Free The Driver by Alexander Roy

Internet for used M5s in BMW’s green or blue—traditional Polizei colors. What the salesman had said in 2000 remained true—M5s were rare. Buying a new one at $90,000 + was inconceivable. I called dozens of BMW dealers, placed myself on their used M5 mailing lists, and prayed.
    FEBRUARY 2003
    â€œWho the—” sputtered Paul Reznick of Par Porsche, at whose dealership I’d arranged inspection of my new purchase, “— who…who the hell owned this? Who sold you this M5?”
    â€œWhy do you ask?” I said.
    â€œIt’s all wrong.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œProbably gray market. We’ll have to check the VIN numbers. Look at the air dam and mirrors—not U.S. spec. And look at the paint on the front right. All resprayed. Some kind of accident. And it looks like a European model that was only partially converted. The dash is wrong, too, and the radio is set to German.”
    â€œShould I give it back?”
    â€œAnd look at this,” Paul said, sitting in the driver’s seat. “Only 5,700 miles after three years. Barely driven. Strange.”
    â€œYou think this thing’s gonna make it?”
    â€œThe 5-series is built like brick shithouse,” Paul said.
    â€œHow long for the modifications?”
    FEBRUARY 2003
    â€œDon’t ask,” said The Weis. “I’m still not coming.”
    â€œGuess what I’m calling my team.”
    â€œTry me.”
    â€œTeam Polizei…awesome, right?”
    â€œAliray, I’ve known you a long time…but this…this!”
    â€œI’ve got the uniforms and everything.”
    There was silence between us, the first such silence in as long as I could remember. Neither of us was ever at a loss, ever.
    â€œYou,” he said, “really are crazy. I wish you the best of luck. Really.”
    â€œIs there any chance,” I said, “any chance at all, that you’ll reconsider?”
    â€œI told you…if you want help prepping the car, fine. But I’m not coming with you. Not for this. Not on Gumball.”
    I needed a copilot. Badly. The criteria were harsh, but if I could meet them, someone else had to be able to. I needed someone with:
1. Experience driving stick, with club and/or actual racing experience.
2. Ten days free. Two days’ preparation time and time zone adjustment, six days of Gumballing, and two days of drinking, bragging, and recovery. This one is a notorious job and marriage buster for many Gumballers. You’d be surprised how many wealthy people don’t have ten days to spare, at least not for something like this. Those with enough money to do Gumball are usually too busy with work (in banking, law, etc.), or married to spouses who’d prefer to be taken on a nice safe vacation during their limited joint free time.
3. The willingness to drive aggressively, but not recklessly.
4. A clean driving record.
5. A clean criminal record.
6. A full head of hair. Two bald men in German police uniforms? Too Teutonic.
7. The ability to pass a drug test.
8. $8,000, for half the entry fee.
9. At least $10,000 more in disposable income.
10. Shamelessness sufficient to wear a fake police uniform for a week.
11. Fearlessness sufficient to wear a fake police uniform for a week.
12. A really good sense of humor.
13. Knowledge of foreign accents, preferably German.
14. A serious girlfriend, wife, if not children. Any of these, especially children, would mitigate the likelihood of a gloriously suicidal pass killing us both.
    The Weis was theoretically perfect; he was getting married that August. I would have suggested he ask his fiancée Astrid’s approval, except that she was my ex-girlfriend.
    Nine was next, but I couldn’t possibly ask him to sacrifice the money he was saving for his engagement to Becky, his adorably fit twenty-six-year-old blond girlfriend. All his male friends strongly supported this union, but they’d probably