Chapter 130: Get Ready, Get Set...

So here my dad was telling me I have the chief of polices permission to race their braggart rookie cop. Should I really do it?

Why not? Each of us will be on our own three lane section, we go down and back. Easier than anything I did at school since I drove the bumper car.

Dad told me to go ahead and roll up to where the police were sitting. I would be on what would have been the oncoming traffic lane on the left. The rookie was on the right. I left the car idling where the cop had pulled me over as I put on my flame retardant driving school suit, helmet and gloves. Dad was suitably impressed that I was taking this seriously. I could see the rookie cop pointing toward me and laughing as soon as he saw me. One of the cops hit their loud speaker horn as the signal to get in our cars and get ready. When we raised our hands out the window that we were good to go, they counted down before hitting a siren.

I heard the big Dodge engine roar to life and its tires squealing for the fraction of a second it took for me to let out the clutch. My tires gave only a little bark before they bit into the pavement. I caught the flash of his lights as I passed the first cut through.

Not zero to sixty in four seconds. I have done much better.

I figured I had still had it under five seconds when I was passing the first one mile turn off because I only saw his lights reflecting off of the mound of dirt between the lanes. If not for my light sensitivity I wouldn’t have been able to see them at all. With the LED street lights along the sides of the road the whole stretch looked almost as bright as it does under full sunlight. I was getting near one thirty when I caught a glimpse of the five-mile cutout as I flew past it. By the eight mile point I was double clutching as I down shifted. I needed to be slow enough to do a handbrake turn on the hard-packed dirt at the end of the road.

I would be out practicing handbrake turns for days if I did one that sloppy at the driving school. Sure, it was better than most people can pull off, but I learned how to do it much better than that.

I was about fifty yards out into the dirt and headed back toward the paved road when I saw the first sign of the cop’s lights. My best guess was that he was probably just about to the eight and a half mile turn lane cutout. He was still running flat out as I felt my tires grip the pavement. When I saw he only managed to end up sliding sideways I stopped to be sure he didn’t roll his car. When I saw that he got himself stopped at the underbrush and started to turn around I took off.

Time for a reprieve on my piss poor zero to sixty start off the line. He can’t catch me even if I granny shifted and never got out of fifth gear.

I laid into the brakes at the last half mile turn cutout and did a nearly perfect one eighty. I came to a complete stop ten feet back from where I had started. The cop made it back two minutes later.

I stayed by my car as I heard him saying, “Yeah. Go get you a professional race car driver in a super car to show me up. What the heck does that prove?”

“What? Aren’t up to the challenge? You said no one could beat you,” one of the guys teased him.

He blamed them saying they had messed with the Dodge and all sort of other bullshit. Finally, they told him to pick any of the cars they had just grabbed off the last group of racers. I would drive the same Dodge patrol card he just used. None of the cars looked all that souped up. When the one he picked was driven to his up beside him I could hear it had a loud exhaust pipe modification, but there were no sounds of a turbo waste gate or super charger. Still I moved the Lotus over to where I was shown and drove the Dodge over to get the seat and mirrors adjusted. Right off I could tell this was another of the cars that felt like I was driving a brick.

Why do the American automakers make their minivans and muscle cars feel like big hunks of solid metal with a huge engine? Don’t they get that less weight means better fuel economy and performance?

Just like with the last race, I waited for the starting siren and then seriously laid into the gas. The shifter points were ok for an automatic, but nothing like a real clutch and stick shift. I didn’t even pay attention to looking for him. I wouldn’t be able to see him since the car didn’t have the super bright light bar of a police car. I did have to admit that compared to the Lotus this police cruiser was sluggish, but not so much that it couldn’t do a good pursuit of most cars. It seemed that it felt like the engine was saying “I think I can” over and over again. It was harder to do a controlled drift on the dirt to get turned around. I didn’t see any signs of the rookie and there was no dust cloud to show he had beaten me here. I only saw him as I was heading back with the gas pedal floored. Knowing how heavy the car was I started breaking a lot earlier then with the Lotus. The transmission wasn’t having it when I tried to downshift it to have some engine braking. The shifter would let me kick it down a gear but then immediately upshifted again. Even then it wasn’t even a contest. I was out of the car cooling off when he finally came to a screeching stop. When he revved his car, I did hear a faint hint of a turbo pssshurrr whine.

