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Getting better and better. And Keisuke's new car is nearly completed.

And already we get a glimpse of another interesting vehicle (make that two).

And. Yeah:

New chappy, everyone!

Hmm...I wonder who the 180 driver reminds me of? *cough* cool version of mahself *cough*

Chapter 5: Irwindale Chance Meeting

7:00 PM; Irwindale Raceway

“Well, well, well,” the announcer said over the PA from the broadcast booth, “It looks like Keisuke Takahashi, AKA Case-K has been tearing it up at tonight’s amateur drift battle!” The blue Boss 302 swung to the banking, drifting hard on the slope with tire particle and the smoke from burnt rubber mixing with the sounds of a high-rev V8. The car then swung to the right and headed infield. “Perfect angle from that Boss Mustang!” yelled the announcer, “And he also scrapes the clipping point, too! Case-K’s on a roll tonight ladies and gents! Top ten material for sure!”

It was already two weeks after the build was finished, and for the first five days, Keisuke searched up and down Highway 101 for the fabled Tesla roadster that had an unfinished battle with the Red Suns member. He asked anyone in the vicinity about the car. He got the same response from everyone he talked to; they had no idea that a race happened on Highway 101. It was such commonplace, that the locals in the area just assumed it another bunch of punks, and headed back to sleep hoping for a cop in the area to nab the youngsters.

It was utterly hopeless until Keisuke mentioned the fabled battle to Jon Benson, the man whom Keisuke borrowed the Mustang from that night. “Oh that guy,” Jon said at the shop while working on his ‘66, “I’ve heard of him. Drives a Tesla Roadster. Apparently he’s not that good in that specific car; his best ride is a Triumph Spitfire. Now either he had someone else in the car driving, or you just suck.” “Well, thanks for having confidence in me,” Keisuke said with sarcasm, “Maybe it was the car.” “Yeah right,” Jon said, going back under the Mustang, “I’ve heard he runs every Saturday night at the Irwindale amateur night as a drifter. If he doesn’t have the Tesla, look for him in a beat-up old Nissan 240SX-or a 180SX to you.” “Thanks,” Keisuke said, “You know his name?” “Dru Boelyn,” Jon said, “Remember; beat old 180SX. I think he runs a RB25 under the hood.”

“Where is he?” Keisuke said, pulling into the pit area, “He said a white 180SX would be here, but there’s gotta be hundreds! Dammit, I need to find that Tesla’s owner!” “Oh, is that?” the announcer yelled, “Aww yeah, get ready for some serious smoke, because here comes DBX; AKA Joisey’s own Drew Boelyn and that ratty old 180!!” “It’s him!” Keisuke said, looking back at the track.

“Okay, so the limit of x squared plus five over three x as x approaches infinity is indeterminable,” the driver thought to himself, “Hey, this is starting to get easier. Wait, did I go to Subway twice yesterday?” The white 180SX flew through the bank hitting the clipping point ever so slightly with the rear bumper. “Whoa! My favorite song!” the driver said, turning up the radio and simultaneously flicking the Sparco wheel to the right, “I haven’t heard ‘Low Rider’ in ages, dude!” The crowd was standing up at this point, cheering on the white 180SX. A few screaming girls had a banner up that said in bright green

“DBX:
Dangerous,
Bad and
to the eXtreme
We Love You Dru!”

on it.

“Here he comes,” Keisuke said while intently watching the 180SX go by, “What should I do?” The beat Nissan stopped right after the Boss 302. The door opened and the driver stepped out. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen. His brown hair was down to his shoulders, and he wore a yellow flannel shirt over a Shelby T-shirt. His eyes were focused hard on the Boss. “Damn!” he said, whistling, “Haven’t seen one this clean in a looooong time!” Further inspecting the body, he found particles of tire in the front wheel well. “He must’ve been drifting!” the young man said as if pointing out that someone was murdered with a knife after seeing the blade in the man’s heart.

“Ahem,” Keisuke said, and then the white 180 driver looked up, “You don’t happen to own a Tesla roadster, do you?” “As a matter of fact,” the driver said, scratching his head, “I do. Why? Do you need to know the dealer’s name from where I bought it?” “No,” Keisuke said, with the fire of competition burning in his eyes, “I want to race you.” “Well,” the driver said, “I don’t street race, my good man, and this is just my drift car. Name’s Dru Boelyn, and the guy who drove my Tesla that you encountered was my good wheelman friend and mentor, Road Buster. If you really want to see my potential, race me in a month when I have my Spitfire done. I’ll wait for you in Jersey. He then got into his 180SX and drove away, still smiling and all as War’s “Low Rider” played.

“The nerve of that brat!” Keisuke said, “Such a cocky bastard, that Dru. Yet he reminds me of Takumi-san with his lax attitude.” “Excuse me, young man,” an older long-haired gentleman in a worn leather jacket whom reminded Keisuke of David Carradine of “Kill Bill”/”Kung-Fu” fame, “Are you Keisuke Takahashi?” “Yeah, why?” “I have a proposition for you,” the man said, “Just meet me at this address tomorrow at eight AM, and I’ll set you up with free gas for six weeks. You have real talent; I’d like to see your true potential.” “What’s in it for me?” Keisuke asked. “How about a free ride to Chicago. There’s a man there that may help you learn how to drive better. I could throw a good word to him about your skill if you give me your all. I’ll also throw in six weeks of free gas like I said.” “I am short on cash,” Keisuke thought, “I can’t really do anything else here in the city; everyone here’s been beaten anyway.” “Meet me at the address given on my card tomorrow at exactly 8 AM if you are interested. If not, this conversation never happened to me or you.” He then disappeared into the Irwindale parking lot.

“That was odd,” Keisuke said, looking at the card, “I wonder where he’s located?” The card simply read

Nevada Storage Garage 35
N. Las Vegas, NV
8:00 AM Sharp!

“What the hell?” Keisuke said, “I guess it’s worth checking out, however.” After he collected his winnings of $1000, he headed back to the apartment.

At 4:00 AM next morning he said his goodbyes and told his new friends that he was going to keep in contact. Before leaving, Gene took Keisuke aside to talk to him. “I don’t know about this guy,” he said in the kitchen, “Seems kind of seedy.” “Right now, I’m low on cash,” Keisuke said, “And I really need the money, so I have to do this.” “What’ll he pay you?” Gene said. “He said he’d let me in with a driver who knows more than I do,” Keisuke said, “Plus six weeks of free gas.” “Just remember Keisuke-san,” Gene said, patting Keisuke on the back, “If you get in trouble, give me a call; I’ll try to help you. I’m one of those guys with ‘connections’.” “Got ya,” Keisuke said, “See you guys later!” And with that, he was on his way to Las Vegas.

7:30 AM, Somewhere Outside Las Vegas

“Uh, hi,” Keisuke said to the gas station attendant, “Do you know where ‘Nevada Storage’ is?” “That’s funny there, yes’m,” the wrinkly old gas station owner said, smoking a cigarette, “Y’all usually wanna go te see dose big-ass casinos; Now dere’s a sin against the world, y’know, just by goin’ into dose places, yep.” Keisuke sighed and brought his hand to his face in frustration, “Could you please just tell me how to get there?” Keisuke said, waiting for an answer from the man. “Uh-huh,” he said, “Right down the road here. Y’all have a nice day, now!”

The grabber blue Mustang pulled up to the 35th Garage at 7:45 AM. “15 minutes to spare,” Keisuke said, “Now where the hell is he?” He turned around as the garage door opened. “Alright, kid,” the man from the other night said, “You showed. Now if anyone else comes, we can get this race underway.” “Race?” Keisuke thought, and then he saw it; a low black Dodge Charger on a set of Foose rims. “This is my Hemi Charger. We’ll run in the Route 66 race of a lifetime.” “I see,” Keisuke said with interest, “It’ a highway battle.”

This post has been edited by Turbo_Levin_13 on Mar 21 2008, 07:43 PM

Another awesome chapter from you.

Getting even more interesting. Time to see how the Hemi Charger and the FD-errr-Boss Mustang will do on Route 66.

(THIS POST WAS REMOVED BY REQUEST)

New chapter!

