Trading Paint

by Shey Stahl

  These two always cracked me up when they talked set-ups. Tommy listened intently and dad, well, he was in heaven.

  I understood set-ups and could manage on my own but I also knew to concentrate on racing. I needed to focus on that alone. I learned from Jimi with that outlook.

  He was a one-man team until he got big sponsorship and now he just showed up to race. That’s what he was paid to do and it was easier on him in many ways. It still didn’t stop him from helping us but he had a good group of guys working on his cars and in turn, they helped us.

  Dodge City is a 3/8 mile dirt track that was tacky and just the way I liked it. Then right in the middle of the damn feature, it would turn into a tire-shredding monster.

  Dad was also racing tonight since it was a regular scheduled point race for the World of Outlaws, which meant mom tagged along to see us. Originally, I wasn’t supposed to be here but since that asshole USAC official, I wouldn’t be able to compete until the division was in Bloomington. This left me in one of dad’s 410 cars for the next two days. It was fine with me for the most part—I love sprints. Although I was a little irritated with what this would mean for my chances at the Triple Crown.

  Half way through the heats, it was as though I was playing ringleader to these assholes, the assholes being my family and friends. I stood there next to my hauler leaning against a set of tires looking over my tire pressures Tommy had jotted down for me earlier and wondering if I could make any changes before the feature.

  Kansas was not the place for us, entirely too boring which meant my crew turned to drinking. Once we got to the race that night, I seemed to be the only sober one as I never drank until after the race.

  Thankfully, Spencer and Tommy could still function enough to help me with the car. Emma and Sway were another story. I also wasn’t happy about Emma drinking this much. For one, she was sixteen and two; I despised a drunk Emma even more than I did when she was sober. Hard to believe I know.

  I insisted Spencer and Tommy stop drinking when I cut a tire down after the first heat and it took them a good fifteen minutes to change it.

  Spencer dropped down in the chair beside me.

  “I can’t believe I got sober for this shit.” He didn’t seem amused that Alley was now giving him shit about being drunk most of this week.

  Not much later when I was getting ready for the feature event, I caught a glimpse of Sway and was somewhat concerned.

  “Uh, what are you doing?” I asked alarmed she was holding a hammer.

  “That asshole shot me with a staple gun!” she wailed holding her thigh and pointing to Tommy. Her thigh was in fact bleeding.

  I turned toward Tommy. “Where the fuck did you find a staple gun?”

  He shrugged moving me in front of him as a shield.

  “Does it matter?” he asked frantically tugging at my racing suit.

  “Apparently it does,” I gestured to Sway. “She’s about to kill you.” I told him laughing and moved out of the way.

  By the looks of Tommy sprinting through the pits with Sway hot on his ass, I was on my own for the set-up during the next race. There was never a dull moment when Tommy and Sway were at it.

  Dad caught me when the horn sounded for the drivers to get to their cars.

  “Hey,” he greeted with a smile. He’d been in non-stop hospitality events since he arrived. “How’d ya do in your heat?”

  “Second,” I told him.

  “Did Tommy set back the timing? It’s changing out there.” He looked over his shoulder at the track.

  You could see the black shinny spots forming on the front-stretch which meant the track was drying out and resembled asphalt.

  When the track turned black like that, the surface had become hard with very little loose material. The moisture evaporated off the first inch of dirt creating less grip. When that happened, you wanted a softer setup while the track was in that phase reversing the split in the front springs. You could move the weight up to the right of your car and that provided you with more bite where you needed it.

  “You should soften the right rear sprint too. It will help.”

  I nodded. “I think Tommy and Rick did...but Tommy was also being chased with a hammer so...” I shrugged. “He might have forgotten.”

  “A hammer; like an actual hammer?”

  “Yes—a hammer,”

  “By who?”

  “Sway,”

  He smiled and reached inside my car to check the ignition timing. Sure enough, Tommy had.

