The Streets meet The Mafia

Mason

The car was nicer than I’d expected. Way nicer.

My brother Rick had called me that Saturday morning to tell me he’d found something he wanted me to see. After asking him some prying questions and being met with evasive answers, I’d driven over to his house to see what the hell he was going on about.

He had a 1967 Mustang Fastback in his garage. It wasn’t stock. In fact, I doubted anything on the damn thing was stock. It was souped-up, and the metallic green paint glittered in the dim lighting of his garage. Specks of gold and silver shimmered as I walked around the car like it was winking at me. Promising me victory.

“What do you think?” Rick asked as he slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels.

I paused behind the car and looked up at my younger brother. He had come a long way from a head injury six months ago. His blond hair wasn’t quite growing back properly on the right side of his head where a bullet had wedged into his skull. The fact that he was still alive and fully functioning was a miracle, one I was grateful for every day. Rick was the only family I had left, and someone had almost taken him away from me.

Rick’s blue eyes were bright and eager. He hadn’t told me he’d had plans laid down for weeks trying to obtain this car. His hard work seemed to have paid off, and now he had a monster in his garage that would have easily been worth a hundred grand. Give or take.

I nodded. “She’s slick. Pop the hood.”

Rick grinned and did as I asked. His boots thumped on the smooth concrete of the garage floor, and he popped the hood and propped it open. He stepped back as I came around the car to peer down at the intricate work that had been done to the engine.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

“She’s fast,” Rick said.

“What are your plans for her?”

Rick gave me a smug smile and didn’t say anything.

I narrowed my eyes as suspicion tickled my gut. “Rick. What are you playing at?”

He shrugged one shoulder and let the hood fall closed. He rapped his knuckles gently on the place above the right headlight. “I did some digging. There’s a race tonight down by the docks. Harriott is running it.”

“Who’d you hear that from?”

“Harley.” He chuckled.

I nodded knowingly. “How long have you been poking around in that shit?”

“Not long. I just asked her to let me know when the next race came up. This one is big, Mason. The buy-in isn’t bad, and first place guarantees you a spot in the qualifier for The Streets. Not to mention you’d walk away with forty grand.”

“What’s the buy-in?”

“Five thousand.”