Hot Seat

by Simon Wood

  Rags’ bear-with-a-sore-head routine gave me the excuse to put some distance between the team and me. Dylan caught me before I went in search of Whelan.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ he asked.

  ‘No, this’ll go better as a one-on-one. Just keep your ears and eyes open. Call me if anything interesting happens.’

  ‘You got it.’

  I combed the paddock for Whelan’s team. Since leaving Ragged Racing, he’d flitted between various sports-car championships. He’d done a couple of seasons in sports prototypes, but for the last season, he’d taken part in the Porsche Cup. The Porsche teams were corralled in the paddock next to a stadium. I caught Whelan as he was walking out of the team trailer.

  ‘Mr Whelan, could I speak to you for a minute?’

  He eyed me for a moment, but the racing overalls told him I wasn’t an over-eager fan in need of an autograph. He put out a hand and I shook it.

  ‘I’m Aidy Westlake.’

  He tapped the name embroidered into my racesuit. ‘I know who you are. I hear good things about you, and a few bad.’

  He said this last part without malice. I wondered what paddock gossip had attached itself to my name.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’d like your advice. It has to do with Ragged Racing.’

  Whelan pursed his lips and scratched under his chin. ‘I was going to get something to eat. Why don’t we have a bite together?’

  ‘I think we should talk in private.’

  ‘You’re probably right. Let’s take a walk.’

  We circled around to the far side of the stadium away from the throng surrounding the pits. It was a dry, overcast day. Without transporters, lorries and awnings acting as a barrier, the wind cut across the paddock. I felt my body temperature drop a couple of degrees.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ Whelan asked.

  ‘I wanted to ask you about your experiences with Ragged Racing.’

  ‘Having problems?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Kurt Haulk is your teammate. I’m sure he can be of more help than I can.’

  ‘It’s kind of delicate and not something I can discuss with anyone at Ragged.’

  ‘You’ve intrigued me now, so ask away.’

  If I was wrong about the reasons why Whelan left Ragged, I couldn’t afford to expose what I knew and risk tipping Rags off. I needed to ask a question that would touch a nerve in Whelan and I thought I had one.

  ‘You gave Rags his first championship title, but instead of defending your title, you left. Why?’

  I caught Whelan’s flinch. It was a small reaction – just a hunching of his shoulders. It could be explained away by the biting wind, but only if you believed in fairytales.

  ‘No mystery to that. I signed a one-year lucrative deal to drive for him. It was somewhat of a gamble for both of us at the time. Rags was small-time back then, but I saw something in what he was doing with the cars. He thought bringing in a name driver would attract sponsors and I saw that he was giving me the potential to win a title.’

  That all sounded reasonable enough, but I didn’t believe a word of it. ‘You two proved you were a good combination. Why leave?’

  ‘Better opportunities.’

  More bullshit. ‘So you call driving Corvettes in the American Le Mans series a better opportunity? Kilgore Motorsport was a three-wheel team at best, barely able to finish a lap let alone a race. I also find it interesting that you put an ocean between you and Rags.’

  Whelan grabbed my arm, jerking me back. ‘Watch your mouth. If you’ve got something to ask, I suggest you do it. If not, I’m hungry.’

  ‘What you did doesn’t make sense. Just tell me why you left the team.’

  ‘I get the feeling you already know. So why don’t you tell me why I left the team?’

  ‘I’d say it had something to do with how Rags financed it.’

  ‘Shit,’ Whelan murmured, more to himself than to me. ‘Is it happening again?’

  ‘Is what happening again?’

  ‘Aidy, don’t piss me around. I’m trying to help you out.’

  I held up my hands. ‘OK, I’m sorry. Rags was paying for the team with money he borrowed from a loan shark, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah. He was. I didn’t know when I signed on. I wouldn’t have joined the team if I had, regardless of how the good the cars were. I thought he was burning through his own money because he didn’t have any sponsors. It became obvious about halfway through the season where it was coming from. By the end of the season, these heavy types were hanging around. One time, I walked in on these two blokes holding Rags down and slicing through his arm with a knife. After that, I wanted out, but those guys and Rags convinced me to stick around until the end of the season. It’s the only time I’ve been truly scared in all the years I’ve been racing. Is Rags on the hook with those people again?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, but I think he’s into something else. Beyond the loan sharks, did you ever see anything else going on?’

