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Under Toretto's direction, Hector collected entry fees from all the participating drivers, but there was a problem when it came to O'Connor.
He claimed he was broke, which made Ron smirk. FBI agents make nearly $50,000 a year, and the various undercover perks alone are substantial.
He couldn't even scrape together $2,000? Clearly, he was trying to create a scene.
O'Connor ultimately caught Toretto's attention with his impressively modified ride, and Dom agreed to let him use the car's pink slip as collateral to enter the race.
Ron's car, however, went unquestioned, simply because Toretto had said, "I tuned his ride myself."
"Howard, Raj, you see that stocky guy? I'm racing with them in a minute. You two get in his car.
His name's Hector, and he's a solid dude. They're throwing a party tonight with tons of girls. I worked it out with him, so you
two can tag along and try your luck," Ron said, tapping on his car window and pointing at Hector.
Hearing about the party, both guys immediately took off after the curvy Latina with their eyes practically glowing. Ron shook his head and slid into his car.
The racers sprang into action, quickly blocking off the street. Five cars lined up and rolled into position at the flagman's signal.
Detective O'Connor even embarrassed himself here, accidentally jumping the line and having to back up to the jeers and boos of the crowd.
"What a rookie, Toretto! I don't get why you'd let some amateur like that race with you," Ron called out loudly to Toretto through his open window.
"Because I like his ride," Toretto replied.
Fair enough.
As if challenging each other, all five cars revved their engines in neutral until Hector and the road crew gave the all-clear. The starter, standing on a car roof, yelled, "Go!"
All five cars, exhaust flames blazing, shot off the line like bullets.
Toretto grabbed the lead, Ron took second, the other two cars held third and fourth, and Detective O'Connor brought up the rear.
Ron checked his rearview mirror. Kid was still too green! His shifting and throttle control weren't synchronized, and he was even weaving at the start—pathetic for a so-called professional driver.
Tonight's race was a quarter-mile drag. Don't think drag racing is just about who's got the most horsepower under the hood; it's more about a driver's control of the machine.
The timing of shifts, throttle pressure—it's all about skill, and Ron's techniques came straight from Toretto, so it made sense he was keeping pace.
Frustrated at falling behind, O'Connor immediately hit his NOS system, connecting all the nitrous lines and opening the valves. The pale yellow flames from his exhaust pipes instantly transformed into volcanic blue fire.
The green Mitsubishi Eclipse, like a rocket ship, surged forward with unbridled fury. Amid a chorus of "Holy shit!" from the crowd, it instantly passed the third and fourth place cars, catching up to Toretto and Ron.
And immediately blew past them both.
"Shit!" Ron cursed internally. This kid's cheating! I'm running stock tonight—no nitrous!
Ron couldn't do anything about him, but that didn't mean Toretto couldn't. He'd spotted the setup on O'Connor's car during the pre-race inspection.
Toretto calmly hit his NOS button. Nitrous flowed from four connected tanks through the lines into the engine. The massive thrust pinned Toretto back in his seat as his red RX-7 shot forward like a rocket, pulling almost even with O'Connor.
The race became a two-horse battle.
After all, one was a rookie playing with his toys, while the other was a master mechanic. The gap in their skills was rapidly becoming obvious from the distance between their cars.
The inexperienced O'Connor, getting even more desperate, quickly hit another shot of nitrous, pushing his speed up again. However, as he approached 90 mph, the car maxed out.
The brutal acceleration caused violent shaking, and poorly secured aftermarket parts started falling off the chassis, throwing sparks and sending white smoke billowing from under the hood.
"BANG!" His car slowly lost power as parts fell away, and no matter how hard O'Connor stomped the gas, it wouldn't respond.
In short, it had grenaded.
Ron, muttering "amateur," quickly passed the disabled O'Connor, and the other two cars followed suit, crossing the finish line.
"Winner takes all—here you go." Hector held up the $8,000 and the pink slip for everyone to see, then handed them over to Toretto after making sure the crowd witnessed it.
Toretto excitedly stuffed the cash in Letty's hands and lifted her onto the hood. "You're my trophy!"
O'Connor somehow got his car running again and limped over with a stupid grin on his face.
"Look at that dumbass smile!" Ron approached with his arm around a gorgeous brunette.
"I almost had the legendary Toretto!"
"Yeah, right." Ron rolled his eyes. How delusional could this moron be?
"You never had me—you never even had your car." Toretto walked over. "You were granny-shifting, not double-clutching like you should.
Now me and the mad scientist here have to rip apart the block and replace the piston rings you fried!"
Toretto spread his arms to soak up the cheers, but the celebration didn't last long. The lookout suddenly yelled, "Shit! Cops! Cops! Cops!"
The racers immediately scattered in chaos, everyone scrambling back to their rides and peeling out.
"Fuck! There goes my night!" Ron slammed his hood in frustration, jumped in, glanced in the direction O'Connor had fled, and fired up his engine. "Damn FBI, they had to pull this shit tonight!"
"Stop! LAPD! Pull over for inspection!" Two squad cars were tailing Ron.
"Like hell I'm stopping!" Ron floored it. "Where's my street cred if you bust me?"
Ron seriously suspected he was being targeted; otherwise, why would they chase him instead of all the other cars?
"This is definitely FBI payback!" Ron spotted a stack of construction barriers ahead and immediately got an idea.
As his car passed, he jerked the wheel slightly, clipping the pyramid of orange barriers and sending them tumbling into the path of the two police cruisers behind him.
While the cops were dealing with the obstacle course, Ron drifted into a narrow alley, killed his lights and engine in one smooth motion.
By the time the patrol cars finally cleared the barriers, the street was completely empty—not a single car in sight. They had no choice but to give up and hunt for other targets.
Ron watched the squad cars leave with a cocky grin: "Hah~ With skills like that, you FBI clowns want to mess with me? Amateurs~"
End of Chapter
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