It was a hot night in August, and the Tulsa humidity wasn’t helping much with the sweat on Colin’s brow. He was standing by his ride, a black Impala Chevrolet, waiting for his boys to show up. This was gonna be the last race of the summer, and all the gangs had brought their oily mugs for the show. They weren’t the only ones either. Even a few upperside kids had come around.

The toothpick between Colin’s lips moved from side to side as he eyed his competition tonight. By day, he worked at a beat-up auto shop, and by night, he was here racing. It was a dangerous field, with absolutely no rules, which meant anything was on the table. It got him extra cash though, and he desperately needed it. No oily-haired punk was rich, but if you came from nothing to nothing like Colin Chevy, you needed any spare quarters you could find.

His competition wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, until a new face showed up. He didn’t recall ever seeing them around. He raised an eyebrow in interest as his boys finally made their way over. His boys were more family than friends at this point. There was Ander, his best friend since he moved to this armpit of a place. Then there was Little Finch, the baby, even though he was 18 now. Lastly there were the twins, James “Slick”, and Richard “Dick”.

Colin clicked his tongue to catch their attention. “Y’all know who that one is?” he asked, nodding towards the newcomer.

Slick and Dick both shrugged. “Looks like new meat,” Dick said. “Nothin’ more,” Slick added.

Little Finch shook his head. “I’ve never seen them, even at school. They must be older than me.”

Ander chuckled and clapped him on the back. “Why? You scared of ‘em? C’mon, you’re Hotshot. They ain’t got anythin’ on you.”

Colin wasn’t sure what Ander was more upset about. That he had lost the money he had put on Colin, or that he had been wrong. Colin “Hotshot” Chevy had lost to the newcomer that night.

That had been on Friday night. It was now Monday morning, and Colin was back at work like nothing had happened. He was fine letting someone else take the win, but his boys weren’t as satisfied.

“We gotta find ‘em,” Slick complained, ever the one inching for a rumble.

“We ain’t findin’ nobody, Slick,” Colin scowled for the fifth time in the last hour. “Now shut your trap or I’m shovin’ you in this engine somehow.”

“They stole my money, man!” Ander complained. “I wanna know who beat our Hotshot.”

“You’ll find out their name if they keep comin’ to the races,” Colin rolled his eyes. “Now relax.”

Little Finch was handing him some tools when Mr. Harris, the owner of the auto shop, poked his head back. “New customer, Colin. Walk-in” he informed swiftly.

Colin lifted his hand in acknowledgment, and quickly got to a stopping place on the car he was currently working on. Then he headed to the lobby to meet with the walk-in. However, he didn’t expect this newcomer to be the same one who kicked his ass on Friday night. He wiped his hands off on a rag as he walked over to them, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes at the chances of them happening to come to the auto shop he worked at.

“Fancy seein’ you again so soon, Champion,” he smiled good-naturedly. “What can I help you with?”