Asphalt Knight (Legacy Version)

Session Thirty Eight: Philosophy

They followed Quinn deep into the facility, reaching a well lit room with a hardwood floor. One wall had several shelves, lined with dusty Racing Authority trophies. The opposite wall held a smaller shelf, filled with various dusty pictures. Michael couldn't help but be drawn to it, noticing that the pictures varied vastly in age and quality, the top shelf holding what seemed like a recent photo of the current 21st Street Crew standing in front of Quinn's Viper, each wearing matching orange T-Shirts. The picture was clearly well lit, taken in a high resolution with a digital camera by a professional. The pictures next to it was shot in a lower resolution, it showed a slightly younger Quinn and who appeared to be a much skinnier Big Tony, standing in front of a yellow C6 ZR1 Corvette.

Michael glanced through the other photos, each growing grainier, the memories they held growing older, till finally Michael noticed a black and white photo shot on film, the type of picture he had only seen in history books at school.

A young man in a racing suit sat on the hood of a brightly colored 1969 Plymouth Road Runner Superbird, parked in the infield of some sort of racetrack, a small plaque mounted in its frame read "Bobby Quinn, 2nd place, Daytona 500."

Racing had run in Quinn's family for generations, just like Michael's.

Michael found himself drawn to one photo in particular, the only one that wasn't coated with a fine layer of dust.

It was a a portrait, framed in wood. It was taken at the finish line of a race track of some sort, during a sunset. A beautiful young woman wearing an orange formal dress, with black hair and brown eyes holding hands with Quinn, who looked to be in his late 20s, wearing a black tuxedo with an orange bow tie. They sat on the trunk of an orange 1969 Chevy Nova SS, which had "Just married" crudely written in chalk across its rear windscreen.

Quinn has a wife? Where was she now? Quinn clearly cared about that specific picture a whole lot, as it was the only one that was maintained well, so it likely meant he specifically cherished that memory the most.

Michael stepped back for a moment.

Was I just profiling? He thought.

"She was the best any man could have." Quinn said somberly, startling Michael.

Be aware of your surroundings. Evelyn's voice echoed in his mind.

"Your wife?" Michael stuttered.

"Late...wife. Run down by an Autocab with bad brakes just after my son was born."

"I'm...sorry."

"It's fine. The settlement we got from suing Asimov is what allowed me to start this crew anyways... still... nothing can bring her back, Quinn said with a somber tone. "Those fuckers at Asimov are gonna get what they deserve someday, I guarantee it." He added, with a clenched fist.

"Yeah, I hope so..." Michelle added quietly.

Michael was caught of guard at Quinn's change in tone.

Quinn turned to leave the room, and Michael followed.

They went through a short hallway, reaching a well lit room with a long table, with several mismatched wooden chairs. The chair at the head of the table was a racing bucket seat, which sat on the polished engine block of V8 instead of legs. Stitched into the chair was logo, a white skull with two wrenches crossed where crossbones would be. Michael thought is one of the most badass chairs he had ever seen.

Quinn walked around the table and sat in the throne-like chair, beckoning Michael and Michelle to sit down. Michael sat the other end of the table, Michelle sitting to his left. After sitting in silence for about a minute or two, Quinn finally broke the quiet.