Mac and Hannah sat beside each other at their dining table, the legendary eyewitness to the most ridiculous car crash ever sitting across from them.

  “First off, I just wanna say that YOU’RE A FUCKING LEGEND, DUDE!” Mac exclaimed, reaching across with both hands to shake his. The man laughed as he shook Mac’s hands.

  Hannah interrupted the bro-fest. “Ahem, got a few questions for you in this interview. Just… some formalities we have to take care of. What’s your name?”

  The eyewitness looked her in the eye. “Gordon Gordons.”

  Mac’s mouth hung open, starstruck that the demigod driver had finally named himself.

  “No way,” he whispered.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Hannah swiveled her head around to face him for a beat. Mac swore he felt some sweat forming at his temple.

  Man, I don’t even wanna see the face she’s making at me right now.

  She moved on, clacking away at her laptop.

  G-o-r-d-o-n G-o-r-d-o-n-s. Wow, I’m still not over how fast she types.

  Slipping from her perfectly average nose, Hannah nudged her glasses up before proceeding with her interrogation. “Gordon Gordons, huh. What’s your current or most recent gig?”

  Gordon shot straight through the targets Hannah set up on the range. “I’m currently a Consultant Test Driver hopping around the Bay Area to help companies develop the AIs behind driverless cars.”

  Fanboying again, Mac held both hands to his mouth, bouncing his leg underneath the table. Its surface shook as if a golden retriever was rapidly whipping the tip of its tail against one of the legs. He bit his tongue.

  Professional, Mac. Be professional… but he’s so COOL!

  “Mac…” Hannah sighed.

  “Ope, yeah sorry! I’ll stop doing that with my leg.”

  The table stopped quaking. Hannah soldiered on.

  “Why are you in that industry? Why are you so in demand, in your own words?” she asked, coolly glancing over the tops of her lenses. Typing more stuff on her laptop, she used the nub in the center of the keyboard before hitting a combination of keys Mac had never seen before. The selected words on her document automatically formatted to Hannah’s template.

  Gordon again immediately answered. “I drove in NASCAR for fifteen years. Never was the best, but I was always good for winnin’ a race or two ev’ry year. I was ‘Mr. Speedway,’ the sponsor who backed me my whole cureer. My fans always loved how smooth, fast, and mechanic’lly sympathetic I was, and I rarely never crashed out of a race. When I los’ a step and I couldn’ keep up anymore, my LinkedIn was flooded with offers from these driverless AI companies to bring me on as a consultant ’cause of my reputation. My wife and I saw the New Dollar signs and we moved our family ’ere from Charlotte. Been ’ere ever since, but I’ll always be #35 in my heart.”

  Mac went wide-eyed at hearing this and held both hands to his crown. “You drove in NASCAR?!”

  D’oh! It was so obvious man, how did I miss it!? Man, I really need to start paying more attention…

  Looking over at Hannah to share the good news, they made eye contact. She rolled her eyes. “Ugh…”

  What did I do wrong this time?!?!

  “Ehhem!” Gordon cleared his throat. Mac and Hannah turned back to him, looking like guilty teenagers caught red-handed stealing candy, chips, and soda from a gas station convenience store.

  Mac side-eyed Hannah, who pulled up instead of pushing down on the stalled line of questioning.

  “Oh! Ah, um… It sounds like a great gig. Why do you want to move on?” Hannah asked as she gave her freckled cheeks somewhere between a pat and a slap. They turned pink.

  This time, the inquiry gave Gordon pause. He scratched his chin and wondered at the minimalist chandelier above them: three light bulbs hanging on plain black wires at differing heights, still using filament as a fashion statement.

  He lowered his voice to the level appropriate for a Southerner going to confession. “Honestly, wasn’ really feelin’ it. Job’s easy and it pays REAL well, but I felt it in my SOUL that I woulda HATED myself if I wen’ on like this. My awesome wife, God bless her, encouraged me to look for something that didn’ make me wanna die, so when I saw your flyer, I was all over it. Besides, I’m already semi-retired from all my NASCAR money. Jus’ needed to git out of the house every day doin’ somethin’ I loved, y’know? A… purpose, I guess.”

  Hannah humphed and nodded. “Aren’t we all, Mr. Gordons? Would you like go on to the next round now? Show us what you’re made of?”

  “Let’s git ‘er done,” Gordon answered, extending a hand across.

  Hannah shook Gordon’s hand.

  She got up and gestured for Mac to do the same. Mac complied.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Follow us. I know a place.”

  ---

  Mac stood next to Hannah on one end of a small, dingy underground parking structure.

  He eyed the notepad on her clipboard, the stopwatch and whistle on her neck pointing to it. “What the heck’s a ‘slalom’? I know all the other ones you wrote down. Burnout, handbrake turn, one-eighty, three-sixty, reverse one-eighty, speed, brake test, and a lap. But ‘slalom’? What’s that?”

  “You’ll find out in less than a minute. Watch.” Hannah gestured for Gordon to start his car and put the whistle in her mouth.

  SpuspuspuspuspuGRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOAR! The old, red Chevy sedan at the other end of the garage, at least thirty years old, rattled as it emerged from hibernation ready to pounce.

  Hannah raised her arm and threw it down as she blew the whistle. Gordon dumped the clutch, the engine throwing itself at its limiter in a fury of attacks like a demon doing its damnedest to break its seal. RRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOAR! The Chevy jolted forward, the rubber ice picks of the treads sliding on the pavement as they spun, struggling to self-arrest against the sheer power surging into the rear wheels. Blue smoke trailed behind. The tires finally caught, and Gordon launched off the line. SKREEEEEEEEEEEEE! Clutch! ROOOOOOOOAR!