Chapter 6: Two-Lane Blacktop

Nevada Storage: 7:50 AM

“What are the terms for this race?” Keisuke asked. “Race all out from 8:00 AM to 8:00 PM,” the man said, “Stop only to fill your tank up and eat. Oh, and sorry for the delayed introduction. My real name’s not important, but my handle’s ‘The Man’.” “Handle?” Keisuke wondered, “You mean like a CB radio?” “That’s exactly what I mean, my boy,” ‘The Man’ stated, “If ya don’t have one, I do have a spare here.” He walked into the garage and pulled out an old 1970’s CB radio. “Let’s see,” ‘The Man’ said, “You’re handle would probably be somethin’ like ‘Banzai Boss’. How does that sound, kiddo?” “I’m fine,” Keisuke said, “I don’t think a CB handle would be best for me anyway.” “Okay, suit yourself,” The Man said, “How’s about we get this race underway?” “Sounds good to me,” Keisuke replied.

Just before getting into their cars, a aqua-blue 1968 Corvette pulled up, with its massive aluminum 427 LS7 rumbling. The door opened, and a large man in a leather jacket stepped out. His headband was tied around a head full of hair. His chin was also like a rock. “Am I late, gents?” he said, “It’s only 7:56 AM, so I guess I’m early.” “And who are you?” Keisuke asked. “Road Buster,” the man said, taking off his shades, “And who the hell are you?” “Takahashi Keisuke,” Keisuke said, “Nice to meet you.”

“The finish line is the Chicago fairgrounds arena,” ‘The Man’ stated, checking his car at the gate of the storage area, “Route 66 is the best route for the majority of the race, but you can improvise. First one there gets $100 grand. Do it in less than 72 hours, and that amount’s doubled. Second and third get nothing. Also, try not to get caught.” “Got ya,” both of the other drivers said. “As soon as the light changes, head on to Chi-town like a bat outta hell.”

The light was about to change. The sound of the massive V8s seemed to deafen anyone near the cars. “I can do this,” Keisuke said, “I am a RedSun! RedSuns never back down! Never!” The light changed. The three cars kicked up dust as the rear tires began to spin. The Charger, with its wide meats, swung off towards the highway, running every red light he hit and endangering others; The Man was off, along with the other two.

“Turn right in 500 yards,” the dash-mounted GPS said to Keisuke. He was currently going 110 on rough urban streets, weaving in and out of traffic like a boxer would when repeated jabs come at him in the heat of a title match. “This is nuts!” Keisuke said, slamming his brakes to avoid hitting a LeSabre that was going to slow in front of him, “So much damned traffic!” As he turned onto the next road, the GPS showed that he was on Route 66. “And now is where we begin!” Keisuke exalted, shifting into 5th and slamming himself into the black leather seats at over 150 miles per hour.

All of a sudden, The Man’s Charger came flying up onto his rear end. “He wants to pass, huh?” Keisuke said, “No way he’ll do that!” Keisuke then swung the Mustang around a semi-truck. The other lane had an SUV in it, blocking the Charger’s only way around him. He was behind Keisuke, but not for long. Unbeknownst to Keisuke, the Dodge was just driving at a cruising pace in the Boss’s slipstream, ready to strike on the uneducated highway racer. However, a blue Chevrolet was screaming towards both of the cars at an alarming rate.

“Road Buster!” The Man said looking in the rearview, “ How the hell did he catch up so fast?!” The blue Corvette passed the two cars with no struggle after they all passed the semi. It then rocketed with an infinite acceleration into oblivion. Keisuke, who just witnessed this lightning-quick pass, saw the ‘vette slam on the brakes, as if he saw a cop. He did.

“We’ve got a speeder in a blue Corvette. Seems to be in a street race with two other cars.”

“What is the license plate number on the Corvette?”

“…”

“That man is on the most-wanted list! Get everyone in the area on him!!”

“Yessir”

The cop car exploded out to chase the blue Corvette. The Dodge Charger’s red and blue lights shown as the siren roared. A little further up, three more cars joined in on the pursuit. “I gotta get outta here!” Keisuke said, “If I get caught, they can ID me and I’ll be in deep shit then!” He turned on his turn signal to get over to the exit ramp. As soon as he saw the exit ramp, he slammed on his brakes. Going through the quarter of the cloverleaf, the back end broke out, sending a plume of white smoke and tires behind the ‘stang. With Keisuke’s skill, however, it wasn’t hard to flick the car back to a straight line.

After getting off 66, Keisuke pulled into a diner in the middle of nowhere to get away from the race. The only other cars in the lot were a Geo Metro, two Semi trucks, and another blue Mustang. Right behind him was The Man in his Charger. “f**ked!” Keisuke yelled to The Man, “We’re f**ked this time for sure!” “Don’t worry about it, Keisuke,” The Man said, “Those cops were too focused on Road buster’s ‘vette to even notice us.” “Why?’ Keisuke asked as they walked into the diner. “Road Buster apparently was wrongly convicted of terrorism,” The Man said, “It happened in San Fran about a week ago. He was making a delivery to the Haight-Ashbury district in a bombed car. As soon as he got far enough, the bomb was detonated, killing 35 people. Road Buster said that he had no idea that the car was hot with an IED.” “Shit,” Keisuke said, drinking his coffee, “So he’s a wanted man, huh?”

“Well,” The Man said, “You’re in some hot water with the law, too. You did break into a San Diego boatyard and steal a race car.” “So?” Keisuke said. “Hold up,” a woman in the next stall said, “How do you know Road Buster?” “Who’re you?” Keisuke said. “Name’s Rally Vincent,” a young tan woman with short jet-black hair and a business suit said, standing up with a Desert Eagle pistol pointed at a man across the diner, “I’ll talk to you in a few, but first I got some business to take care of.”

And the plot thickens. Rally Vincent sure made quite an entrance, and so did Road Buster.

The race was quite well written.

I'll be waiting for the next addition to this awesome fic.

I don't know if you meant it or not, but those handle names made me laugh.

finally had the chance to catch up on a fan fic or two. lol, taking break from my own for a little bit.

and man at some points i have a hard time reading this because the dialouge sounds so close to how the rednecks talk here in southern alabama.

For instance one asked me other day about my FC....

"This you're car?"

"Yeah"

"What kinda motor you got in this thang? a damn Four Banger?"

"No"

"V6?"

"Ha, No"

"YOU GOTTA V8 IN THIS SOM b*tch?!?"

"No.."

"Well den what da Hell you got in this thang?!!?"

"A rotary, 13BT"

"Rotary?!?(Laung Pause from the redneck of frustrated confusion)
f**k dat sheeiiit just slap a 350 in that some b*tch, f**k all that rotissere shit!"


only thing a redneck knows is V8 and go straight.

lol.

Allow me to explain; I live in a hicktown, so I grow up around those types of people. My speech is nothing like it is in the story, but I try to make the dialouge sound as close to the speech in my native area.

And here's the next chappy!

Chapter 7: Lone Justice

“Geoff Martin!” The young woman said, holding her piece with two hands, “Give up. You’ve got a significantly large $30,000 bounty on your head for drug dealing in Phoenix. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Come with me, and I’ll try to give you some mercy.” “Shut the f*ck up, ya bounty-hunter b*tch!” Geoff said, drawing his 9 mm Beretta “I ain’t goin’ with the likes of you!” “Okay then,” Rally said, “I guess it’ll be the hard way.” The Desert Eagle went off right in Keisuke’s ear. Looking over, Keisuke saw that the magazine was shot right out of the gun. “Holy-“ Keisuke said, not sure about what he just saw.

“I-I give up,” Geoff said, as Rally walked over to him with her gun still drawn on him. As soon as she was five feet away from him, a discharge went off from the dealer’s jacket pocket. It hit Rally right in the right leg, knocking her down. She was bleeding, but not badly. “Like that, b*tch?” the dealer said, “small concealed deal. Now I’ll kill ya with my hands” “You bastard!” Rally said, writhing in pain from just talking, “If Road Buster was here, you’d be dead!” “I gotta help her!” Keisuke thought, grabbing the gun he was given in his jacket.

“Hey dick!” Keisuke said, “You want to kill her? Well ya have to go through me to do so. Since you’ve used your last defense, why don’t we go mono-e-mono?” “No weapons?” the dealer asked. “Just the way I like it,” Keisuke said, “Do ya know that I do have Yakuza ties, and if you kill me, the entire Japanese Mafia’ll be on your sorry ass.” “Shut the f*ck up and let’s dance!” the dealer said, pulling out a butterfly knife. Keisuke then shot him right in the left kneecap. After shooting him, he then smacked the dealer upside the head with his piece, seemingly KO’ing him. “That’ll teach you to mess with Yakuza,” Keisuke said, spitting on the man.

