Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

From what Corey was understanding in his position on the mud-filled side of the road at the Mid-City docks, tonight's event, which was surprisingly sophisticated for an illegal street-racing event, would be comprised of five separate races.
Race one would be between Triple Digit and her main rival, Quickshift, the winner walking away with one-thousand-five-hundred dollars.
Race two would be the winner of race one, and the next challenger, Casanova. The winner of that would gain five-thousand dollars.
Race three would be between Bullet and whoever won race two, gaining four-thousand dollars.
Race four was Velocity and the winner of race three.
The fifth and final race was not only the jackpot, but the most exciting race of the year. It would comprise of all five street-racers, each of them competing for the grand prize of a whopping twelve-thousand dollars!
Considering how much the ticket into this event had cost him, Corey hoped the race would be worth the sixty dollars he would never see again. He'd even been given a pamphlet upon entering! Someone had typed it up on a computer and printed them, before lovingly folding them into a brochure shape to be handed out at the entry gates after a ticket was bought.
Studying it, and the details of the racers below, Corey wondered why anyone, much less people so young, would risk their lives to race.
What was the allure? The wind on their face? You could get a similar effect by turning an office fan on full-speed and blasting it on your face.
Petty theft would be breaking the law just as much as street-racing, so it couldn't be the knowledge of doing something illegal.
Shaking his head to clear it, Strickland gazed out at the scene before him. Metal fencing was set up around the docks under the guise of 'construction work', but Corey was no fool. He knew it was to keep out anyone who hadn't paid for the entry ticket.
Barriers made of sand and water filled barrels lined the long street in front of them, where races one-through-four would be done, providing both the viewers and the racers with some form of protection. People had set up seating of all kinds along the shorter street, giving them an unobstructed view of the battle of speeds. Corey had opted for the safer route of standing well-behind the row of barrier barrels, and on a grassy knoll with a ditch at the bottom of it. He hadn't had time to change out of his police uniform, but he'd purchased one of the racing jackets from the stall for another one-hundred-and-fifty dollars, using it to cover the obvious logo on the front and back of his shirt. The last thing Corey needed was to have someone start a fight with him here.
The strong winds of twilight had blown sea water up and onto the lower road, where down at the very bottom of the docks, along the water's edge, race five would be held. There were no barriers, no safety parameters- just the racers and dark, high-tide water for them to drown in should they crash, or one of the many warehouse buildings they would have to turn around as they made their loop. They would have to come down along the docks, turn right at the warehouses, go down across the bridge, make a hairpin turn back toward the water's edge street on the other side of the harbour, and then cross the finish line near the pier that jutted out there. If anyone missed that line, they would crash through the wooden posts that made up the pier, and dive straight into the bay.
Checking his watch, Corey tapped his foot nervously. What if Triple Digit didn't show? It was twelve-fifty-eight, now; nearing one in the morning...
On the shorter road, Quickshift was now waiting in his, according to the pamphlet in Corey's clenched fist, at the start of the track. People cheered his name from the sidelines.
It would be career-changing to bring in all these street-racers. Mid-City's fastest, most reckless citizens.
Unfortunately, their real names weren't mentioned anywhere in the pamphlet, just their ages and gender. Quickshift was a twenty-year-old male.
Triple Digit was a... nineteen-year-old female.
Before Corey could even attempt to put together the pieces, his brow creasing with a frown, there was a rumbling roar from down the road, headlights appearing across the water, illuminating it as a car approached.
The cheering shifted, people screaming out in excitement.
"Triple Digit!"
"It's her!"
"Let's fucking do thissss!"
Their calls to action echoed across the bay, Corey Strickland wincing. How could anyone get so riled up by this?
And then, from the corner, a car emerged, Strickland's heart nearly stopping at the sight.
Atop the moving car, a woman in a lime-green mask and a black hoodie and mask stood, proudly balancing as Triple Digit turned the car around the corner, the lime-wearing woman throwing her hands in the air and shouting out, "Mid-City, you will not BELIEVE what Triple Digit has brought to this race, just for you!"
The crowd went wild, two spotlights switching on, manned by teenagers wearing racing jackets, pointing them toward Triple Digit's car. The lime-green spraypaint lit up like a neon sign in the dark, people shrieking in shock at the clear Mid-City police logo visible through the black wrap that had been placed over the car, above Triple Digit's tag.
