The Widowmaker

by Amy Gallow

  Chance brought her close to the Widow-Maker. It looked brutal, brooding, the rear suspension a combination of links rather than a single arm, the stripped race fairing hiding nothing.

  "There's an old saying, ‘Things that look right, usually are.'” Glenn had approached unnoticed. “A much maligned machine."

  "It's killed one man.” Lexie shuddered, her memories of Stewart surfacing to reinforce her horror.

  "Giovanni's mistake killed him. He allowed himself to be boxed in on a corner and tried to blast his way out of the group. He hated being passed. Had he waited a few more seconds, he'd have had the whole of the straight to regain the lead."

  Lexie turned at his words and saw the pit boss at Glenn's shoulder. Angela nodded reluctantly. “I knew.” Angela's face was calm. “I wasn't the pit boss then, but I understood what he'd done."

  A sideways glance at Glenn and Lexie lost herself in his eyes. He hadn't been ignoring her, just giving her space. She could see it in his face. Only Angela's grief sobered her surge of joy, reminding her there was an admission price to groups where dangerous things were done deliberately. One she'd paid three times before. It made it hard to understand Angela becoming pit boss.

  She turned to the pit boss. “Why did you stay?"

  Angela smiled a sad smile. “After Giovanni, you mean? Everyone asks that. Blame Glenn."

  "I don't understand."

  "I'd followed the circuit in the UK for six years ... since I was sixteen ... after growing up in institutions, shuttled from orphanage to orphanage and running away several times. Glenn found me sleeping rough at the British Grand Prix. I'd drunk too much and was a mess. Salvatore and Josefina used to travel with the team in those days. She cleaned me up and wheedled the story out of me. Next thing, I had a job, a passport and friends. I was general roustabout first, doing whatever I was told, but Salvatore took me under his wing and I became his assistant. Giovanni didn't join the team until two years ago. When he died, I had nowhere to go. All my friends were here. Glenn realized it and made me pit boss. It's all his fault. Everybody knows it.” She smiled. “Raul calls me one of Glenn's foundlings. He's not wrong."

  Glenn had listened to the tale with a smile. “There's a little more to it than you've just heard. There was a rash of small thefts from the pits that year and the security people weren't on the ball, so the small teams got together and set up a watch system of our own. Angela fell into our net when she came looking for a place to sleep. Everyone jumped to a lot of wrong conclusions before we caught the ten-year-old who was slipping through the wire and helping himself to what he fancied."

  Angela laughed. “I looked awful at the time. Hung-over, dirty, afraid of being sent back, but Glenn wouldn't let them call the police. Took me to Josefina instead. She was marvelous and I found myself crying in her arms, telling the whole sad story. She spoke to Glenn and everything happened."

  "I went to the authorities, was surprised by her academic record and found a way to use it. They cooperated and Angela proved us all right. Salvatore swore by her, so making her pit boss was a logical step.” Glenn shrugged.

  Lexie nodded. There was a lot left unsaid in the story, but the Bagnelli team was Angela's home and they'd closed ranks around her when she needed it, a demonstration of loyalty that was no accident.

  Joining this group might be worth the price.

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  Chapter 4

  The first down payment came when Glenn returned to the track on the Widow-Maker.

  She helped him into his leathers, the others were busy and it seemed natural, and then fussed over attaching his comms set, making sure the leads were taped in place. Angela switched to the track frequency and spoke into the mike, requesting practice time. She gave a thumbs-up. The authorities were still undecided. The Widow-Maker could take her place on the track.

  Lexie squeezed Glenn's shoulder and mouthed, “Good Luck,” and was rewarded with a smile behind the visor.

  The engine kicked, gave a brief roar and settled down to a steady chuckle as the pit team ran their final checks, each one patting Glenn on the shoulder to signify their satisfaction. A moment of hiatus while Angela reset all the counters and timers to zero, checked the boards and her crew, and then spoke into the mike.

  Lexie couldn't hear the words, but Glenn did and the bike rolled forward and out into the pit lane, the chuckle turning to a rumble. Then he was gone and all eyes turned to the monitor.