  ‘Like what?’

  I didn’t want to tip my hand here. I couldn’t tell him about the drug running. ‘I don’t know. I’m wondering if he’s moving stolen parts or something. I don’t really know, but it’s kind of spooking me.’

  ‘I don’t know about stolen goods or anything. I just saw the loan sharks, but once you dig yourself a hole like that, you’ll do business with anyone who’ll throw you a lifeline.’

  Wasn’t that the truth. ‘Did anyone else know what was going on?’

  ‘Not sure. I got the feeling that Rags kept the cupboard locked on that skeleton, but I’m guessing some of the crew twigged that something wasn’t on the up and up. If you’re looking for a friend within the team to talk to, I suggest you have a quiet word with Barry Nevin. He’s close with Rags. If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s Barry. I hope that helps.’

  ‘It does. Thanks.’

  I shook Whelan’s hand. He didn’t release his grip.

  ‘If I can give you a piece of advice: find another drive.’

  At the best of times, changing drives was never an easy prospect. It was up there with tigers changing their stripes. Between my commitments to Gates, Barrington, Townsend and Pit Lane magazine, I was shackled to Rags.

  ‘I’m only two races into the season.’

  ‘I know there’s a lot of politics tying you to this drive,’ Whelan said, ‘but junk it and find another.’

  Whelan didn’t know half the story. It was too late for that. ‘I’m not sure I can do that.’

  ‘Unless someone is holding a gun to your head, you have a choice.’

  How about a knife? ‘I appreciate the advice, but I can’t.’

  ‘Look, I’ll make it easier for you. Let me tap up some contacts. If I can find you a drive elsewhere, will you take it? I’m serious, so I need a concrete commitment right now.’

  Whelan intensified his grip on my hand to underline his point. I appreciated his offer more than he’d ever know. And if I proved Rags was mixed up in drug trafficking, there’d be no Ragged Racing to return to. Sometimes the lifeline people held out to you wasn’t greased.

  ‘You’ve got a deal.’

  Whelan smiled. ‘Good. Now get lost. I’ll be in touch.’

  I thought I should put an appearance in with the team and returned to the ESCC paddock next to the lake. I cut between the various team transporters and hadn’t reached our area when I heard Rags saying my name. At first, I thought he was calling me, but I found him entrenched in conversation with Chloe Mercer. She had a guest ride in the Porsche Cup. I kept back. I wanted to hear this.

  ‘You know he doesn’t deserve the drive,’ Chloe said.

  ‘I won’t say that. He’s adapting well, but he does come with a little too much baggage.’

  Don’t kill yourself defending me, Rags.

  ‘You mean he’s a bloody liability.’

  Chloe wasn’t pulling her punches.

 
‘Yes, he has the potential for that. That’s why I called you. The question is, can you take over for him? You’ve bitched about him, but when I offered you his drive, you hesitated. I need a commitment. So what’s it to be?’

  Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe Rags had been plotting behind my back to replace me. I knew events had conspired against me, but I couldn’t believe he was willing to cut me loose after just two rounds. Let’s see if they’d say it to my face.

  As I took a step forward, a hand grabbed my arm. It was Claudia. She shook her head and put her finger to her lips.

  I tried to shrug her off, but she tightened her grip and pulled me away. She led me into the thick of the paddock away from the other ESCC teams.

  ‘Rags is talking about replacing me.’

  ‘I know. I ’eard a rumour. I was looking for you so I could warn you. You can’t let that ’appen. We need you as part of the team.’

  ‘Thanks for the support. How about you don’t deserve to lose your drive, Aidy.’

  ‘Sorry. You’re right. This isn’t fair, but I’m relying on you. You ’ave to do something to save your drive and the operation.’

  ‘I feel like slamming the car into the first crash barrier I see.’

  ‘Aidy, please.’