"A police car!"
"Triple Digit has done it now!"
Oh, she most certainly had.
Because that was Corey's car she was driving.
The windshield reflected the glare too much for Corey to see which doomed citizen of Mid-City sat behind the wheel, but they approached the starting line, revving their engine so loudly it drowned out the low rumbling of Quickshift's Delta, the male in the car turning to get a look at his opponent.
Now that Triple Digit was directly in front of him, Corey Strickland could see in through the side window.
The woman within had covered any kind of features that would have made her recognisable- smart, given the angry way Quickshift was glaring at her, revving his own engine at her in a challenge.
Triple Digit merely leaned forward, lifting her mask up just enough to breathe onto the glass of the driver's side window, and draw a mocking smiley face.
She placed the mask back down, giving Strickland no time to gather any details. In the dark of his car, it was just as impossible.
This was it, the woman Corey had to catch and put behind bars if he ever wanted his police career to extend beyond 'Officer'. A woman who had evaded police multiple times, always escaping in the dead of night. Her true identity was entirely unknown. The identities of her allies, if any, were unknown. Even the other street-racers had no clue who she was. Rumours were constantly circling about who it could be. Typically, there was always some hotshot who would claim to be Mid-City's most wanted street-racer, until they were dragged in and threatened with a ten-year jail sentence. Then, their lies always came undone. They 'hadn't meant any trouble', it was just a 'joke amongst friends', they 'weren't going to be charged, were they?'. Corey slapped those ones with a citation, and warned them not to lie to police again. None of them ever did.
The woman atop the car spun on one heel, catching sight of the entire crowd before slamming her foot down, screaming, "Mid-City, are you ready to race?!" The crowd screamed out their approval, Triple Digit's eyes crumpling under a smug smile, and a voice thundered through a megaphone, "Race One! Quickshift Versus Triple Digit! Quickshift began racing at the tender age of sixteen, and has won a grand total of forty-two races! That's double his age, people!" The young voice cried out, a spotlight lighting up Quickshift's car, Corey snorting. The kid's math was a little off. People cheered nonetheless, the speaker pausing for dramatic effect, allowing the crowd time to organise their chanting, lifting handpainted signs displaying loyalty to either racer. While the speaker waited, a woman danced out between the two cars, whisking a homemade black and white flag from a fence post, showing it off to the crowd. Quickshift lowered his hand to his gearstick, checking his seatbelt, his helmet, even the locks on his car doors. Safety first, for everything except driving the damned speed limit!
Triple Digit patted her hand against the roof of the car, the woman atop dropping to her knees and peering through the top of the windshield, making Corey wince. They were going to dent the roof!
"You got this, TD! Give him Hell!"
Inside the car, Triple Digit lifted her hand in a thumb's up motion, the other hand remaining down and covered by the sleeve of the hoodie. Interesting.
The voice on the megaphone continued, "But can he beat the unbeatable? The lightning before thunder, the unstoppable racer herself? Tripleeeeee Diiiiiigiiiit!" A second spotlight illuminated Triple Digit's car.
The rhinestone-wearing woman between the two cars lifted her flag high into the air. Both racers went still. Calming themselves?
The woman atop Corey's car did not move. Surely she wasn't going to stay there?!
Over the megaphone, the voice announced, "Race One has a prize pool of one-thousand-five-hundred gold, ladies, gentlemen, and all those who thrive inbetween! First to the finish line at the end of the road-" The spotlights shifted, illuminating the end of the race, before pointing toward a bucket of money on a barrel that had the words 'Race One Winnings' painted across it, "Will win the prize, and continue onto the next race!"
The spotlights jumped back to the cars, and the woman atop the car thumped her hand down on it twice. A goodbye?
There was a responding revving from Corey's car's engine, and the woman, mercifully, jumped down, striding into the crowd, where she leaned against a pole and anxiously watched the car.
Did street-racers have pit mechanics? Was that what this woman was?
"Racers, are you ready?!" The announcer questioned. Quicksilver flashed his headlights twice. Triple Digit did the same.
"On the count of three, everyone! Let's hear a cheer for our two top-guns! One!" The woman between the cars spun her flag in her hands.
The crowd echoed his chant.
"Two!"
Both drivers shifted in their seats. Triple Digit still only had one hand on the wheel. The flag was raised. With what looked like a wince, her hoodie still covering her hand, Triple Digit lifted it onto the wheel in preparation.
