To finish this story, let's go back to the beginning.

I first heard the name Big Willie Robinson in spring 2017.

I was visiting a dusty car lot in the San Fernando Valley to interview Ted Moser,

the owner of Picture Car Warehouse, a company that outfits vehicles for Hollywood productions.

Moser showed me around, and he stopped at a broken-down race car.

It looked like something on a Mad Max, and it had a crazy backstory.

Moser said someone named Big Willie once owned it.

He picked it up in the 70s. He hand built it, obviously.

He towed this car all over the country.

I couldn't believe it. It was a mess.

The roof was missing and the footwells were filled with cobwebs.

The Plymouth looked like a cop car.

Willie actually called it the police Daytona.

Its paint was fading, but you could read the lettering on the door.

Street Racers Inc. National and International Brotherhood.

At the time, those words meant nothing to me.

So Moser told me about Willie.

The Crips and the Bloods and the Blacks and the Mexicans and the whites.

Once they stepped within Willie's gates, they were all brothers.

And he preached it and lived it.

It's all about cars.

Now I can hear Willie.

...