Gas Station at the end of the North 24th Street, Tek
"Coconut coconut mango banana," Jaki sang along to the tune of the song playing on the radio. He didn't know the actual lyrics, no one did anymore. This was the only radio station still active in Tek, and half the time it played jingles for off-brand supermarket products; the other half, old disco songs recorded before his parents were even born.
As the sun set, neon lights came alive one by one. 'This district feels like it's a short circuit away from shutting down completely.' Jaki thought. Every shop, every parlor was so harmoniously lit, it felt like one giant organism. Except the corner on North 24th and North 27th Streets.
Jaki was waiting for a Volkswagen Transporter T5, dressed as a bug exterminator, to pull into the parking lot in front of the gas station he was parked at, which was wedged between an electronics repair shop and a VR parlor that had already shut its blinds for the day. Both buildings had LED signs and flourescent lights dangling overhead, flickering like they were breathing their last breath. To Jaki's left, a vending machine stood in the shadow of the gas station's sign, filled with instant ramen and candy that are probably expired a year ago.
He rolled down the windows of his dark green RX-7 FD, letting the summer air into his lungs for a moment. Then he slapped the steering wheel and leaned back, resting his head on the headrest, sighing long and deep. He was bored out of his mind.
"Bash, I swear to god, if you're not dead I'm going to kill you." he muttered. Julio wouldn't care as long as the shipment eventually arrived, and Jaki didn't have anything better to do, he just hated waiting. The shipment was supposed to show up 3 hours ago.
Then a sound echoed through the Street. Two engines screaming to be shifted up, harmonizing like the Tristan chord. As they got closer, Jaki realized one of them didn't sound quite right. It was a rotary engine that should've roared like a tiger. But it was coughing between shifts, and the blow off valve was chirping late. The air-fuel ratio was making it stutter under boost. The turbo itself was lagging under too much pressure like the car had a stock intercooler.
Jaki smirked.
"A wannabe, built her in the garage themselves. Got the parts but no soul." he muttered. To most people, that RX-7 FC would be something to admire, but Jaki wasn't most people.
He watched them go by. A 350Z Fairlady leading with a phoenix decal on the side, followed by a black '90 RX-7 FC. 'Someone from The Phoenix leading a race?' he thought to himself. They'd never won a single race in Tek. Or Divnny. Or Strawberry. So far, those were the only districts they'd tried.
They finished the half mile run and pulled over just a couple meters past the gas station. Jaki looked closer to the driver of the RX-7. Late twenties, medium build, around 6 foot tall. Black t-shirt and faded jeans. No crew colors, no district tags. No distinction at all, just a plain guy. The kind of plain that meant he was trying really hard not to be seen. Then something caught Jaki's eye.
His hands. Stiff as a rock. He didn't look like someone who'd just driven four times over the speed limit. He looked proffesional. But the car didn't, and Jaki didn't recognize him. And in Tek, if Jaki Varela didn't recognize you, you weren't supposed to be there.
The racers got back in their cars. Jaki stared at the parking lot. Then the black RX-7. "Fucking hell" he said to himself. "Sorry, Julio. Gonna risk it this time." Then he floored it after the unknown driver.
Jaki pulled out his phone and dialed "Mister Army Guy Man". After a few rings, someone picked up. "Rhett," Jaki said. "Black '90 RX-7. On N 24th, heading towards 27th. Doesn't look like he knows where he's going. Can you cut off his exits?". A sigh on the other end, followed by a question. "How fast?". You could've heard the frustration on Rhett's voice. His drill sergeant was less demanding than Jaki.
"Fast enough."
"Cool, you want the car taken out?"
"Not yet, let's see how this plays out. Sending you my live location. Inform Lys, the guy shouldn't slip away. Apes together strong."
"Sir, yes sir."
Jaki then dialed "Scotty Boy". A voice answered with a confused
"Hello?"
"You have reached the voicemail of Jaki Varela. Leave a message after the beep."
"…"
"…"
"Jaki, I-"
"BEEP!"
"What do you want, asshole?"
"Never mind. Gotta go, bye."
A streetlight flickered above as Jaki's RX-7 FD swapped lanes, moving into oncoming traffic. His eyes locked onto the black RX-7 ahead. People in Tek knew when to make way, for cars pushing 9000 rpm.
