Outlaw's Last Race Read online

  Well, I’m finally free, and ready to get my life together. I won’t pretend I can ever claw my way back to the top of that pedestal she always placed me on—if I ever deserved it—but I’ll be damned if I won’t die trying.

  I glance up at the front door of AJ’s Parts and Service, gleaming in the harsh midday sun, offer up a prayer to any deities who care to listen, and climb out of the Camry.

  I don’t make it two steps into the door before AJ catches sight of me. “Oh, no. Oh, hell no, man.” He’s short and stocky, but AJ Rodriguez moves fast. He was the kicker on our high school football team, and he possesses all the athletic instincts and batshit weirdness that came with the job. “You can’t come in here, man. Hell no.”

  “The fuck are you talking about? There’s no one in here. Besides, I’m a paying customer. I need a new timing belt.”

  AJ cocks one eyebrow at me. “Paying?” he asks, dubious.

  I wince. Yeah, he knows me too well. “Okay, well . . . I’ll pay you as soon as I’m able. Seriously. You know I’m good for it.”

  “The Lennox Solt I used to know was always good for it.” AJ looks me over. “This guy . . . I don’t know.”

  My shoulders slump. “It’s still me, man. Seriously.”

  “Yeah? Then how’re you gonna pay?” AJ crosses his arms.

  I give him my best winning smile. It’s a bit ragged around the edges from disuse, but I’ve got to try. “By working for you, of course.”

  AJ groans and turns down the brake fluid aisle. “I knew it. Dammit, Lennox. I can’t deal with this shit.”

  “You can’t? Come on. You know me. How many times did I save your lunch money from Brad and Marshawn? And I got you a date with Tiffany Chang for prom . . .”

  “Yeah, because she was Amber’s best friend.” AJ stops and turns around. His mouth is twisted to one side, and he’s wearing the same suspicious look he used to reserve for dipshits like Brad and Marshawn. “You have to understand, Lennox. This isn’t even about me and you. It’s about my business. I can’t just hire you because I feel like it.”

  “It’s your business,” I say. “Why not?”

  He exhales loudly. “I know Ridgecrest used to be a big city, but it’s a small town at heart. People talk around here. Constantly. And I’m afraid you don’t have any fans left. Not after . . . what you did.”

  My body goes rigid. Every punch I took in prison, every night I spent listening for movements in the dark . . . none of them ache like this. It was one thing to sit with what I’d done while I was locked away. But it’s another to come back to the real world and see that what happened didn’t just change me.

  It changed everyone I cared about. AJ, Nash, Drazic . . . Elena.

  “It wasn’t—it’s not like you think.” This is dangerous territory, and I know it. But I’m so sick of the suspicion, the hurt. The look in Elena’s eyes last night. Like I was something wild. Someone who might hurt her, too.

  “No?” AJ sighs. “Then what was it? Because it looked like the smartest guy I know got too cocky and fucked up, big-time.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and let out my breath. “And now everyone can’t wait to see what I do for an encore.”

  “No. Everyone can’t wait for you to disappear again. So next time you fuck up, none of us have to pay the price.”

  I run my finger down a bottle of transmission fuel. Fourteen ninety-nine. Five years ago I could’ve forked it over without a second thought. Now it feels like pulling out a tooth. I guess me and my shitty Camry are limping home on empty.

  “You’re right, AJ.” I turn on my heel. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Lennox . . .”

  I pause, my hands resting on the front door.

  “Come by after five,” AJ says. “I’ll get you that timing belt you need.” He swallows. “It’s the least I can do.”

  I pull away from AJ’s Parts and Service and start aimlessly scanning the highway, unsure where else to look for work. Between enforced background checks and the Ridgecrest gossip mill, I’m running low on options. Dishwashing at Peg’s Diner, maybe. A job at the junkyard, if I didn’t think Cyrus would knock me on my ass the moment he saw me.

