Checkered Flag (4 page)

JAMIE TOOK THE BORROWED
Late Model Stock car to Hickory for her next race. It had been a few weeks since she’d hit the track in Denver, and she was itching to get behind the wheel, even if it was a step down from where she wanted to be. Scotty’s brother, Kyle, came along to act as crew chief. Tim would be her spotter.

Hickory, North Carolina, was a short jaunt up I-77 and then west on I-40. They hooked up the hauler to the Suburban in the dark and made it to the track just after sunrise. Tim helped, and Jamie’s mom took care of the paperwork and kept Kellen settled, which was a full-time job.

Jamie recognized a few of the other racers, many of them twice her age, and said hello. When the drivers saw her, a few asked for an autograph.

One burly guy cinched up his pants and leaned against their hauler. “Look at this, Sonny,” he said to a skinny guy with long sideburns. “You get to race against the great Jamie Maxwell. Future NASCAR queen.”

After the inspection, it was time for a short practice session. The car was running rough, and when Jamie brought it back, Kyle discovered that the angle of the left front tire was wearing badly.

“Looks like we’ll have to change the upper A-arm,” Kyle said. “We don’t and you won’t make it through half the race.”

Kyle crawled under the car, and with help from Tim, they felt ready for qualifying. Jamie turned in two good laps, though she said the car was loose in the turns. She qualified fourth for the race.

“I can’t believe how many people know about you now,” Kellen said to her as they waited for the start. “And you know they’re going to be gunning for you.”

“Why’s that?”

“To say they beat a future cup winner,” Kellen said. Then he imitated a guy spitting tobacco juice. “I ’member back when I raced that gal to the finish line. She was good but not as good as me.”

Jamie chuckled. “I’m just glad I don’t have to contend with Chad up here. . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked down the line of competitors. A lanky guy
walked past the line of cars, and she recognized the long arms before she even saw his face. “Thor?”

“Is that old Thunderfoot?” Kellen whispered.

Jamie nodded. “What are you doing here?” she said to Thor.

“You think you’re the only one who wants to race?” Thor said with a smirk. He looked at the car. “Heard about what happened in Denver. This your #62?”

“No, it’s a friend of mine’s.”

The radio clicked. “They’re calling for the drivers to get ready,” Kyle said.

“Guess I’ll see you out there on the track,” Jamie said.

Thor nodded. “You sure will.”

Kyle clicked the microphone when Jamie was buckled in. “You looking for some trouble from that guy in the #7 car?”

“He’s one of the top drivers from the school but likes to throw his weight around.”

“Watch him out there, you hear?” Kyle said.

TIM CLIMBED TO THE TOP
of the grandstand and fiddled with the radio, trying to get it in a comfortable position on his head. He finally had to take off his hat, the one his dad had given him, and put it on a table in the back.

Not being a very talkative person, he felt a little nervous about guiding Jamie around the track. He’d been listening to spotters and crew chiefs ever since he was a little kid, though, and he knew the lingo as well as anyone. Plus, he wanted to see Jamie stay safe
and
win.

While he adjusted the volume control, someone walked up to him, blocking the sun and sending him into shadows.

“You’re with the Maxwell team, aren’t you?” a guy said. It was Kenny, one of the drivers at the experimental
school. The one who had confronted Tim after Jamie made it into the final race.

Tim backed away, but he could only go so far from the spotter’s station. The back of the building was a straight drop-off.

“Having some trouble with your volume control?” Kenny said. “Let me take a look at it.”

Tim knew what was going to happen. Kenny was going to sabotage his radio—take the batteries or mix up the channels. Tim didn’t want to give it up, but Kenny took it from him before he could react.

“You have the squelch turned all the way up,” Kenny said, holding the radio out. “I cut it back for you. Should be good to go.”

Tim stared at the radio like it was a dead fish, not believing that Kenny would actually help him. He took it and said, “Thanks.”

“I’m spotting for Thunder, the #7 car. If you need anything, just yell, okay?”

Tim nodded and mustered a question. “Why are you being so nice? You hate me.”