Jaki's turbo hissed, his car felt like a caged beast finally let loose, and it matched his mood. The mysterious car moved like it felt threatened, not challenged. It wasnt as fast, but handled better. The driver knew that, he was diving into every corner he could find, heel-toeing downshifts, carrying momentum into corners… 'You've got hands boy, gotta give you that.' Jaki thought. He just needed one wrong turn. One dead end.
Tek was a labyrinth. The streets narrowed without warning, drainage roads that looked like off-ramps, overpasses that end in roads higher than nearby buildings… Jaki knew it all, from the wild apple tree growing on its own out of a sidewalk on Benton Avenue to the scorch mark outside of his favorite Mexican restaurant.
On a tight straightaway, the mysterious driver took the inside lane, feathered the throttle at a broken patch of pavement.
'So you know not to bottom out.' Jaki thought. He took it flat, his coilovers were tuned to Tek's violent texture.
They reached a fork. Left led into a crowded strip, full of pedestrians, right was a winding alley that cut behind the metro line. "Right it is, mystery boy. People of Tek just got lucky," Jaki said.
Both cars drifted into the alley. Jaki upshifted mid drift, powering out with more torque. His tires let out a cry for help, his engine stuttered for a moment, as if it was laughing at the rubber playtoys Jaki installed a week ago. It had seen this move hundreds of times.
The mysterious car faked left then darted right at the next fork. It worked on Jaki, briefly. But he wasn't the type of guy to back down from seeing some greenery. He just laughed and cut straight through the park intercepting the black RX-7 on the other side.
Then two headlights showed up at the end of the road. Rhett's silver 2021 Mustang GT, barreling head-on toward the mysterious driver. The black RX-7 yanked the e-brake and slid into a panic drift to the right. But Lys's Challenger Hellcat SRT was already blocking the road. Mystery RX-7 whipped into a 180, only to find Jaki right there, cutting him off. Cornered, the guy stepped out of his vehicle.
Then everybody else did.
"Why run, pretty boy? I was just gonna ask for an autograph." said Jaki, arms open on his sides like he was greeting an old friend.
"I stopped, didn't I? Who will I be signing for?" Said Ryan, smiling like he'd found treasure. Maybe he had. He'd recognized the car the moment it started following him. The Jaki Varela. 5'10, a face that gives away his mediterrenean roots, noticably small hands with a sport watch on his left wrist. Plain white t-shirt over black jeans and red sneakers, he looked different than what Ryan had imagined.
"Strangers first." said Jaki. "My two friends here already know me." He pointed at Lys first, leaning on the car, playing cool as always. Then Rhett, standing with a clenched fist in his palm, channeling a stereotypical tough guy energy. He lived for this shit.
"It's Ryan." He wasn't intimidated by neither of them, but respected the two. Rhett with his broad build, scruffy blond beard and white tank top; and Lys with the straightest and blackest hair Ryan had ever seen, almost as if it was like painted on, latex pants that probably had a loaded gun sitting at the back of and again, a white tank top.
"Here is the deal Ryan. You race here-"
Ryan cut him off right then and there.
He knew Jaki wasn't impressed by the car, and he wasn't confident in his driving as much. If he wanted to leave an impression, he had to go bold.
"Whoa, didn't realize I signed up for a lecture." Jaki blinked. Just as he opened his mouth again, Ryan kept going. He had to.
"I came to race, not to beg for permission. Save your speech for the next outsider. I'm here, and I'm racing."
Jaki calmly put his hands together. "Look. First of all, you've got a nice ride, but it's obviously tuned by a five year old, there's no way you're beating me in that. Second, I've seen better drivers wrap better cars around barriers. This is Prime, I'm not threatening you I'm warning you." Jaki said. The way he said it looked genuine, almost concerned.
"I know, I'm from here. Born and raised Rory." Ryan replied with a smile. He looked genuine as well.
"No chance kiddo, you clearly are a racer. And any racer knows me, and my car." said Jaki. The vibe of the whole situation shifted, less like confrontation, more like two people recognizing something in each other.
"Oh I know who you are, Jaki Varela. I just didn't give a shit." Ryan said. Jaki was visibly shocked. Rhett's jaw dropped and Lys burst out laughing. Then Jaki started to blush, his anger was rising.
"Abandoned corn packing plant. Tomorrow midnight, don't make me wait."
They all got in their cars. All drove off, except Ryan. He stayed a little longer, soaking it in. He had hit the jackpot.