Joseph Mason

Player: Ben Wilson

In his own words

"Joseph Mason, Jo, Grease monkey, Mason, oi you, speed freak...they're all my names - I even got given a number by the state: 773823. They used the number and what went with it to try and change the man I would become. Guess they screwed that one up, along with everything else..."

Background

I came kicking and screaming into this world on 25th April 1975. Well thats what they told me as I was growing up, but I know now that the crack-whore, as I affectionately call my mother, could never really have had a clue what damn day it was - surprised she even noticed I'd arrived. As for my father, well he was so damn messed up he made the crack-whore seem 'normal'. Apparently he did his time in hell serving in Korea, came back home and brought the worst parts of hell with him...

I was born and grew up in the mainly sleepy town of Florence, and grow up I did, damn fast. But having to avoid fists from the age of 4 does kinda speed up the whole thing. I started leaving the house more and more, spending time away from that...being away was all that got me through them early days - the 'best time of your life' I heard them say. If that's the case you could have done me favour and shot me dead right there and then. But every shit storm cloud does seem to have a faint silver lining, and mine came the day the neighbours finally reported some of the shit going down at my place. Cops all over the damn show, followed by the socials who whisked me away to some institute for poor kids whose folks didn't give a shit. I was 8 going on 88 when I arrived there. Most of the other kids were all between 6 and 16 with most coming through similar 'circumstances' as me. Meaning we were all the down and outs of our pretty little town. I suppose that's why they hid us away here. So the tourists couldn't see...

In that place however I did for the first time get to do something that helped me forget the shit going on in my head and focus on something I liked, and something I was damn good at. Who the hell am I kidding I'm still damn good at it. They let me work on cars; they found that by letting me work on the cars and learn all that science crap they could sneak other subjects in and I wouldn't complain, so long as they let me back on the cars later. Then they sent me off to schools during the day to take some extra classes and to mix with other kids my age. My age? What the hell did they know about my age, most of the kids there had a home and a mother not a crack-whore, and their dads gave them things other than broken limbs and black eyes...anyway back to my story. The time at school despite the aggro and having to put pricks back in their places was of use, and I actually learnt some crap - and then came the exams. Must have been as much of a shock to them as it was me when i passed them...all of them. They must have thought they had cracked it, and turned a possible dangerous delinquent into an upstanding member of society...

Unfortunately their little plan had back fired from under their noses; after all I did say the rest of the kids in the slammer, as we called it, weren't exactly little angels either, most of 'em had records as long as their arms or longer. One of them, the guy that looked after me for the first few months till i had learnt the ropes, was another one who had a liking for cars.... he loved them (especially other people's). So at the sweet innocent age of 16 me and Mike left the slammer with our exam results and got nice respectable jobs. Mike was working for an uncle of his at a garage and got me a job there too - I was told to think about college but more time trapped with those pricks who thought life was all clean and happy and smelling of damn roses put me right off. It was time for me to meet the world. The world never stood a chance...

By day me and Mike did exactly what we were told. I put all my effort into learning what I could about cars and working on them: tuning, performance upgrades, bodywork the whole damn lot, and learn i did - damn fast. It seems mechanics was the only thing in my life I was actually good at, and I loved it too..it mostly took over my life. I say mostly took over my life because the rest of my energy was put into something Mike's uncle didn't have a clue about. The night, when i really came alive - when I got behind the wheel and showed the rest of the punks that I had arrived. So when people ask me "So where did you grow up?" I give the same answer..."Interstate 95". Hah, I love the puzzled look on their faces. You can almost see the cogs going as they're trying to work out how you can 'grow up' on an Interstate. But I did. That's where my life really began, thats where the boy became the man...and not the man the system wanted either. I started in the races as soon as I could drive; I got the bug bad, that's all I can say. Behind the wheel I felt more at home than I ever did in the slammer or in the crack-whore's place. This was my space, the road my friend. After working for Mike's uncle Barry and learning a whole load of new shit about cars, people and racing I decided I needed a fresh start. It was time to make something that was mine, truly mine...

So at the age of 19 I moved to San Antonio. Seemed a good idea at the time, there was some cheap land up for grabs near to the main road in off the Interstate, so I took my race winnings, and a loan from the bank and bought me that land...best damn thing I ever did. I started my own garage: "MASON'S AUTO'S". I still remember the first time I saw my name in lights. Hell, I couldn't stop smiling...well till the beer finally hit me and I fell in a heap...but thats another much too blurry story for here. I started taking on small jobs but soon word spread and I had to start hiring extra staff. I knew where to look, I took the younger down and out kids on, great mechanics all of 'em and slowly the business began to grow even more. I was, in technical terms, fooking loaded! So again the garage grew. It was about this time in the mid 90's that a certain type of client noticed my little booming business and decided that I was suitable to have the honor of working for them. Jumped up pricks...not that I'd say that to their faces; would be the last thing I'd ever say. Well then now it may end up different. Now I'm...well back to the story...

The local gangs started brining in their cars for, erm, 'servicing'. What this meant for me was I got to clean the blood out of the upholstery and remove the dints, bullets and other alien objects from the cars...got paid a damn fortune though. Must have done something right because one of the bosses herself came to see me. Sara Edwards they call her. Damn she was a hotty, fine ass and a nice pair of bangers...can't drive for shit though. Mind you most women can't...damnit gotta avoid these tangents. Stick to the story, Jo. It seems that Edwards had noticed me long before I set up shop here in San Antonio, apparently I'd lost her a fair sum of money when I beat a driver she had backed back on I-95...and was impressed. So i started getting a few jobs that usually involved picking up her or her associates at various places around town, losing the cops and taking them home. Wierdest bunch of folks I ever did see. Never saw them in the day, mind, only at night; guess i know why now. Anyway I carried on working for her and running the garage making my own way in the world. Damn, life was good. Wonder how death's gonna turn out...but then I'm not really dead...well that's what she tells me anyway. Guess I'll have to find out. But unlike the others around here, I've still got my wheels, so I still got my freedom.

It was only after she did this me to me I realized that she had been watching me all along... ever since I first won that damn race. And 1st prize goes to Mason, here stand still while I stick my teeth in your neck... any chance I can get 3rd?. Well not anymore. I thought she was just being a bit, y'know, kinky when she invited me up to hers to 'show me something new'. Didn't think she meant a whole new dark and damned world. Well she did get a bit frisky for a while till she bit me...the bitch actually bit me? I mean what the hell...felt kinda good though. Then I got all sleepy, can't remember anything except pain and hunger after that. I remember the hunger going and sort of waking up sucking on her arm drinking. Damn, that's some weird shit. She obviously knew what I was thinking...looked down and said "It's alright, you will get used to it". Used to it? This bitch must be more of a crack-whore than my mother. She didn't like it when I told her that. Didn't think a little lady like that could hit like an anvil. Lucky I learn quick - don't like cracked ribs.

This is the first time I've had any time alone since...well, since I woke up again; thought I'd better get some of this shit written down, help me sort out my own head more than anything. Time to meet some other 'Kindred' she called them. Bet it must be a bunch of right pricks running around calling themselves Kindred. But after a hit like that I'll play nice and bide my time, see what I can learn here. I'll pretend I'm behind the wheel - always helps me keep my cool. Helps me keep my head clear; helps me remember I'm still free. Whatever shit death throws my way - they ain't keeping this man down.