  ‘OK, OK, OK.’ Claudia had done me a favour. I was over the shock. I was pissed off, but I wasn’t cruising to torpedo my drive.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘Make it impossible for Rags to ditch me.’

  Three hours later, I was on the track on the third row of the grid for the race. Four cars sat ahead of me, but far more sat behind me. It was easier to lose my position than improve on it.

  Rags’ side deal still ate away at me, but I wasn’t about to let it get to me. I turned to the only piece of racing advice my dad had ever given me. He made it to one of my races before he died. I was eight. It was a go-kart race in some junior league at an outdoor track in Kent. Dad had wanted me to follow in his tyre tracks and entered me in the league. I qualified twelfth out of sixteen and I was disappointed. On the grid for the race, Dad knelt alongside me with Steve. My head was down because I knew there was no way I could win from all the way down in twelfth. I didn’t see much point in taking part. Dad had picked up on my disappointment. He leaned in and gave me the best piece of advice anyone had ever given me.

  ‘Now that might look like a lot of helmets between you and first place, but you can’t beat them all at once. You just have to take them down one at a time. Focus on the guy on front of you, overtake him then move on to the next. Before you know it, you’ll be in front.’

  I’d incorporated that approach into every race since. Today, just four helmets were between me and success.

  ‘OK, Aidy, I’m looking for a good performance,’ Nevin said. ‘Talk to me. How are you feeling?’

  I wasn’t in the mood to communicate with my so-called team, so I tugged the jack from my headset. ‘I’m feeling angry.’

  The lights went from red to green and I used what my dad had taught me. I took down the helmets in front of me one at a time and won my first race.

  ‘Fire me now, Rags,’ I said to myself as I took the chequered flag.

  Lap Twenty-Nine

  Steve and I waited for Dylan’s call in Steve’s Capri parked a mile from Ragged Racing’s workshop. He called just after nine p.m. to give us the all clear. Finally, we were going to prove Townsend’s car tampering claims right or wrong. It was Wednesday night and my first crack at the team cars since the Norisring race at the weekend. The team hadn’t got back from Germany until today.

  The moment we turned on to the street, the workshop door rolled up. A cone of light pushed back the night, shining a light on tonight’s risky activity. Steve drove the car straight into the workshop and Dylan brought the door down.

  We had to work fast now. Steve and I climbed from the car. Dylan opened the boot and pulled out toolboxes and equipment. I grabbed the spec drawings I’d gotten from Townsend.

  ‘You sure no one’s coming back?’ I asked Dylan.

  ‘As sure as I can be. When these guys pack up for the day, they don’t return. In the last week, only Nevin’s come back. He just dropped by once to see how I was doing, but he hasn’t been back since.’

  That was about as risk free as tonight’s adventure was going to get.

  ‘Does anyone suspect you?’

  Dylan grinned and flung his arms wide. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? I’m the flavour of the month. They love me here.’

  The plan had worked. Dylan’s role was to play the over-eager apprentice. In an effort to suck up knowledge, he’d asked to stay late so he could get the jump on the next day. Nevin had warmed to Dylan’s enthusiasm and assigned him tasks to do after hours. Dylan had been working until nine on a regular basis for over a week now.

  ‘They haven’t seen anyone as dedicated as me since Jason,’ Dylan said.

  The significance of what Dylan had said hit us all hard and Dylan’s grin withered.

  ‘How do you want to do this, Steve?’

  ‘A quick metallurgy test,’ he said and produced a magnet.

  I immediately got it and I smiled at my grandfather’s simple brilliance, but Dylan looked confused.

  Steve went up to Haulk’s car and put the magnet next to the door panel, where it stuck tight. If Rags had wanted to lighten the cars, getting the bodywork reproduced in aluminium would be a great way of doing it. Once the paint was on, who’d know the difference?

  ‘You wily old git,’ Dylan said.

  ‘Wily, yes. Old, no.’

  Steve brought out a couple of other magnets and tossed them to Dylan and me. We ran them over every body panel on both cars. Everything that was supposed to be steel was steel. Round one went to Rags.

