-13-
Dark Horse
It takes a good forty-five minutes to get there, all the while Moon, Hanna, and Rosy chat around me, trying to get me into the conversation, but my mind is elsewhere, wondering what this is all about. We take back roads that go into back roads, twisting through the woods until we finally come to an open field. But on closer inspection, it’s not just a field. There’s a race strip beyond the grass and weed-filled, make-shift parking lot, a quarter mile stretch of packed dirt creating a dark line across the paddock. There must be over sixty cars here with people spilling out of them and walking towards the track, girls in barely-there skirts, and guys wearing grease ridden jeans and ballcaps on backwards. The noise from the crowds along with the roar of the engines is deafening. I almost feel like any minute I’m going to see Vin Diesel walk by my window.
When Moon and the others see my indeterminable expression, he says exuberantly, “Welcome to Rose Mountain Illegal speedway. Home to some of New York’s finest, back-alley drivers.”
I turn in my seat to look at him, then Hanna and Rosy. “You’ve been here before?”
“Almost every weekend since high school,” Rosy says, not ashamed of the fact.
“I’ve only been here a few times,” Hanna admits, her eyes going to Rosy. “But it’s a lot of fun. And if you don’t bet on the races, then it’s not really illegal.” From the look on her face I would say she isn’t so sure.
I return my eyes to the track set below the parking lot, a race already starting. A sleek red sportscar and what looks like a muscle car from the sixties are standing still at the white line, a tall, portable traffic light set up in the middle of them. Though I can’t see when the light changes, I know it’s green when both cars’ tires peel against the dirt road, taking off.
I can hear the crowd going nuts, even from here.
Still watching the race, the muscle car easily beating the modern one, I ask them, “And how is this supposed to make me feel better?”
Wait…
Glaring at Moon, I decide to ask instead, “How did you know something was wrong in the first place? Did Jagger say something?”
He shakes his head, huffing before declaring, “No, Walking Ad is pretty tight-lipped about his personal crap. Your sister is the one I talked to.”
He has to be joking. “My sister? Since when are you two buddy-buddy?”
“Since we met at Serendipity,” he says in kind of a ‘duh’ tone. “I gave her my number at the curb with instructions to call me in case something like this happened.” He shrugs, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.
“And what exactly do you think happened?” I ask, my voice hitching on the last word.
Surprising me, Moon turns in his seat, saying to the couple in the back, “Why don’t you guys get us some seats. We’ll meet up with you in a bit.”
They nod, quickly scooting out of the back, but not before each give me encouraging smiles. Rosy even flashing me a wink.
Moon swings his focus back to me when the door slams shut, eyes oddly serious for once. “You don’t realize this, but you and Jagger are pretty similar. I knew that from the moment I met you. That’s why I asked your sister to call me in case something like this happened, because I knew at some point my boy would mess this whole thing up by being the stubborn jackass that he is.”
“If we’re so similar, does that make me a jackass as well?” It sure sounded like that’s where he was going with it.
He shakes his head. “No, how you’re similar is that I knew you wouldn’t say anything to me about it, just like he wouldn’t. Which, by the way, kind of hurts, because I consider you locked into my friend circle now, and I would hope I’m in yours too. Book nerds need to stick together, boo.”
I rub at my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. All thanks to my confusion. “Okay, so why am I here?”
“Because your sister said you wanted answers. I thought I would give you some.” When I give him a surprised, maybe even hopeful, look, he holds up his hands. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m only giving you the glue. You’ll have to put the pieces together yourself. Otherwise Jagger would have my neck, and I’m rather fond of it.” Fingers on the handle, ready to bail, he says, “So, are you going to come, or stay in the car and fuss over the bait I have so expertly fed you?”
Pretending I don’t see the self-impressed smile on his face, I chew on it for a minute, wondering if this is a good idea. Yes, I’d like to know more, but at the same time I don’t want to cross a line with him. But, if I figure things out on my own, like Moon said, is it really digging?
“What the hell,” I tell him, opening the door and subjecting myself to the full roar of the event. It’s not like Jagger is going to find out about it.
