Page 20 of Pit Stop

Fifteen

Tillman

My leg bounces with nervous, unknown energy, as I sit in the passenger seat of the Bentley Bacalar. The price tag of this car is not unknown to me. A few weekends ago I considered buying one myself. Seeing Decker behind the wheel of a car with a price tag of over a million dollars is a shock to me. When I left him, the SK, and Los Angeles behind he was nothing but a grunt in the food chain of the SK. Apparently, things have changed in my absence, and it makes me wonder how much Decker has changed. By the looks of things, I’d say he’s in deep, too deep for my liking. Now, the question is how did he find me? Why did he find me? The only answer I can come up with is that he’s here to tie up loose ends.

The city of Dallas passes me by until we’re on the outskirts of town, heading towards one of the suburbs. Suddenly, Decker pulls into an all-night truck stop. Semi-trucks line the area along with a few cars. It’s a large space with an older feel. A small, outdoor motel with about twenty rooms attached to the large truck stop and convenience store with gas pumps along the side. Behind all of that is a small two-car garage shop. I haven’t been out here before, but it's an interesting setup. Decker parks in one of the parking spaces, directly in front of the diner. A couple of older cars sit on either side of the Bentley, causing it to stick out like a sore thumb. “Are you hungry?”

My head tilts to the side as I study him. He seems friendly enough, but I also know a snake can seem friendly before it wraps around you, crushing the life source out of you. “Not exactly.” Decker pats my left shoulder and climbs out of the car. I step out into the humid Texas night and look up at the stars above before scanning the area around us. I’m not dumb. The guys that were flanking Decker at the races are somewhere around, probably close if I had to give it a guess. I’ll give them credit, they’re good at being discreet.

The bell above the diner’s entrance door rings out into the night. I look over my shoulder to see Decker standing there, the door open, waiting for me. He’s still tall and skinny as ever, but the majority of his skin that I can see is covered in grayscale ink. It's a stark contrast to his pale skin. His platinum blonde hair is longer and slicked back away from his face. His eyes, though, seem to hold the most difference. There are ghosts lurking in those silver orbs that resemble the full moon above our heads. I wonder how much he’s seen since I left. How much death? How much blood has tainted his hands? As I approach, he chuckles. “I don’t know how you’re not hungry with a place like this in front of you. Good ol’ greasy diner food. My mouth waters just thinking about it,” he explains. When I pass by him, he slaps me on the shoulder again.

We take a seat in a booth by the window at the end of the diner. Decker orders a truck stop breakfast which includes just about everything on the menu - eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, pancakes, two biscuits and gravy. Just looking at the oversized plate in front of him makes me sick. I opted for just a cup of coffee, black with lots of sugar. Decker doesn’t hesitate to go to town on the food in front of him. Apparently, he can eat despite his slender size. Once Decker finishes the plate off, literally scraping it clean, he sits back, rolling his shoulders. Silence falls between us. We stare at one another, each of us wondering who will make the first move. Finally, I cave. “What are you doing here?”

Decker throws a knowing smirk at me. “I figured that would be obvious.” He watches me, and when I don’t flinch, he sighs. “I was looking for you.”

“Why? Why now? How in the hell did you even find me?” I bite out.

Decker sighs and runs a hand through his hair, slicking a few stray strands back down. “You’re not hard to find. I made it a point to know where you were in the world. You were my best friend; you were like a brother to me, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. So, I’ve kept an eye on you so to speak. You’ve done well for yourself, and you look good... different but good.”

His words seem sincere. I hate to admit it, but I probably would have done the same thing if the shoes were switched. He was my best friend and became like a brother to me too while I was in the SK. I did cover for him with the whole Boris thing too. Finally, I nod my head, accepting his answer. “You look different too.”

He examines the ink on his arms. “Yeah, I guess you can say ink became my drug of choice.” He chuckles and I can’t help but laugh with him. I have a couple tattoos myself, but nothing compared to Decker.

“So, why come now?” This is the real question that I need an answer to. It’s been a long time, so if he’s here now... there’s a reason.

Decker sits back against the seat of the booth. “Things are different now. I’ve been working on getting the SK on a different path. About six months ago I got the last of the original SK out of the picture.”

I release a low whistle. That had to be a heavy task. “That’s impressive but still doesn’t really answer my question.”

“I want you to come back. I want you to be a part of what I’m building now. The Street Kings is not what the SK was. I have some really great kids there, kids like you and I, and they need a place to call home. I’m not great with numbers though and you are.” Decker’s eyes plead with me from across the table.

Going back to Los Angeles... that seems unreal. For so long that’s all I wanted. Most of my life I had spent it looking for something, looking for a place to call home, but then when I left Los Angeles and everyone there behind, I realized it was home. It was always home because that’s where the people I cared about were. Throughout the time away though, I’ve found ways to make each new place home. Dallas is home now. I’m not sure I can just leave. “I’m glad you got it on a different path, Decker. Those kids need that— deserve that really. I’m flattered you want me to be a part of it, but this is my home now. I have a company to run. I’m not sure I can just get up and leave.”

Decker shakes his head. “It’s not that I just want you to be a part of it, Tillman. I need you to be a part of it. This was our dream. To take the SK and make it something good again. The Street Kings are good.”

I raise my eyebrows in question. “How are you so sure about that?”

“No drugs, no illegal criminal activity. No cashing in on protection offered to businesses from the SK. No death. No blood spilled. It’s us and some kids that don’t have anywhere else to go. We have a love for something that you do, the common factor that brings us all together.”

It almost sounds like Decker is running for president. “And what’s that?”

“Cars. We all love cars; we all love racing. We’re a family. These kids need us. Please, consider it.” Decker looks at me. Memories flood back to me from a time when it was him and I against the big and bad that the SK was. If he really has managed to turn things around... damn, I want to say yes. I want to be a part of that. To go back home, but I’m not sure I can.

Slowly, I nod my head. “I’ll think about it.”

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