  The camera picked him up as he entered the track midway along Gardiner Straight and stayed with him. The Widow-Maker's reputation was known and the Media was ever hungry for blood. They followed him through Turn One and down to the southern loop, his speed building, and Lexie's heart rate keeping pace. Turn Two was an easy left-hander, the radius large enough for Glenn to continue accelerating, other bikes no longer passed him. By Turn Three, he was passing other riders and setting his line for the sharp right-hander of Turn Four. Lexie hunched her shoulders as the gear-changes and deceleration dipped the bike on the front suspension and her fingernails dug into her palms as Turn Four approached. He went round it as on rails, his line as crisp as his gear changes. Turn Five didn't slow him and it was down into Siberia through the sweeping left-hander of Turn Six. Turns Seven, Eight and Nine passed in a blur of speed, the Widow-Maker's acceleration sending him past a string of riders. Then he was cresting the run down into Turn Ten below Lukey Heights and Lexie stopped breathing. He'd nearly fallen here and she knew how deadly this turn could be. It had killed Stewart!

  Another crisp line and he was accelerating up the hill to Turn Eleven.

  Lexie turned away from the monitor and faced the track. He'd negotiated the two dangerous bends and would be passing. Angela turned too, standing at Lexie's shoulder, her hand on the first stopwatch of her clipboard.

  "He's coming,” she warned and the Widow-Maker zipped past at full acceleration. “An easy lap.” Angela passed judgment. “He'll do one more like that before he starts pushing things."

  Lexie rounded on her in disbelief. “He's passing the other riders."

  "It's a quiet time. All the big teams have finished their practice. The bikes are being prepped for the morning and the riders resting. They'll practice hard tomorrow morning.” The pit boss turned back to the monitor. “We've got the cameras to ourselves."

  Lexie followed Angela. “How many laps will he do?"

  "Depends on how the bike feels. At least ten, he's got fuel for twenty and time enough to do a second run."

  Lexie calculated a minimum of fifteen minutes of laps at record times and wondered how she'd survive when one lap had wrung her out to the edge of screaming.

  Thirty minutes later, she acknowledged she was too much a coward for this. She'd managed to watch Glenn through the two warm-up laps, but the first time he really pushed the Widow-Maker into Turn Four, her eyes closed and she had to turn away from the monitor before they would open again. Turning back to the monitor was beyond her. It was all she could do to prevent her hands coming up to cover her ears. The ghoulish anticipation in the commentator's voice sent shudders down her spine! Every lap was an eternity.

  Then Angela's voice signaled the end of Lexie's private hell. “He's coming in. We'll wrap it up for the night. His times put him in the front row provisionally, but we'll have to wait until the qualifying slot Saturday afternoon before we know."

  The pit exploded into activity, the others too had been glued to the monitor. Space was cleared for the Widow-Maker, tools returned to racks and boxes and Angela gave Lexie a towel. “I'll take his helmet and disconnect the comms. He'll need this."

  The Widow-Maker freewheeled the final dozen yards, the engine dead, and came to a halt with Lexie and Angela positioned on either side of the rider. Glenn raised his visor and removed the helmet, allowing Angela to disconnect the comms leads and take it. His hair was plastered against his skull with perspiration, as was the folded bandana around his neck. The mechanics rocked the bike onto its stand an
d Glenn stepped clear, taking the towel from Lexie's hands. She was bustled aside at this point, two of the team unzipping the leathers and stripping Glenn down to tee-shirt and skin-tight lycra riding shorts, all completely sodden.

  "You look like a drowned rat.” The words slipped out and Lexie was surprised to realize they were hers.

  "Hardly flattering, but undoubtedly true. You can drive me back to Cowes as punishment.” Glenn was smiling. When she nodded, he took a towel and his clothes towards the competitors’ showers. “I'll be ten minutes,” he said. “Wait for me in the hospitality tent. Angela will lock up here."

  Angela waited until he left. “Get him two mineral waters with ice,” she said. “He loses a lot of fluid out there."

  Lexie nodded again and left the pit crew to their chores. She was in the way here.

