Collision Course

Collision Course 7: Rio

"I'm going back to L.A." Dom announced abruptly.

Vince twisted around from where he was sitting on the workbench. "Why?"

"To find a driver."

Vince looked confused.

"The Long Beach Grand Prix is coming up and there's bound to be a good driver hanging around," Dom explained.

They had come to Rio de Janeiro to race, to learn about the Grand Prix circuit in a place that wouldn't ask too many questions. Dom was going to manage their money carefully, buying just what was needed to build two cars. They intended to use them as training vehicles, to practice, to experiment and, if Emerson Fittapaldi Raceway ever managed to bring CART back to Brazil, to run with the big boys of the racing world.

Those had been their plans, but reality was another matter.

The first snag they had run into was the size of the cars. Dom's shoulders just would not fit. His arms were too thick to allow him to turn the wheel in the tight, hairpin turns of the track. So who would drive? Vince's right arm had never recovered from the deep slashes sustained in the last, disastrous, hijacking attempt. The arm was partially paralyzed, ruling him out. Leon had a hard time remembering what gear came after second. He wasn't driver material.

That had left Letty.

And actually, she was a damn fine driver. A little too arrogant, a little too rough, but the title of driver had been indisputably hers -- until she packed up and split.

Now, once more, they had to find a driver and Dom knew just where to look to find a good one.

"Okay, but there's no need to go to California. Why take the risk? Don't forget you're the only one with a warrant still hangin' over his head. Just grab some local. There's plenty of unemployed wheelmen loafing around on the beaches. Fuck, any of the crazy Taxi drivers would do. Why don't you --"

Dom swallowed. He wasn't quite ready to admit his true reason for wanting to go to L.A. He may have come to terms with the fact that he was going to travel thousands of miles in search of a certain lying, scheming, betraying, beguiling, blond narc, but he wasn't about to share that with Vince. There'd be time enough for that later ... if he ended up bringing Brian back with him.

Dom knew it was a big if -- Christ, for all he knew, if he made any sort of pass at Brian, the ex-cop would shoot him dead. In hindsight, Dom *thought* he had seen signs of interest in Brian's blue eyes. He *though*t Brian might have been a little bit attracted to him, but there was only one way to be sure -- to track him down and find out.

Dom had been thinking about this for weeks, trying to get up the nerve. Then, last night he had placed the call to California.

When everything had gone sour and Letty, Leon, and he had fled the country, Mia had decided to stay behind. She hadn't been involved in anything illegal and had insisted that she'd be fine. Dom had feared it was her attachment to Brian that had kept her in the States, and maybe, in the beginning it was. The next time they had spoken on the phone, Mia had told Dom about Brian visiting Vince in the hospital, she had said that he had been there only to pry information out of the critically injured man. She had sounded thoroughly disgusted with the ex-cop.

Dom had tried to get her to join them, he hadn't wanted her living alone, but she had refused. They had finally reached a compromise. She'd sell the house, sell the grocery store, and move into an apartment with a couple of her girlfriends from college.

They had set up a strict schedule of times and places to call each other. Neither was entirely certain how far the FBI and L.A.P.D. were still willing to go in order to catch Dom. By calling Mia at her apartment last night Dom had broken the rules and put his freedom in jeopardy, but he didn't care.

Careful questioning of Mia had revealed a few facts that had helped Dom come to the decision to fly home. She had told him that, yes, Brian was still in the L.A. area and that he stopped by every few months.

"To make sure I'm alright." Dom had been able to hear the sneer in her voice all the way from California. "He even gave me his address and phone number. As if I'd *ever* call that snake for help," Mia had scoffed.

"He still nosing around ya, tryin' to get back into your pants?" Dom had asked and then held his breath waiting for her answer.

"Dom!" Mia had complained.

"Well? Has he?"

"*If* it's any of your business … then, no, he hasn't." And maybe it was just Dom's imagination, but she had sounded a little bit pissed about it. "All he does is ask if I'm okay, if I need anything, if I've heard from you. As if I'd be stupid enough to tell *him* of all people …"

She had gone on a little bit longer, but Dom had stopped listening. He'd heard what he needed to hear. Brian asked about him. Brian wasn't interested in Mia any more. Brian had asked about him. Brian was still in L.A. Brian always asked about him.

It had been enough.

Dom had booked the next flight to LAX.

"Gotta get to the airport," Dom suddenly broke into Vince's monologue.

Vince glowered back at him. "You weren't paying attention were you?"

"Believe me, I heard every word," Dom said with a placating smile.

"Shee-iiit. Your mind's been a million miles away since before Letty left. What the fuck *is* your problem, D?"

Dom looked into his friend's concerned face and wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell Vince how much things had changed, were still changing, but he was afraid to. They had been best friends since third grade, and the only person who had ever come between them, who had ever caused them to fight, had been Brian.

How could Dom tell Vince that Brian was his problem? How could he tell Vince that he needed to see Brian? That he needed to know if Brian would ever even consider having a relationship with him? How could he tell Vince that he was gay? Or bi? Or whatever the hell he was now? How could he tell Vince things that he didn't fully understand himself?

"V, I … I just … I'll tell you when I get back from L.A., okay?"

"You mean, if you get back. Just 'cause they couldn't make charges stick on me, don't mean they won't try to lock you up."

"I want a *real* driver."

"Fine, but you don't have to go back to the States." Vince's face wrinkled in deep thought. "Where's the next race going to be? Spain? You could go there and …"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Dom said softly.

"All this to find a driver? Come on, Dom. Think about it."

"I want the best, someone who knows how to handle traffic." Dom watched as understanding, then disbelief skittered across Vince's homely face. Dom had often referred to Brian as the best heavy traffic driver he had ever seen and, apparently, Vince wasn't as stupid as he looked, or often acted.

"Holy. Fuckin'. Shit." Vince swore. "O'Connor … your goin' home after *O'Connor*?"

Dom pressed his lips into a tight line, he crossed his arms across his broad chest, looked directly into Vince's sherry-colored eyes, and dared him to comment further.

After several minutes of silent staring, Dom spoke. "I have to go." He turned on his heel and left the garage and his best friend behind.

He was determined to see this thing through, to see if Brian could possibly return these strange feelings that had budded and grown within him during this last year spent in Rio.


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