City lights shot toward Jordan as he slammed on the brakes. He hit oil or water or something and slid out of the turn at the top of that steep hill on Carrillo doing fifty at least. Burning rubber and fishtailing, the back of the Triumph started coming around and for an ugly second he was sure he was dead, that the TR-6 would smack up against a curb, flip, and go bouncing down the hillside and explode like in some silly-assed action movie.
He got his wits about him, yanking his foot off the brake and steering out of the spin. The Triumph sputtered to the side of the road.
He sat there, engine idling, getting his...