  She clicked her stopwatch and ticked “burnout” from her list with some flair.

  Coming at full-throttle towards them, the tires locked up for a split second. SKRRRR! ROOOOOOAR! They released, spinning freely again as the Chevy whipped around to their right, a red blur. Hannah crossed out “handbrake turn” as Gordon applied full throttle to straighten the car out around the first turn of the lap. The charbroiled smoke of the hellion’s meats violated Mac’s nostrils as the hellhound did its damnedest to burn off its shoes, sizzling against the demented asphalt griddle.

  In seconds, Gordon orbited the pillars and slammed on the brakes, the lights and the rotors red-hot.

  “Lap, speed, brake test. Check!” Hannah shouted as she struck through the words on her checklist.

  The Chevy reared up, doing a reverse burnout to line up between the two rows of support pillars running down the long way of the lot. Gordon floored it and flicked the car around in a J-turn. SKREEEEE! Clutch! ROOOAR! He stepped on it again and powered around on a dime, the tires screeching like gargoyles on the hunt. In the dead center of the parking lot, he flicked his car around all the way in a full circle before drifting to their left and beginning to weave between the pillars like a collie dodging between the poles at the Thanksgiving dog show.

  Oh, so that’s what a slalom is.

  At the other end of the lot, the machine gun downshifts thundered in Mac’s ears as the basso rumble of the engine tapered off to a low growl. Hannah crossed out the last words on the list and clicked her stopwatch. Gordon steered the beast at a civil speed, nailing the parking spot next to his two evaluators.

  Mac whooped and clapped like his San Jose Giants just hit a home run.

  “Twenty-one seconds. No crashes. I gave you a minute and three strikes for this. The job’s yours if you want it.” she nodded, extending her hand to the pair of gray New Balance 574 sneakers and light wash jeans stepping out of the driver’s side of the cherry red Chevy.

  Gordon beamed proudly, straightening his tucked Chevy polo as he stood up. He shook Hannah’s hand. “I would be honored to be your getaway driver, Miss Sinclair.”

  ---

  Mac clinked his beer with Gordon’s as they celebrated back at the safe house. “You were SO COOL when you were all like ‘Skrrrrr! Vrooom! Chkchkchk!’’ His hands mimed the car drifting around a support pillar on the test track. Gordon gave a dad’s chuckle as he swigged his bottle.

  “That was insane!” Mac gushed, tippy tapping his feet and clutching his hands to his chest, holding Gordon’s invisible autograph while his beer tipped and sloshed, almost spilling.

  “I’ve never seen a car that that powerful being tossed around like that. You made it look so easy! Makes me wish I had a car again… Mine just broke down. Had to scrap it,” he admitted.

  Hannah walked into the kitchen carrying a box of pizza, the heavenly smell of real pepperoni and cheese wafting through the room.

  How we met was super screwed up, but I’m kinda glad that she’s rich and on my side… I can’t afford real food like that.

  “You don’t have a car, Mac? We gotta fix that. You NEED one. We’re in the Bay!” she interjected, her eyes lighting up.

  Gordon raised his eyebrows and smirked at Hannah. Mac wagged his tail.

  Hmm? Why’s he smirking? She must have something in her teeth, and he doesn’t wanna tell her.

  Hannah flustered, looking to the side as she adjusted her grip on the pizza box.

  She must’ve noticed. Man, Gordon’s such a good guy…

  “Uhh, anyways… Pizza’s here!” Hannah announced, flashing a short, sweet smile as she turned back to address the party.

  She put the box on the kitchen counter and cracked it open. The cheese glistened under the light, providing the background for the curled coins dotting the surface of the pie. A godly, greasy smell kissed Mac’s nose as his mouth watered.

  Damn, when was the last time I had a real slice of ‘za? Was it my thirteenth birthday party?

  Licking his chops like a pit bull about to eat a baby, he grabbed a plate from a cabinet and went in for a slice. Brushing another set of fingers that quickly pulled back, Mac looked up to see Hannah turning away from him and making a constipated face. Gordon gave another sensible chuckle.

  Did she bite her tongue or something? I know how excited I get for pizza, but maybe she’s more of a fiend for it than I am…

  Gordon spoke up. “So Hannah, you’re offerin’ to help Mac find a car, then?”

  Mac grabbed a slice of pizza, placing it on his plate. He tuned back into the conversation.

  Hannah drew her lips together like the zipper on a froggy coin pouch, pausing for a second before answering Gordon’s question. “Yes. It would be unprofessional, and frankly, embarrassing, for one of my… business partners to go without personal transportation.”

  Smiling slyly, Gordon elbowed Mac. “You hear that, dude? You win a CAR! Eh, eh? What’s your taste anyways? I’m curious. Seems like you’re a truck guy. Just a feeling.”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?! I’ve always wanted a truck.”

  Mac fiddled with his trucker cap, pulled down his black T-shirt, and tugged his jeans up by the belt loops until everything fell back into place.

  Much better! Stuff was riding all kinds of wrong on me.

  Hannah nodded, keeping her expression still for a moment before Mac registered the faintest flicker of a smile hitting escape velocity from the surface of her face.

  She’s smiling at having to spend money? Rich people are WEIRD, dude.

  “Dunno, lucky guess,” Gordon replied.

  “Let’s look at some trucks tomorrow, then. We’re still waiting to hear back from Tar, anyways,” Hannah offered, the cheer now clear in her eyes.

  “Sure! I’d love to.” Mac gladly accepted her offer.