SPEED RACER HAREM SYSTEM

In the dimly lit interview room of the Daytona Beach Police Station, a skinny, almost malnourished boy, with short dirty blonde hair sat stiffly on a folding chair, his oversized, tattered red shirt hanging loosely off his small frame. Across from him, two officers—one male, the other female—observed him closely.

"What’s your name, boy?" the female officer asked, her tone gentle yet inquisitive.

The boy hesitated, still deciding how to respond when the male officer let out a dry, humorless chuckle, instantly drawing both their attention.

"Seriously, Karen? You don’t know who he is?" he scoffed.

Karen’s brow furrowed. "No, I don’t. Is he supposed to be someone famous?"

The male officer leaned back, folding his arms as he stared the boy down. "His name’s Coyote. He’s the son of Marty McNaulty."

Karen’s eyes widened. "Whoa! I thought all of Marty’s kids died in that meth lab explosion?"

"Not this one. He wasn’t even in the house when it happened," the officer said, his voice laced with contempt. "Since then, he’s been living on the streets, and mark my words—he’ll turn out just like his father, he even has his green eyes."

Karen shot him a disapproving look. "Come on, Larry. Don’t say that. He’s what—nine? Maybe ten? There’s still a chance for him to do something good with his life."

Larry snorted. "Doubt it. I’d bet good money this little runt had something to do with Watkins’ kidnapping."

Coyote sat still, his sharp eyes darting between the officers as if he weren’t even in the room. He tugged at the frayed edges of his shirt, trying to suppress the anger bubbling inside him. He wanted to punch Larry right in his smug, chubby face—but he refused to act on it. That’s what people expected from a McNaulty, and he wasn’t about to prove them right.

At ten years old, Coyote had heard every horrible thing said about his family. He made himself a promise to be different. And today, he acted on that promise.

He had seen the kidnapping. He had followed the men from the racetrack, tracking them back to their hideout while scavenging for food in a nearby dumpster. And he had told the police exactly where to find Louie Watkins.

Yet here he was—treated like a criminal for doing the right thing.

Minutes dragged by as Coyote answered every question thrown at him. When the officers finally stepped out, claiming they needed to "verify some details," he knew better. They were calling Child Protective Services. And he wasn’t about to sit around waiting for them to shove him into some foster home.

The moment the door clicked shut, Coyote slipped out of the chair and crept toward the hallway. Within minutes, he found himself in the bullpen, surrounded by officers minding their own business, tapping away at keyboards or flipping through paperwork.

Just as he was about to make his next move, a tight grip clamped around his wrist.

Fear shot through him as he snapped his head up—only to find Larry glaring down at him.

"You really are a McNaulty," the officer sneered. "A snake begets a snake."

Without warning, Larry yanked Coyote forward, dragging him roughly through the bullpen.

Coyote winced, memories of his short, miserable stint in foster care flooding back. Tears stung his eyes, but he forced them down.

Then, a deep, commanding voice cut through the commotion.

"Hey! Let him go."

Larry froze, then slowly turned.

Standing a few feet away, blue eyes blazing, was Louie Watkins himself.

The NASCAR legend took a step closer, his jaw tight with barely contained anger.

Larry instantly loosened his grip, and Coyote exhaled in relief.

"Sir, I was just doing my job. The kid tried to escape," Larry muttered, avoiding Louie’s piercing stare.

"And is this how you treat a child?" Louie demanded. "This boy saved my life today. You shouldn’t be roughing him up like that."

He strode forward, gently placing a hand on Coyote’s shoulder before guiding him back toward the interview room.

For the first time that day, Coyote’s face lit up.

He was standing next to his idol.

Even if he ended up in foster care after this, today would still be the best day of his life.

Louie knelt to meet Coyote’s eyes. "Young man, thank you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. You saved my life."

Coyote swallowed hard, nodding. "You’re welcome, sir. I’m a huge fan."

Louie chuckled. "I know. I’ve seen you hanging around the track a few times—with your friend."

Coyote’s heart nearly burst with excitement. His idol had noticed him before?

Louie’s expression softened. "I hear you don’t have a family. Your father is in prison?"

Coyote’s smile faltered. "Yes, sir. It’s just me and my friend Jax."

Louie studied him for a moment, then asked, "What if I told you that, from today onward, you’ll have a roof over your head, good food in your belly, and clothes on your back?"

Coyote’s breath hitched. Wait… does this man want to adopt me? That would be awesome.

"That would be amazing, sir."

Louie smiled. "Good, because I’ve already started the paperwork. You’re coming home with me today."

Before Coyote could stop himself, he threw his arms around Louie, hugging him tight.

Louie laughed, patting the boy’s back—then wrinkled his nose.

When was the last time this kid took a bath?

Later That Evening…

As they pulled out of the police station parking lot, Coyote drifted into a deep sleep in the back seat of Louie’s black SUV. The driver, who bore a striking resemblance to Louie, glanced at him through the rearview mirror.

"You know Evelyn won’t like this," he muttered. "She barely has a maternal bone in her body for her own kids."

Louie sighed, watching Coyote’s peaceful, exhausted face.

"Well, what’s done is done, brother. I couldn’t just leave him on the streets, not after what he did for me. Evelyn will have to get used to this."

“Do you think it is smart… bringing a McNaulty into your house?”

Louie didn’t respond right away. His jaw tightened, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

“You and I know he is not truly a McNaulty.”

"Exactly," his brother said. "And when Evelyn finds out who his real father is— what are you going to do—"

He trailed off as Coyote stirred slightly in his sleep.

Louie turned to the window, his voice a whisper.

“I guess you and I are going to take that secret to our graves."