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Tork Maddox, the patriarchal type. Dismissive and rocksteady, the “Metal Maniac” leader claimed that he didn’t interfere with the Teku’s affairs, further continuing on to state that Josef “Vert” Wheeler wasn’t one of his drivers. Therefore, he refused to speculate on the matter of Wheeler’s departure – including the involvement of his own subordinate, Mark Wylde.
Taro Kitano, the apparent second-in-command. A Japanese expatriate and driver of some renown, yet not a man of many words. Uncommunicative, Mr. Kitano admitted only to owning the car used to facilitate Josef Wheeler’s departure. Further questioning yielded nothing substantial as his answers contained fewer and fewer words in direct proportion to the length of his interrogation.
Deezel “Porkchop” Riggs, a long-haul trucker of large stature. Mr. Riggs openly expressed dissatisfaction with certain members of the Silencerz staff, including the interviewer Major Jack Wheeler. Efforts to redirect conversation resulted in further disapproval of the Major and his relationship to Josef Wheeler.
Mitchell “Monkey” McClurg, a mechanic and alleged chemical engineer. A strange man of nervous temperament. Attempts to take advantage of this character flaw were unsuccessful, exhibiting extreme loyalty to his teammates and a greater fear of Mark Wylde.
Nolo Pasaro, leader of the “Teku” street racing gang. A passionate youth. When questioned on the brawl he and Mr. Maddox initiated in the hangar, Pasaro insisted that it was normal behaviour and that they were “cool”. One of the more talkative drivers, he also confessed satisfaction regarding Josef Wheeler’s extrication.
Karma Eis, the sole female driver and the eldest member of the Teku. As collected as her surname implies, Ms. Eis consistently deflected all questioning with inquiries of her own. No progress was made.
Shirako Takamoto, the team’s chief tech enthusiast and audiophile. Due to an apparent hearing impairment, Mr. Takamoto was unresponsive to verbal questioning. An interpreter was deemed unnecessary.
— —
Interviews went nowhere. Major Wheeler’s notes were a mess. What was wrong with these people? Perhaps he was too frustrated to see how much they cared. Or, on the other hand, perhaps it was too much to expect anything from drivers who actively flaunted the law on a regular basis – from Tezla’s drivers, no less. These were the sort that his son had been fraternizing with? Jack dismissed three drivers–Shirako, Porkchop, Monkey–ushering the remaining four into a single conference room. Waiting. If they had nothing to say individually, then perhaps it was time to rally the leaders and the man responsible for bringing them together.
Peter Tezla.
A stern silence welcomed Dr. Tezla into the conference room–the sternest of which came from his once fellow associate. Interesting , he thought, interesting how Major Wheeler held him accountable for something he genuinely had little to do with. Yet, perhaps this was advantageous, surveying the pairs of watchful eyes that all followed his entrance with varying levels of interest. Truly, he’d only appraised the vehicle Taro had supplied the Wylde brothers with, but that was immaterial. They were here for a show. So, he’d supply them with one, taking his place across from Jack Wheeler at the head of the table – still standing, of course.
“I suspect I already know what this meeting entails, Major, so it would benefit us both if we forewent pleasantries,” Tezla said, gesturing to the room of indignant, uncooperative drivers – who all really had much better things to do, and so did he! Although the Silencerz tried to keep him away from the more tantalizing bits of data, the good doctor’s penance–his means of escaping real punishment–laid in cooperation with his former employment. They couldn’t keep him from everything. As he’d proven before.
What an unpleasant man to work with. Major Wheeler cleared his throat to stifle a bout of growling irritation. The day may have been long and frustrating, but he couldn’t lose his cool now. “Then I’ll assume you’re already aware that, at roughly ten-hundred hours this morning, two of your drivers left the compound with my son. Against orders.”
Tezla nodded. He was. He hadn’t been told , precisely, but it was more than evident. Vert wasn’t here. Not in the room, not in the base, not anymore. His comrades, Teku and Metal Maniac alike, weren’t talking. If anything, Tezla was impressed by their planning and ingenuity–now that it wasn’t being used to go against his orders, in any case. Rebelling against the Silencerz meant very little to Tezla, especially when it offered such a unique opportunity.
Major Wheeler asked flatly, “Would you care to explain this, doctor?”
“Gladly. Although, first I must ask you this–” The show began and all other actors were quiet. Their keen interest fueled Tezla’s flair for melodrama. Still, he only asked what everyone else was thinking: “What reason do the Silencerz have to keep Vert here and not the others? To my knowledge, all of the drivers have already given their statements.”
Ah, don’t mind the pause. Only for effect, Tezla gazed intently, brow raised and inquiring. He surveyed for a reaction, safe behind tinted lenses. Though, he also wasn’t done yet. There was yet an encore, vying for precious higher ground. “...or is it, perhaps, something more personal rather than objective?”
A stone sentinel moored before the peak, the major was unmoved. Impassable. For now. Both hands firmly planted, he warned, leaned emphatically against the conference table: “This isn’t about me, Pete. I’m only carrying out orders.”
Pete. Tezla’s expression betrayed him, forced to reign in an annoyed twitch threatening to derail his entire production. It was Peter. No, even that was wrong. His name was Tezla. Doctor Tezla. If he’d any friends, then not even they would call him by first name. Although, surely Jack already knew that.