  I rub at the stubble on my jaw while I wait for the traffic lights to turn. Dishwashing, sorting through scraps . . . none of that’s going to impress Elena. Not that that should be my goal. But there were far too many nights in prison where the only things that kept me going were the memories I clung to of Elena. Of the promise I’d made to her. Hell, though, I don’t know what I was expecting. She’s all grown up now, a real self-made woman, and I’m just a fucking beaten-down loser with too many scars. She’s probably got a long line of hearts to break. Hearts far more deserving than mine.

  I’ve got contacts. That’s about the only thing you leave prison with that might do you any good. Every guy on the inside knows some guy on the outside who pulls jobs somewhere downstate . . . But I’m not sure I want to rely on those just yet. Especially not after the look I saw in Elena’s eyes. Like I really was a monster who’d deserved what he’d gotten and then some. Like I’ll never be anything more than a murderer and a crook to her.

  Well, I can never make her understand. Never make anyone understand. I got what I wanted, in the end, no matter what it cost me. Shouldn’t that be enough for me?

  No. No, it wasn’t enough. Fuck this. I’ve more than paid my dues. It’s time to put an end to it.

  I wind up the mountainside drive toward the Cartwrights’ estate, a gaudy fake French mansion on the side of the ridge. I hop out of the Camry to let myself through the wrought iron gate. It’s unlocked, because who the fuck are the Cartwrights afraid of? No one in Ridgecrest, that’s for damn sure. The smooth, well-kept pavement hums under my shitty tires as I pull into an open spot in the circular drive.

  Amber’s sunbathing on one of the decks, face-down, watching a video on her iPad while she soaks up the late afternoon rays that filter through golden clouds overhead. Of course. She has the best view in the whole state, and she’s watching some reality show. Her glaze flicks toward me over the rims of her sunglasses, but she makes no move to welcome me.

  I kick the stand out from under her iPad.

  “Hey! What the hell, Len!”

  Amber shoves herself up. Her back is tinged with red, like she’s been out here too long, but otherwise she looks flawless as ever: firm yoga bod, skimpy bikini, hair you could swear was naturally blonde. Something’s off about her nose, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s had work done. Shaved off that cute little snub that I used to love so much. Well, she always did complain about it.

  “Yeah, good to see you, too,” I tell her.

  “Oh. Right.” She looks me over. “Daddy said you were getting out.”

  “So nice of you to remember.” I reach for her glass of soda and start to take a sip, but spit it back out. Rum. Alcohol’s the last thing I need. “I’m getting real sick of this shit, Amber. No one will give me a fucking job. I need to catch a break, and quick.”

  She tucks her knees under her chin, slow and languid like a cat. “Well, don’t cry to me. You got what you deserved.”

  I slam the soda back down on her stand. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

  Amber rolls her eyes.

  “I lost my best friend that night, okay? No one ever asks me how that feels.” My voice quavers. “Not once has anyone ever mentioned that.”

  Amber drops her feet down onto the deck with a sigh. “Look, Len. I’m sorry for you. But I don’t know what you want from me.” She glances up toward the mansion, that looming, hateful hunk of marble and granite. “I think we’ve done quite enough for you.”

  “Not if I can’t find work. Can’t pay the utility bills. Can’t afford to take Grams to the doctor, for chrissake.” My whole body is shaking now. “It was hard enough for her while I was locked up. I know she didn’t want to tell me the details, but she got worse. Way worse. And now that the in-home nurse is gone, I’m going to have
to pick up the slack, on top of trying to make ends meet when no one in this whole fucking county will give me the time of day . . .”

  “Again,” Amber says, her tone flat, “not my problem.”

  “I know, I know. Because you got to just walk away. Like you did from the wreck. Like you did from me.”

  “Who can blame me?” she asks, looking at her nails. “You drove drunk and killed a guy. You got locked up for it. Listen, I know we said we’d try to make it work, but I didn’t know how long you’d be in there. It was originally going to be fifteen years. Did you really think I would just put my life on hold for that?”

  “Life? What fucking life was I keeping you from?” I sweep my hand at the panoramic view—the high desert town far beneath us, the distant mountains at the other end of the valley, ready to swallow up the setting sun. “You don’t work. You just hang out here and look good for your daddy.”

  “I work,” she says stiffly.

  “Yeah. You file some papers for Cartwright Industries. Congratulations.”

