Lost N found

Keiko lifts the binoculars to her eyes, adjusting the focus until the blur across the street snaps into clarity. The afternoon sun reflects off the polished metal and tinted glass of the cars lining the garage.

The garage sits on the main road, tall and wide, triumphant over the shacks that hobble together down the road. A lineup of luxury vehicles crowd the lot outside, paraded around like a prized trophy.

Beside her, Fahim rustles in a paper bag he’s leaning against his steering wheel.

“So what’s the deal with this place?” he asks, shoving his sandwich into his mouth.

Keiko doesn’t lower her binoculars. “The shop deals in high-end and rare cars. If there was a place to get something unique, it’d be here.”

“So you think there’s a chance they sourced a part to the Ghost?”

“Possibly.” She tracks movement through the lenses, whirring mechanically at a suited man pacing back and forth in a glass office.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We go in,” she lowers the binoculars, “and we ask. We’re looking for Rayan Haddad. Mid 50s, easy to find but hard to talk to. Not the social type.”

“Not the social type. Take a guess who that reminds me of?” Fahim mutters through a mountain of bread. “Well it’s not much of a plan.”

She glances at him. Fahim’s slouched in the driver seat, crumbs on his jacket, one elbow hanging out of the window. He’s tall, and the bucket seat no longer fits him the way it once did.

“Do you always eat in your car?”

“You don’t?”

Keiko shakes her head and reaches for the door handle. Her boots hit the pavement with a dull thud as she steps out, scanning the street.

Fahim sighs, putting the remainder of the sandwich back into the bag and shoving it in a cup holder. “You could have let me finish.”

Keiko and Fahim step into the shop front, a small bell chimes softly behind them. The air inside is air-conditioned and clean. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a clinical glow across an empty front desk and a waiting area with no one in it.

Behind the counter sits a tall, muscular man, his arms bulging against a black T-shirt that looks two sizes too small. Yousef glances up, eyes scanning with lazy suspicion.

“What’s happening, guys?” Yousef says. “What can I do you for today?”

“My Name’s Keiko. This is Fahim. We’d like to speak to Mr Haddad please.”

The man snorts. “Off the bat like that? Nah cuz, you can speak to me.”

“My brother—” Fahim starts.

Keiko coughs sharply into her hand and gestures toward her upper lip.

Fahim blinks, then swipes at his mouth, smearing away a streak of mustard. “Look, we don’t want trouble. We just want to speak to your boss. Can you do us a solid, mate?”

Yousef’s posture stiffens, he sprawls his hands out to each end of the desk. Not a cable in sight. “What are youse? Cops?”

“No—” Keiko begins.

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Fahim interjects.

Keiko’s head snaps towards him, eyes wide.

Fahim nods and grins, unaware of the piece of lettuce lodged between his teeth.

Keiko takes a step back and drags Fahim with her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting us a chance to speak to the boss.”

“By pretending you’re a cop?”

“You’ve got a better idea?”

“Look,” Yousef announces as he turns his attention to Keiko. “Listen beautiful, how about you tell me why you want to speak to Mr Haddad, and I’ll see what I can do for you. But I expect a reward for this.” He removes himself from the chair. “Me and you tomorrow night, at The Star. But if tomorrow night isn’t good for ya, there’s an empty office upstairs and I’ve got a fifteen minute lunch break in about five minu—”

“Oi, sit the fuck down.” The voice cuts through the room, rough and commanding. It comes from deep inside the showroom. An older man steps through the wide archway, tugging off a pair of fresh gloves and tossing them onto the counter. He has a salt-and-pepper beard and sharp eyes that scan around the room in half a second.

Yousef stiffens.

“Is this how I raised you to speak to women?”

Yousef drops back into his chair instantly. “Sorry, sir.”

The older man turns to them. “Sorry about my son. Good kid, but a proper fuckin’ idiot.”

“Are you Mr Haddad?” Keiko asks.

“I am.” Mr Haddad studies her openly now, staring her up and down, unfiltered at the length he’s spending on her. “You’re younger than I expected. Softer looking too.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know who you are Keiko, I just never had a face to match the name. And I know exactly why you’re here.” He sinks into a waiting-room chair, eyes lifting to meet Keiko’s. “So let me save everyone the headache. I got nothing on the guy you’re looking for.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Keiko steps forward. “You’ve been running this place for fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years ain’t anything. You’ve been racing nearly ten, and you’ve had more run-ins with that thing than anyone in the country.”