“I was really ticked off the last time I saw you. I was a jerk, all right? Heat of the battle and all that. You okay with that?”

Tim stared at Kenny, trying to analyze the situation. He felt about a foot tall next to the guy, not because Kenny was tall, but because he wore nice
clothes, had sunglasses that probably cost more than some cars in the parking lot, and had an air about him that said,
I’m important
.

“Yeah, I’ve had those kinds of days myself,” Tim finally said.

Kenny flashed a million-dollar smile—the kind you’re not born with but pay for—patted Tim on the shoulder, and shook hands. “Good to hear, man. Your place is right over there. Good luck.”

Tim took his spot and tested out the radio. Both Kyle and Jamie could hear him loud and clear.

“Don’t be timid up there,” Jamie said. “Speak up and we’ll get each other through this.”

“You’ll never guess who I just talked with up here. Your old pal from the school. Kenny.”

“What?” Jamie said.

It was at that point that he knew he needed to find quick access to the volume control because her voice nearly pierced his eardrums. Even the guys around him turned to look. Most of them had beer bellies and ancient hats with sweat stains that looked older than he was.

“All right, we’re coming to the green flag,” Tim said when the pace car peeled away. “You know what to do.”

It was a single-file start, and as soon as the cars crossed the start/finish line, Tim could tell why the
racing here was so popular. The people jumped to their feet, cheering as the engines screamed in a perfect blend of men (and girl) and machine. Tim took a quick look at the surrounding area—the trees and the rolling green around the track—and thought this would be a great place to live. He loved the sound of cars going fast.

Tim wasn’t sure how much Jamie wanted him to talk, but things were so bunched up at the beginning of the race that there was nothing to tell her. When he saw she was clear on the outside or inside, he told her, but he didn’t try to maneuver her around the track. She had been doing this a long time, and he didn’t want to step on her toes.

“We’ve got a problem,” Jamie said. “Engine’s not firing right—like it lost a plug.”

“Just one or more?” Kyle said.

“Feels like we’ve still got seven cylinders,” Jamie said.

“We can go with seven on this track,” Kyle said. “Keep the pedal down. You’re looking good.”

Tim kept his eye on Jamie’s car, then remembered something Scotty had said about a spotter watching the whole track. On lap 40, just before the break in the race, a car in the middle of the pack got loose and crashed into the wall in turn three.

“Yellow flag,” Tim said. “Got a few cars behind you in a problem.”

“Ten-four,” Jamie said.

The pace car came out. Then the red flag dropped. Tim alerted Jamie, and the entire field stopped in turn one.

“What’s up?” Jamie said.

“The guy who hit the wall needs some medical attention,” Tim said. “Hang tight.”

Kenny came over to Tim and handed him a Coca-Cola. The top was off and Kenny was smiling. “Want a cold drink?”

Tim looked at it and something flashed in his brain—a memory he wanted to forget about Daytona and some “friends” who had turned out to be anything but. “No thanks,” he said.

WHEN THE RACE RESUMED,
Jamie could tell there was something seriously wrong with the car. She was fighting just to stay off the wall in the corners and losing spots with every lap.

“Keep at it,” Kyle said. “Just two more laps and everybody comes in.”

She strained with all her might to keep her speed up and stay in control, but the car was slowing. “I don’t think it’s the engine this time.”

“Hang in there,” Kyle said. “It could be vapor lock from being stopped out there.”

“Doesn’t sound like vapor lock if she’s having trouble handling the car,” Tim said.

“Yeah, it feels like a strut or something. I can’t control the thing at speed.”

“Hang on to it as best you can this
last lap,” Kyle said. “We’ll be ready for you when you get here.”

Jamie limped into the pits. She helped Kellen with the fuel while Kyle jacked the car up and climbed under. She popped the hood and immediately saw a fried spark plug wire. They’d have to make it to the end down one cylinder.

From underneath came Kyle’s muffled voice. “You were right. It’s the rear axle. Spindle’s out on the driver’s side.”

Jamie knew enough about that part of the car to realize she was done if they didn’t get the spindle back in place. But if something was wrong inside, she’d have very little control. “Can you get it back in?”