"THREE!"
The woman brought the flag crashing down between her legs, both cars leaping forward in much the same way Corey's heart did, his blood racing through his veins as he watched the two cars go head-to-head, tires squealing on the tarmac. The spotlights blacked out, only the car headlights and the flashing phone lights of people taking photos illuminating the night.
Some people ran toward the finish line. Corey and the woman who'd stood atop Triple Digits car remained in place. Their eyes locked over the track.
Her eyes widened in recognition, before she lifted her hand in an arrogant salute, calling out, "I do hope you aren't here to spoil the fun, Officer!"
Corey rolled his eyes, and down the road, there was a roaring cheer, the woman clapping her hands together and jumping for joy, the cars spinning and making their way back. Quicksilver threw himself out of the vehicle the instant it was stopped, cursing angrily, while Triple Digit rolled to a triumphant stop back at the starting line, a crowd of people surrounding her car, the announcer exclaiming, "What a start to the night! Triple Digit brings in a win at a whopping one-hundred-and-sixty-nine kilometres-per-hour, leaving Quickshift in the dust at a measly one-hundred! But fans of Quickshift, don't leave yet! Your favourite racer will be back in the final race of the night! Will he claim a victory then? As for Triple Digit, I think it's best we pair her with her next opponent! You know him as a woman-wooing, lady-swooning man from the outskirts of Mid-City, and with a total of twenty-seven wins, he's about to make me swoon too!" The crowd laughed, turning to watch the next car begin its entrance. Quickshift cleared his own car from the track, Triple Digit already waiting in position, revving her engine arrogantly.
The smell of fuel hung in the air, Corey waving at his mouth and nose, already feeling dizzy, and this was just race two!
The spotlight slid backward, toward the new car. According to the pamphlet, it was- "Driving a beautiful X-Class Lioness, it's pretty clear this'll be a tough one for Casanova!"
The man who named himself after history's most notorious manwhore was wearing a suit, his face concealed by full-face mask of a man's well-sculpted jaw and cheekbones. His car was a lipstick red, a sticker of a woman spreading her legs on the hood of the car.
Corey grimaced at the sight. How tacky.
Then he blushed when a group of women lifted their tops, flashing the driver inside. Casanova rolled his window down, sticking his head out and purring, "Thank you, ladies!" He shifted his gaze to Triple Digit, who was watching him in the rearview of his car, her own windows rolled down.
"Are you going to make due on your promise, TD? I recall you promising me a piece of that fine ass of yours if I won this next race!"
Triple Digit laughed, adjusting a dial in her car, a song erupting to life on the radio, its thumping beat shaking the windscreen of Corey's stolen car. She had to yell to be heard over the music.
"You have a better chance of screwing your car than you do beating me in a race, Cassie!"
The crowd ooh-ed her response, Casanova snorting, rolling his eyes and his windows up, rumbling into position beside Triple Digit. The woman with the flag twirled it again.
"The grand prize for this race is five-thousand dollars! The winner advances to the next race, the loser awaits the fifth and final to reclaim their glory! Once again, Ladies, Gentlemen, and everyone else, on the count of three! Say it with me!"
"One!" The air became electric.
One!
"Two!" Both cars revved their engines.
Two!
Even Corey could not help but shout out with them the third and final time.
"THREE!"
THREE!
Triple Digit's car shot ahead, crossing the finish line before Casanova could even make it halfway, the announcer laughing, "And we have ourselves a winner, folks! Triple Digit coming in with one-hundred-and-six kilometres-per-hour, while Casanova hobbles at a ninety-five! What a disappointing second race! Never you fear though, race number three will simply be a shot to the heart!"
The crowd grinned and cheered, Casanova turning at the finish line and disappearing down a side-street to mope.
Corey turned with the crowd to see the next person approaching.
From the announcer's pun, it had to be Bullet, with an X-Class Bolt-Renegade.
The car shot around the corner, flying up toward the starting line, where Triple Digit was waiting once again, and the announcer said, "Bullets like to fly, so I won't waste your time on this one! One! Two! Three!"
The cars raced, and this time, Corey noticed something different. Triple Digit's car wavered. It was just for a second; the tiniest wobbling of wheels, but it was enough that Corey knew something was wrong.
