~ Cole ~

Cole raced down the back roads of Spring Creek, headlights whipping through the forest that towered over each side of the deserted highway.

The west outskirts of town were all farmland that hardly anyone used anymore. The endless stretch of vacant roads made it the perfect hang out for the lowest rungs of society to commit unsanctioned deeds in the dead of night.

Autumn in Spring Creek was a chill that bit at your skin during the day. At night, it was the cold wind pouring in through Cole's open window as he sped down the old highway between acres of farmland.

Cole pushed the pedal harder to the floor, the V8 engine of his Commodore roaring beneath him. Her body rumbled as she thundered down the empty stretch of road, at one with her driver. She gave a low growl with every gear change before kicking up dust and tearing into oblivion.

This was a hunt and Cole was the predator, but his prey wasn't in front of him.

Headlights flashed in his rearview mirror before a green Mistubishi Lancer emerged beside the Commodore. Its windows were tinted but Cole knew who was inside. It was always the same.

The window of the Mitsubishi slid down and a roguish voice yelled out over the wind, "Ready to give up yet, Decker?"

Cole barely spared a glance out the window, calling over the engine, "Not until I'm dead."

"With the way you drive, you might just get there."

Cole scoffed. He knew which driver was the worst between the two of them and it wasn't him. "Mind your lane, Raminski!"

Niklaus Raminski, crown delinquent of Spring Creek. He'd been arrested on more charges than Cole could count and was notorious for his propensity toward crew-organised street racing late at night through the back fields of town. He was someone everyone knew. The trouble he stirred up in high school (before he dropped out) still echoed in his legacy beyond the borders of Spring Creek.

The two vehicles roared down the highway, pushing the one-twenty mark. A new set of resonators rumbled like thunder as the cars streamed down the roads of abandoned suburbia.

The green Mitsubishi revved emphatically three times as each car screamed through the night. Cole knew Raminski was challenging him. He wasn't stupid. Out here, you couldn't afford to be.

A handbrake turn had Cole facing the way he came. Then he was off again. The Mitsubishi tore after his Commodore and raced him into an endless stretch of darkness.

The circuit was only a quarter-mile. A small crowd had amassed at the finish line, which was really an open field of dirt where twenty cars or so gathered to watch the race off.

Cole felt adrenaline pumping through his veins as he floored it. The Mitsubishi appeared on his left. The two cars were nose to nose.

This wasn't the first time they'd raced and it wouldn't be their last. Raminski wasn't built for anything else and Cole lived on the high he got from dreamed invincibility.

High beams blasted the dark road as the cars turned onto their last stretch of mile. Cole was a great driver but Raminski had put everything on the line for this; a kingdom built off hopeless dreams.

It was over too soon. Cole cursed as the Mitsubishi pulled ahead in the last few feet. It tore down the end of the road, smoke in the wake of victorious burnouts.

Burnt rubber and cigarette smoke filled the air as Cole climbed out of the car. The Commodore sighed as he slammed the door and leaned against it, scowling.

Raminski's crew, admittedly a large group of trailer trash who'd never fashion anything out of themselves greater than the Quik Mart or Triple M Fuel Station, hollered as they green Mitsubishi roared to a stop only centimetres from Cole's left foot.

Engines growled hungrily and a vibrant bass thumped as Raminski got out of the car with that stupid grin of his.

"Nice try, Decker." He opened his arms wide, teeth on full display. "I almost thought you could've had it tonight."

Cole lit a cigarette and let it burn to the filter between his fingers without taking a drag. "Fuck yourself, Niko."

The look he received in response gave way to no anger but there was warning in Raminski's eyes. It would've been devastating if he wasn't so classical, James Dean handsome.

Raminski fished a lighter out of the pocket of his denim jacket. He flicked it viciously, flame never catching long enough to sustain. In many ways it was like Raminski himself, living off increments of high energy.

Another two cars were already growling at the starting line. The driver of a white BMW 3 revved menacingly at his opponent. The road was populated on either side in preparation for the race but it had nothing on the previous circuit. The biggest showdown for the night had already happened and Cole was going home with a cold engine once more.

"Someday you'll beat me." Raminski snapped the lighter cap at him. "But I'll be dead in the seat."

"You're already a dead man. Aren't the cops still circling town for you?"

"The blue heelers think they're so righteous." Raminski lit his own cigarette this time. Smoke blew away on the wind before he spoke again. "Tax dollars and a fucking waste of time."

"They got something on you again?"

"Suspected drug cartel." The twenty-eight year old grinned. "I only go crystal when the price is right. Labour's been down in this shithole for six weeks."

A checkered flag waved in Cole's peripherals and the two drivers took off into the night. Headlights flashed in the distance. Neither Cole nor Raminski paid them any mind. Boots scraped through the dirt as guys crawled back to sitting on their beaten hoods.

"Same time next week." Cole said.

"Beating a dead horse."

"It ain't dead yet."

"When are you gonna give me that pink slip?"

"You know I don't wager the Commodore."

"Too bad." Raminski sighed, gazing appreciatively at Cole's baby. She had a new trim and was recently fitted with spyder hubcaps. "That kind of power burns on your tongue."

"Stick to the nicotine."

"Touché."

Cole opened the driver's door and climbed in. "I'm going."

Raminski saluted him as Cole drove passed without another word. His smirk bled into Cole's rear view mirror before darkness swallowed it up.

Spring Creek was quiet this late at night. It was a small town mostly occupied by bourgeoise conformists who sent their kids to college to live a life better than their trailer park upbringings. Cole raped the silence with the scream of a V8 through suburbia.

His neighbour was dark when he pulled onto his street. Most of the street lights had gone out and the council didn't care enough to fix them. Nor did the residents.

Cole pulled into his driveway and the cut the engine with a flick of his wrist. His house was dark, a great shadow looming over him.

Despite his loss tonight, Cole was still inebriated by the endless rush of endorphins that came with pushing an engine over eighty. His good mood lasted up to the moment he stepped out of the shower and checked his notifications.

Cole connected his phone to the speaker and cranked up the stereo. His shoulders dropped as music began to shake the house.

Without replying to Brendon's message, Cole dropped his phone on the bed and wandered downstairs. He briefly wandered in the back of his mind if his neighbour was home.

Cole wasn't stupid. He knew how much his neighbour hated him, if the persistent knocking on his door and passive aggressive essay wasn't telltale enough, but he also didn't think that any one should have to put up with this level of bullshit.

Cole was his own person. He lived in a house he paid for, was completing a Bachelor degree at James' insistence and dealing with a mentally deranged brother who he wanted to smack on a daily basis. His neighbour could put up with music for an hour because Cole guaranteed they hadn't been through the shit he had.

There was school work to be completed and laundry to be done but Cole didn't care about any of that. Uncapping a beer from the fridge, he sat down on the couch in the dark, music shaking the window panes, and drank until the sun came up.

***
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