“I can try, but if it comes loose again it’s probably going to be worse. Like driving a bear chasing honeybees.”

Tim ran into the pit area, breathing hard and white as a sheet. It looked like he’d run all the way from the grandstand. He glanced at Jamie, then got on his knees and looked under the car as Kyle explained the problem.

“Let me take a shot at it,” Tim said. “If you slide it in and the sprockets find their place, there’s a chance it’ll be okay.”

Jamie just shook her head at Tim. He went into mechanic mode as soon as he saw Kyle’s tools. The
track manager gave a signal for five minutes more on the pit stop. Then she saw Thor walking toward her. He was in first place and enjoying it.

“Having a rough time out there?” he said.

“Problem with the rear axle,” Jamie said.

“Oh, that’s not good. Too bad you won’t be in the second half.”

Tim scooted out from under the car. “She’ll be there.” He scooted back under again.

Thor smiled and cocked his head. “Well, guess I’d better mosey back to my ride and see if I can’t get another win.”

Jamie rolled her eyes. “Just don’t get too comfortable up there.”

Kyle stood and wiped the grease from his hands. “Where’d you get this Tim kid? He’s an animal under there—like he was born with an air wrench in his hand.”

Jamie smiled. “I think he picked a lot of it up just watching. You think we’ll be ready for the restart?”

Before Kyle could answer, Tim slid out from under the car. “Good to go. You’ll have to take the whole back end apart to fix it right, but this may get you to the end of the race.”

Tim loped off to the infield, and Jamie climbed into the car.

“Glad Tim’s the one running to the spotter stand,” Kyle said. “I wouldn’t have enough breath left for the rest of the race.”

TIM MADE IT BACK
to his grandstand spot two laps after the restart. He didn’t catch his breath for another 10 laps. He’d heard Jamie tell Kyle that the handling was a lot better and she was up to full speed. Tim was impressed that Jamie had checked the plug. Lots of drivers didn’t know much about what was under the hood. They just wanted to shift gears and mash their feet to the floor. Tim knew the best ones made themselves part of the car, and when they felt something wrong, they knew what was going on.

Jamie made her way through the crowd and to the front, just behind the #7 car.

Tim looked at Kenny as he spoke to Thor.

“She’s right on your tail, buddy,”
Kenny said. “Stay on the inside and make her go high. It’s a longer track that way.”

Jamie stayed with Thor until lap 65, when she went wildly outside and almost into the wall in turn two. “Got a problem. Feels like the same thing.”

“Spindle must have popped out again,” Tim said.

“We’ve got 35 laps to go,” Kyle said. “You want to bring it in or stay out there?”

“If I bring it in, I’m giving up. I’ll stay here.”

Tim smiled and felt a shiver run down his spine. Jamie sure had spunk.

Seven laps later, Jamie was at the back of the pack with Thor running up on her bumper. Tim knew she hated to be lapped, but she couldn’t get up to speed like she normally would because in the turns she simply lost control of the rear end. Her left rear tire was on its own.

“Better let him pass,” Tim said. “Stay low and let him go on the outside.”

Jamie growled. “I hate this.”

“I hoped the spindle would hold until the end,” Tim said. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I just hate losing to this guy.”

Tim glanced at Kenny, who was grinning, and clicked the microphone. “I know what you mean.”

Jamie finished in ninth place. When Tim told one of the other spotters that she had done it down a cylinder and an axle, he couldn’t believe it. Tim figured word would spread and this would add to the respect the other drivers and teams had for her. And who could blame them?

It was the kind of race the youth pastor would talk about in church—pleasing God by hanging in there and sticking with something to the end. He’d probably even have a verse about persevering through hard times. It almost made Tim want to believe it was true.

He went back to the table to retrieve his hat, but it wasn’t there. He looked behind the table and on the floor, thinking the hat might have blown down there, but he couldn’t find it. He was sick inside, and though it pained him, he turned and asked a few people if they had seen it. He described it in detail. “It’s just an old hat. I don’t know why anybody would want to steal it.”

Nobody had seen it.

Tim moved to the railing and looked down on the people filing out. The hat was gone. It was just gone.