“I’m surprised you hit the guy,” Rally said, getting up in pain, “And where did you get a Luger?” She was referencing to Keisuke’s weapon that had been given to him by his deceased brother. “You can’t move,” Keisuke said, “We’ll bandage you up and get you to a hospital.” “I’m fine,” Rally said, standing up, “Really, I’ve been shot before.” “Oh, well sorry for showing some compassion,” Keisuke said. “I’ll remember not to shoot the drug dealer when someone’s in need of help!” “Well, I gotta call the cops,” Rally said, “So I can collect my bounty.” “What bounty?” The Man said, “Your man left going east on 66 in your Shelby!” “No!” Rally said, in panic, “Not my GT500! That bastard!” “Get in my car!” Keisuke said, grabbing Rally’s arm and heading out to his car. “I’ll drive, you shoot.” “I can do both fine, thank you!” Rally said in frustration. “You can’t accelerate nearly as well as I can,” Keisuke said, “Just trust me on this, okay?” “Yeah,” Rally replied, trusting in this strange Japanese savior with a Boss 302.

“Do you have any way to track the car?” Keisuke asked, turning over the 500-horse supercharged pushrod V8. “I had a homing device installed that allows me to track it if its stolen,” She replied, bandaging her leg up with Keisuke’s first aid kit. She then grabbed her cell phone and pressed a few buttons. A map came up, and it showed two dots on a GPS roadmap; one was a green dot, while the other one was white. The white one (Rally’s GT500) was heading at a frantic pace eastbound on the fabled highway. “Alright!” Rally said, loading her gun with more bullets “He’s still heading eastbound!” “Well then,” Keisuke said, upshifting and disengaging the clutch, “Let’s go!” The two were slammed into the leather-covered buckets at a seemingly infinite explosive pace.

“Amazing acceleration, um,” Rally said, grabbing the “oh shit” handle, not sure who was piloting the Boss, “What’s your name?” “Takahashi Keisuke of Akagi’s RedSuns in Japan,” Keisuke said, “Now let me show you how a Japanese hashiriya drives!” As the road continued eastward, it twisted through the mountains. Keisuke swung the big Mustang through the turns, coming within inches of vertical cliff-faces, guardrail, or steep canyon drops. “Your skill’s amazing,” Rally said. “Where is he?” Keisuke said. “We should be seeing him as soon as we crest the mountain,” Rally stated, excited because of this Takahashi kid and worried for her GT500.

“Get ready,” Keisuke said, “Because we’ve got a switchback section coming up!” Rally brought her Desert Eagle up, waiting to shoot out the tires on her Mustang. “He’s right below us,” she said, looking at her phone, “Two switchbacks down!” “Then let’s make it one, shall we?” Keisuke said, waiting until the last minute to smash the brake pedal down and swing the angry Ford through the mountain turns. The engine screamed in furious harmony with the echoing canyon walls as the 10-inch wide rear tires kicked up smoke. Up ahead were the wide tail lamps of a certain Shelby Mustang. “Now try to hold it steady, Keisuke!” Rally said, as she rolled down the window and leaned out to get a clear shot. A bang went off, and the rear tire of the GT500 exploded. The Shelby began to spin dangerously close to the canyon drop, but it stopped right before falling down into the abyss. “Cover me,” Rally said, as she went over to the GT500. Luckiy for both of them, the dealer was too busy shaking in fear from Keisuke’s driving skill. “It’s like a ghost,” the dealer said, shaking, “He just came up on me like a ghost!” “Well,” Rally said, “How about you and I split the bounty? I usually don’t do that, but what the hell; you saved my ass back there along with my GT500!” “Actually,” Keisuke said, thinking of his own criminal record, “I got a better idea…”

....aaaand Keisuke goes 15 grand up I wonder where it goes from here, seeing that Keisuke's got a bounty hunter who may go after his ass for his gone-in-60-seconds stunt ..

MOAR!

Another epic update to the fic. That's all that needs to be said.

And I wonder what this better idea is that Keisuke's thought up.

Well, todayI'm off from class, so now I can post up the next exciting installment in my series; hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 8: Welcome to Chi-Town

3:00 PM; Small-town Police Station, Somewhere on Route 66

Keisuke walked out of the small station a free man. After helping the bounty hunter Rally Vincent catch a drug dealer, he was given a full pardon for his actions in San Diego. Rally even offered to help Keisuke out if he beat the Road Buster in the three-car road rally. “What’ll you help me with, Rally” Keisuke asked the young woman who was sitting on the hood of her super-expensive GT500. “I know people who could help you tune that car to your driving style,” Rally said patting the hood of the blue muscle car, “They helped me with my Shelby here. They’d love to help a true racer like you. I’m not interested in street racers’ bounties; it’s not enough money nowadays to even pay for the gas and ammo.” “Well that’s a relief,” Keisuke said, getting into his Mustang, “I’ll see you in Chicago, then.” “Got ya,” Rally said while getting into her car, “I’ll see you there.”

* * *

3:30 PM; 20 miles south of Route 66

“Shit!” Road Buster said, swinging his blue ‘Vette around the curve and into the alleyway as the left front rim sparked from an encounter with the always-unfriendly tire spike; he was now forced to keep the car turning left in order to keep his speed up, “I’m way too far to even be near Route 66! Even if I lost all these cops, there’s jack-shit near here for me to get a fill up. I could run my full-size spare, that ain’t a problem; it’s just gas,” The blue Chevrolet took another left, breaking grip from the rear of the car and causing it to spin out.

“Goddammit!” he said, slamming his foot down on the gas, playing chicken with the cops. The road itself was a narrow alleyway between an old movie theater and a burned-down warehouse. Switching on his high-beams, the two remaining cop cars swung to the left and right. One ran through the old theater, bring a wall down on him, and the other hit a pile of rubble, causing the Crown Victoria to barrel roll thirty-so feet into a pile of cardboard boxes. “Now,” Road Buster said, lighting up a cigarette, “Let’s find a gas station and get back onto Route 66!”

* * *

8 hours later; West Texas; Route 66

The blue mustang streaked across the desert like a ghost. The needle on the speedometer was pinned on 160 mph, but Keisuke knew that he was way past that speed. The radar that he had picked up from a small flea market on 66 hadn’t shown a single cop car’s radio in over three hours. “He’s gotta be out there,” Keisuke said, headlights shining into a seemingly endless oblivion known as the desert, “Where are you?” While Keisuke was pondering this, the car he was looking for showed up. The unmistakable rear tail lamps of a ’71 Charger now dissipated red light into the cabin of Keisuke’s car. This was going to be it; according to his GPS, Keisuke was now only about 300 miles away from Chicago. In front of the Charger, however, was the Corvette of Road Buster. “Let’s go!” Keisuke said, opening up the glove box and flipping a switch that armed the nitrous oxide bottles on his car.

The three sped through the night at over 180 miles-per-hour; the lead switched constantly as the three cars were locked in fervent battle for first place. As they battled, a hard right approached them, but only one knew that it was approaching; while in the lead, Keisuke let off the gas at a point, and the two cars sped past him. He then precisely put on the brakes, and swung it through the turns as the other two screeched to a near stop, just noticing the turn. Keisuke now had the advantage as they neared this section of the road; this was a curvy section of road. “You guys have nothing on me, now!” Keisuke said, heel-toeing the Mustang around a tight bend, “This is my turf!” As the Mustang continued to ascend and descend the hilly roads, he slowly lost his two pursuers in the tight turns. About twenty minutes into the twisties, roadside signs started showing up for Chicago. The finish line was another eight hours away, but the signs were starting to redirect the drivers towards their ultimate destination of Chicago.

6:00 AM: West Texas Gas station.

The three started up again the next morning from a small gas station that appeared just fifty miles past the canyon run. After the previous night’s battle royal, Keisuke was the victor, coming out of the pass an amazing four minutes ahead of Road Buster and The Man. For the next 800 miles, the three cars blasted up the fabled highway into the Midwest’s Great Plains. As they flew past farms and fields in their hopped-up hot rods, Keisuke was doing something behind the wheel of his car that he hadn’t done in a while; he was enjoying the subtleties of a summer’s day going by at 175 mph. “This is amazing,” Keisuke said to himself, “These roads, they aren’t like the touge or the highways. I’m feeling relaxed even though I am doing near 200 miles per hour.” While he was appreciating the scenery, he didn’t realize that Road Buster’s ‘vette was in his slipstream, getting ready to jet past him. “Dammit!” Keisuke said, seeing the blue sports car fly past him, “There goes the relaxation.”