For the first time in the evening, as Triple Digit's car slowed and swerved, the infamous street-racer was defeated, Bullet shooting through the finish line and claiming the four-thousand dollar prize.
"Oh-ho! What happened there? Ya got a little performance anxiety, TD? Don't you worry, your loyal fans have your back! Let's hear it for Bullet and Triple Digit!"
The car remained in place, and with a worried frown, the woman in the black hoodie ran toward it, peering in through the window.
She was saying something, too far away for Corey to hear, but a moment later, the car door was opened, and the woman leaned in to speak more privately with Triple Digit.
What was wrong?
Seeing that it was his car Triple Digit was driving, and he didn't think he had the stomach to witness another crash, Corey strode over, peering in at the scene.
Triple Digit was clutching at her other hand, bent over it in pain, while the woman beside her was cooing, "It's one more race, TD. You gotta do this."
"I don't think I can," she forced out through gritted teeth.
"I can't get in the car to work the stick for you, girl. You know that. I'm banned."
Rapping his knuckles on the window, he startled both women, who swung to face him, and Corey got his first detail about Triple Digit. She had the most amazing, lime-green eyes he'd ever seen in his life; the kind that looked like they glowed.
"Can I help you?" The woman snapped, Triple Digit still clutching at her covered wrist.
"I think I might be able to help you, actually. You said you have one more race to complete?"
Triple Digit and the woman nodded warily, and opening the car door, Corey purred, "This used to be my car. I know how to work it better than anyone. Let me work the gearstick, and you do the driving."
"What's the catch?" The woman snorted, Triple Digit remaining silent.
"The catch is that after this race, you accompany me to the station, where I charge you for being Triple Digit. Do we have a deal?" It would scare the living daylights out of him to be in a car going high speeds in an illegal chase, but it would also be the second time this week he'd been in a car going high speeds, so... What was another round with death, hey?
"Go to Hell. She ain't going anywhere!"
Corey looked instead to the still-silent TD.
"Look, I don't want to see you, or anyone else, get killed trying to drive that thing one-handed. Let me help you."
"I'd have to split the prize money." Her first words to him were laced with pain.
"Six-grand is still a life-changing amount, Triple Digit," Corey huffed, "And no, you wouldn't. Police officers cannot take money used in a criminal manner in exchange for a service or favour. That's called bribery, which is also against the law. Come down to the station with me afterwards."
Triple Digit eyed him, the woman hissing, "You can't seriously be considering this!"
"One race," the green-eyed woman said slowly, trying to lift her injured hand onto the gearstick, "It's one race, and I don't need any cop's backhanded help."
She reached over, slamming the passenger door shut, leaving Corey Strickland standing there dumbfounded and cursing, the woman patting the roof of the car and urging again, "You can do this! Twelve-thousand dollars, Triple Digit!"
The woman within the car swallowed thickly; hiding her pain?- and turned the car around, heading to the starting line of the star race for the night, where all four other racers were waiting.
Corey strode back to his spot, only to find the woman there as well, anxiously chewing on a nail, her thumb jutted underneath her mask.
"You're worried," he observed. The woman scoffed.
"Never. TD has got this."
The determination in her voice made Corey grit his teeth, swinging to face her and snapping while the announcer re-introduced all of them again, "Why do you all risk your lives for this?! You could be out there doing literally anything else!"
There was a 'BANG!' as a start-gun announced the beginning of the race, adding a flair to the final event that had people cheering again, the woman casting her eyes back toward the street as they all took off, laughing, "Until you're behind the wheel, you won't understand, Officer."
"And until your friend is six-feet-under, and put there by a high-speed collision with a brick wall, you won't understand!" He hissed in response, the woman whirling on him, snarling, "What's your fucking problem?! We aren't endangering anyone but our Gods-damned selves out here! Yet you just love to make protecting us your hero-complex, don't you?!"
Over the bay, there was the sound of tires squealing as a car spun out of control, the woman spinning back with a curse, pulling out a pair of binoculars and studying the hairpin turn of the track, where the headlights of a car were now crashing to a stop near the water's edge. The front tires hit the water, but went no further, Corey closing his eyes against the sight, seeing another car crash behind his eyelids.
"Oh my Gods!" She cried out at the same time people around her came to the same conclusion, screaming this time in fear rather than excitement, "It's Quickshift! He's dead!"