Running Wide Open (7 page)

Race laughed. “It wasn’t
that
bad.”

“It was bad enough,” said Kasey, frowning. “The crowd let out this horrific roar, then the other cars reached the finish line, and it was worse than a demolition derby. When the dust and steam finally cleared, only two or three cars were still capable of moving.

“The Pinto’s passenger side was wrapped around the front end of the Chevelle, and the driver’s door had been flattened against the wall. With the poor lighting, the dust in the air, and the steam rising out of all the punctured radiators, no one could see what was happening.”

“It was a regular zoo,” Jim added.

“Well, obviously he didn’t croak,” I said.

“Of course he didn’t
croak
.” Kasey’s eyes reflected her opinion of my cavalier remark. “The flagman and some other officials tried to get through the wreckage to the car. But before they could, Race crawled through the passenger window out onto the hood of the Chevelle. He stood up, gave the crowd that smart-aleck grin of his, and took a deep bow.”

I looked at Race doubtfully. He shrugged in response.

“I had to do
something
. All those people were staring at me.”

“It was a riot,” Jim said. “The crowd loved it.”

“I’d had my eye on Race for awhile, even though I’d originally intended to sponsor a car in a higher division,” Kasey said. “It was plain he was a hard charger who had a real rapport with the fans. The Enduro clinched the deal. Anyone that crazy and determined to win deserved all the help I could give him. I went down to the pits at the end of the night and asked him if he wanted a sponsor.”

“And all this time I thought it was because I was driving a Dodge,” Race said.

“Well, that didn’t hurt,” Kasey admitted.

Race tipped his Pepsi glass at me. “Just so you’ll know, having people track you down to offer you sponsorship doesn’t happen very often in the racing world.”

Like I cared. “You’re crazy,” I said, stealing one of his fries.

“Yeah,” Race grinned. “And you know something? Your mom
knew
that when she sent you to live with me.”

Robbie snickered.

“It woulda been a better story,” I said, “if the Pinto had exploded.”

Chapter 5

Race slept like a cat in a coma the next morning, but I woke up feeling like I’d swallowed a porcupine. It made no sense. There was nothing to envy. I didn’t give a damn about racing, and it wasn’t like my uncle lived a glamorous lifestyle. So why did I feel snarky about last night?

I fixed some breakfast then turned on MTV, not bothering to lower the volume when Ozzy cut in with
Bark at the Moon
. Race didn’t twitch. Didn’t anything faze him? I inhaled the cereal then retreated to my room to find something to alleviate my boredom.

Reading would’ve been my first choice, but none of the books I’d brought were new, and I wanted something fresh. Until I started school or figured out how to get to the public library, I was out of luck.

Nintendo would’ve been my second choice, but Mom had rendered the machine useless when she’d confiscated my games as punishment for drinking out of the milk carton. She was always over-reacting like that, and Dad never did anything to stop her. He’d just hide behind his newspaper while she reamed me a new one then grounded me for three weeks for not wiping up the orange juice I spilled on the counter.

I rummaged through my boxes in the closet and came up with a dartboard and a handful of shuriken. Cool. It had been a long time since I’d gotten any practice.

I hung the dartboard on the closet door, lit a cigarette, and stepped back to take aim. The expertly balanced oriental throwing star whizzed through the air, penetrating the board.
Thwack
!

The noise startled me, and for a second I hesitated. Not even my uncle could sleep though that. But when I thought about last night—how popular Race was, how everyone at the track seemed to love him—something dark stirred inside me and I
wanted
to wake him up. I followed with a second star, and then a third.

“What the hell’s going on back there, Cody?”

“Nothin’, Speed. Don’t let it concern you.” The darkness swelled as I thought about my uncle’s flawless driving skills, and his hot crew chief, and little Robbie Davis worshiping the ground he walked on.

I threw another shuriken.

“Cody!”

I threw a few more.

“Please, kid. I’m trying to sleep.”

“Don’t let me stop ya, Speed.”

“My name’s not Speed.”

A moment later, Race appeared in the doorway, looking ridiculous in only a pair of U of O Fighting Ducks boxers. His hair stuck up in tufts, and his eyes smoldered with annoyance.