He was now cursing up a storm as the guys teased him as he used every excuse he could think of to explain why he lost. Finally, he said it was only because they got a professional racer down here to mess with him. The Dodge wasn’t something like used in Europe. I was waved over for what I had guessed was already planned before I started the first race.

I made a show of pulling my gloves off and then putting them in my pocket. I unzipped the top of the driving school suit, to prolong his suffering, as I released the Velcro ring that held the suit up against the helmet. Some of the cops behind the rookie gave me a head nod of approval. He had his hand out and shaking mine before I could take off my helmet.

“Hope they paid you a king’s ransom for their little prank,” he started spouting off. “So where did they find you? One of the road tracks down south? Get caught showing off for whatever girl you were trying impress out of her panties?”

Ok cop. You need to learn to engage brain before mouth.

Once he let go of my hand I took off my helmet and said, “Actually I was giving my dad a ride to show him I could really handle my Lotus. One your fellow officers pulled me over to see if I was coming here to drag race like the other teenagers had been doing. They didn’t want me out here pissing those kids off by taking their pink slips. I don’t even have a clue what the heck I would do with their cars even I did race them and won. We only have a two-car garage at home. Mom had to park hers outside tonight Officer Davis.”

I had made sure to read his name tag so I could be polite and at least try to show him some respect.

The chief of police came over to say, “Davis. I hope you will learn that shooting off your mouth without the skills to back it up just makes you look like an ass.”

That got Officer Davis back to complaining, but the Chief cut him off by telling him, “You just got your ass handed to you by a fourteen year old whose total driving experience came from two weeks at a performance driving school. Prior to that David couldn’t make it around an oval go-kart track without hitting the walls. Now if you will shut up, I bet David would be so kind as to show you how to make that rice burner you were trying to race really cook.”

I don’t have a choice but to wait to see what the rookie was going to do.

“This I have to see,” was all he said as he headed to the passenger side.

Once I got in I adjusted everything to be sure I was able to keep from getting knocked around. Right off I noticed that the car had a set of switches that were all flipped down. One was to arm a nitrous system. The other two had obviously been used a lot, so it made no sense they were turned off. Once I fired the car up I saw the PSI for the turbo wasn’t really moving even as I revved the engine. I flipped one switch and I could now hear the whine of a waste gate as I revved it, but the PSI still barely moved. When the other switch was pushed up and then I revved the engine the PSI went up almost instantly. I turned the first one off and the turbo didn’t kick in until around two thousand RPM.

“Well, Officer Davis, it seems the second run really wasn’t that fair of a race after all. Whoever built this car somehow put the switches in to disable the turbo setup to trick someone or make it appear almost stock. One switch engages something that spins to give boost at lower RPM than what is needed to kick in the main turbo. When the other switch is on it enables the main turbo that will kick in somewhere around two thousand RPM. I hope you wouldn’t even think about trying the nitrous if you’ve never had a chance to learn how it will make the car react,” I told him. “At school we had to drive all sorts of cars in various conditions until we met the objectives, even if that meant we didn’t get any sleep for days. None of them had nitrous though.”

Once I confirmed he was ready and I really laid into it. The car was light enough to really pop off the line, but the transmission wasn’t geared to get the most of out of the horsepower. We were barely up to a hundred when we hit the five mile point. I hadn’t used nitrous at the school, but they had covered it in detail during the times I was stuck it the classroom. I watched a bunch of videos of different cars and how they responded when the Nitrous was injected in to the engine.