“You get plenty of one-of-a-kind cars here. And you work on them too. Surely you of all people have heard something.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He shrugs. “Honestly? I don’t get the obsession. That car’s livin’ rent-free in your head, mate.”

Keiko’s eyebrows tighten. “Do you know something or not?”

“About the car?” He spreads his fingers. “Not a single fucking thing.”

“Fahim, we’re done here.” She turns and Fahim follows.

“But the others—”

Keiko stops. Her own reflection stares back at her in the glass door.

“—let’s just say you’re not as alone in this game as you think.”

She faces Mr Haddad. “What do you mean?”

“You really think you’re the only one frothin’ over hunting that thing down?” He laughs. “There’s blokes out there who’ve been at it longer than you’ve been alive.”

“I need names.”

He shakes his head. “Not a chance in hell. And even if I gave ‘em, they wouldn’t say shit to you. You’re the competition.” He pushes himself up from his chair. “That car’s dominated NSW. Made the fastest drivers look like bitches. And these Aussie guys think it’s their birthright to take it down. Their pride is on the line. And part of that pride is because of you. You’re a pretty little thing driving an import. Rumour is you are an import. You look like one of those Korean dolls my missus watches on the TV. To those guys, you’re everything that’s wrong with the street racing scene. You’re not what a racer should be. But you’re one of the fastest things on these streets, whether they want to admit it or not. And worse, you’re the only one who’s ever gotten close to that car.”

He leans in slightly.

“They’re not just coming for that Commodore anymore. They’re coming for you. Beating you is proof they’re worthy enough to take it on. They’re not going to help you in the slightest, because you’re just in their way.”

Keiko’s eyes speak a silent dare: That anyone’s welcome to try. She shoves the glass door open and leaves.

Fahim rushes up beside her as they cross the parking lot. “You think there’s any truth to what he’s saying?”

“Probably, but we don’t have time to think about that. How’s that research coming along on the duo that apparently saw it?”

“The Colombian dudes. They race for the Imparables, a mid-tier racing team. Their driving ethics are trash, and their personal ones are even worse. I hear they’re pick-up artists.”

Keiko drags her sleeve down over her knuckle, then taps the crossing light. “Do you know where to find them?”

“That’s the thing, nobody knows where exactly they race.” Fahim buries his hand in his pocket. “They seem to be all over the place.”

“How about their pick-up routine?”

“I didn’t think of that. But I’ve heard they do it on Friday nights.”

“It’s a little late to set up a plan to find them today.” The crossing light flicks from red to green.

“Ask around,” Keiko steps off the curb, “and try to find out what clubs and pubs they go to. We’ll try for them next week.”

“Yeah alright.”

“That means we’ve got only one more lead to check out today. Invisible Sequence, a team on Mount Keira that apparently saw it this week.”

“They’re a brand new group.” Fahim says, pulling out his phone. “Their leader is Bradley.”

“No idea.”

“He used to run with the Knights of the North Star, but they kicked him out. He drives a red Genesis, the one with the stupidly big spoiler.”

“Still no idea.” Keiko stops beside the passenger door, hand hovering over the handle. “Drop me off at my place first. I’ll pick up my RX-7 for this one. If we need to chase these guys down, we’ll need it.”

“Are you saying my WRX won’t be enough to chase these guys down?”

She nods and opens the door. “Great, you understand.”

***

Luca flicks his lighter closed and leans back against the Illawarra Escarpment State Conservation Area sign. The ember of his cigarette pulses faintly in the dark.

Behind him, his purple S14 idles on the shoulder. The orange flashes of his hazards cut through the towering trees swaying overhead, their leaves whispering in the night air.

Luca’s eyes focus on the road ahead.

A high-speed hairpin curves sharply around the mountainside, its outer edge broken by the intersecting road he’s standing on.

A deep, throaty charge echoes through the valley. A sound heralding timeless power.

A white blur bursts into view, white wheels, black roof, retractable taillights and a low profile wing slicing the air behind it.