  Amber curls her upper lip at me and looks away.

  “And we both know there’s more to it than all of that. I think I’ve paid more than my fair share.”

  “Lennox.” There’s a warning in her tone, but I’m in no mood to heed it.

  “Yeah, I’m fucking going there. Who the fuck says you get to walk away? Who says you don’t get to deal with this, too?”

  “I do.”

  My blood runs cold at the sound of that voice: smarmy and cold and powerful all wrapped into one golf-tanned package. Amber and I both turn toward the deck stairs, where Alexander Cartwright is watching us, a sly grin perched on his Botox-smooth face.

  I take a step back. Alexander steps down onto the deck, moving slowly and methodically, like everything is an artfully shot movie, starring him. In a way, it really is. He smiles at me, revealing a flawless row of white teeth, and squints because the goddamned flawless sunset is getting in his eyes.

  “Hello, Mister Cartwright.” I stand my ground, but there’s way too much eagerness to please in my voice. I hate it. I thought prison had scoured away every last bit of submission in me, but here I am, rolling over and showing my belly to this asshole.

  “Lennox.” He nods. “What seems to be the problem?”

  I clench my jaw.

  “Because where I’m standing . . . things look pretty good for you right now.” He laughs to himself. “You have your freedom, after all. That’s a big one. And you have a place to stay with your grandmother. It’s good to be close to family.”

  I glance toward Amber. She’s curled up in a ball on her deck chair, trying and failing to look calm.

  “I’m glad your grandmother was able to keep her home after all,” Mister Cartwright continues. “That you didn’t force her to deal with excessive legal costs with some kind of . . . spurious innocent plea.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “A lot of good it’ll do us if I can’t find work. No one will touch me now, not with my rap sheet.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue, the urge to once again come crawling to Mister Cartwright, begging for a handout. Please, Mister C, just give me a job. Make the gossip stop. Give me my life back.

  But I won’t. I can’t. People may think I’m a lot of horrible things, but a beggar isn’t one of them.

  “I’m sure you’ll find something,” Mister Cartwright says. He gestures toward my bared forearms. “Maybe you should talk to the friends of the nice men who gave you those tattoos.”

  I cross my arms. My ink is none of his business. He has no claim to the story it tells.

  Mister Cartwright shrugs and turns back toward the house. “Anyway, it’s not my concern.”

  “No,” I say sharply. “It isn’t.”

  He glances back, one eyebrow arched.

  “You don’t owe me,” I tell him. “Not anymore.”

  He laughs again. “Yes, well. My daughter is rather whimsical in her tastes, isn’t she?” Amber ducks her head, eyes squeezed shut. “But there’s nothing I can do to change what’s been done. And neither can you.” He starts back up the stairs. “Have a good day.”

  And just like that, I’ve been dismissed. Amber won’t meet my eyes, so I turn without a word and head back to my piece of shit car. Seething. But I’ve got nothing and no one I can take it out on.

  Cartwright’s right. He’s right, and it fucking burns me up to know how right he is. I made my bed, and I have to lie in it. If I’d only had the guts to stand up for myself . . . But it’s too late now. Far, far too late. There’s nothing I can do that won’t make things worse for everyone.

  The engine fights me the first couple of times I turn the key, but finally, it whines back to life, and I start my way back down from the Cartwrights’ mountain. It’s almost five. I could go back to AJ’s, get that new timing belt from him that he offered.

  But I’m done with taking handouts.

  As soon as I’m at the base of the mountain, I pull over to the shoulder, whip out my crappy pay-as-you-go phone, and dial the number Sean gave me. It’s about to roll over to voicemail, but at the last minute, someone answers. “Who’s this?”

  “I’m looking for Rory. I’m a friend of his brother. Sean.”

  There’s a long pause. Then, “I’m listening.”

  “Name’s Lennox. Sean can tell you all about me.” Well, whatever he can say on the monitored prison lines, anyway. “He said that you could use a good driver.”

  Rory chuckles. “How good are we talking?”

  “Why don’t you meet me at the causeway in an hour or so?” I ask. “Bring something sporty. I’ll be happy to show you just what I can do.”