  When Glenn joined her, he was indistinguishable from the flock of smartly dressed parasites who'd wheedled their way into the hospitality tent before the weekend. Tomorrow, Saturday and Sunday, security would be tighter. Thursday was reserved for the repayment of minor favors.

  "Hi,” he said, draining the first mineral water as soon as he sat down. “I needed that. Have you been to a GP meet before?"

  "Once, a Formula One."

  "The bikes don't draw as much money and the crowd's different. More riders who appreciate the finer points.” He was putting her at ease. “Didn't you come here when you were young?"

  "Only for the cars. The Bikies had a bad reputation and I didn't need any help getting into trouble.” She was lying. The track had been a private raceway, used by everyone until Stewart's death had closed it to non-competition use by Islanders.

  He stretched out in the plastic chair, his legs crossed at the ankles, relaxing. “It's a pity the tide's wrong. Cat Bay might be good."

  "Mr. Smallwood?” The interruption came from a man in a track marshal's overalls.

  "I'm Glenn Smallwood.” Glenn straightened in his chair.

  "I was asked to give you this.” The man handed him a thick A4 sized envelope.

  "Thank you,” Glenn said. “Do you need a reply?"

  "Not before morning."

  Glenn drew the papers out far enough to read the top sheet and then pushed them back again. “I'll look at it overnight."

  The man nodded and left.

  "They're asking questions about the provisional approval. This morning's practice must have frightened them.” Glenn was answering her unspoken question and Lexie felt a wash of relief. The authorities would bar the Widow-Maker. Glenn was safe!

  He hid his disappointment well, not even glancing at the envelope as they discussed the waves at Cat Bay and the break at Flynn Reef.

  Glenn finished the second mineral water. “Will you drive me back to Cowes?"

  They walked to the competitor's parking area in the Blue Paddock, past the scrutineering block, and met Toby Gerrard coming the other way. He smiled at Lexie, signaling his approval of her success in solving one of his problems. She ignored him and was thankful Glenn was more interested in one of the bikes on its stand outside the Scrutineers.

  "They're giving the Florelli team a hard time,” he said. “There were some question marks against them in Barcelona."

  Lexie was too relieved at his distraction to ask for details. The promotion manager had gone into the service block, but she'd noted another familiar figure working with the garbage contractor. Harry Doherty's father had worked fast.

  "What time would you like me to pick you up in the morning?” It was the first thing that came into her mind. “They encourage us to act as drivers."

  "Do they pay extra?” Glenn was amused and Lexie flushed. She'd not intended it to come out the way it did. She started to apologize, but he stopped her. “I've been here before. I know how the system works. Your boss sent you to me because he believed you were the best and that I was going to be difficult after Harry Doherty. I'm very flattered, but I see Harry's got another job already."

  Lexie laughed in relief. “I should have guessed,” she said. “You don't miss much."

  "It's been my life for almost ten years.” This time she caught the wistfulness for something different.

  "You're ready for a change?” They'd reached the station wagon and she looked at him across the roof.

  "Yes,” he said, operating the remote locking and entering the car on the passenger's side.

  Lexie slid into the driver's seat and took the keys. “Have you anything in mind?"

  "When Salvatore goes, the racing team will follow him. I'll be forced to change direction and I haven't found anything yet.” Glenn shrugged. “It was always on the horizon, but I got used to ignoring it. I won't be able to for much longer. A grand finish might help.” His sidelong glance was wicked. She'd forgotten his sense of mischief, and how acutely he observed everything around him.

  "So, it's not entirely for Salvatore."

  "Not entirely."

  She started the engine. “They've got people at gate 3A,” she said. “It puts us on Gap Road and is the quickest way."

  He nodded and she drove past the service bays and the media centre and was cutting around the lake when she spoke again. “You came close to falling this morning.” She gestured towards the Turn Ten. “Is it worth it?"

  "We'd increased the response too much.” He didn't answer her question and she sensed he wouldn't, no matter how hard she pushed. She changed the subject. “Have you seen all the tourist attractions?"

  "Most of them, I think.” He sounded grateful. “It's a pity the development stopped at Seal Rocks. It was very ambitious."

