Chapter 32: I Saw a Whole New World
Chapter 32: I Saw a Whole New World
“Whew, done. This should keep you from giving me trouble for a while.”
After the road trip with Noah, I threw myself into repairing my beloved Chevy truck.
Of all the times for it to happen, it had to be in front of Noah….
I had pretended it was nothing at the time, but my face still burned whenever I thought about it.
I remembered what Donnelly had said about mechanics’ own cars often being the ones that received the least maintenance.
“I’ll take better care of you from now on, so let’s keep going for a long, long time.”
I lightly thumped the truck’s hood several times with my palm.
It was a 1999 Chevrolet Silverado C1500 with just over 180,000 miles, or approximately 290,000 kilometers, on the odometer.
Since it was an old, high-mileage vehicle, unexpected problems frequently cropped up. However, I had already become far too attached to it, so replacing it had never crossed my mind.
At this rate, I believed it could easily handle another hundred thousand miles.
“Next is this guy….”
I looked at the small car on the lift, with a red body and a chrome strip running along its side.
A 1964 AMC Rambler.
I had found it while browsing private used-car listings and bought it for twenty-five hundred dollars because I was attracted to its small, simple appearance.
Over the past few days, I had already spent approximately a thousand dollars completing the functional restoration of its powertrain.
Of course, the exterior and interior were still in fairly terrible condition. There were small patches of rust here and there, and spot corrosion was visible on the chrome.
It would probably be better not to touch those. This isn’t a collector’s car.
The Rambler had originally been launched as an everyday car for ordinary people. It even had the image of being a car driven by grandmothers.
Rather than raising its price through an excessive restoration, a car like this was better off having its mechanical functions restored before being sold to someone who needed it.
It was like an old pair of shoes you could casually slip on when heading to the neighborhood grocery store.
My target selling price was forty-five hundred dollars.
Just then, the phone in my trouser pocket began ringing loudly.
Steve…?
I debated for a moment whether to answer, but eventually pressed the call button.
“Hey, Jason! What the hell have you been doing? Nobody’s heard from you lately. You haven’t even shown your face at the bar.”
His booming voice thundered through the receiver.
“I’ve just been busy with work. Moving warehouses kept me occupied too.”
“Huh? Wait a second. What did you just say? You moved warehouses? When? Where?”
The moment the words left my mouth, I realized my mistake, but it was already too late.
“It’s farther out than the rental warehouse I used before. Past Benson….”
“Why haven’t you told us until now? Seriously, you… Send me the address. I’m already out, so I can come over right now. I’ll bring Jack and Cole!”
“No, you really don’t have to—”
Click.
Without even listening to my answer, he had unilaterally decided to visit.
Well, it was something I would have had to deal with eventually….
Approximately thirty minutes later, they appeared in front of my warehouse with astonishing speed.
Each of them arrived in a car I had never seen before.
Rumble, rumble, rumble—
“Jason! We’re here!”
Like the Ford fanatic he was, Steven arrived in a 2005 fifth-generation Mustang GT, commonly known by its S197 platform code.
(Translator’s Note: S197 Mustang — Ford’s internal platform designation for the fifth-generation Mustang, introduced for the 2005 model year. Its styling deliberately revived design elements from Mustangs of the late 1960s.)
Jack drove a 2007 Dodge Charger R/T, while Cole, surprisingly, arrived in a 2003 fourth-generation Volkswagen Golf GTI.
They certainly have distinct tastes….
The deafening Mustang and Charger engines shut off, and the three of them poured out of their cars and invaded my warehouse.
“You bastard. So you’ve been secretly living alone in a place like this. It’s cozy. Pretty nice, actually.”
Steven spoke however he pleased as he looked around the warehouse.
“Woof! Woof!”
Dusty barked fiercely at him, but—
“Whine….”
As Steven came closer, Dusty apparently sensed something ominous. He turned around and quickly climbed onto his cushion.
“Ahem…. Cute puppy. Anyway, here. It’s a housewarming present. No, wait—a garage-warming present. Heh.”