Tezla regrouped, catty. Petty. “Yes, orders that you must have some influence over... or have you been demoted since we last worked together?”
This again. Taro shared a glance with Tork – who passed it on to Nolo and, from him, to Karma. Far beyond them to keep completely silent like this, but the two warring juggernauts were a spectacle all their own, cementing the shared reality that they’d done the right thing. None present had met Major Wheeler before storming the Silencerz headquarters, but so far…? The impression was lackluster. So, even if it meant relying on Tezla’s manipulative wit, well, unfortunately that was something Tezla had in abundance. It was about time he used it for the benefit of his drivers.
“I know what you’re trying to do. That doesn’t work with me, Peter. I’ve wasted enough time today.” Another warning, firm and imposing. If it wasn’t street punks testing his patience, then it was this rogue scientist. Perhaps bringing Tezla into this wasn’t the right move, after all. Exasperated with the moment, Major Wheeler privately wondered what he’d hoped to achieve by summoning him here. Painfully naive optimism. Jack straightened to his full height, shoulders back.
Staring Tezla down, he addressed the room, “So, if you aren’t going to cooperate, then I’ll have no choice but to hold everyone here until Josef Wheeler and his conspirators have been retrieved.”
( A murmur rippled from Nolo to Karma, a hushed yet incredulous ‘Josef? What’s he talking about, man?’ Vert’s name wasn’t Vert? Karma shook her head. This was news to her, too. )
Ignoring the sudden revelation among the crowd, Jack’s only focus was to enforce his posturing. One step, turning on his heel, Major Wheeler headed for the door. Enough of this. If all Tezla and his drivers wanted was to play mind games, then the best answer was to ignore them.
Or so Jack told himself.
Something of a curiosity, there was a distinction–noticed, cataloged–between ‘my son’ and ‘Josef Wheeler’ . Yet, Tezla followed the major’s leave with only a slight inclination of his head. Whether his silence meant defeat or simply that he was lost in thought, Tezla allowed his former compatriot to reach the exit first. Clarification was reserved for the moment that Major Jack Wheeler had his hand on the door–and far too conversationally than could possibly be genuine.
“Ah, before you leave…” Tezla called, satisfied by the slow turn of a man begrudgingly forced to have an audience with one he most disdained. This was it. This was the grandest display Tezla’s performance had to offer and perhaps the pettiest. “I don't believe I ever offered you my condolences after your wife passed. It must have been difficult choosing your career over your grieving son.”
That was bait.
Jack knew it was bait. Even the drivers knew. So, for the benefit of his captive audience, Tezla finished, “ –especially knowing how often you would be gone.”
Somehow, knowing that this was bait couldn’t make it matter.
It was a step too far, and it took all Major Wheeler had not to walk over and deck the smug son of a bitch standing not more than four yards away. He was better than this. He was better than Tezla. Yet, he seemed to be the only one who thought that. As if there was anyone in the room who’d jump to his defense, anyway. No, this was between him and Tezla. Tezla made it personal; Tezla was making it personal. Was that his agenda all along? There and gone in a second, an image flashed through his mind, an icy realisation. Vert, his son. One of Tezla’s drivers. What about him?
“Don’t lecture me about family , Tezla. You, of all people, should understand how important our work is,” he defended. Though, his foothold atop higher ground slipped in the face of his son’s friends. For, despite his own reservations, they were friends, he realised. Punks, yes. Yet, he’d nearly been willing to give them a chance after the races were over. Was that foolhardy of him? Duty, fatherhood, responsibility… what was the right call here? The answer, amorphous and intangible like smoke seeping through his fingers, became harder to grasp the further his thoughts wandered to his son.
“Yes, I do, and that's precisely why I chose not to start a family. I knew I would not be able to give them the love and dedication they’d deserve…” Again, Tezla called upon his audience, gesturing widely. They were more props than actors. Yet, he heard no argument from them. “And it seems to me that, in your absence, Vert has found a family entirely of his own – one that understands his particular needs.”
Far from disagreeing, Nolo piped up enthusiastically from the congregation. Whatever Tezla was playing at in the long game–somewhat beyond him–but here and now? “Yeah! Vert’s one of us and we’re a team, man. He’s like a brother, and that means he doesn’t get left behind.”
With a lone hear!, Taro offered an empty toast, having neither drink nor glass. Vert wasn’t a Metal Maniac–or even a former Scorcher–but he’d be lying if the little squirt hadn’t grown on him over the years. Though, unlike what Nolo insisted, Taro wouldn’t personally call him a brother… maybe a nephew. Or just a friend. Vert was sure something and seemingly for lack of a strong family life back home. Maybe that explained a few things–and a few more that his only living parental figure was a career military man. Truly, he and the Wylde brothers were a perfect fit for riding off together into the family-drama sunset.
Tezla waited for he and the others to finish their little rapport, poised to snipe with further commentary of his own as soon as there was a lull in the wave of driver solidarity. After all, it would be terrible if Major Wheeler had time to recover after such a rousing success. It seemed already that his will–though not his anger–had wilted somewhat, and there was yet one more thing. A little threat, a little encouragement.
“–and I trust that Vert will return once he is ready.” He trusted Vert, but did his own father..? “So, unless you intend to make a larger nuisance of yourself, Major, I believe it would be wise not to press the issue further... lest you lose him completely."