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Mike adjusted the chin strap on his helmet, feeling the power of the engine vibrating through his body. With both hands on the steering wheel, he revved three times, waiting for the gun to go off. The oval racetrack was his. The Capri was his baby. He’d nurtured her, tinkered with her, and modified her until she was hardly recognizable.
The starting line-up was ready. Five cars, one for each of the clubs. After his race, there would be two more to follow.
A guy in a black and white checked sweatshirt raised his arm, pointed a pistol in the air and pulled the trigger, the gunshot his signal to step on the gas.
His reaction was a fraction slower than he intended, giving his opponents a slight advantage, letting them get ahead.
As soon as the Capri reached its peak, he was neck and ne