Embarrassed by Dusty’s reaction, Steven scratched the back of his head and proudly handed me a large Ford neon sign.
What in the world was I supposed to do with this?
At least Jack and Cole had done better.
“Jason, long time no see. Here, pepperoni pizza!”
They had brought no fewer than four pizzas from a famous local pizza shop.
Had they really bought one for each person?
The boxes were super-jumbo size, nearly twice as large as a standard large pizza….
Judging by how they each picked up a box and sat in a folding camping chair without saying anything, apparently they had.
“…At least you two are better than Steven.”
I shoved the Ford neon sign into one corner of the warehouse as I spoke.
“What kind of hurtful thing is that? That isn’t just some ordinary sign. I put a lot of thought into bringing it!”
Steven protested with his eyebrows raised high.
“Sure, whatever…. But do any of you actually work? It’s only five in the afternoon.”
Steven worked at the parts shop his father owned, so it made sense that his schedule would be relatively flexible.
But what did Jack and Cole do for a living?
“Haha! Did you hear that, Cole? Apparently Jason thinks we’re unemployed. I’ll have you know I’m on the safety crew at Inde Motorsports Ranch.”
Jack spoke while pulling a long strand of cheese from a slice of pizza.
“Wait. You mean the private circuit in Willcox? Isn’t that place exclusively for rich people?”
“Yeah, you know it well. Membership costs at least tens of thousands of dollars. But that’s pocket change to the people who go there. They’re the kind of people who drive Ferraris and Shelby Cobras on a circuit.”
(Translator’s Note: Shelby Cobra — An Anglo-American sports car developed by American racer Carroll Shelby beginning in 1962 by installing Ford V8 engines into lightweight British AC Ace roadsters. Original examples later became exceptionally valuable collector cars.)
“A Shelby Cobra on a circuit….”
Just imagining it made me dizzy.
Ordinary insurance probably would not even cover an accident that occurred on a race circuit.
“I run a tire shop near Tucson. It’s fairly small, but I do have employees.”
“Small? The shop alone is thirty-three hundred square feet, about three hundred square meters. How is that small? Don’t you have several employees too?”
Jack cut in after hearing Cole.
“Really? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I buy tires every time I restore a car.”
“Heh. Jason, you don’t look in the mirror very often, do you? Do you have any idea how murderous you look whenever we see you at the bar?”
“Ah…. That was just… something that happened.”
“Then I look forward to doing business with you from now on, valued customer.”
Cole passed me a business card over the enormous pizza box.
“I’ll consider it if you give me a discount. But all three of you work in the automotive industry? Is that why you drove such flashy cars here?”
At my question, Jack, Cole, and Steven all stared at me at once, each with a slice of pizza hanging from his mouth.
“Jason… you work in the automotive industry too.”
Cole was the first to speak, sounding dumbfounded.
“This won’t do. He has no awareness that he works in the car industry. He isn’t a genuine car guy yet.”
“Right. It’s because he still doesn’t understand the true appeal of automobiles.”
Jack and Cole traded remarks back and forth.
The two of them were still remarkably in sync.
They exchanged meaningful looks, then spoke to me simultaneously.
“Fine! You’re coming with us tonight.”
“What? Where the hell are we going?”
Steven, who had remained quiet throughout the conversation, had somehow finished an entire pizza. He calmly closed the lid of the box and answered.
“Underground racing.”
“You seriously expect me to drive this there?”
I stuck my head through the Rambler’s narrow window and asked again.
“You said you finished repairing the powertrain. It’ll be much more fun than the truck.”
Rumble, rumble, rumble—
Steven spoke from the driver’s seat of his enormous Mustang in front of the warehouse.
At a glance, it was obvious that the Mustang was no ordinarily modified car. It growled violently as though it wanted to devour the tiny Rambler sitting before it.
My pitiful Rambler, on the other hand, sounded more like a baby elephant passing gas.
Putt-putt—
“This is insane.”