  “Well, good luck kid. Hope you get a good finish.” He patted my shoulder; his chin came up arrogantly as he smiled.

  “You mean, I hope you finish but behind me?” I laughed sliding into my car.

  “Something like that.”

  Just when you think that you have a handle on the ways of racing and you begin to think to yourself, “Hey, I can do this.” You race with Jimi Riley, the King of the World of Outlaws and he quickly shows you that you know nothing.

  He had been racing in this series for twenty years and some seventeen-year old kid wasn’t going to pull one over on him more than once. I was able to in Bloomington when I was fourteen but I knew I’d need to up my game if I thought I could tonight.

  I know I’ve said this before but sprint cars are violent cars. It takes extreme technique and throttle control to get these beasts to maneuver the way you want and one slip and it is over. But in the same sense, you push the car to the edge of control where they hover on out of control and that’s where they will handle the best.

  Ten laps into the A-Feature and the track turned into that tire-shredding monster I talked about.

  There were more cautions thrown that night than in any other race I’d been in and you couldn’t see shit, just a dirt cloud.

  Shey Evans flipped on the backstretch and took out five other cars. A rookie in the series, Dale Weeks, blew a tire and ended up in the guardrail after collecting Justin West, and me, in the same corner. The feature event was taken by the only driver who finished...Jimi Riley.

  “What’s the matter...couldn’t stay out of the guardrail?” dad teased when I tossed my broken top wing inside the hauler.

  He kissed his trophy just to rub it in some more.

  I just smiled and hung my head.

  So far, this was turning out to be the summer from hell.

  I couldn’t catch a break for anything.

  I sulked by myself in the trailer for a good thirty minutes before I heard Spencer stick his head inside, “Hey dipshit, let’s go. Mom and dad want to take us to dinner.”

  Jumping up, I followed. There were two things that would improve my mood right now, food and well, sex. Since I wasn’t getting any sex, I decided food would do.

  Sway sat beside me. I jammed my foot pretty good when I smashed into the guardrail so she felt the need to constantly ask me if it was okay. It was annoying but I tolerated it only because it was her.

  We also usually shared food so it was easier to sit next to each other anyway.

  I groaned when she wasn’t quick enough to take the foods I didn’t like.

  “Take the carrots before they mix with the others.”

  I hated carrots so Sway usually took the liberty of eating them for me. She detested tomatoes so I retrieved those while she took the last remaining carrots from my plate.

  Dad watched in humor from across the table. “You two are something else.” He mused taking a drink of his whiskey.

  Never failed, dad always had whiskey around. I wouldn’t say he was an alcoholic but he was surely borderline by some standards.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked pushing the cucumbers toward Sway’s plate.

  “You two...” he motioned with a head nod at Sway and I. “Do you ever eat a meal without eating from each other’s plates?”

  Now that I thought about it, no, we didn’t. That was just us.

  Sway giggled picking at my plate.

  I ordered a steak with steamed vegetables and w
ild rice to start, then, I had a milkshake, most of Sway’s fries, four glasses of water and well, half of Sway’s hamburger and half of her milkshake. She had a huge eye for food but could never eat everything she wanted. I wasn’t even sure she was a hundred pounds; she was a tiny girl, not as tiny as Emma but small for her height. Emma was just a human version of an umpa lumpa and still couldn’t ride on the rides at Disney World.

  “Do you guys have enough money for hotels?” Mom asked shuffling money at us. Spencer grabbed the money while I pushed it back toward her.

  “Yes mom, we have plenty.”

  We didn’t but I was tired of my parents funding everything. I didn’t feel the need to tell her that half the time we were sleeping in the truck but she’d probably have a heart attack if she knew that. I glared in Spencer’s direction when he told them we stayed in the truck a few nights to save money to buy a new set of tires.