I told the officer to hold on. I didn’t wait for him to do more than start to respond when I flipped up the switch and then hit the thumb button on the steering wheel. The car jolted forward as we got close to redline. The speedometer was pegged at one ten. Too bad the computer was rev limiting the engine as the last of the nitrous was burning off. At the end of the road I was down to about fifty when I hit the hand brake to spin us in a nice arc that got us lined up with the other set of three lanes. The speed had bled off enough to let me stop the sliding motion and get the tires to bite into the dirt to kick us off in the other direction. “Hell I can do that in this small car, you aren’t showing me any skills I don’t already know,” he said.

Cocky asshole.

In response to his arrogance I hit the brakes, slowed down to fifty and did a sloppy drift through the next turn lane cutouts. As soon as we were back on the pavement I floored it. I got better at figuring out how to properly drift in this the car by the time I did the last drift that put us back on the oncoming traffic side from where we had left.

What? No more commentary? Oh wait. Did I scare you shitless?

My speeding toward the cop cars didn’t do much to help ease the terror on his face. I got about halfway to the lines of cop cars, did a handbrake turn until I was turned ninety degrees to the left and let the car tires squeal is it slid sideways. The car stopped in front of the patrol car push bars with barely enough room for him to get out.

I went over to the group of officers talking with my dad and said, “Well you can’t give Office Davis too much of a hard time in the second race. He didn’t know about the switches that changed the waste gate pressures. When they are off the sequential twin turbochargers were forcing the waste gates open to reduce the boost. The car would have crushed the Dodge easily even without using the nitrous. I only checked what the switches did because the nitrous wasn’t armed and the boost gauge wasn’t moving like it should. I mean the car was already heavily tuned before someone added the turbochargers to it.”

Is that a bit of respect I see from the dazed looking Officer Davis?

The rookie dropped down to sit on the hood of one of the older cruisers. The guys were giving him shit, but he didn’t look like he cared one bit anymore. I did let a few of the cops run the Lotus up and back on the road. All of them seemed to like how it handled and how quickly it would get up to speed. A few mentioned that it didn’t feel solid enough to take much of an impact. The cruisers weren’t that quick or nimble, but they were designed to take some hard hits.

They do have a point. I would have trashed the Exige if I had used it for some of my earlier training at the driving school until I knew how to handle a car better. I still need to get used to driving it a lot to be completely comfortable. I wonder if Dad will let me take his car to work and he can ride with mom.

As we were heading back home dad said, “You handled that very maturely David. No one would have thought badly about you if you had joined in on ribbing Officer Davis. I’m very proud of you at how you even defended him regarding the last car you drove. Just a slight change in wording and it would have been worse on him than the ribbing they were giving him. I saw how he looked deathly pale and staggering around a bit when you got back. That was a pretty good stunt you did by sliding right up inches from the push bar on the front of the cruiser. You got a lot of respect from the police with that move alone. The chief apologized to me for saying he thought the town went way overboard in hiding the details of your accident as well as the grand things people were doing for you after you woke from your coma. His officers save people every day, as do firefighters and paramedics, but none of them ever get a hero’s treatment like you did. Many were very resentful of you. At least some now have a reason to give you some respect. That still won’t get you out of any speeding tickets or keep your car from being impounded if they ever suspect you have been racing. You hear me, son?”

“Yes sir,” I replied and concentrated on driving home as quickly as traffic would take us.

I was sent back to my room for the rest of the night.

Trudy was already asleep so I checked email until I got tired. As I was writing replies I started getting hit up with various text messages, Skype chat requests and a few hits on some new chat app called Slack that had recently appeared on my computer. Our school recently created password protected channels for our school as well as each grade in Slack.

A few guys I hadn’t ever hung out with, and really didn’t think I ever wanted to hang out with, hit me up asking if they could come over tomorrow. I knew it was about the Lotus. Quite a few girls asked if they could come over too. Some of them even wanted to ride in a Lotus. The rest of them I knew were just going to use me to get a ride somewhere. Unfortunately, I had to tell them all the same thing. I couldn’t, I was grounded until at least my birthday. To even have anyone over I had to run it past my parents first. I wasn’t going to be allowed to drive anywhere.