  "Too ambitious.” She gave an Islander's response. “It would have spoilt the place and they wouldn't listen to the people who knew better and paid the price."

  Glenn's silence drew her attention and she glanced away from the road to see him smiling at her. “Once an Islander, always an Islander,” she said, acknowledging his amusement. “I suppose it's carved into your soul at birth."

  "I don't think you need to apologize,” he said. “It's a beautiful spot. I look forward to the Australian GP because it brings me here."

  "I couldn't get away quick enough. Becoming a boarder at MLC was the best thing that happened to me. The four years at Bendigo were bliss. I went to London rather than return."

  "Were you escaping, or running away?"

  She flashed him a smile. “I've debated that question with myself once or twice."

  "Unsuccessfully, by the tone of your voice.” He was smiling too. “We all have similar questions. Mine is why I gave up riding. I'll never know whether it was fear, or the realization I wasn't good enough to match it with the best."

  Lexie's next question was pure impulse. “What are your plans for tonight?” she asked; her plans to keep Glenn Smallwood at a distance forgotten as she responded to his openness.

  "Nothing much.” He was looking at her, one eyebrow cocked.

  "We're holding open house, an informal get-together before the party tomorrow night. I can guarantee the food, but you'll have to put up with the Douglas clan en masse."

  "Am I at risk?” Glenn's grin had more to do with the implications of the invitation than any imagined hazard.

  "We gave up cannibalism a few years ago."

  "I'd be delighted."

  Lexie nodded, a flurry of traffic demanding her attention as she negotiated the town centre and turned right into the Esplanade.

  "Pick you up at seven in the lobby?” They'd reached his parking spot at the Continental.

  He was smiling at her, amused by some private thought. “I think I can find my way to the Douglas house,” he said. “I can see it from the back stairwell. I'll be there at seven."

  Lexie nodded, switched off the engine and handed him the keys before stepping out of the car. “I'll see you then,” she said and walked away before he could delay her.

  The invitation had been a mistake! She'd ignored the dictates of common sense and responded to an impulse, gulled once more by Glenn's abi
lity to slip inside her defenses. Instinct kept her walking until the corner took her out of sight, but no further. A low stone fence beckoned and she collapsed on its broad top, her knees giving way at the last instant so she sat more heavily than was comfortable.

  "What have I done?” she addressed the world in general, but it gave no answer.

  Had Billy, Stewart and Charles taught her nothing? Glenn's revelation of his fear had illuminated his actions, allowing Lexie to see him for the first time, but it was no excuse. She'd been down this road before. A witches’ brew threatened her sanity. Glenn had drawn her in and she needed him to want her as badly.

  What was she going to do?

  "Hi, Kiddo. Need a lift?” It was Tommy. “You look beat. Bad day?"

  He was alone, which was fortunate. Lexie couldn't have faced anyone at this moment. She nodded and walked to the passenger door of the timber yard pick-up. “Take me home,” she said. “I need a long shower before the others arrive."

  Tommy waited until she was settled and made a u-turn back towards the Douglas home. “Bringing anyone tonight?” he asked. “The bloke from last night, perhaps?"

  "Yes.” Lexie didn't feel capable of expanding her answer and was thankful when Tommy nodded without comment.

  No one saw them arrive and she could slip into her suite of rooms without having to face her mother, pausing only to wave farewell to Tommy as he drove away. She showered, spending time under the stream of water, and then sat on the window seat wrapped in a towel. She could see the roofline of the Continental, something she'd never noticed before.

  Glenn's revelation was no accident. He'd been reaching out to her, sharing something personal to both to give comfort and bring her closer. He was moving beyond casual flirtation.

  Why?

  Without the answer to that question, Lexie dared go no further ... yet she feared it was already too late.

  The distant chiming of the grandfather clock in the hallway reminded her of the time. Tonight's meal was a buffet so an extra guest was no problem, but courtesy demanded she tell her mother Glenn was coming before she dressed. Her father always stopped at the RSL on his way home Thursday night so Lexie felt safe in the towel.