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

Joel chuckled a little at Sio’s words. “Well, you’re not gonna have to wait,” He said and continued matter-of-factly: “We’re leavin’ in it right now.” He opened the door and retrieved a small red bag from inside pausing briefly to look over the spartan interior: Two spec racing seats with five point harness, roll-cage, fire extinguisher, carbon fiber panels and unaesthetic steel switches. It had a somewhat bizarre “new car” smell combined with the distinctive, rubbery odor of high-performance track tires and race-gas that Joel liked. “They gave me all kinds of stuff while I was over there,” He said tossing the bag to her. “And they were actually very nice, I think that’s a women’s team jacket I got you.” He could tell she was cold.

Contrary to their gritty rivalry at the Grand Prix, the Nissan engineers had been more than welcoming and downright hospitable towards Joel while he was visiting as if he’d earned a place among them. He certainly felt like he deserved it, having carried their brand for years, but he took everything humbly as he knew he’d humbled them; showing class was important to him. There were a few more items that he left tucked inside for the flight over and he carefully placed them with the tires on the back of the skid remembering that he would have to later send a courier to pick up everything anyway. Track cars weren’t known for trunk space. He dug in his pocket for the small “key” that was shaped more like a plug and inserted it into the dash. Like a motorcycle key it only turned on the battery.

Joel swung himself into the seat and took down the steering wheel from its hanger attaching it with an affirmative, metallic [i]click![/i] to the steering column. With a small twist of the key, the battery came alive first with an electric hum then the fuel pump sounded with a growl as he activated the control switch. A small green light came up on the dash indicating the pressures were good. His thumb flipped open a hat-switch and pushed in the spring-loaded button. 

The warehouse erupted in the echo of an unfiltered exhaust note: Something akin to a banshee and roaring lion, completely visceral and bone-jarringly loud. The working shift seemed to stop in its movements just to see the commotion and joining several others that gathered when the cover was removed. Joel tapped the accelerator a few times blasting the rpms up to the red with only the tiniest flex of his toes. A fireball of unburned fuel popped from the side-exit exhaust and was gone again in a flash. He nodded in satisfaction and glanced over to Sio. He knew she couldn’t hear him, but his lips clearly read: [i]Let’s go[/i].


[@Almalthia]