I do not own any of the trademarked material in this story, Need for Speed is not owned by me. The songs and lyrics mentioned in this chapter are all owned and copyrighted by their respected owners. The lyrics of the songs are in bold. This is not based on real events; everything in this story is fictional
Lizzie Rodriguez stood on the corner of her apartment complex's sidewalk, feeling used and embarrassed. Never again am I gonna be stood up like this. she thought as she kicked an empty soda can that was on the pavement. Her date was fifteen minutes late without even a single word from him saying he would be late or not. A breeze fluttered her dress and she shivered, deciding she would head back inside. Damn, I even put this stupid dress on, thinking I'd be in a warm restaurant or something, not still standing on this sidewalk. She turned around and began walking back to her apartment.
She only got a few paces away before she heard her phone ring in her purse. She pulled it out and scowled as she answered the call. "You've got some nerve to call this late in the game," she answered angrily before the other could speak. There was a moment of pause before Chris's voice flooded over from the other end of the line, "Lizzie, I'm sorry I'm late, but I need to know where exactly you are."
She held her phone back and looked at it for a moment, angrily. "You know damn well where I am. I'm at the corner of my apartment complex." Another pause, then he responded, cursing under his breath, "Good, I'll be there in thirty seconds," the sound of police sirens could be heard on the other end, "Make that forty five seconds. I'll see you in a bit, bye." She bared her teeth out of frustration as the connection ended with a click. About ten seconds later the sounds of tires screeching and police sirens drifted faintly over to her ears. She leaned out from the sidewalk to see what was approaching.
Off in the distance two pairs of headlights flashed into view. They seemed to be dodging in and around each other. A couple seconds later the shapes of a police cruiser and a Civic formed behind the headlights as the cruiser smashed into a storefront and the Civic sped up to the curb she was standing at. The passenger door popped open to reveal an exasperated Chris and the blue lit interior of the car.
Chris's face visibly changed and his jaw dropped slightly when he saw her. He sat and stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. She sat down in the car and glanced over at him, who still had the blank look on his face. "I'm so sorry for being late, I was held up, almost literally… and you are by far the best thing I've seen today… wow, you look absolutely gorgeous…" She glanced out the back window and saw the police cruiser was backing out of the store it had crashed into. "Thanks, you look good too, now let's get out of here, fast." Chris snapped out of the stupor and grabbed the wheel with both hands and said, "Right. Tally-ho."
Half an hour later, Chris was sitting at the most expensive Italian steakhouse in rockport, according to his GPS. He glanced nervously out the window, then back at the fantastically gorgeous woman across the table from him. He took a bite out of the bread on the table and watched as she did the same. "I can honestly say that my other first dates have had slightly better beginnings than this. I'm sorry again for being late." She glanced up and brushed a strand of hair from her face and said, "Stop apologizing, you've got a legitimate excuse for being late. So, how'd that race with Sonny go?"
Chris grinned at the question, "Well, I have a new car now, a few thousand more dollars and I'm sittin at the premier Italian restaurant looking at a gorgeous woman, if that's what you were asking." She flashed a small smile at the comment and then raised her glass of wine, "Well then," she began, clinking her glass against his, "To being on the blacklist."
The next day, Chris scored a job as a mechanic at a local automotive paint and body shop. He started that day by touching up the paint on some really short guy's jacked up Ford F350 pickup truck. Several hours later, he was released and headed to the safehouse, where he crashed onto the couch and pulled out the Rap Sheet Reader and checked out the current bounty on his Honda. Apparently, if the reader was correct, the "HEAT" rating on his car was brought up to the point where now undercover officers were supposed to report it immediately. He frowned at the screen and shut down the reader. It would make life just a little more difficult for a little while. He shrugged as he glanced past the railing at the host of cars down below. He smiled as he stood up and walked over to the small basket of keys and pulled one out. He tapped the door unlock button on the remote and grinned, deviously as the Mustang GT below chirped and flashed its lights in response… "Maybe a little heat isn't too bad after all." He said as he began the descent to the warehouse floor…
Later that day, a thin tattooed man walked out of the Rockport City Police lockup and into the sunlight that cut like a blade between the skyscrapers. The warmth of the sun reached his scalp quickly through his short buzz cut. He looked up at the sun and scowled, viciously. He turned on his phone and dialed a number. He brought it up to his ear. The person on the other end answered. "Yo, Rog. Me and my boys want back in. I know he left town, which leaves me at second on the list, which now leaves me at first again… You know exactly who this is. Alright, I'm on my way over to sort it out. Fine, I'll come alone." He ended the call and turned back around to look one more time at the hole that had eaten up two days that were very important to him. The sunlight shone through the back of his white shirt and illuminated the huge tattoo that spanned from shoulder to shoulder. It read "RAZOR"