As the day progressed, the three battled on steadily until the last 100 miles, in which they began to see suburban homes come into view. “Now,” Keisuke said, reaching for his GPS, “Let’s find a faster way to the fairgrounds, shall we?” He was on a pretty direct route to the fairgrounds, but after Route 66 ended, there was still another fifteen miles of inner city driving to get to the fairgrounds. According to his digital navigator, he was on a route that would take him over 3 hours due to the inner city traffic. He re-programmed it to find the fastest way around the traffic. “This’ll be tough,” Keisuke said, “But it’s worth a shot.” The LCD screen now displayed a time of 2 hours, 32 minutes to the destination.

“Turn Right”

“What is that crazy kid doing?” The Man said, as Keisuke broke from the pack. He was flying off-course according to The Man. Road Buster, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing as he drafted behind The Man. “He’s got a GPS,” he said, “and it’s programmed for the least congested route. He’s using that to his advantage, obviously not relying on instinct. I’ll just keep heading down my route, and dodge as much traffic as I can. I’ll definitely kick his ass!” The blue C3 swung out of the Mopar’s slipstream and passed him like he did many times before.

11:00 AM; Suburban Chicago

The blue Corvette exploded down the street, plowing through red lights with close calls that ranged from hitting a subcompact to being broadsided by an eighteen-wheeler. Luckily enough, its driver avoided each with the skill of an experienced criminal wheelman. On another suburban street, Keisuke drifted around a sharp corner, barely missing a light post. The tires were worn and now the only thing Keisuke could do to salvage them was to drift around every sharp corner he came to. “When aniki told me of conserving my tires back when I began,” Keisuke thought to himself, getting back on the throttle, “I don’t think he’d ever expect me to conserve them for this amount of distance. Right now, it’s impossible to grip a corner at a faster speed. I’m just glad that the torque in this engine can allow me to snap the rear end out with ease.”

As Keisuke headed into the city towards the fairgrounds, he passed by Wrigley Field, the home of the Cubs. He took a right at the first turn after the fabled field, nearly taking out a motorcyclist with the rear end of his Mustang. “This is getting too dangerous,” he said, “I’ve got to finish this quickly and without further incident. Swinging around the next turn, he came across the Dearborn River, and to the horrors of Keisuke, there was a boat coming through the narrow waterway. Due to this, the bridges were beginning to open further down the river. Keisuke’s bridge was just beginning to open. “Shit” Keisuke thought, slamming the brakes and banging his fists on the wheel in anger over the possible loss he was faced with, “this is just great!” He looked at his GPS, hoping for a batter route, but he was in a straight 5-mile line to the fairgrounds. “Well, I guess some Dukes of Hazzard shit is worth the risk if I land straight,” Keisuke said, plowing his foot At that, he gunned the supercharged 318 cubic inch V8, and held on as the car either headed towards victory or defeat over the drawbridge.

A cliffhanger? You evil, evil, evil, person.

Another sweet chapter. Keep it up!

Yeas I am.

And I should mention, that the second half is coming up soon.

OMFG! Doube postozors!

This is a short chapter, but it gives the story a kind of a conclusion for the first half.

And JZX100, if you haven't checked your messages, yes, I'd like to do the fic compilation. Just check your messages for details.

Chapter 9: Drag

The blue Mustang hit the ramp’s crossing signal, losing its front bumper. On the ramp, Keisuke felt like an eternity was passing while waiting for the ground to be under the tires. That eventually happened, and the car’s revs dropped for a second as Keisuke flew over the traffic. As he began his descent, Keisuke was beginning to brace for impact as people on the ground ran for cover at the chance raining of a single Boss 302 coming down from the sky.

The car landed slightly pointing downward. The shock of the hit, of which Keisuke took easily, had knocked a few things loose in the front suspension. As Keisuke attempted to regain control, he saw Road Buster’s ‘Vette followed by The Man’s Charger cross over the just closed bridge. Keisuke did regain control, but had now lost nearly all his momentum. “Thank god that the rest of the way’s a straight line,” Keisuke said, as he slammed on the gas. Dodging traffic, Keisuke realized how hurt his car was. “f**k!” Keisuke yelled, slamming the car’s shifter into the fourth gear slot, “I’ve gotta stop.”

As he stopped, the other two had just come into view. Road Buster was the first to see Keisuke outside of his Mustang. “His car’s hurting,” Road Buster thought, seeing ahead of him that the traffic was almost impenetrable due to Keisuke’s stunt, “I can’t get past this traffic, so why the hell not.” The Man had the same idea, and the three pulled over to the side of the road to debate what they had to do.

“We can’t just wait here for the cops to come, dammit!” The Man said, “I’m saying we go up to the last light at the speed limit, and then we drag race the last half mile. How’s that sound?” “Sounds good,” Road Buster said, “Do you think your car can make it?” “It still handles well in a straight,” Keisuke said, “It’s just that when I turn at high speeds, it easily loses control. I probably bent the sway bar along with smacking the entire front end out of alignment.” “So its settled,” The Man said, “The finale will be a half-mile drag into the fairgrounds. Let’s go gentlemen, before the cops show.”

* * *

All three cars were lined up with the fairgrounds’ amusement attractions in view. The engines roared, making the massive bodies shake from the torque. As the perpendicular light turned yellow, all three began revving their engines up to a steady RPM, waiting to unleash the power by removing their feet from their clutches. As soon as the light turned green, the three muscle cars exploded off the line in the same fashion as they did about 2000 miles ago in Las Vegas. They accelerated with an exponentially increasing power, all three jockeying for position. At the quarter mile mark, all three were doing over 110 miles an hour.

Keisuke was looking to the side, getting ready to trigger the nitrous bottles in his trunk. “Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it,” Keisuke hit the button, and the whoosh of the nitrous oxide caused the V8 to rev up to a new level. He passed by the two cars. For both the Charger and the Vette, it was too late; the win was now Keisuke’s victory as he flew past the gates of the carnival’s parking lot. He then slammed on the brakes, spinning the Mustang out.

Keisuke put his sweat-stained head on the wheel, both tired and excited over his last-minute victory. “I did it,” he said, as the local fans were crowding the victorious Mustang. “Ladies and Gents,” the announcer said, “We have our winner! The young and insane Japanese Good Ol’ Boy, Keisuke Takahashi!” The crowd roared. Keisuke came out of the car tired and weary, with the fans greeting him and giving him their congratulations. It was finally over, but this wasn’t the end of Keisuke’s journey….

_____Part One Conclusion___________________________________________

Epic end to epic race.

Looking forward to the next

awesome update... cant wait to see what happens to keisuke next

Oh thnap, its time for teh new chap!

Chapter 10: Gunsmith Cats

2:00 PM; Sears Point Raceway; two weeks later

The crowd turned their heads towards the entrance of the track as a increasing din was approaching. Out of the pits, there were four cars all done up with all the regulation-based equipment for the local club racing teams. A white Mazda Miata pulled up next to a red FC RX7. Behind those two came a blue Boss Mustang and a bright yellow Formula Trans Am. All four lined up at the starting brackets; they were ready to begin the five-lap amateur race.

“So which one’s this ‘Keisuke’?” a young man in the grandstands wearing a Phillies hat asked, drinking his Sobe Pina Colada. “The guy in the blue Boss Mustang,” Road Buster said next to him, “He runs one helluva race. He jumped his car over the Dearborn, and damn near blew the front end out from under him from the landing. The sonofab*tch drag raced The Man and me all the way to the fairgrounds. He’s one lucky kid, I’ll tell ya that.” “I just hope he’s ready for me and my Tesla,” the young man said, tossing the bottle into a trashcan. “How about the Spitfire? You should’ve had that done by now, Dru!” “I’ve got a guy painting it this week,” Dru said, “Right now, the rear end’s been mini-tubbed enough to fit a set of 10-inch wide tires, and the front’ll be rolling 8-inches rubber up front. I just finished building the Cosworth engine, too.” “I meant to ask you this in Cali,” Road Buster said, “How the hell did you get a Cosworth engine?”

“Out of a Vega,” Dru replied, leaning back into his seat. “Vega?” Road Buster said, confused a bit, “Oh yeah, I forgot about that Vega.” “Exactly,” Dru replied, “The Cosworth Vega was the best-performing 4-cylinder car of its day in America. It started the entire DOHC trend in America, and I myself think that engine’s much better than some hyped up VVT engine in an old-ass drifter’s AE86 Corolla. Stock, the Cosworth Vega ran over 130 horses. With better beathing and a more aggressive cam setup, it can easily go over 175. Fully built engines can be at over 240 horses. Put a turbo on that, you can get up to 400 horses.” “Weren’t you aiming for something like 500?” Road Buster said as they walked down the stands to the exit. “Yeah,” Dru replied with a wry smile, “That’s why I also supercharged it.” “You’re kidding!” Road Buster stated in a surprised manner, “That’s some serious shit you’re getting into!”

