Need For Speed, A Paul Walker Story. (Boost Sequel)

Need For Speed, A Paul Walker Story. (Boost #2)

Chapter One: I'm Back.

-Flashback-
"So Payton," Conan started. "Yeah," I asked. "You're a street racer and you won the biggest underground race in the world," he finished. "Yeah, it's pretty awesome," I replied. "And you're only 16," he asked. "I'll be 17 next month," I corrected. "You were in the race almost three months after you turned 16 though right," he asked. "Yeah I actually boost cars," I admitted. "What does that mean," he asked. "That means I steal cars and change them so that they're my own," I said. "And what did that mean for the race? Can't that get you arrested," he asked. "It can't get me arrested because I've already done time for it and the case is closed. And I boosted Paul Walkers' car. We went on a long chase resulting in a major car accident, almost killing me, that was the day I turned 16. My dad got accused of boosting cars and vehicular homicide-." "Wait homicide," Conan interrupted. "Four years ago my dad was tried for vehicular homicide for something he never did. I had to do the race to clear his name and get him out of prison," I clarified. "Makes sense. You went on a nationwide adventure just to get to Miami Florida for this race that you had won?" "Yeah, and the footage is on YouTube."
-End Flashback-

Now seventeen, I stepped out into the fresh Santa Barbara air. I watched as Alexis started her walk to school. "Bye Alexis," I shouted. She turned and waved to me. Just two months ago I was on the Conan show discussing my amazing adventure with the Course De Rue. He loved my story and wanted me to teach him how to drive. I laughed at that thought. "What are you laughing about babe," Brett asked me. "Oh nothing babe," I teased. He picked me up and spun me around. "Ah, it feels great not to be a fugitive," I said. Brett laughed. "I can about imagine," he replied.

Brett and I walked up to the garage. We walked in and my dad said,"Payton how many times have I told you to not leave your phone in the garage! It's been going off like no other and I can't find it!" I laughed. "Sorry dad. At least you've finally accepted it'll never be your phone," I teased. "Hey, fuck you," he joked, giving me the finger. Brett and I walked up to my cars. My phone was in the drivers seat. I saw five missed calls from Paul, three from Rob, and like 20 texts telling me to get to Rob's track for a rematch race. Paul has been bugging me for a rematch race since I beat his ass in, the 10 grand, quarter mile race we did the day I got out of prison. I texted Paul,"Shut da fuk up. I'm on my way." "Got to go," Brett asked. "Of course. Want to come see me kick Paul's ass," I asked. "Hell ya," he replied.

I drove down and out of the garage and then down my driveway. After the gate opened and I drove a couple of blocks, red blue and white lights started flashing behind me. I pulled over to the right hand side of the road. "What the hell," Brett asked. "I don't know," I replied. As I rolled my window down, a police detective I knew all too well, approached my window. "Agent Randall, to what do I owe-." "Payton Davis we need to have a word," she interrupted. "Yeah, I'm good," I replied. "You don't really have a choice," she said. "Am I being detained," I asked. "Well, no," she replied. "Then it was a pleasure chatting but I have somewhere to be," I said. "We just want to talk," she urged. "Payton!" It was Agent Harris. He approached my door. "You're not under arrest. We just want to talk," he said. I trusted him. I turned to Brett. "Meet me at the police station," I said. "Of course," he replied. We kissed. I gave him a reassuring nod and then got out of my car. All of a sudden five other police vehicles and a van with "swat" on the side, came and parked around my car. They all pointed their guns at me. "Nice one. It was really brilliant," I praised Agent Randall. "Get on the ground," some cops were yelling at me. "Payton Davis you're under arrest for the murder of Curt Reynolds," Agent Randall said as she got my hands behind my back and put me in cuffs. "Curt? He's a good friend of mine. I beat him-." I stopped, realizing I had almost admitted to a street race I hadn't been charged for yet. Randall laughed. Brett opened the car door and Randall pointed her gun at him. He got back in without question. "Brett! Get my parents out of town," I yelled. "I'll do what I can! I'll see you soon," he yelled from inside the car. "You wouldn't get your parents out of town if you weren't hiding anything," Randall said as she led me to her car. "I don't need them getting blamed for something I did, again," I replied. She laughed and then threw me in the back seat. "I missed you too," I jokingly yelled.

Brett was now back at home after watching me get taken away by the cops. He parked in front of the house, where everyone would be at waiting for some lunch. My dad and brothers were around the tv watching football. My mom was in the kitchen baking meatloaf. Brett stormed into the house and ran his hand through his hair, breathing deeply. "What's wrong Brett? You look flustered," my mom noticed. "Payton got arrested," Brett replied. Laughter from the living room stopped suddenly as my dad and siblings stood up, approaching Brett silently. "She what," my dad asked, hoping Brett would change his answer. " Payton got arrested," he said again.

Yet again, I was in the interrogation room at the Santa Barbara PD. Agents Harris and Randall were in front of me. "Major déjà vu huh," I asked. "Don't make this harder on yourself," Harris said. "I don't know anything about Curt's death," I yelled again. I had two options here, tell them about the race and go back to jail, or see how they put it all together. "I'd love to help, if I knew anything," I added. "Payton, obstruction of justice gets you life in prison," Randall noted. Do I get charged with vehicular homicide and look at three years? Or street racing and look at nine months? Or do I keep lying and take my chances at life? "I want to help," I said after a few minutes of silence. "Then tell us where you were the night of Curt's death," Harris said. "I want to speak with my lawyer," I said. They both stood up and left the room. I, was, fucked.