The car attacks the corner. Tyres shriek, but the chassis plants itself. It rockets through the hairpin as if it were a straight, rear kicking out just enough to flirt with the edge of the road before snapping back into line.

And then it’s gone.

Luca exhales slowly, tapping ash from his cigarette.

‘It’s fast,’ he thinks. ‘Too fast. I don’t know where you found this guy, Bradley, but he’s a monster. That car looks weightless when he drives it. I figured it’d take months to get him anywhere near the speed we’d need…’ His lips can’t help but grin. ‘But he’s almost there within a month.’

A new sound creeps into the silence. The distant whine of an engine climbing hard through the road behind him. Luca drops the cigarette and grinds it into the asphalt with his heel.

Keiko’s RX-7 sprints into view, sky-blue paint flashing beneath the moonlight. Her headlights sweep across the Mount Keira sign just as she throws the car into the turn.

The car skims the very edge of the tarmac, clipping loose gravel as it crawls through the corner beyond the limit of grip. She reels it back in and fires down the stretch of road.

Luca pulls his phone from his pocket and dials.

Inside the lead car, Bradley is thrown sideways in the passenger seat as the chassis slings through another bend. He braces his hand against the dash. “How’s the suspension?”

“Perfect,” Harris replies, his hand guides the shifter into 3rd. “All the sketchy sections from before, they’re under control. But this car could use a bit more power.”

“More power?” Bradley yells. “Seriously?”

The phone mounted to the passenger air vent vibrates, screen lighting up.

“What’s up?”

“A sky-blue RX-7 just blew past me.” Luca says.

“Keiko?”

“Too fast to get a proper look—”

Bradley cuts the call and turns sharply to Harris. “Go all out.”

Harris gives a single nod.

But he doesn’t floor it. Not yet. He holds the throttle steady, letting the engine sit, waiting for the distant whine of the RX-7 to grow closer.

Keiko’s headlights catch the flash of white ahead just as the road begins to snake right.

“That’s an NSX, right?” She says, snapping the car into 4th.

“Yeah,” Fahim replies, bracing a hand against the door. “No idea who owns it.”

The NSX surges into the bend as it takes a clean late apex.

The RX-7 lunges after it, suspension compressing as she throws the car into the turn. Her tyres howl in protest as she floors it.

The NSX holds the middle line, clean and disciplined.

Keiko dives tighter to the inside. Her RX-7 skims the painted line, riding a centimetre from the guardrail. The gap vanishes, and her front bumper is tucked against the NSX’s rear quarter.

Keiko holds back on the accelerator, dropping back a notch.

Harris stiffens as he looks in his mirrors. ‘So she’s in an FD. Lightweight, and violently responsive. And she’s not leaning on raw power. She’s driving it properly.’ He tightens his grip on the wheel. ‘I thought I’d have breathing room, but she’s already on my back.’

The road snaps left.

The NSX screams as Harris hammers the brakes, dropping two gears in a heartbeat. The chassis loads as the rear squirms through the corner.

But the RX-7 is still on him. Still glued.

‘She’s fast.’

Keiko sticks to the middle on the exit, letting the RX-7 breeze through the apex.

The NSX cuts hard across the midline and towards the guardrail.

‘Don’t think I didn’t see you waiting for an opening there. You might be the person the boss was warning me about, but at the end of the day you’re just a street racer. Parlour tricks and misdirection are what you live and breathe.’

The road snaps into a tight chicane.

‘But as long as I hold onto my line, there’s nothing you can do about it.’

The NSX darts right, then left, the rear stepping just enough to fight off any attack.

The RX-7’s rotary growls, as it weaves in time with the NSX.

‘Whoever he is,’ Keiko thinks, ‘he’s fast. His line’s almost perfect. Is he a pro?’

The road breaks open into a short straight.

The NSX surges forward.

At the next bend, the inside opens unexpectedly. The sagging chain-link fence that once guarded the mountain is gone, replaced by a shallow concrete gutter.

Harris throws the NSX’s inside wheels into the channel. Sparks from the undertray spit out.

Keiko’s grip tightens. She throws the RX-7 to the outside, committing to the wider arc.

