Free Need for Speed by Brian Kelleher Page A

with software to maximize horsepower and torque. The program recommended ways they could get additional horsepower. They made these adjustments and were floored when the computer told them they were now in the area of 900 horsepower—which had been their holy grail since the beginning.
    They finally celebrated that night. Before this, they had banned all beer, all booze, and all of any other kind of recreational distractions that might interfere with the project. But this milestone called for at least a case of beer—they were very close to finishing this awesome car, something started by the Godfather of it all. And they had done it in secret, off the radar, with no interference from Dino (who never once contacted them during the building process), with no break-ins, no fistfights, no tantrums.
    Then, as one of the final elements, they weighed the car. The Dyno program had mandated it had to be less than 3,800 pounds, not including the weight of the driver, to get to that hallowed 230 mph. But when they put it on the scale, they discovered it weighed 71 pounds over that magical 3,800 number.
    This was a real problem. They had been economical weight-wise when deciding what to put in their super machine. Now it was so tight, that anything they took off would have an undue effect on something else. With that came the danger that the whole thing would snowball into negative territory.
    It all came down to numbers: If they wanted the 900 horsepower, to reach the mythical speed of 230 mph, they needed to lose 71 pounds.
    But where?
    It was Little Pete who unwittingly came up with the solution. He had been climbing around in the back seat of the car, trying to find something they could jettison to make it lighter, when he happened to say, “This backseat is so small, even I’d have a hard time getting laid in it.”
    It hit them all at once. Why did a car like this even need a backseat? It wasn’t like it was going to be used for double dates.
    It took them another twenty-four hours to take out the backseat, along with all its braces and the heavy floorboard it had been sitting on. But once they filled in the empty space with yet more carbon fiber sheets, they weighed the car, and it came in at 3,794 pounds.
    The Dyno computer program loved the result. They ran the program three times and each time it indicated that if everything stayed the same, they would have their 230 mph once the car made it out onto the road.
    When they opened the doors to the garage that morning, it was barely 5:00 a.m.
    Still, they rustled up some more beer and bought breakfast sandwiches from McDonald’s to really celebrate. But when they sat down in the squeaky office chairs for their congratulatory breakfast, each one of them leaned back just to clear his head and wound up falling asleep.
    The sandwiches grew cold and the beer got warm, but it didn’t matter.
    The weeks of work, the long nights, looking up from the welding machine to see the sun rising. Trash cans full of empty energy drink cans and power bar wrappers.
    Their work was done.
    And finally, they could rest.

Part Three

Five

    MANHATTAN WAS GLOWING brighter than the fantastic city of Oz.
    Lights, buildings, people, cars, movement everywhere. The center of the universe—all less than an hour’s drive from Mount Kisco.
    While it might have seemed a million miles away for some residents of that small upstate town, at least a handful of them had made the trip down here tonight.
    On the corner of West 51st Street and 6th Avenue, its entrance practically hidden between two empty storefronts, there was an art gallery that was so exclusive, so upper end, it didn’t even have a name. It was meant to be a magical place, designed to instill wonder and awe, and when all the bells and whistles were in gear, for the most part, it worked. The high walls, the subtle lighting, the muted tones, the barely perceptible pulsing soundtrack. On special nights, a very fine