Many of the emails were from girls sending me naked, or topless, pictures of themselves. Others were more girls showing me clothes, underwear, or bikinis to ask what I thought. After replying to a few of them I realized there was no way I could give them all a reply before I was tired enough to go to sleep. I opened a program I had found when exploring my computer. From the instructions I read the program would pull pictures of a person out of an email. Those were used to search for more of that person from images on their computers, phones, tablets and anywhere else that held digitally stored pictures. That included Fakebook and Slapchat. It was supposed to be able to create as close to a nude 3D model of the girl or boy from the picture in the email they sent me.

Sounds a lot like what I had used before and the things my goggles were doing.

After it had processed the person’s body as best as they could it would remove their clothes. When it couldn’t find any pictures of girls in panties or bras, it would guess based on panty lines, bra straps, and any shapes of bras pushing into their clothes. As it processed the pictures of a person I saw it always was able to find pictures of that person naked. At first it was taking five to ten minutes to do one girl. The longer the program ran the quicker it was able to compute the next girl.

Well that is neat, but what the hell does this have to do with anything. So I get to see them naked. I already do that with video chats that show me a lot more, up close and usually with something boating into tuna town.

I got the answer when I was telling a girl that her boobs looked great, but were too small to push out the bikini she wanted to buy. It would be either pulled up to not cover anything or would gape open anytime she leaned forward. When the app dinged I looked over at the other monitor. I saw a whole set of the latest, as well as those which should be at the store in the outlet mall, bikinis in a window with a side scroll bar. I found the exact one she had shown me in the picture. Clicking on the image of the bikini put it on the computer’s picture of her and let me turn her body around over a whole three hundred and sixty degrees.

While that was cool, it had this sort of physics stuff built into it somehow. When I moved her to where she was leaning forward, with her facing me, anything further than forty-five degrees made her top pull away from her chest. A pair of circles around the sides of her bottoms zoomed me in when I clicked on the circle. The bikini bridge it made at the top pretty much showed everything down to where her pubic bone pushed against the suit. If I parted her legs even the tiniest bit I was able to see her whole pussy. Her mound and lips were almost completely flat against her body.

I scrolled up to where it had selections of green bikinis. There I found much smaller bikini top cups and bottoms with much better design than what she had shown me. Clicking those showed how they fit her much better. The bottoms would require her to get waxed or shave off all her pussy hair. That was a small price to pay for how the top took her A-cup breasts and gave her some cleavage. With the cups slightly padded, her almost always erect nipples wouldn’t show through.

Going through my emails I found that this app did the same thing for all the girls. I could move them around like virtual dolls to see what the suit showed and what it didn’t. It even had the latest trends in underwear, clothes, and one-piece bathing suits. After I did three more girls a message popped up to ask me if I wanted to link it directly to my email software to allow it to automate the extraction of pictures, find the best clothes, underwear or bathing suits the girls were asking about and then automatically reply with the resulting images. I clicked yes. Once it did a big update to a later version of the softwareI got a new message.

“Automatically highlight and comment on areas of improper fit,” the popup asked.

I replied yes and then told the computer to lock the screens while I went to the bathroom. I had only expected to go pee. Around fifteen minutes later I was back at the computer. It had gone through dozens and dozens of emails. Each one I opened showed me the originals with unflattering areas circled with basic comments. While not exactly showing anything that could be considered inappropriate, it made sure that anyone looking at them from the various angles would tell that the suit they had on wasn’t right for them. It then automatically picked some bathing suits, usually ones that were inexpensive, that it used to make pictures of them from the back, sides, and front with them wearing those suits. Each picture linked them to a secured website somewhere that only they could get into from their computers by clicking on one of the images. It had to be from the machine where the original email was sent as well, not a phone or tablet. With the app I was able to have it go through all my emails to give them ideas of what would looked better than what they had on in the pictures they sent me. If the suit they had was already perfect it would tell them that as well.