Making our way down the hill towards the raucous crowd, I notice details that I didn’t from the car. There are different sections of people for different events. There’s a group of guys around a bunch of cars, all lining up for the next races, I assume. There’s another for the ones placing bets, crowded around a couple of guys taking the cash by the starting line. Some dance around the cars with music blaring from their open doors; the trunks showcasing large, bass thumping stereos. And lastly you have the main crowd of onlookers, set up on both sides of the track, but only about a quarter of the way up. When I ask Moon what this is all about, he says, “In case there’s a crash or a malfunction, they don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
“Can’t they get hurt standing that close anyway?” I screamed back, now growing closer to the races and the roar of engines revving.
“Yeah, but it’s a lot less likely that they’ll spin out that early in the gate.” Putting his hand at my back to guide me through the crowds, he says, “We’re aiming for up there.” He points to a small rock outcropping from the side of the hill, away from the fray; a select few people standing on it, others in lawn chairs.
Reaching this special rock, Moon helps me up to the top where Rosy takes over and grabs my hands, hauling me up. He doesn’t seem to realize he just touched my scars. Or if he did, he’s doing a fantastic job of pretending he didn’t.
Now face to face with everybody, Moon introduces me. “Guys, this is Cyvil, Jagger’s fiancée.”
Ah, hell. Did he really have to say fiancée?
I turn to look at Hanna, unsurprised to see her gaping expression. This was the one detail I hadn’t wanted her to find out just yet.
When she mouths, “What the hell?” I shake my head.
“Long story.”
She nods, but still looks shell-shocked. I know I’ll be explaining myself later.
Returning to the three new faces apart from Hanna and Rosy’s, I watch as they stare at me for a hushed second, their eyes going to the scar, big surprise. But just as quickly, they shake themselves out of it, giving me smiles instead.
“I’m Ellie,” the shorter of the two girls says, a red cup in her hand, her brown hair glistening with highlights that bring out the hazel in her eyes. “I didn’t know Jagger was seeing anyone.”
“You know Jag, always keeping his cards close,” the second girl says with a smirk, nodding at me once. Her hair is blonde and naturally so, her eyes a dark blue, matching the single strip of navy in her hair. “I’m Katherine, but everyone calls me Kat. And this is my boyfriend, Ra’Sean.” A tall guy with onyx skin and kind eyes smiles at me, the only one of the three to put out his hand for me to shake. When I do, I notice he has his own fair share of scars on his knuckles, though his look more like burns, as though he has touched a hot muffler a few too many times.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says.
“Same.” Looking around the group, now with their eyes on the current race, I’m still wondering how any of this has to do with Jagger. With how they mentioned him, I figure these must be a few of his friends, but how does it all tie together, like Moon claimed?
Moving me forward, Moon motions for me to take a seat in one of the vacant, collapsible lawn chairs, the others moving into theirs. We all make up a centered line along the flat top of the boulder, a perfect view of the track and the swarming people down below.
Hanna claps her hands excitedly from the chair to my left, Moon sitting in the one to my right. I give him a meaningful stare, and he points towards the track, mouthing the words, “Just watch.”
Heeding his advice, I turn my attention back towards the race, my eyes squinting to see the men and women down below, all running around to arrange the next race. Slowly, a car I recognize as a Corvette takes the right spot, an older looking muscle car painted midnight blue with a pair of white racing stripes down the middle taking the left. This car in particular looks a little rough, especially next to the shiny black Corvette. It’s an older model, maybe the late sixties. I hear one of the girls say “Camaro”, and I figure that must be the model. The paint job on this one is in need of great repair, the front bumper rusty in places. It definitely doesn’t look race worthy, especially next to its competition.
Both cars take their places, the energy of the crowd seeming to vibrate with this particular pairing. The guy calling out the races from somewhere I can’t see booms his commentary over the steady murmur of people below.
“To our right, we have Lester Hanagin in the 2009 Chevrolet Corvette, sporting an impressive four hundred and forty horsepower V8 with an average of zero to sixty in four point one seconds. And next to Hanagin we have the always mysterious, Dark Horse, in the 1969 Camaro.” At this, the audience goes into an earsplitting roar. I have no idea why. I figured people would be rooting for the choice most obvious to win.
And who the hell calls themselves “Dark Horse”?