  ‘OK, it’s time to get out our measuring sticks,’ Steve said. ‘Aidy, put a car on the lift.’

  I fired up my racecar and manoeuvred it on to a hydraulic lift and raised it up. It wouldn’t be hard to manufacture wishbones that gave the car a couple of inches more width. It might not seem like much, but motor racing is a sport of degrees. A slight edge is all that’s needed to get ahead and stay there. If Rags had made a couple of illegal tweaks that gained his cars half a second a lap, that would equate to fifteen seconds over a thirty lap sprint race. Depending on lap speeds, a fifteen-second lead could work out to be between a quarter to a half-mile lead. That’s quite a cushion to have during a race. We measured the track, the wheelbase and the location of the suspension pickups. Everything conformed with the measurements on the design drawings. The story was the same with Haulk’s car.

  ‘Rags is playing it straight,’ Dylan said.

  ‘So far, he is,’ Steve corrected. ‘Now for the big test: let’s check their power.’

  You could make a car go faster a million different ways, but the number one method was to add more power. Things in the ESCC were very controlled. To keep the racing close, the engines were limited to three hundred brake horsepower and were sealed with a metal tab to prevent tampering. If someone removed the cylinder head, they’d have to break the seal. ESCC scruntineers inspected the seals before and after each race. It was as foolproof a system as humanly possible, but the human element was always the weakest link. If Rags had bribed or coerced the right people, he could get his hands on his own supply of ESCC seals and replace them at will. For what it was worth, I checked the ESCC seals and they showed no signs of tampering.

  I brought Haulk’s car around to the rolling road in the workshop. A rolling road is like a treadmill for cars. The driving wheels drop on to a set of rollers so the car can drive as fast as necessary and not travel an inch. In the meantime, a computer records everything from its speed and power output to its star sign. Steve and Dylan removed the plates covering the rollers and I dropped the car into place. I waited while Steve hooked the engine up to the computer and Dylan hooked an extraction hose to the exhaust. When Steve flashed me a thumbs-up, I pressed down on th
e accelerator. The car climbed up the rollers as its front wheels spun faster and faster. The whine of the engine was deafening in the enclosed workshop. Unfortunately, we weren’t in a position to open the doors to let the sound out.

  ‘More gas,’ Steve said and I pressed down on the accelerator even harder.

  It was disconcerting to see the digital readout in front of me state I was travelling at the equivalent of a hundred miles an hour while the car was stationary. If the car jumped out of the rollers, it would fly straight into the brick wall in front of me.

  Steve waved his hand under his chin in a throat-cutting gesture. ‘Kill it and bring me the other one.’

  The result after two nerve-racking runs on the rolling road was that both cars produced the regulation three hundred break horsepower.

  ‘It appears that Russell Townsend is talking a lot of bollocks,’ Dylan said.

  I was finding it hard to disagree. Townsend’s belief that Rags was cheating was turning out to be nothing more than sour grapes. I’d already had my fill of that with Chloe Mercer bitching about my unworthiness.

  Our discoveries pleased me, because Ragged wasn’t cheating, but the downside of the cars being straight was that I didn’t have a motive for Jason’s murder.

  ‘So far, we’ve just eliminated the obvious,’ Steve said. ‘Now it’s time to see if Rags has indulged in some creative thinking.’

  We spent the next hour examining the cars, checking everything against the design specifications and championship regulations. The cars checked out in every respect. They were straight.

  ‘Er, I think we’ve got a problem,’ Dylan said.

  He had Haulk’s car up on Steve’s portable scales.

  ‘This car is heavy.’

  ‘How heavy?’ Steve said.

  ‘Close to forty kilos heavy.’

  I was expecting an underweight car, not an overweight one. ‘That can’t be right.’

  ‘Come double-check it.’

  Steve and I helped Dylan reweigh the car. He was right. Haulk’s car was forty-one kilos heavier than it should be. We weighed mine and found it to be thirty-eight kilos overweight.

  ‘Are we living in Bizarro world where heavier cars go faster than light ones?’ Dylan asked.