“I know,” Dru said nonchalantly, “It’s really only for drags and over-the-road high-speed races. All of that excess gets taken off for the road course. While testing at Thunderbolt in Millville this past week, I ran it with the full charger setup, but it was almost impossible to control through the turns; it breaks away at every corner at max tune.” “So you take all that off and leave it NA for a road race?” Road Buster said. “Exactly,” Stated the young man, getting into his beat drift-spec 240SX, now with a mismatched blue Ks S14 Silvia front end with an intercooler poking through the bottom valance, “Apparently, the lap time was reduced by five seconds after all that was taken off, and to be honest with you, I don’t get what’s the big deal with the massive power people put in these well-handling cars nowadays. Did you ever hear of the guy who put a fully-built 350 into an Austin-Healey?” “I think I read about that somewhere,” Road Buster said.

“Well, apparently he came to Thunderbolt during our British car club track day a weekend ago,” Dru stated, “and he didn’t even come close to the fastest British car there.” “Who was that?” Road Buster said. “It was my Spitfire,” Dru said in a humble tone, “Still, I’m not the fastest there by far; not yet anyways. You want to go to Pizzeria Uno & grab a bite?” “Nah,” Road Buster said, getting into his ‘vette, “I’ve got a job to do.” “Oh,” Dru said, disappointed, “Well, I guess I’ll see ya around then.” “Yep,” Road Buster replied, and they both drove off towards Chicago.

* * *

5:00 PM, Gunsmith Cats Gun Shop.

The shop was a small place on the outskirts of the city. Out front sat a light-blue Mustang with a set of vintage Thunderbird tail lights; a classic trait of the GT500 Shelby. Next to that sat a much smaller bright yellow Fiat 500. Inside the shop a young girl was on the phone as the sound of milling machines played their music behind a doorway. The young girl looked to be about thirteen, but in reality, she was more like eighteen. She played with her short blonde hair as she talked on the phone with someone. She wore a bib with the store’s logo on it. Many didn’t know this as they walked into the shop, but this girl was an ex-call girl who was always packing some serious explosives to help her friend in their bounty hunting work. Her employer was working on the mill, boring out a chamber, the sound of the machine making its monotonous music.

“Hey Rally,” the young girl at the counter of the gun shop said after getting off the phone, “Becky called; apparently she’s got more info on that Keisuke guy.” “Really?” Rally said, poking her head through to the doorway, “What did she say, May?” “Well apparently he came over here three or four weeks ago,” May replied, “She said that he stole a blue MX5 Miata licensed in his dead brother’s name.” “Who was it?” Rally said, already hearing what she helped pardon Keisuke for. “The owner of the Miata?” May said, leaning onto the counter “That was once owned by a guy named Ryousuke Takahashi. Apparently, the record at Laguna Seca is still unbeaten for a rotary-engine car. He was also on the Most Wanted list for a while for a murder he didn’t commit. This is the best part; Becky said that this guy was so smart that he was able to find who really committed the murder along with the evidence.” “That’s impressive,” Rally said as the front door opened, “We’ve got a customer!”

“Hi!” May said, springing from her relaxed state to a more attentive one, “May I help you?” The young man walked into the shop. He was an Asian, about six feet tall, and had spiked dirty blond hair. “Hi,” he said, “Is Rally around?” “She’s in the back,” May said, “Let me get her.” She disappeared into the machine shop. “Hello,” the young woman said coming out from behind the curtain with a 9mm, shocked to see her Arizona wheelman standing before her, “Why did you come all this way to see me?” “Yeah,” Keisuke said, “You didn’t give me the name of the guy who does all the engine work.” “I heard of your little act on the Dearborn, too,” Rally said, “You’re goddamn lucky that you didn’t kill anyone.” “It’s just that when I’m racing I don’t like to lose,” Keisuke said, scratching the back of his head; he then saw Rally’s project, a 9MM Beretta for a wealthy businessman, “What’re you doing with that gun?” “Look around,” Rally said, “I’m the proud owner of a gun shop, whadya think?” “I haven’t really gotten used to the idea of legally owning a gun,” Keisuke said, “The only time I see them are in John Woo flicks and video games.” “Whoa!” Rally said, grabbing Keisuke’s wrist and dragging him down to her shooting range, “I’ve gotta teach ya something before you go kicking someone with some friendly fire!” “Oh boy,” May said, “Now you’re enrolled in ‘Rally’s Gun School!’”

“First off,” Rally said, glasses in place and gun in hand, “How do you think you should hold a gun?” “Like this,” Keisuke said, holding the gun with the barrel facing the opposing wall. Rally grabbed the gun and swung Keisuke’s body downrange. “You idiot!” Rally yelled angrily, “Rule #1 is that you have to always hold your gun down range! Don’t forget that!” “Oh,” Keisuke said, embarrassed, “Well, do I hold it like this?” His gun was sitting in one hand pointing downrange. “No,” Rally said, “You got to align both the front and rear sights at the target to get a clear shot.” She then held the Beretta out in front of her with one eye closed and pulled the trigger five times. After bringing up the target from down range, Keisuke saw that the five holes were nicely grouped in the center of the target. “Like this?” Keisuke said, attempting to line up both sights. He pulled the trigger of his own gun and the discharged cartridge landed on Keisuke’s thigh, burning through his pants, “Shit! That’s f**king hot!” “Well yeah,” Rally replied, handing Keisuke a different gun with the bolt opening on the other side, “Try this one.”

Keisuke turned the safety off on this new gun and aimed at the target. This time, it hit the target without any incident. “That’s better,” “You’ve got good form,” Rally said, looking Keisuke over, “And it seems like you’ve done this before; odd for a Japanese man to seem so used to shooting.” “I used to do paintball for a while with my Yakuza buddies,” Keisuke said, mentioning his troubled past, “The higher-ranked guys had guns, but I only used melee weapons for street fights; I’d rather be arrested for fighting than illegal gun possession, y’know.” “You got a valid point,” Rally said, “So do you want to go see this guy?” “Sure,” Keisuke replied, “We’ll take my car.” “How about mine?” Rally said, “Do you mind if you critique my driving style while we head over there?” “No problem,” Keisuke replied, “But let me warn you, I am a harsh critic.” “Oh, I’m fine with that,” Rally replied as they headed out to the GT500.

nice chapter i like how keisuke mentions his past

Another excellent update. Keisuke trying to get a good shot with the gun was quite a fun read.

*chuckles*

Let's see what the great driving critic Takahashi Keisuke has to say about Rally's driving.

New chapter.

And guess who makes a cameo...

Chapter 11: Deuce

The shop was a small one about fifteen blocks down the street from the Flamingo statue. Out front was a white Acura RSX with what appeared to be a DC9 model Type R wing on the back and a set of Mugen rims like the one’s on God Foot’s S2000. The license plate from California simply read “Twitchy”. A few spaces down sat a dark blue Westergard-style Kustom ’36 Ford Coupe with Eldorado hubcaps and a massive 5-inch chop. Next to the Kustom was the shell of some sort of British sports car that was just painted. It was a dark green, and the color was broken up with a white racing stripe placed down the car’s profile in an offset manner. In the wheel wells was a set of dark bronze Watanabe-ish rims. The hood and bumper weren’t on, nor was the trim, but the hardtop was in place, and that carried the racing stripe through to the taillights. The blue Mustang GT500 pulled in next to the RSX. Keisuke got out of the passenger’s side as Rally came out the driver’s side. “You’re not bad,” Keisuke said, “But this is only on public roads, and you drive like you’re always in some sort of a hurry.” “That’s just the way I drive,” Rally said, “And I don’t want to hear anything from you about ‘being in a hurry’, Bo Duke.” “Very funny,” Keisuke said jokingly, “So this is the place, huh?” “Yep,” Rally said, “Now c’mon, let’s go in!”

Inside the shop, there was a brand-new bright red Civic Si up on the lift with an open box of Spoon performance parts next to it. Off to the side a white NSX sat without an engine. The engine was sitting up on an engine dyno. “Yo, Twitchy!” Rally yelled, “Where’s Deuce?” “Where else?” a young Filipino man said from under the Civic, “He’s in the back. Say, when’ll you finally break down and buy a Honda? It’s cheaper to run than that GT500 of yours.” “Hey,” Rally said, “As long as people keep getting into trouble, I can pay for it’s addiction to Saudi Sauce.” “What is he talking about, Rally?” Keisuke asked. “Let me show you,” she replied as they walked across the shop.