  Feeling full and having Sway next to me, I felt comfortable and sated. In the booth we were in, she was right against my side, our bodies touching. Feeling every intake of breath she took. My arm was thrown around her pulling her even closer. Every so often I would lean down and whisper something in her ear, usually making fun of Spencer or Emma. She would giggle.

  This went on for probably an hour, chatting with my parents and keeping Sway close to me before a few girls that didn’t look much older than me approached our table holding a picture of Jimi.

  “Hey Jimi,” a tall blonde said to my dad as she placed her hand softly on his shoulder.

  His head whipped around to find the girl leaning against his chair. My mom, always the optimist, smiled at the girls. I’d seen those looks before. They wanted more than talking.

  “Hey girls, what can I do for you?” he asked shaking their hands when they held them out for him and introduced themselves.

  “Well I’m Cassie and this is my friend Alyssa.” Cassie smiled again at dad. I admit that she was pretty but not something I would ever look at twice. “We were wondering if we could get an autograph from you...and your son Jameson. Maybe a picture too?”

  This surprised me for two reasons. They had yet to look my direction and they knew who I was.

  Clearing my throat, I nodded when Cassie arched an eyebrow at me.

  I felt Sway’s body tense when I untangled myself from her to stand.

  Dad and I took a few pictures with the girls and in the end; they stuffed their numbers in our back pockets before disappearing toward the bar.

  Dad reached into his pocket and threw the number on the table.

  “They were bold.” He said tucking mom into his side and kissing her forehead.

  I knew this wasn’t the first time this happened to him. Jim Riley was the king of sprint car racing. Not only was he a king of spring car racing but with piercing blue eyes and black messy hair, he had looks going for him, so I’ve been told. My mom never paid a mind to it though. She always smiled and looked the other way as if it wasn’t happening. Don’t get me wrong. He had never once acted on the advances that I knew about and I doubted he ever would. Mom was it for him. I watched for years the way his eyes light up each time he saw her and the way she grinned like a schoolgirl every time he whispered in her ear. After twenty-two years of marriage, they were still madly in love. Seeing that type of devoted love made me hope one day I’d find that but I also knew my love for racing overstepped that.

  I wasn’t looking for love. I was looking to make a name for myself that didn’t include being Jimi Riley’s kid.

  When I started the summer my dad provided us with five sprint cars and deposited money in our accounts but we still had to work within a budget. Racing is not cheap.

  Cars were upward of forty grand each and when shit breaks, it’s expensive.

  Knock off a wing like I did in Williams Grove, that was $600. Front shock in Terre Haute was $900. An engine after the race at River Cities Speedway was $10,000. A broken left front axle at Columbus was $200. And a driveline after Eldora was $1500. I kept waiting for the priceless part like the commercials but it never came.

  As you can see, racing couldn’t be done without sponsorship. For me, sponsorship didn’t even cover all that shit.

  By the time August rolled around that summer, it was apparent a change needed to occur. Either that or I was done racing sprint cars and needed to find a job to support my racing hobby. I couldn’t rely on my dad’s financial support forever and I didn’t want to. I hated that he was even paying for as much as he did.

  I was still racing in the USAC divisions for Bowman Oil and Bucky but that wasn’t enough. To get to where I wanted to be, I needed as much experience as I could get.

  Funny thing was I didn’t know where I was heading. I knew I wanted to compete for the Triple Crown this year but next year, I hadn’t given much thought to it.

  Again, I just wanted to race.

  Open wheel guys usually go one of three ways. Indy, IRL, or NASCAR.

  Being an open wheel guy, Indy appealed to me but I was curious about those stock cars. I liked racing the outlaw late models so I thought for sure I’d like those stock cars as well. Although I’d never raced them on asphalt yet.

  After Knoxville Nationals in early August, I was heading to Grain Valley, Missouri to race in a USAC Silver crown race there on Saturday afternoon.

  So far, I was fourth in the USAC Sprint points, second in the Silver Crown and first in the midget series...this meant that overall in the National Triple Crown points I was third behind Justin West and Tyler Sprague.