  4

  Elena

  The Ridgecrest warehouse district has been completely transformed for tonight’s race. Hundreds of bodies crammed together under the starry mountain sky, cheering and drinking and psyching themselves up. Projected images line the worn brick walls of the warehouses, broadcasting footage from the GoPro-equipped drones the race organizers are maneuvering over downtown to livestream the race. A DJ on the roof of the old S&P building waves to the crowd as he weaves in a new throbbing beat. Even in the soundless cabin of Nash’s GTO, I can feel the hum and rattle of the crowd.

  I reach for Nash’s hand with a smile, but he’s clenching the steering wheel, trying to work his way toward the lineup. We’ve been practicing with the GTO for almost a week now, and his form is looking solid as ever, but he’s still a tight, angry ball of nerves. Nothing I say or do seems to snap him out of it. And I sure as shit haven’t mentioned my encounter with Lennox on the road last week. As far as I’m concerned, that was just me being a Good Samaritan, helping out a fellow traveler in need, and I’ll leave it at that.

  At least, I’m trying to leave it at that. I’m trying not to think about that sadness in Lennox’s eyes, that hardness to his features. I’m certainly trying not to think about the weird flashback it gave me standing near him, smelling him, sensing him so close. We made that promise, what, four years ago, almost? I’m sure it’s all forgotten now. I can’t go right back to feeling the things I felt for him before he went away. Everything’s changed since that night. He might as well be a stranger now.

  I just wish he didn’t seem so familiar to me still.

  “Upstate crew’s here,” I say, gesturing to the row of Asian import cars with their comically huge metal spoilers and mufflers that’ll buzz like angry bees. “Some of the Calaveras boys, too. I bet Jagger’ll want to take a whack at them.”

  “Jagger wants to fight everyone,” Nash says, but it feels like an old routine between us. He’s just going through the motions tonight. I want desperately to bring us back to where we were before Lennox got out of prison, but I can’t do it without Nash’s help.

  “McManus family, too. I didn’t know they were getting back into the circuits.”

  Nash’s jaw tightens. “They’ve got their filthy fingers in everything.”

  He parks us in the staging
area, and I follow him into the throng surrounding Sleazy D, the usual Ridgecrest circuit organizer. I loop my fingers through the back of Nash’s belt, but he barely seems to notice me. Cyrus was wrong, I think. Time isn’t making this any better on him. It’s making it worse.

  “Hey, man!” Sleazy D waves to Nash from his cardboard crate and peers at us over his ridiculous star-shaped sunglasses. “Looks like you got a sweet new ride.”

  “Yeah, man, sign me up,” Nash says.

  I push a lock of dark hair back from my face. “I built it,” I say, sounding like a little kid. I feel like an idiot as soon as I say it, but I can’t believe Nash didn’t say it himself. He never misses an opportunity to brag about me and my skills in the garage. Or anywhere else. More proof that this tension Nash feels isn’t going away anytime soon.

  “Cool.” Sleazy D couldn’t care less. He takes the clipboard back from Nash and pockets Nash’s wad of entrance money.

  “Who else we got tonight?” Nash asks. He’s tugging the sleeves of his driving jacket down over his hands as he scans the crowd. His whole body is twitching with a restless energy. Maybe this race will burn off some of that itch. God, I hope so. I don’t know how else to help him.

  Sleazy D looks over his roster. “Aside from Jagger in your crew . . . Let’s see, the usuals . . . Miguel and Antoine from the Calaveras, the Kim brothers from upstate, Rory McManus—oh, no, wait, the McManuses are putting up a new guy. Someone who just got out of the state pen.”

  My heart leaps into my throat. Nash immediately stills, his face turning sharp. “Oh, fuck, no.”

  “Yeah, Lennox somebody? He looks kinda familiar.” Sleazy D glances over the crowd, toward where the McManuses are clustered. “Oh! Right. Didn’t he use to run with Drazic’s crew?”

  “This is bullshit.” Nash’s hands form tight fists at his side. “I’m gonna kill him. I’ll fucking kill him. Lennox!”