The situation was becoming stranger by the minute.
“Then we’re leaving. Don’t lose sight of our tails.”
With Steven’s Mustang in the lead, Jack’s Charger and Cole’s Golf GTI smoothly filed out of the warehouse driveway.
“Whew…. Fine. Wherever car enthusiasts gather, there’s bound to be business. Maybe I can sell this thing while I’m there.”
After releasing a brief sigh, I gently pressed the Rambler’s accelerator.
Put-put-put-put—
The baby elephant was beginning to get angry.
They drove farther and farther into the outskirts, even though my warehouse was already in a remote area.
Before long, darkness had settled over the surroundings, and the red taillights danced in waves along the road.
Each of their cars resembled a starving beast. Their savage exhaust notes brutally violated the silence of the desert as they sped forward.
My Rambler, by contrast, was utterly pathetic.
The rattling of its old sheet metal was louder than its exhaust.
After struggling to follow them for approximately thirty minutes, we crossed a low, dark hill.
The moment we reached the other side, an entirely new world unlike anything I had ever seen opened before my eyes.
“Wow…. Where have all these cars been hiding?”
Sports cars in every imaginable color had been waxed until they gleamed.
Around them, stylishly dressed people examined their interiors, exteriors, and engine compartments while talking among themselves.
I quietly parked in one corner and opened the door. The sticky smell of tires immediately rushed into my nostrils.
At the same time, harsh engine noise battered my eardrums.
Shuddering vibrations.
Ear-splitting noise.
And a dark, oily smell that clung thickly to everything.
“This is exactly what it felt like inside a helicopter right before being deployed on an operation….”
I muttered quietly to myself as I stepped out of the car.
“Jason. You managed to keep up without losing us?”
Cole approached and spoke to me.
“I had the accelerator floored….”
“Heh. Just follow me for now. It’ll be Jack’s turn soon.”
He guided me through the crowd toward a deserted stretch of road.
“Hey, look at that. Who brought that piece of junk?”
“That car is ancient. I bet my grandmother’s washing machine runs better than that thing.”
I heard someone behind me expressing amazement as they pointed at the Rambler.
Even in my eyes, compared to the cars parked around it, the Rambler was small, old, and shabby.
Every engine compartment I glimpsed while passing seemed to contain some form of forced induction, such as a turbocharger or supercharger.
Since this was a place where people competed for power, naturally aspirated engines were rare.
After passing the procession of extravagant cars, we reached a straight quarter-mile road, approximately four hundred meters long.
Jack’s car was already waiting in front of a starting line sprayed onto the pavement.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his expression filled with tension.
“Jack! Crush him this time!”
Cole shouted loudly.
Only then did Jack turn toward us and raise his thumb, though his face remained stiff.
Is he going to be all right during the race like that?
Jack’s opponent in the drag race—a contest to see who could cover four hundred meters faster—was driving a black Dodge Charger that looked completely identical to his.
There was only one difference.
The other driver was overflowing with confidence.
He comfortably chatted and laughed with a blonde woman who appeared to be his girlfriend, all while wearing pitch-black sunglasses in the middle of the night.
Several seconds later, a man standing between the two vehicles raised both hands high into the air.
Silence instantly passed through the spectators.
It was the stillness before a storm.
The two black beasts at the starting line growled as though demanding that someone release their leashes.
Three, two, one, go!
Although only three numbers were spoken, the countdown actually lasted four seconds. As the man dropped both hands, a thunderous explosion shook the ground.
With more than ten thousand cubic centimeters of combined displacement, the enormous engines violently propelled the two vehicles, each weighing close to two tons.
Their wide tires screamed and spewed white smoke, while the red taillights drew long lines beyond it.
I stared at the scene as though hypnotized.
The impact was tremendous.
In barely more than ten seconds, the two vehicles had become tiny dots in the distance.
Someone placed a hand on my shoulder.
It was Cole.
He glanced at my stunned face, smiled lightly, and murmured:
“Welcome to the world of horsepower, brother.”