Kenji?”
“One second.” “Sir.”
“Thank you.”
“Darius, I think we have a prosperous future ahead of us.”
“The Wolf has spoken.”
“Forget Stacked Deck, we're the Casino now.”
“Amen to that, K. Guys, Today is the beginning of the rest of our lives. Together, we will all dominate Tokyo's street racing scene, and its drug and firearms black market. Let's toast... to our future.”
“Our future.”
“Our future.”
“Our future.”
BAD END.
[QUIT] ? [CONTINUE]
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I think that's all that needs to be said.