“This is my favorite part,” Moon says next to me, somehow having found a tub of popcorn somewhere, which he steadily puts in his mouth. I stare at him, and he goes, mouth half full, “What?”
I shake my head while the rest of the people on the rock start cheering along with the crowd, clapping and standing up to call stuff out; the likes of which I can’t hear since they get drowned out by the rest of the people screaming down near the track.
“On your marks!” calls the guy over the sound system, and both cars rev their engines.
From this side of the tracks, I am yet again unable to see when the lights turn color, but as the anticipation builds in the crowd, and the cars continue to warm up their engines, I ask Moon rather loudly, “Why are they cheering? This guy is screwed.” I point to the Camaro.
“Just watch!” he yells back.
A squeal unlike anything I’ve ever heard peels out over the length of the field, both cars hitting the track like a bolt of lightning, taking off quicker than my eyes can process. Where I thought the Camaro was out of its league, most likely to fall behind in the first fifty feet, it astonishes me when it keeps perfect pace with the Corvette, its engine growling loud enough to make me want to cover my ears.
When they get halfway down the track, the person driving the shabby Camaro does something to kick it into high gear, and speeds past the Corvette, leaving it in the dust as it hauls tail to the end, the crowd going nuts when he makes it past the finish line; the Chevy a minimum of three seconds behind him. And if I know anything from watching The Fast and the Furious movies, it’s that three seconds might as well be three miles.
Rosy, Hanna, Ra’Sean, Kat, and Ellie are all standing, hooting and hollering as they cheer on Dark Horse, who spins around dramatically in the dirt, kicking up dust as he speeds off back to where all of the other cars are waiting for their chance.
Moon is smiling next to me when I turn to look at him, more confused now than ever. “How the hell did that guy do that?” I ask, my heart beating painfully fast from the adrenaline of it all.
“It’s all based in the element of surprise. With a car that looks as run down and crappy as that thing does, no one would suspect there’s actually seventy-five grand sitting underneath the hood. It’s called hustling, Montae.” He snickers, finding what he says next rather funny, “I believe it’s what you’re doing to your father at the moment.”
I know it wasn’t meant as a diss per se, but it still stings.
“Wait,” I say, trying to ignore the uncomfortable stitch it leaves in my side, “how do you know that?”
“Know what?” he says, obviously playing dumb.
“Know that there’s that much money invested in the car?”
He shrugs, eyes back on the next race about to start. “Because I know the owner.”
“You mean Dark Horse?” I want to roll my eyes just saying it.
He grins. “Yep. You like it? I came up with that one myself. Pretty proud of it, actually.”
Before I can ask anything about that little piece of information, Hanna is leaning over Moon to look at me, eyes alive with the excitement of the event. “Wasn’t that wicked?!”
“Yeah.” It actually kind of was, if I’m being honest.
The next race starts. And then the next.
It’s a good hour before I get a break to pull Moon to the side, and ask, “Remind me how this has anything to do with Jagger?”
His carefree smile slowly dips, dark eyes looking me over as though he’s surprised. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”
“Figured out what?” I’m getting kind of pissed now. This was supposed to be productive, according to him, but all I’m getting is –
As he stares at me, eyes pleading for me to discover the truth on my own, a memory from a few months back hits me like a truck.
I was looking at the file my mother had given me about Jagger, reading through his scholastic history and his interests. Car racing, had been at the forefront. I remember this because my first thought had been, seriously? He’s into NASCAR or something?
I inhale quickly, still staring at Moon in the dark, our rock nearly out of range of the spotlights they have lit below. It’s then I remember Jagger saying that he’s busy on Fridays and Saturdays, but any other day he’s available. And there’s the time he took me in the middle of the day to the driving range, and met me so quickly at Serendipity. How could he do that if he had a job?
My eyes go back to the group of people near the race track, all surrounding the guys taking their money for bets. Jagger never wanted to tell me what he does for a living, and yet he drives a nice car, wears expensive clothes, and I know he lives somewhere in the city, which is never cheap. And with his dad being in such bad financial shape, there’s only one way he can be doing it.
I look back at Moon from the track, my heart beating fast now for a whole other reason than triggers or adrenaline. “You mean…?”
He nods once. “Yes. This is Jag’s job.”