The room they went into was another garage, but instead of a bunch of Hondas and imports, there sat a bunch of vintage cars, parts and memorabilia. On one wall, there sat a five-foot tall old Gulf sign along with an old gas pump and a poster of Steve McQueen. About two feet away from the wall sat an engine stand with an Ardun flathead V8 engine with a ScoT blower carbureted by three Demon 98 carbs that held Weber-style intakes on top. In the middle of the floor sat a 1929 Ford pickup whose cab laid very close to the ground. On the candy green door was the name of the company “Deuce’s Rod & Kustom” in rocker-form with a cheater slick in smoke. Outside sat a red 1964 Pontiac GTO with a fully-built custom widebody. Next to that sat a pink ’70 Hemi Barracuda that was lowered and sat on a set of deep-dish salt-flats style rims. The radio blasted “Bag Drag” by Cactus as a man got out from under the ‘Cuda.

“Hey Rally!” he said, “Who’s this punk-ass?” “Oh him?” Rally said, “Just some ace driver from Japan.” “Oh really?” he replied, carrying a ½” wrench in one battered and greasy hand, “How ya doing, bub?” “Okay, I guess,” Keisuke replied, “What’s your name?” “That shit aint important,” he said, turning on a blowtorch to light up a cigarette, “Just remember to call me Deuce. I own this place.” Deuce was very large. His grease-covered muscles had tattoos all over them, and his black hair was slicked back with some sort of grease. His soul patch was fully grown in, and equally as jet black as his hair. His shirt was a So-Cal Speed shop brand shirt. Rally knew this guy for may years; he was the man who got her GT500 when she began bounty hunting.

“What’s your name?” Deuce said, sitting on the rear tire of his ’29 Pickup. “Takahashi Keisuke,” Keisuke replied. “Whadya drive?” replied Deuce. “1969 Ford Mustang Boss 302 with a supercharged engine and race suspension,” Keisuke said, “Maglio’s shop built it in LA.” “Shit,” Deuce said, “You’re one spoiled SOB. Yove probably never lived without an independent suspension, have ya?” “No, why?” Keisuke said. “Shit,” Deuce replied, stamping out his cigarette, “I haven’t done this in a while, but come with me.”

The two walked out to the pink Plymouth. “Why did you paint this car like this?” Keisuke asked Deuce. “Eh,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “That’s the way the customer wanted it; if it was my choice, this thing would be an electric blue.” The two got in the car as Rally and now Twitchy who came out from under his Honda to watch the possible debacle. “Bet you $200 that he comes back in shock,” Twitchy said. “You sure?” Rally asked, perplexed why Twitchy made such an odd bet. “You in?” he replied. “Yeah, sure,” Rally replied, pulling two Benjamins out of her back pocket.

“It feels different,” Keisuke told Deuce as they headed into the city for a quick run, “It feels much less responsive.” “Well that’s probably due to the live axle in the rear,” Deuce said, lighting up another cigarette, “Most American muscle had live axles in the rear, well, except the Corvette. This made them great for drag racing, but if you wanted to run one on the road course or the local twisties, it’d be like hell-on-wheels.” He pointed at the corner ahead of them, “Try taking that corner like you usually would.” Keisuke heel-toed the engine to drop it down in gear, but he could barely stop the car. “What the f**k?!” Keisuke thought in frustration as the car lost all grip and brakes at once, “I-I can’t steer! Goddammit, I can’t steer!” As he struggled to regain control of the car, Keisuke realized what it was that was weighing him down. “The engine’s weighing me down?!” he thought, as the big pink muscle car swung to a stop.

“Pretty damned fun, huh?” Deuce said malevolently, “You’ve got no shot in any other race until you learn how to control a car of this size and engine type. Drivers today are way too spoiled with their fully-independent suspensions!” Keisuke sat with his head on the wheel panting, “You thought that was tough, oh buddy, you don’t know what driver’s hell is. Try doing that with a buggy-style suspension and no independent front axle either in some old jalopy hot-rod! Still, kid, you did a pretty good job with this car; Now get into the passenger’s seat and let me drive.”

The ‘Cuda came back, and Keisuke was silent the entire way back to the shop, in a shock from what he had just done. “Ha!” Twitchy yelled, “I win! Take that, Rally!” “Shut up,” Rally said, disappointed in Keisuke’s driving costing her $200. “He’s still not used to it, huh?” a young man said next to Rally, startling the bounty hunter and the Hondamaniac. “Gah!” Twitchy said, “Where in the hell did you come from?!” “Oh, I’m just here to ask Deuce for an update on my Spitfire.” “Oh, it’s you, Dru,” Deuce said reluctantly as he walked over to the group with Keisuke, “How the hell are ya?” “I’d be better if you’d get the chrome back on my Spitfire.” “Yeah,” Deuce said, “About that, have you decided on a name for her?” “Name?” Dru asked, confused, “Oh, that! I was thinking of something like Asuka Reijuu.” “Dude,” Deuce said, “Why don’t you go with something simple like ‘beast’ or something like that?” “Dunno,” Dru said, “Once an anime fanboy, always an anime fanboy.” “You’re one weird kid, Dru,” Deuce replied, “Now if you wouldn’t mind, just go and sit in the garage, and for God’s sake, please don’t touch anything.”
“So,” Keisuke said, “What do you think I should do?” “Don’t give up, man,” Deuce said, grabbing a wrench and returning back under the now cooled down ‘Cuda, “You’ve got talent; anyone who can beat my brother Road Buster’s got to have something good in ‘em.” “Thanks,” Keisuke said, “I’ll just keep practicing with my 302 until I’m better.” “Good for you,” Deuce said. Keisuke walked away with a silent Rally following behind him. “I’m no good,” Keisuke said, “If I can’t run fast. Rally…” “Yeah?” she said as they walked through the shop. As soon as she said that, Keisuke saw him. It was Dru Boelyn; the man whom, according to Keisuke, beat him on Highway 101.

“It’s you,” Keisuke said, “What do you want? You ain’t here just for the paint.” “Well, no,” Dru said, “I’m wondering if you want to race me. That little British roadster out front is mine, and I’d be very glad if you raced me as its first opponent.” “Under what conditions?” Keisuke asked. “Three-part race,” Dru said, holding his hand up with three fingers outstretched, “East, West and Central US; all in that order. It’s obvious that you still need training behind the wheel of a muscle car to try to beat me, but I’m pretty sure you learn real fast.” “How’s about in two months?” Keisuke replied, already psyched about another battle on the horizon. “Deal,” Dru replied, “Come to Wildwood in front of Mariner’s Landing Amusement Park Pier in Southern New Jersey on the first Saturday night in July. We’ll start at the courses I pick.” “Why do you want to race me?” Keisuke asked. “I think you may be able to beat me,” Dru said, “Don’t forget; Wildwood, NJ.” “I won’t,” Keisuke said, and with that the biggest American-based battle was on for Keisuke.

This post has been edited by Turbo_Levin_13 on Apr 22 2008, 04:01 AM

Another awesome update.

And so Keisuke's got another challenge. And the battle starts in two months. All the more reason to look forward to the next chapters.

Identified cameo appearances in latest chapter - 2

New chapter up!

Also, please excuse me for Stephen's behavior; he's a tool and should get uber-pwned.

Chapter 12: Keisuke; AKA The Heartbreak Kid

10:00 PM; New York City; 2 weeks later

“And we’ve got ourselves a race,” the man said as the group waited patiently in front of the Cyclone roller coaster in Coney Island, “Stephen,” “Yeah,” a blonde cowboy-hat wearing man in a big-shouldered suit jacket said with a. “You’ll be racing against this man and his Mustang.” “Pfft,” Stephen said, “That piece of shit? No thanks. It’s too outdated to run against my state-of-the-art Corvette.” “Hey buddy,” Keisuke said to the Corvette driver, “don’t get so cocky. That thing’s bone-stock!” “Well, you’ve gotta have skills driving a car like this,” Stephen said, “Your piece of shit has no chance.” “Y’know, a man once told me that you guys with an independent suspension under the frame rails are nothing but fakes.” “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and go double-or-nothing, you Jap,” Stephen said, “You won’t do it.” Keisuke looked off into the distance, and chuckled. “Why not?” he said, smiling, “And stop tryin’ to be Burt Reynolds; that damned hat makes people think you’re Mr. Brokeback Mountain.”

