Sweet Carolina (19 page)

“You did, didn't you?” Dell waved his
half-brother to his least favorite of the matching leather-covered
recliners in the room. “What does that say about you?”

Warner took the indicated seat and settled
in. “Point taken.” He worked the lever on the side, raising the
footrest. “I'm here. What do you want?”

“I don't know, exactly. I just thought we
should talk.”

“Feeling mortal, Dell? That was a nasty
wreck.”

“It makes a man think.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only
by the sound of aluminum popping as they drank. Dell finished his
beer, or in this case, liquid courage. Staring straight ahead at
the glossy black surface of his flat-screen TV, he said, “He knew
about you.”

Warner set his beer on the table between the
two chairs. Dell didn't have to look to know Warner wasn't looking
at him either.

“I don't have a middle name. Just the letter
C. Richard C. Warner. You think that means anything?” Warner
asked.

“I came first. Maybe your mother thought two
kids named Caudell might be too obvious?” Dell said.

“Maybe,” Warner said. “When I was a kid, I
worshipped Caudell Wayne. Hell, I even had posters of him hanging
in my room.”

“And now?” Dell asked.

“I don't know. I hate how he died the way he
did, and that I had anything to do with it, but I'd feel the same
way no matter who it was.”

“He worshipped you,” Dell said. He felt
Warner's gaze, but refused to look at the man. He continued, “He
was always telling me what a good driver you were, and that I would
never be as good as you. I hated you. But now it makes sense. He
knew you were his son.”

The statement hung in the air between them as
they both digested what it meant.

“When I was a kid, Caudell was my hero, and I
was jealous as all get-out that you were his son.” Warner shook his
head. “Man, I thought you had it all. We hung around the track a
lot when I was a kid – Talladega. I grew up near there.” He paused
for another sip from his beer. “You and I started racing dirt
tracks about the same time, I guess. I used to watch you and try to
figure out how you did it. You always made it look so easy, where
Caudell looked like every race was a struggle.”

“You drive like him. And that's not a
compliment,” Dell said.

“I know,” Warner said. “Believe me, I
know.”

“You look like him too,” Dell said. “I never
saw it before – probably because I wasn't looking for it, but the
resemblance is there.”

“You don't look anything like him,” Warner
said. “Except maybe the eyes. I only was around him a few times,
but I'll never forget the way he could cut a person into little
pieces with his eyes. You can do it too.” Warner twirled his empty
beer can between his thumb and forefinger. “Scary.”

“No shit,” Dell said, standing. “Want another
beer?”

“Sure.”

Dell returned with two cold ones. He handed
one to Warner before resuming his seat.

“Sorry. I guess you probably know more about
that look of his than anybody.”

Dell swallowed, letting the cold liquid chill
the anger building inside. He took another drink and reminded
himself he'd invited Warner for this very reason – to talk about
Caudell.

“Yeah. I think I still have a few scars from
being sliced and diced by the old man. He always said I looked like
my mother. I got the impression it was a reminder he'd rather not
have in his face every day of the world.”

“So, what happened to her?”

Dell shrugged. “I don't know. She left. I was
little. End of story.”

“Maybe she found out about me,” Warner
said.

Dell turned his head, scrutinizing his guest
for the first time since he let him in the front door. “Maybe. Or
one of the others.”

“You think there are others?”

“It crossed my mind.”

They both turned their attention to the
drinks in their hands. Minutes ticked by, then Dell said, “She said
she loves me.”

“Who? Your mom?”

“No, you dickhead,” Dell sighed. “Caro. She
said it when I was kind of out of it – at the hospital. Or I might
have dreamed it.”

“And you're telling me this…why?”

“Haven't got a clue,” Dell said, draining the
rest of his beer. He got up, returning with two more. He handed one
off to Warner. “Something's not right at Hawkins.”

“Rumor is she's in over her head,
management-wise, and financially.”

“I'd buy the financial part, but the other?
No way. She runs a tight ship, and she's smart.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Don't know. A few weeks ago I wouldn't have
cared. But now? Now I do. I'd like to see her make a go of it. She
deserves a chance.”