I let fly with a shuriken before pulling the cigarette from between my lips. “What’s wrong with Speed?” I asked, flicking the ash at a cereal-encrusted bowl on the dresser. “It’s just as good a name as Race.”

“God, kid, do you have to hassle me so early in the morning?” He glanced at my
Beer, it’s not just for breakfast
T-shirt. “And don’t you think you could find something a little more appropriate to wear?”

“Nothin’ in your rules about a dress code,” I said. “What the hell kind of name is Race, anyway?” I let loose with another star. It missed the board and penetrated halfway through the thin paneling of the closet door. Race winced.

“Grandma and Grandpa didn’t actually
name
you that, did they?”

I knew they hadn’t. But nobody would be caught dead with his real name, and I wanted to see him squirm when he said it.

“They named me Horatio,” he said evenly. “Not that it’s any of your damned business.”

I turned around, giving him a look of undivided interest. “Horatio? Ho-
ra
-tio? Well, now. Isn’t that original.”

“Not especially. They’ve been naming the firstborn sons in our family that since God was a little boy. You’re lucky Saundra’s your mother, instead of your father.”

“What?” And then I got it. The accident of one misplaced Y chromosome had spared me that fate and saddled him with it instead.

“Forget it,” Race said. He’d regained his composure, and now looked more burned-out than pissed.

Somehow, the fact that I couldn’t set him off made me want to do it that much more. I took one final drag off my cigarette and crushed it out in the bowl. “So,” I said, “You score with Kasey yet?”

Race gaped at me like I’d shot a puppy. Then his mouth clamped shut and his jaw knotted tight. Bingo. Almost entirely by accident, I’d discovered his Kryptonite.

“Listen, you little—”

“Nope, I guess you haven’t.”

“—if you
ever
say anything like that around Kasey, you’ll wish your parents had shipped you off to military school.”

The surge of pleasure I got from his reaction would’ve been sweeter if it hadn’t come with a side order of guilt. I glanced away. “Jeez, dude. Don’t get so excited.”

“I’m serious, Cody.”

“Okay, okay.” Obviously he was completely gonzo about her. I shot another star at the dartboard. It missed.

“And what the hell do you think you’re doing? My trailer might be a dump, but you don’t have to make it worse. If you wanna play with your little stars, take ’em outside.”

I glanced at him disdainfully as I stepped across the room to collect my weapons. “These are not ‘little stars’,” I said. “They’re shuriken. Don’t you know anything about the martial arts?”

“No, but then I never expected you to know how to tune up a race car, either.”

I wrestled a shuriken out of the door. The paneling squeaked and cracked as it pulled free. “What makes you think I
want
to know how to tune up a race car?”

Race didn’t answer, but as he watched me retract the remaining weapon, the anger in his expression drained away and a sort of understanding took its place. “I guess you’re really into that martial arts stuff, huh?”

I shrugged.

Race contemplated me for a few seconds then turned and left the room. He came back almost immediately with the Yellow Pages.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Race flipped it over in his hands, examining both covers. “Looks like a phone book,” he said, holding it out to me.

“Oh, real perceptive, dude. What do you expect me to do with it?”

For a second I was sure he was going to suggest something vulgar, but he resisted the obvious, even though I’d left myself wide open.

“Look up a karate school. Sign up for classes.”

For once, my rapier wit failed me. I stood staring at him, momentarily stumped, and then a surge of anger welled up. How the hell could he go on being nice to me?

Part of me wanted to tell him to piss off, but I’d been begging my parents to let me study karate for years. Mom flat out refused, saying it was too violent, and Dad wouldn’t cross her even though he thought she was being ridiculous.

“You know how much that would piss off my mom?” I asked.

Race grinned wickedly. “That makes it even better.”

* * *

Left alone in the bedroom, I studied the torn, graffiti-embellished book. Could it be that easy? Just look up a school and make the call? What if he was messing with my head?

I couldn’t believe he was offering me something I’d always wanted. Why would he do that? All I’d done was give him shit. And then it hit me. Race was gonna go on being nice no matter what I did. That’s just who he was. The kind of guy who thought to buy a sandwich for his crew chief, and took the time to draw a cartoon for a little kid, and gave advice to a competitor, even though it might bite him in the ass later. The kind of guy who’d take in his loser nephew, sight unseen.