The two lined up at the streetlight. “Okay men,” the coordinator said, “Both of you have your GPSs loaded up with the course. It’ll be a two-lap run. Any questions?” “I’ve got one,” Stephen said repulsively, “When do we put this Asian bastard in an intermittent camp?” “Why don’t you shut your f**king mouth and just drive?” Keisuke said, his eyes burning with rage at what this inconsiderate banker from Texas was saying. “You’ll regret saying that shit,” Keisuke thought, “This’ll be a hellish night for ya.”
“Okay, you guys ready down there?”
(Yep. Send ‘em down any time.)
“Alright then…”
“In three,
two,
one,
GO!”

The tires squealed as both cars launched off the line. The blue Mustang barely spun the wheels as much as Stephen did. It was Keisuke with the holeshot as they went into the first turn. As they rounded the turn, Keisuke heard the sound of a blow-off valve behind him. “He’s turbocharged?” Keisuke thought, “No wonder he’s been so good in a ‘bone-stock’ Corvette; he’s cheating.” The two drifted around the first turn, and Keisuke gained about one and a half car lengths on the C6 Corvette. As he was driving, Keisuke bwgan to reminisce over what had happened to him in the last two weeks….

* * *
Two Weeks Earlier: Deuce’s Shop; 2:45 PM
“Getting better!” Deuce said as the big GT500 swung around the turn with the back tires spinning in protest against the g-forces of the car, “Remember to brake much earlier, kid! Brake, brake, brake! Goddammit, you’re running too fast!” The back bumper of the Mustang just touched the shop wall out in the parking lot of Deuce’s shop. It was already Keisuke’s second day under this greaser’s wing, and he had mastered drifting Rally’s GT500 with ease; Rally and her informant friend Becky were standing out front watching Keisuke kick up smoke and dirt with the Shelby. “Wow,” Becky said, pushing up her glasses, “He’s gotten really good!” “Yeah, sure has” Rally said as she looked on glassy-eyed at the car gracefully drifting around the lot, “Apparently he went on a trip to Sears Point with Deuce in his racing GTO to learn by witnessing the technique, and he blacked out by the fifth corner.” “And you say this guy was once a full-blown street racer in Japan?” Becky replied. “He said afterwards that he felt scared for the first time in over five years,” Rally stated, still attentively watching the Shelby. “Where is he staying?” Becky asked. “My house,” Rally replied, “And for the first time in my life, I think I’m in love.” “No way!” Becky yelled as the GT500 swung around to a full stop. “Damn,” Keisuke shouted, banging on the wheel of the Mustang. “You’re doing fine!” Deuce said, “Let’s run through that again.”

One week later; 7:35 PM

About a week later, Keisuke started getting a hold of racing the Mustang with ease. He had gotten used to the brakes, and seemingly melded with the car. After one final session of running the Shelby, Deuce sat down with Keisuke for a talk. “So,” Deuce asked, “How much different is it than everything else you’ve driven?” “Different?” Keisuke said, “Well first of all, it’s got no grip on those bias-ply. Second, the engine makes the car too front-heavy, causing terrible understeer. After getting over that, the brakes are about as useful as trying to stop a freight train with a cardboard box on the rails.” “Is that so?” Deuce said, “Well now, tomorrow bring the Boss, and we’ll se how much you’ve improved.” “Wait,” Keisuke said, confused, “What do you mean by ‘bring the Boss?’” “You’ll see,” Deuce said, walking back into his shop, “When you get into it.” He then left into the shop with Keisuke standing there confused.

Going back to Rally’s house was not a relaxing ride home, due to Keisuke’s mind running with plans on what he’d do heading out east to catch up with Dru in Wildwood. He parked the GT500 in-between to May’s Fiat and his Boss 302. Walking into the kitchen, he spotted Rally sitting at the counter. “What’s up?” he said, trying to make light conversation with his new friend, “Any interesting bounties come up?” “Keisuke,” Rally said blushing, “I-I’ve got something to tell you.”

“What is it?” Keisuke asked, “If you need the Shelby back tomorrow, take it. Deuce told me to—” “I’ve never felt this way about someone,” Rally struggled to say, “But I’ve got to say I’ve found that someone.” “What’re you saying?” Keisuke said, perplexed. “I love you, Keisuke,” Rally said, “I’m not quite sure about it, but I really love you. From that day at the diner in the Southwest, I knew there was something special about you. I just find that you’re such a great guy! I’d do anything for you!” “Okay,” Keisuke said, confused and strangely interested, “So what do you want to do?” “Whatever you want me to do,” Rally said, awkwardly walking over to him, beet red, “I’ll do whatever you say. I know you have to leave soon, but let me spend just one night with you. How about it?”

“I’m sorry,” Keisuke said, “But I can’t do that.” Rally was shocked. “Why?” Rally said, “Why don’t you want me?” “I have to focus, Rally,” Keisuke said as Rally began to tear up, “I can’t spend a night with you with my battle against Dru coming up.” “That’s not a good enough reason!” Rally yelled in tears, “It’ll only be one night! Why not?” “I just can’t,” Keisuke forcefully said, “You’re a great friend, allowing me to use your car and everything, but if I do end up dating you, I already told you; I won’t be able to focus if I get into a serious relationship.” Rally sat down in a chair, staring off into oblivion with tears of mascara running down her face. “I hate doing this as much as you do,” Keisuke said coldly, “I’ve broken up with another girl who seemed just as wild about me as you are. I just don’t want to break another heart like I did before. I can’t start a relationship with you. Not now, probably not ever. I’ve gotta go, anyway. Deuce told me to drive the Boss when I got home. I’ll be staying over at his place from now until I leave for Jersey.” “Well,” Rally said, forcing a smile, “Good luck. I want you to keep in touch with me if you can, okay?” “I’ll try,” Keisuke said, “Let me go and grab my stuff and I’ll be out of there.” After getting his things, he stopped in the doorway, “I’m truly sorry, Rally, I really am.” As soon as the back door shut, Rally began to cry hysterically, knowing that her first true love had just walked out the door probably forever.

“Rally,” Keisuke thought to himself, getting into his grabber-blue Boss 302, “I also love you. I just can’t break another heart like I did with Kyoko-chan last time. I just can’t do something like that.” After the incident at Rally’s house, Keisuke began running up and down the streets of Chicago, looking for prey. Every race he ran, he began to feel something new about his car. “What is this?” Keisuke sensed, “It feels as if I’m driving my FD again! The suspension; it feels so much tighter now, and the tires are actually gripping! It’s as if I can take corners faster than I ever did!”

During his last week of training in early May, Deuce watched as this young man surpassed him in every element of driving. Keisuke’s final test, a race between him and Deuce in his race-ready GTO, was his shining moment; he had beaten Deuce by over 3 car-lengths. “Well, well, well.” Deuce said at the shop, “It seems as if you’ve surpassed me. So how about boosting the blower up now?” “How much?” Keisuke said. “I think you’d be best at around 700 horses.” “That sounds just fine to me,” Keisuke said. “Good for ya, Heartbreak Kid,” Deuce said, laughing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Keisuke asked. “I just figured that’d be a good nickname for ya, since you’ve broken two ladies’ hearts.” “Shut up,” Keisuke said, “I didn’t want to break up with either of them, and I still feel horrible about Rally.” “Hey,” Deuce replied, “That name doesn’t have to be about your lady-friends. It could be due to you breaking the hearts of your hopeful competitors.” “I dunno,” Keisuke said, “Sounds a little too close to Shaun Michaels’ nickname for me.” “Oh,” Deuce said, “A WWE fan, huh?” “Yeah,” Keisuke said, embarrassed of his pro-wrestling fandom.

* * *

Present day

Today, however, Keisuke was smoking Stephen and his Corvette. He was also going to expose Stephen after he took the victory. Keisuke did win, with an amazing 15-second lead over the pompous and racist rich-kid. As he crossed the line, Stephen got out of his car, and headed over to Keisuke, furious about his loss. “How did I lose?” he said, “Especially to a sonofab*tch like you?” “You ain’t used to the turbo kickback, are ya,” Keisuke said, with a wry smile, “I saw your car’s butt wag in my rearview. That points directly to a turbocharger.” “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stephen said, with the people wondering what Keisuke meant. “Let’s see what’s really under the hood, shall we?”