“Lots of people disagree with you. Renfro
included.”

“How did you end up driving for a bastard
like him anyway?” Dell asked.

“I needed a ride. He offered. I never gave it
much thought until the day Caudell died. This may sound weird, but
when he told me Caudell was my dad, it was almost like he was
amused that I was the one who caused the crash. I've turned it over
in my head a million times and I can't make any sense of it.
Everyone was crying, even the old-timers had tears in their eyes,
but not Butch. I'd swear he was happy – delighted even, Caudell was
dead.”

Dell squinted at the blank TV screen as if it
were a portal into the past. “I thought Butch and Caudell were
friends, but now I think about it, they never did hang out
together.”

“I wouldn't read too much into it, Dell. Not
many people like Butch Renfro, but he and Caudell had to have known
each other pretty well. Hell, they raced against each other from
the time they could both see over the top of a steering wheel.”

Dell filed the information away to be
examined some other time. Not that he gave a damn if Caudell had
any friends, or enemies, for that matter. He changed the subject.
“Why doesn't Renfro support Caro? Why would he care if she makes a
go of it or not?”

Warner shrugged. “No idea. I assumed he was
one of those men who think women don't have brains.”

“Seems the racing world has a fair share of
those,” Dell said.

“Here's another funny thing,” Warner said,
leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He held his beer
can with both hands. “I can't say he took much of an interest in
Hawkins Racing when she first took over. Everyone was talking about
it. You know how it was. I'm sure there was plenty of talk around
Anderson's garage too.”

“Yeah, there was,” Dell agreed.

“Anyway, Butch didn't have much to say on the
subject – not until she took you on. After that he started coming
in the garage, ranting about how she was an idiot, didn't have any
business running a race shop…that sort of thing. It struck me as
odd when he suddenly had an opinion, and not a nice one at
that.”

“You think it has something to do with me
going to work for her?”

“Could be. He hates you.”

“Really?” Dell asked. “Any idea why that
is?”

“Not a clue,” Warner answered. He stood.
“Which way's the bathroom?”

Dell smiled. “Follow me,” he said. “I've got
something to show you.”

“Can't it wait?” Warner asked as he fell in
step behind Dell. “I gotta piss.”

“Nope.” Dell led Warner out the backdoor,
across the patio and around the pool to where a wide swath of lawn
stretched toward Lake Norman. He stopped in front of a wooden
structure, too big to be a playhouse and too small to be a
guesthouse. “Here we are,” he said.

Warner took in the neat little building, then
asked, “Okay, I give up. Where, exactly, are we?”

“Well,” Dell said, pointing, “that's my dog
house.”

“I don't see any dogs,” Warner said.

“I haven't gotten around to getting any
yet.”

“Is there a reason you're showing me this?”
he asked, shifting uncomfortably in his need to relieve
himself.

“Over there.” Dell pointed to something
glinting in the failing twilight.

“Is that a Darlington trophy?” Warner asked,
moving to take a closer look.

“That's
the
Darlington trophy,” Dell
said.

Warner stopped in front of the impressive
trophy, now a lawn ornament atop a low concrete platform. “The one
you won… what's it doing out here?”

“It was either that or a fire hydrant. I
thought this was more fitting.” He unzipped and whipped out his
dick. A yellow stream pinged against the gleaming silver
trophy.

“Man, you got to get some dogs,” Warner said,
then he unzipped his pants.

* * * *

“I know I'm right.” Caro stood toe-to-toe
with Dell, refusing to back down. It was hell being this close to
him and not touching him, but with the entire crew watching, all
she could do was look her fill and pretend.

She might fool the crew, but she wasn't
fooling Dell. She saw it in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders.
He wanted her too. If she leaned in, he'd kiss her, and the
professional distance they'd cultivated for the last two weeks
would go up in smoke. And since they had no idea who told the
NASCAR officials about their tryst a few weeks ago, it was
imperative they maintain the charade in public. Caro vented her
frustration on a sigh. “Look, Dell, just take the car out on the
track one more time. If you don't see improvement, then we're done.
I don't know what else we can do.”