  I was confident going into Grain Valley and that was exactly the mentality I needed to win there, and I did.

  The following week I raced in Sun Prairie. I won both the midget and sprint race. It seemed that even though I was destroying a lot of cars, I was beginning to win. This was a good thing because I needed the money to pay for all that shit I broke.

  Sleeping in my truck was getting old fast. I was at my wits end with my sister and Alley constantly bitching at me and I frequently found myself offering Sway my sweatshirt so she’d cover up. It was going on six months since I had sex and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go.

  After the race in Sun Prairie, all of us, including Tommy who had been traveling more often with us, headed out for a night on the town. It had been a while since we had let loose since I raced sixteen days in July and already thirteen in August and we still have another week to go.

  “What is that smell? Roll up the damn windows!” I barked plugging my nose as we rolled through the farm town.

  It smelled like shit at the track and it smelled like shit at the hotel, so naturally, it smelled like shit at the bars.

  “It’s shit, I think.” Sway said rolling up her window as we pulled up to a bar.

  “I’m not going in there.” Emma announced.

  “Good,” I replied sarcastically. Emma kicked at me from her place on Sway’s lap. “Kick me again and I will throw you out of this goddamn truck.” I warned not looking at her but checking my emails on my phone. I had three revisions to my schedule that Nicole from Bowman Oil sent me. They had me racing in LaSalle and Terre Haute on the same day...I was sure that wasn’t going to work unless I could be in Ohio and Illinois at the same time.

  “Can we even get in there?” Sway asked pointing toward the Canary Grill we sat in front of.

  “It’s Sun Prairie Wisconsin. I doubt they check ID’s.” Spencer said from the front seat. He sighed looking at the bar. He looked defeated. “Let’s pray they don’t.”

  After four speeding tickets in two weeks, I was no longer allowed to drive. My license was suspended. Bullshit if you asked me but I wasn’t about to argue with the cop who pulled me over for doing 110 in a 45.

  I think I got off good considering he could have thrown me in jail for that one.

  No one was making any attempt at getting out so I did. I for one was tired of being cooped up in a car with these assholes and needed to get away. I didn’t think this bar would sell us any alcoh
ol but when I walked in there was a large USAC calendar on the wall. I had never used my connections for anything so far but right then I did. I don’t believe in using your popularity or who you know to get anything in life but there are times when this will work for your benefit. When you’re eighteen, in a bar, and surrounded by your annoying family, you’d use your connections to get alcohol any way you could.

  “Can I help you honey?” an older woman behind the bar asked. Her skin looked like leather and judging by the numerous tattoos covering her body, I doubt she cared what her skin looked like. Her voice was rough, marred by the years of smoking I’m sure.

  Spencer and Tommy walked up behind me.

  “Hey Jameson,” Spencer pushed against my shoulder with his. “Sway said to tell you that she’d find you later. She and Alley went across the street.”

  “For what?” I turned to ask him. I did not like the sounds of that.

  What in the hell could she need across the street?

  “Hell I don’t know, they said they’d be back.” Spencer replied holding his hands defensively near his face. “Emma went with them.”

  “Calm down Riley,” Tommy said throwing his lanky arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get drunk.”

  “Riley?” a younger version of the leathered woman asked. She too was just as rugged but probably twenty years younger. “As in the USAC driver?”

  Spencer pushed me toward the bar and I hit the edge with a huff and tripped over a few stools in the process. Graceful right?

  “Thanks asshole.” I muttered at Spencer before flashing the girls a smile and finding my footing. “Yes, I’m Jameson Riley.” I held my hand out to them.

  They shook it and the alcohol flowed from there.

  The younger leathered girl was flirty and I had a few drinks by then so I flirted back. Sway walked in just about the time, Tessa, the leathered tattooed girl was showing me a tattoo of a dragon on the inside of her upper thigh. By now, she was sitting on my lap while I downed my fourth jack and coke.