Popping the hood of the Corvette, it seemed that Keisuke was the embarrassed one. “Well, buddy,” Stephen said, “It seems that you’re wrong.” “I guess so,” Keisuke said fakingly, “But I wonder, what is this pipe doing in the intake?” He pointed to a flat black pipe going into the intake system that seemed much larger than stock. He flicked it, and it made a metallic sound. “Now that doesn’t sound OEM, now does it?” He started walking the perimeter of the car, until he went underneath the rear end and found the culprit. “Not turbocharged, eh?” Keisuke said, coming up with his camera phone. On the display was the rear of the Corvette. Where the mufflers should’ve gone, there were two turbochargers and blow-off valves that exited through the exhaust pipes.
“He’s lying!” Stephen said, “I swear! That ain’t my exhaust system!” “Yeah right, Stephen,” a large black man said, “I bet you couldn’t beat me and my Viper if you didn’t have the turbo.” “Shut up!” he said, “All of you, shut up! I’m gonna call the cops!” He then peeled out and crashed a block away with everyone still watching and laughing at the fake racer. The rumors were truthful; Takahashi Keisuke was the Heartbreak Kid that the rumors talked about; exposing fakes and phonies East of the Mississippi in his badass Boss 302.

This post has been edited by Turbo_Levin_13 on Apr 23 2008, 06:35 PM

GG Keisuke!
Let's all point and laugh at Stephen!

Keisuke's driving sure has improved a lot. All the more reason to look forward to the battle that's 2 months away.

New chapter ladies and gents!

Chapter 13: The Other Jersey Devil Pt. 1: High School Hell

One week later: Millville, NJ, 3:05 PM

“So,” a man said at the counter of the AutoZone store said to the young man who had just bought a blow-off valve for his 240SX, “Have you heard the rumors about this kid in his Mustang, Dru?” “Yeah,” Dru said, removing his aviator sunglasses from his head, “I’m supposed to race him in three weeks after Independence Day. I’ve been testing and tuning my Spitfire to run the mountain passes. I’m afraid I won’t see any of you guys for about two weeks.” “Why?” the clerk asked. “After I get the settings down, I’m heading down to Shenandoah National Park to run the Skyline Drive for a week.” “You’re running there?” The clerk asked, surprised, “How are you gonna do that? It’s a national park, for Chrissakes!” “I’ve got connections,” Dru said, pushing a hand through his dark brown, almost black, hair, “And we’ve gotten clearance from a friend of mine who works in the parks service.” “So I’m guessing you ain’t a friend to the environment?” the clerk asked, ringing up the part, “It’s gonna cost ya $350.75.” “Of course I am,” Dru replied, “I run E85 in most my cars; most ignorant car guys think it’s a hippie fuel, but I’ve seen some massive increases all over the power band when running my engines on the dyno.” “Okay,” the clerk said, “Well, have a nice time in the boondocks, Dru!” “I’m used to it!” he replied as he walked out the door to his truck.

The truck wasn’t his, but he still was able to use it due to his boss knowing it was in the good hands of a high-caliber physics-based mechanic. Dru was a hobbyist mechanic in Cape May, NJ for the longest time, rebuilding small lawnmower, weed-whacker and nitro RC car engines for friends in his first year of high school. Without them knowing, Dru started testing out engine performance upgrades. He would port the intake and exhaust valves, grind down the cams and rebuild the carburetors. His friends began noticing these changes, but they decided to take these engines and put them on the back of go-karts. Almost as soon as they did that, his reputation spread like a nitromethane-fueled fire.

When his friends got their first cars, Dru began to work on them. The engines he built were so powerful, that he had to learn how to re-build and beef up other parts on these cars. This occurred to him when he finished rebuilding his friend’s Mark III Supra. After one full-throttle burst down the Garden State Parkway, the transmission exploded, causing trans fluid to spew out of the tranny case. It left a path a mile long that led to where it was stopped in the grass. Back at the shop, Dru tore into the transmission. “I’m curious,” he said to his friend, “If I could find a used 5-speed from an old SVT Mustang and make an adaptor plate and coupling, I might be able to prevent that from happening again.” “Well what about the driveshaft and rear axle?” his friend said, “I’m surprised that they even handled that amount of torque!” “We’ll need to swap those out, too,” Dru said, lying on his oil-stained garage floor, looking under the 17-year old chassis, “What I want you to do is to look in the junkyards for a C3-C4 Corvette rear diff; better yet, try to find an entire rear IRS setup without the trans if it’s a C4. I also think that the driveshaft from that might fit under there with some cutting. Ya got that?” “Wow,” the friend replied, shocked, “You should try to go to college for this; you’d be hired right out of the gate.” His words seemed to fall on deaf ears as it had for years.

“Goddammit, Dru!” his mother said, frustrated at his firs report card at technical school, “If you keep getting grades like this, you’ll never get into Rowan University!” “But mom, I was—” Dru said, getting cut off by his father. “Listen to your mother!” he yelled. “I don’t care if you were helping f**king goddamned Richard Petty,” she said, frustrated that her bright and gifted child was not living up to her extreme expectations, “No more working on cars for you until you get your grades up, and you’re grounded from your Nissan indefinitely!” she yelled. “That’s unfair!” Dru said, I need that to get to school!” “WHY DON’T YOU TRY TO TAKE THE BUS?!” She yelled, her face as red as a bloody rose. “I can’t!” he yelled, “He’s on that bus!” “You mean Buck?” his dad said, “That shit happened six years ago!” Buck Gifulcio was the nastiest kid in Cape May County; the son of a drug-dealing ex-bootlegger, Buck picked on kids for no reason whatsoever, and he probably couldn’t forgive Dru for what he did to him in the sixth grade.

-6 years ago

“Hey retard!” a mean-looking ten-year old wearing a “Slayer” shirt said to a shy child dressed in a large t-shirt with baggy pants who was playing with his Hot Wheels, “Why don’t you get outta here? I gotta do some business.” The shy child didn’t move. “Did you hear Buck, you f**king moron?” one of the kids in Buck’s posse, “Get the hell out of here-Saaaaaaaay…nice Hot Wheels you’ve got there!” “Hey!” the shy kid said, jumping up at the bigger 5th-grader, “That’s mine! Give it back!” “You want this, Dru?” Buck said, “Too f**king bad; gotta pay the toll to play here, retard.” All of a sudden, something snapped in Dru’s head; he jumped on Buck and started pummeling him in the face. “GIVE IT BACK YOU MOTERf**kING JACKASS! I’M GONNA KILL YA! YOU’LL BE A PIECE OF SHIT WHEN I’M FINISHED WITH YOU!” “Oh God, Dru!” one of the aides ran over and pulled Dru away form Buck, “You don’t do that! You’re going to the Principal now!” The posse laughed, along with Buck, who was now sitting up and joining the posse as more and more people joined in to make fun of the awkward and weird-looking boy as he walked out of the school. He went to a private school and never came back.

-6 years later

The first week on the bus was hell; no one knew him since he left the school, but nonetheless Dru was beginning to suspect that he was the only sane one on the bus. Everyone seemed to be acting all gangsta. “Okay,” Dru thought to himself, “We’re here in the middle-of-nowhere, NJ, and these morons think we’re in Compton? What the hell?” School wasn’t that much different at Court House Tech. He wondered to himself why only a handful of people were somewhat motivated to go to college there if the lowest curriculum classes were all College Prep. The funniest thing to him was that his engineering class-a class geared towards a college career-was the laziest. Most of the time, everyone ended up playing World of Warcraft or Unreal Tournament most of the time. Dru himself didn’t mind doing that once in a while, but it made no sense that a college-based class would be this laid back; it was ridiculous.

One of the few good things about Tech was the fact that there were some die-hard car nuts who truly did want to have him work on their cars. He wasn’t able to work on them at home, but Dru was friendly enough with the Auto Shop teacher that he was able to stay after for a while to help work on his friends’ cars. During the day, Dru would spend time during his less-important classes doing his homework and studying so he could hopefully work on his own 240SX. When he didn’t have any homework, Dru would doodle different iterations of the car on his notebook.

After two years in Tech, Dru had worked his way up to a free-ride to a university; the only catch was that he complete two years of community college before going off. His parents were so proud that they bought him a 1975 Triumph Spitfire 1500; well actually it was Dru’s dad’s Spitfire that was sold to Dru after he finished his first two semesters of college, when he had the time. The problem with this new car was the fact that he didn’t have time to work on it. It was beat and old, but Dru still did see a silver lining to its compact British design. For years he’d just stare at it in the backyard as weeds grew up around it and the metal rusted through the botched and Bondo’d body job. “One day,” Dru said, “It’ll be the fastest thing on four wheels in South Jersey.”