‘Most drivers are terrified of gutters like those,’ she thinks. ‘They don’t trust their grip, but he does. In a time attack, it’s the fastest line through here.’

Her foot flutters the accelerator.

‘But this isn’t a time attack.’

She feeds in the throttle.

The RX-7 squats and launches forward. The boost surges. The rotary screams as she blasts out of the turn.

The NSX buckles as it claws back out of the gutter, narrowly missing a reflector post as it rejoins the RX-7 on the tarmac.

They plummet out of the bend side-by-side.

‘If you knew how much faster my low-gear acceleration was, I'm sure you wouldn't have taken that line.’

Keiko shifts into 4th.

‘We could have played this game a little longer if you paid attention.’

Keiko zips forward and claims the centreline.

After a few more turns, Keiko eases off the throttle and guides her RX-7 into a small parking lot tucked deep into a nook of trees.

The NSX follows.

A handful of other cars sit scattered across the cracked asphalt, their engines ticking softly as heat flees from the metal.

Keiko kills the engine. She and Fahim step out of the RX-7. Across the lot, Bradley and Harris emerge from the NSX.

“Fahim, my man.” Bradley crosses the distance quickly, pulling him into a half-handshake, half-hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Fahim says. “You?”

“Can’t complain. Especially after that mess last month with the North Star.”

“Yeah, that’s good.” Fahim murmurs. He nods towards Harris. “Who’s your friend?”

“My bad.” He gestures to Harris. “Old friend from the neighbourhood. Used to live two doors down to me and he would come over every weekend to play Mario Kart. Could never beat him.”

The driver steps forward, “Nice to meet you.”

Keiko studies Harris as he shakes Fahim’s hand. His grip is firm, his expression calm.

“Indeed.” Fahim says.

Bradley gestures around the lot. “These guys are the rest of my crew. We call ourselves ‘Invisible Sequence’.”

A few nods and silent acknowledgement are given.

Keiko and Harris hold each other’s gaze.

Keiko leans back against her RX-7, folding her arms loosely.

“Your car is well built.” She says. “And you drive it well.”

“Thank you,” Harris replies. “I do enjoy impressing my target.”

The air tightens.

“Hey, hey, woah.” Bradley steps in, resting a hand lightly on Harris’ shoulder. “Relax, yeah? She’s not your target, she’s just, what we’ve got to beat.” He looks at Keiko. “So, what brings you to us?”

“I heard you had a run-in with the VK Commodore. That true?”

“Yeah. Me and a couple of the boys were out drifting early in the week. I was in my S15 and it went,” he pokes his hand straight out, “whoop. Just came out of nowhere. So dark I couldn’t even tell what it was until I checked my dash-cam.”

“Did you notice anything strange in the footage?”

He pauses, thinking, then shakes his head. “Not really. Mostly just shocked to find out the thing is real. And even more shocked to see it drifting.”

Keiko kicks herself off her car. “It was drifting?”

“Hell yeah it was. A proper one too. Overtook me while sideways through a straight.”

‘He’s toying with them.’ Keiko mulls. ‘The Ghost is matching their driving style and besting them at it.’

Keiko glances at Harris. “Did you see anything?”

He shakes his head. “Wasn’t there and haven’t seen the footage. Sorry ma’am.”

She looks back to Bradley. “Do you still have the footage?”

“‘Course I do.”

“Send it to Fahim.” Keiko opens her door and is already sliding back into the RX-7 mid-sentence.

“Yeah, yeah, uh, okay.” Bradley says, blinking as Keiko all but ignores him.

Keiko sits motionless behind the wheel, staring through the windscreen at the trees guarding the edge of the parking lot. The hunters were sharpening their knives in the dark, now they’re ready to step into the light. If she falters for even a second, they’ll strike. They’ll take what’s hers.

Her phone’s screen pierces through the fabric of her pocket, a dim glow bleeding into the darkness. The soft buzz echoes far too loudly in the stillness of the car.

She pulls it out.

An unfamiliar number pulses patiently. Insistently. Like it knows she’s looking at it.

The vibration drags on, stretching the moment thin, fatalistic.

She gently brushes her hair back and tucks it behind her ear, clearing space for the phone.

“Hello, Lilliya.”