Down in the Zero

the city. A real pro, he can drive faster than it looks like he's going…the way a karate man can close space on you before you realize it.'

'Okay,' the kid said. He motored along in silence for a few minutes. 'Can I try it?' he asked.

'Try what?'

'Blending. I'll go through town first, okay?'

'Sure.'

The kid had a sweet soft touch with the wheel, piloting the big car in the light traffic with assurance. He pulled to a smooth stop behind a chocolate Porsche coupe, waiting patiently for the light to change.

'Give yourself more room,' I told him.

'What do you mean?'

'You're too close to the Porsche. If he stalls, or just decides to sit there, you can't go around him without backing up first, see?'

'Yeah,' he said, nodding.

'Drive with a zone around you, like a pocket of air. Another car comes in the zone, you adjust, understand? It's like you always leave yourself an escape route, never get boxed in.'

He turned off to the highway, stayed just past the speed limit, looking over at me for approval.

'On the highway, stay with the packs, all right? Always keep cover around you. You want to pass, make sure there's another clump out ahead of you.'

He nodded again, rolled into the middle lane behind a Subaru wagon. The kid held his position for a bit, then he pulled into the left lane, circled the Subaru and pulled in behind a three–car train in the middle lane.

'You got it,' I told him. 'Remember, this car is a crate. That's what it looks like, that's what people will see. Only time you show what it can do is when you got no choice.'

The kid ignored the speedometer, driving by the tach and the oil pressure gauge. Another few minutes and he pulled over by a freestanding pay phone.

'See that switch?' I asked him, pointing to a toggle under the dash. 'You throw that, the brake lights will disengage. You can leave it in gear with your foot on the brake, nobody watching will know you're ready to go.

He threw the switch as I got out, left the motor running.

I tossed coins into the slot, made the connection.

'Gardens,' Mama answered.

'It's me. I need to talk to the Prof. Can you reach out, ask him to be at the phone anytime after midnight?'

'Sure. Everything okay?'

'Getting tricky. But I can see a light, maybe.'

'You want Max yet?'

'Not yet, Mama.'

I stepped back into the Plymouth. The kid had it rolling away before I had the door closed, merging with traffic like a pigeon joining a flock.

'Nice,' I said.

He flushed, didn't say anything.

'You need me for anything tonight?' he asked.

'No. I got stuff to work on. You?'

'There's a party. At Roger's house.'

'Party?' This kid was so damn in–and–out…one minute panicked, the next partying.

'It's cool. There's a…girl I know. Maybe she'll be there. I thought maybe I'd ask her if she wants to come along Sunday. For the race.'

'Why don't you just call her and ask her?'

'Well, I don't really know her that well. I mean… she doesn't exactly know who I am. I met her and all, but…'

'I got it. What's her name?'

'Wendy. She was in classes with me at school. Then I didn't see her when she went to college. She…writes poetry. I read some once— it was in the school magazine.'

'You like her, huh?'

'I always liked her. But she doesn't hang with my crowd. I mean, she smokes dope and all, but she doesn't tank or anything. She's very deep.'

'So what makes you think she'll be there tonight?'

'She's close with Scott's girlfriend Denise. I just figured…it's worth a shot, right?'

'Always is,' I told him. 'You want the Plymouth?'