[b][center][h2]Joel Nicolosi[/h2][/center][/b]


A shower and a change of clothes later for Joel and they were taking an Uber out to old Sol International. Joel didn’t say much along the way, but he could tell the curiosity was driving Sio up the wall. He was far from admitting it, but having her tag along lately was refreshing. She wasn’t obnoxious, asked decent questions, seemed to enjoy his crazy conspiracy talk shows and didn’t fall for it when he told her to go get the blinker fluid. What he was picking up from international air freight demanded an audience that could only consist of one and she seemed as good a choice as any. There were few that could keep up with him and his strange habits, but she was holding her own from what he observed. He yawned as the car turned into the small parking lot observing no sign of any white Land Rovers, just the high tail of a Nippon Cargo 747 behind the admin building at the gate.

Throwing a bag over his shoulder he swiped his way through the front door giving a wink to the receptionist as he went. After a short walk they were in the expansive receiving zone where the pallets were being unloaded. The giant nose cone of the aircraft pointed skyward on its hinges while the beep and hum machinery buzzed around in the brightness of high-powered flood lights. The cold air of the night cut through the open space and he looked around with a hard narrow glance as they made their way up to the receiving desk. A low skid, covered with a silky metallic fabric was discreetly set off to the side caused his expression to lighten and he smirked wildly. He swung his bag around and removed a hefty folder from inside. Rolling it up, he used it to point for Sio to take notice. “That’s our piece right there.” He said raising his voice over the noise. His smirk had turned into a near maniacal grin as they came up to the desk.

The attendant, the same one Joel dealt with for years on his imports, shook his head and smiled broadly as Joel and Sio approached. “I don’t know how you pulled that one off old boy.” He said taking the roll of customs and import paperwork from Joel’s hand. He already knew what was under the cover.

“C’mon, let’s see it,” Joel said. “I’m taking it outta here tonight.”

The small barrier that separated them raised as the lock was released. For some reason, in his excitement, Joel took Sio’s hand to lead her over, not taking his eyes off the prize as they walked. He could feel his heart beating, waiting. He’d risked his whole reputation for this moment and nearly lost it by the length of a front air-dam. The roar of a heavy aircraft rotating down the runway sounded in the distance outside and the heavy covering fluttered lightly in the breeze that came through the air off the flightline. It was almost surreal, like a scene from a movie as they removed the clips from the base of the skid. The wind swept under rippling the metallic cover like a wave first teasing a black wheel and a letter-marked tire. They peeled it back slowly from the [url=https://s2.paultan.org/image/2016/11/2017_Nissan_GT_R_NISMO_GT500_01-e1479455643698.jpg]front[/url], carefully rolling it as they went revealing carbon fiber angles and [url=https://s2.paultan.org/image/2016/11/2017_Nissan_GT_R_NISMO_GT500_03-e1479455660212.jpg]swooping aerodynamics[/url] in a satin-black finish. They flipped the remainder over the high, [url=https://s2.paultan.org/image/2016/11/2017_Nissan_GT_R_NISMO_GT500_04-e1479455612472.jpg]rear spoiler[/url] and folded it over storing it with an extra set of tires on the back of the pallet.

“Remember that bet I told you about?” Joel said turning back to Sio. “[url=https://s2.paultan.org/image/2016/11/2017_Nissan_GT_R_NISMO_GT500_02-e1479455573247.jpg]This is what I won[/url].” 

Set before them and unmarked save for a small outline of Suzuka Speedway behind the driver’s window and the factory badging was the same car he’d struggled to beat for years in the Grand Prix with only one noticeable difference: there were two seats inside the roll-cage rather than one. Joel walked alongside running one hand over the refined lines of the wind-tunnel tested, completely hand-built body just barely allowing his fingertips to touch the paint. “Most of the time I was over there was spent building this car up the way I wanted it.” He said with the utmost seriousness. “It’s not legal for GT racing,” He continued, looking at it. “I wanted all the race restrictions removed, just so we could run flat out, no rules. We tested it at Suzuka over several days until I was satisfied.” He looked on solemnly thinking of how he’d trod in the footsteps of some the greats at that course; the idols he looked toward his whole life. Sharing that same track with them felt sacred. 

Digging in his bag he took out a metal plate. The standard Washington State, SOL CITY registration. The large characters spelled out [b]LAPTIME[/b].

“I once told someone the 300 was my Mona Lisa,” He said looking back. “This is the Sistine Chapel.” 

[@Almalthia]