Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

'There was very little to do,' Corey thought while he leaned forward in his seat, his hands glued to the tiny speedometer that, today, would finally read Miss Miles' speed, 'in the very-early hours of morning.' So little, in fact, that he was growing bored simply waiting, his phone beginning to tempt his eyes away from the road... No! He had to stay focused! Miles would be making her way down the road within two hours, and he had to be ready! No distractions!
Reaching for his bottle of water, which had likely been at the bottom of his car for months- since he couldn't remember buying it, he unscrewed the cap, taking a sip, wincing at the stale water within and tossing it back onto his seat.
Grandmama Josephine's café didn't open until four-thirty in the morning, when the farmers began making their way back from the inner-city with whatever groceries and supplies they had bought from the markets, so there would be no coffee for Corey, not when he could see the lights were still off in the café.
Sometimes Grandmama Josephine would let him in early, but he doubted she would today.
His phone buzzed, an alert about a car with the license plate MLES19 speeding through an intersection, including a red light, just twenty minutes down the road.
'That was Miles' car', he thought, a grin on his face as he stuck his key in the ignition, the car rumbling to life, the engine purring.
Today, he was going to do what he had been itching to do for months, and chase her. He was going to give her the race of her life, and hopefully, by the end of it, he could toss her in jail for the day and let her think about her actions. If she wanted to get out of a hefty fine and possibly more time in jail, she could tell him about Triple Digits, because if anyone knew, it would be Claire Miles.
The unknown but infamous street-racer had been tearing up the streets of the Mid-city at all hours of the night, winning races left and right, and leaving behind a trail of destruction of traction marks on the road, burnt rubber and car alarms beeping. Their tag had been everywhere in the city recently, the excitement for the racer only ramping up after the newest race, where Triple Digits had taken home the grand prize- one-thousand dollars. A big prize, for a little city.
All decent street-racers had a streetname, something to go by so their enemies, and police, although sometimes those were synonymous, couldn't find them, making Strickland wonder just what Miles' streetname was. Surely she was a street-racer. She had to be, with how she tore up the tarmac every morning. She drove that car like an expert.
Another alert, this time just five minutes away, had him buckling his seatbelt, preparing to race after her, his finger on the switch that would light up his police lights and siren, his other hand still on the speedometer. He had been reading up about street-racing the last week and a half, and knew all about how they took corners to cut down on speed, which was why the corner that Miles' took every morning now had spikes laid out across it, since the farmers didn't take that route.
Tossing his phone into the glovebox, so it didn't rattle around when he drove, he switched the dashcam of his car on, and prepared.
A minute and a half later, he felt it; the rumbling of Miles' engine, and he heard the screech of her tires as she spun a corner, not a single police officer tailing her, either lost to her racing, or simply giving up before they could even start.
From where he hid behind the 'Welcome to Mid-City' sign, she wouldn't be able to see him until it was too late.
She sped past him, the speedometer flashing, showing one-hundred-and-two kilometres as the speed, his lights and siren roaring to life, Miles' car in full-view of the dashcam mounted to his dashboard, and he grinned, his own engine screaming as he peeled away from the side of the road, chasing after her.
He knew her route well enough, and today... Today he was going to catch Claire Miles...