“I don't see how one adjustment is going to
make a difference, Caro.” He shook his head, two weeks of
frustration showing on his face, and in his body language.

“I've run the calculations a dozen times.
It's in the timing. There's no room for error with the new fuel
injection system. You know that. This will do the trick. I'm sure
of it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” He slid into the
driver's seat with the ease of experience. “One more time,
Caro.”

Banned from the circuit for the time being,
they'd packed the hauler and headed west to South Carolina. The
historic Greenville-Pickens track wasn't much to look at, but the
half-mile oval was perfect for testing cars. No one would bother
them, and the price was right – cheap. Caro missed the
state-of-the-art equipment they'd left behind, but she had enough
to work with. If she could find the power in the engine, they could
fine tune as necessary when they got back to the Hawkins
garage.

Dell took a few practice laps before he took
the car up to its maximum speed on the short track. He'd know if
the power were there, and if it were, they'd need to put her
through the paces on a longer track – if not, they were back to
square one. Caro crossed her fingers and her toes that she'd
finally found the formula she was looking for.

“Looks good.” Dell's voice held an element of
enthusiasm she hadn't heard since they'd begun testing the new
engine.

“How does she feel?” Caro asked.

“Like she could swallow the track whole,”
Dell said.

Caro blushed at his raw description. “Should
we find her a longer track?” Caro asked.

“Hell, yes. I'm sorry I doubted you, Caro.
She's purring like a whore suckin'…Ah, shit. She's running smooth,
Caro. I can't wait to try her out on a longer track.”

“Bring her in, Dell.”

* * * *

They'd come so far in the last few weeks, and
with a little luck and some help from the track fairies, they'd
finally have a win. Just forty laps to go at Dover and Dell trailed
the lead car by a car length.

“Lookin' good,” Russell advised.

“I need fresh tires to catch him,” Dell
said.

“Hang tight. There's a lot of action in the
pack. We'll pit under caution.”

Dell held steady. If Russell were correct,
the cars jockeying for position behind him would eventually get too
aggressive and start knocking into each other. The caution flag
would fly and all the leaders would pit for fuel and tires, maybe a
last minute track-bar adjustment. He'd take the fuel and tires, but
the car was handling good. He'd never driven a better car.

He had to hand it to Caro – the woman knew
her cars. The mid-season suspension might have been the best thing
that ever happened to Hawkins Racing. Caro made the adjustments she
wanted, and had the time to test them out on an empty track. Dell
smiled to himself. Caro was one hell of a woman, and he couldn't
wait to celebrate today's win with her.

He was going to win. He had the power and
track position to take the lead, but what was the point? Let
Harbinger think he had it in the bag. His complacency would only
make it easier for Dell to pass him in time to cross the finish
line first.

Dell saw the track-side lights flash to
yellow at the same time Caro's voice came over the headset.
“Caution's out, Dell. Pit road is open.”

“Comin' in. We have time for four,” he
said.

“Roger that, four tires,” Russell
acknowledged.

Dell maneuvered around the wreckage on the
backstretch and slowed onto pit road right behind Harbinger. The
pit crew did their job with swift efficiency, sending Dell out
right where he wanted to be, on Harbinger's ass.

He lined up next to Harbinger for the
restart. The pace car turned off the track and Dell hung back a
fraction of a second, letting Harbinger jump out in front. He had
plenty of time. No need to push it. The third place car made a bid
for Dell's position, but with fresh tires and the faster car, Dell
was beyond his reach. He dropped back. It was back to the status
quo, just Dell and Harbinger, and soon, Dell thought, he'd take
Harbinger out of the equation.

“Five laps,” Jeff said from the spotter's
roost atop the press box. “Clear all around.”

Dell throttled up, closing the distance
between his car and Harbinger's by a foot. He'd take one foot at a
time, and before Harbinger realized it, he'd be in second place
crossing the finish line. Dell eased up another foot.