Hot Seat (24 page)

‘I was never here, right?' I called after him.

‘Never seen you before, mate. Just like the other bloke.'

I watched him disappear inside the house before I turned back to Rudolph's Repair. Carrie was right about one thing – why would Rags bring his cars to this dump when he had a modern workshop? The answer was he wouldn't, unless he had something to hide. Maybe Rags was cheating after all. I would have loved to have gotten some alone time with the cars, but they were leaving for Germany in the morning.

T
he ESCC was a support race at Germany's Norisring with the German Touring Car Masters as the feature. It was going to take the team two days to drive over there. I flew in to meet the team for the race on Friday. I was excited for this race since I'd never raced on a street circuit before. After the complexity of Spa, the Norisring is a relatively simple eight-turn lap around the streets of Nuremberg. For a street circuit, it's fast with plenty of overtaking opportunities. What makes the race notable in an odd way is that it takes place on what's left of the former Nazi party rally grounds.

Mike Whelan was here and I needed to speak to him, so I'd scoped out his team's location in the paddock. But as much as I needed to talk to him, I had my race to focus on, so I stuck close to my team during morning qualifying on Saturday. The team did well. I claimed fifth on the grid, while Haulk grabbed second place. A G-Tek BMW 3-Series claimed pole position, pipping Haulk by three one-hundredths of a second. The Townsend Motorsport Accords split Haulk and me. Naturally, Rags had wanted us to claim the front row and let us know about it in no uncertain terms. I wasn't sure what needled him more, the fact that the German BMW team had taken pole or that Russell Townsend's cars were matching our times. I wasn't particularly bothered. I always drove better in the race than I did in qualifying.

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.

S
teve 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.'