I dropped down on the bed, flipped through the phone book to the “k’s,” and spent the next fifteen minutes comparing ads for karate schools. When Race reappeared in the doorway, he was fully dressed and munching a Twinkie.

“Don’t you ever eat real food for breakfast?” I asked. But this time it was an honest question, not an accusation.

“Not if I can avoid it. Twinkies are fast energy. Just what I need in the morning.”

“I thought that’s what coffee was for.”

“Can’t stand the stuff. That’s Kasey’s poison.” Race licked sugar-infused shortening off his fingers. “I’m gonna be changing the oil in the van if you wanna go in the front room and make some calls.” He turned and left me alone.

I phoned several karate schools. One had beginner classes starting the first of June and was located in the University neighborhood. I knew that was pretty close to the trailer park, so I jotted down the information and went outside.

Race was lying under the front of the van. I sat down beside him in the gravel.

“Find a class?” he asked.

“Yeah. I guess I need to go check it out.”

“We can do that.” Race reached up to twist an orange canister. Oil oozed over the sides and trickled down his wrist into the pan below. I gave him one of the rags at my feet. With a look of surprise, he accepted it and wiped his hands.

“What made you think I’d want karate lessons?” I asked as Race twisted a bolt into a hole on the bottom of the oil pan and snugged it up with a wrench.

“I dunno. What made you think I’d want a grease rag?” He worked a fresh orange canister out of its cardboard box and screwed it into place.

A few long moments passed in silence as I arm-wrestled my pride. I hated giving in, hated being wrong, but how could you go on slugging a guy who kept turning the other cheek?

“Sorry about giving you shit.”

The apology came out as a mumble, but Race managed to decipher it. “That’s okay. I know it can’t be easy, leaving home and moving in with a stranger.”

I took a deep breath and blew it out, steadying myself against the emotional ripple his empathy caused. “So . . . did it take you a long time to learn this stuff?”

“What, changing the oil? Nah, that kind of thing is pretty basic. But I’ve been hanging around racers and working on their cars since I was ten.”

“Huh.” I stood up and leaned against the driver’s door, running the toe of one of my Converse high tops through the gravel till I’d dug a groove.

Race wiggled out from under the van and lifted the hood. One by one, he opened several bottles of oil and poured them into the engine. “Kasey’s coming over tonight,” he said as he finished with the last of them. “You wanna go see a movie?”

“Wouldn’t you two rather go alone?”

“I would, but Kasey wouldn’t. And I don’t mind you coming along.”

I pushed the gravel back into place with the side of my sneaker. “You really like her, huh?”

Race glanced at me a little suspiciously as he stuffed the empty bottles into a plastic bag. “Kid, even if I do it doesn’t matter. She’s not interested. She’s my friend and my sponsor, and that’s it.”

“You ever ask her out?”

“Are you kidding? She’d shut me down in a heartbeat.”

Thinking of the way Kasey had looked at him when she was telling her story the night before, I wasn’t so sure. Not that I was gonna argue. “Well, if she’s coming over, we better clean the place up.”

“Definitely,” Race agreed.

* * *

We spent the afternoon trying to make the trailer a little less rank.

“I’m not doing this for you, y’know,” I told Race as I washed the dishes. “I’m just embarrassed to have a cool chick like Kasey know I live in a dump like this.”

“I understand completely.”

The place still looked pathetic at seven o’clock when the Charger pulled into the driveway, but at least you could see the floor.

“Wow,” Kasey said as she sat down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this chair without a pile of laundry on it.”

“Actually,” said Race, “it’s a little better looking with the laundry. I need some new furniture.”

“Dude, you need a new house,” I said.

The minute the two of them got comfortable, the conversation turned to racing. They might as well have been speaking Klingon.

“Ah, hell,” I said, flopping down at the far end of the couch and leaning back into the cushions. “Am I gonna have to hear about race cars again all night? I thought we were going to a movie.”

“We are,” Race said. “It doesn’t start till seven forty-five.”

Sighing, I slid down until my butt was balanced on the very edge of the couch.