The race couldn’t begin until Zeke and Chip got there in the old Lincoln Town Car that Zeke’s grandpa let him drive. It was an old fart’s car, no mistaking that, and the rear suspension sagged like a dirty sofa, but before Grandpa Zeke had sunk into the warm wet embrace of dementia, he’d swapped in a 250 horsepower V8 from a wrecked Police Interceptor. It handled like a La-Z-Boy, but when pedal went to metal that thing could (and did) outrun the cops.

Cooper and Jesse were betting, though, that they could beat it in the Chevy Impala that Cooper’s uncle had left behind when he’d gone to jail after exploding an abandoned house with his chemistry set. Uncle Deke had souped the Impala up with a V8 from a wreck, giving it–on paper at least–an advantage, since the Lincoln was heavier. Each of them had put up a hundred bucks on the results of the race.

But that meant waiting in the turn lane on Washington Ave, which served as an impromptu starting line for all street racing in town, until Zeke and Chip got their act together and showed up. Cooper put his hazards on and waved other cars around him as if he had stalled out, hoping that the last few cars would clear away before the Lincoln rumbled up. The other vehicles obliged…at least before a city cop pulled up going the other way, riding high in his Explorer.

“You boys need assistance?” the cop said, looking down from his SUV window. “If you’re able to move this thing, you need to get it out of the flow of traffic.”

Cooper looked at Jesse, then back at the cop. “Uh, no sir,” he said. “Just got it to start back up. Low on gas, you know?”

“Glad to hear it,” said the cop. “On your way, then.”

Cooper gave his co-pilot a look: text them and tell them we need to move the race. Jesse obligingly started tapping on his phone.

“You boys hear me?” the cop snapped. Cars had begun building up behind him, as well as the Impala, as folks decided not to risk a ticket or a bodycam malfunction.

“Y-yes sir,” Cooper said. “Just texting my mother. My friend is, you know. Don’t text and drive, right?”

“He’s not driving. Get moving, or I’ll ticket you for impeding and obstructing.”

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