The Legend (21 page)

Though Sway was good at taking my mind off the news, I
still couldn’t get over the fact that no one would ever forget the Darrin deal.
They used every chance they could to bring it up again and I hated it. I wanted
to forget it. Ultimately it was my own doing. I went after him. I took the law
into my own hands when they did nothing to protect my family. Though I was
never charged with anything, Darrin was never found the assumption was still
there by everyone, media included.

The thing was, as public sports figures, our lives are like
open wheel race cars. We’re subjected to everything the outside world wants to
throw at us. Like an open wheel car, we had to be careful how close we get to other
cars and how closely we race with others. Just a shift of inch in the wrong
direction surrounded by others and you’re in the catch fence.

Heading into the Monster Million, Spencer had to have knee
surgery and wasn’t cleared to be pitting for me just yet. I wasn’t excited to
have him gone for the simple fact that it was a race that gave the pit crews a
rare chance at recognition, something they rarely got. I will say that the way
the sport had advanced over the years. They received far more public recognition
than they had ever seen in the past. Nowadays they were introduced to the crowd
before races, had their names on their uniforms and even interviewed them
before and after races much like the drivers, crew chiefs and owners.

With Spencer recovering from knee surgery, I was confident
I wouldn’t be finding any glitter bombs in my helmet that weekend or my shoe
laces cut, or worse, shoe polish on my sunglasses. I missed the asshole but I
was surprisingly relaxed. It was strange not having him there. Every Cup race I
have raced in, Spencer has been there to raise my window net.

I flew out to Dover Delaware on Thursday morning with Bobby
and Paul. The crew arrived later that afternoon, as did my family. I’m not sure
why Spencer chose to stay home but if I had to guess, it might have been from
the knee surgery and a vasectomy in the same week.

Who did come with us, everyone else! We had most of our
family, including the kids, aside from Axel and Lane who were in Las Vegas for
the Supercross/Freestyle championships. The majority of the sprint car guys
made it out and most of the boys at the shop came, including Grady. Up until
now, Grady had never been with us to a NASCAR event. This gave me a chance to
see how he was doing and if I could trust him enough to be doing jobs other
than just fabrication and cleaning bolt on parts.

Grady kept busy with the crew trying to help in any way he
could, but the troublemakers seemed to be Casten and Cole. No surprise there.
Since they arrived, I think I had smacked Casten upside the head five times and
even got Cole once or twice. Cole stayed clear of me most of the time. He
claimed I was unstable. True but it still amused me.

Cole and Casten, looking for girls, were hanging around the
hauler right before the meet and greet where all the drivers mingled with the
fans in the stands and tried to persuade them to vote for us. I wasn’t exactly
excited about the meet and greet but understood the benefits. Last year I was
chosen because I signed a woman’s tits. No one confirmed that but I like to
think it sealed the deal for me. Let me rephrase the way I said “signing her
tits”. I didn’t sign her bare chest or anything, but I have done that in the
past, only it was my wife, that’s beside the point. I was there in the infield last
year, rousing the fans when a woman in her mid-thirties asked me to sign her
chest. She said if I did, she’d get everyone to vote for me. What kind of
driver would I be if I didn’t agree?

She not only got my signature but she got a half-dozen
other drivers to do it and we were all chosen too.

Tate chuckled, his hands reached up to adjust his
Donco
Oil hat, as we walked to the infield from the
paddock. “Do you think that chick that had us sign her tits is here this year?”

Bobby came up behind us throwing his arms around our
shoulders. “If she is gentlemen, I will be finding her!”

Casten and Cole, jetted past us heading for the infield.
“Dude, where’s the chick with her tits hanging out?”

“Please stop him,” Alley asked annoyed with Cole as her and
Sway caught up to us as well. Most of the families tagged along to this
particular meet and greet. “I don’t want to see my kid on the news again
anytime soon.”

Alley was referring to the street fire incident. Alley had
been out of town visiting her parents when the street fire happened. Much like
us, she found out about it watching the news.

I reached out and smacked the back of Cole’s head. “Stop
it. You’re stressing out your mom. That’s my job.”

“Why do you let him do that?” Casten asked him slowing down
to keep step with his cousin. “He’s not your dad. It’s not like you
gotta
listen to him.”

“He scares the shit out of me. Of course I’m going to
listen to him.”

“Pussy,” Casten mumbled.

I smacked the back of his head. “Have some class.”

“Oh sorry,” he laughed trying to trip me. “What’s the
proper term? Oh right…Crankcase!”

Shaking my head was about all I could do.

Open Wheel – Sway

Over the
years meet and greets weren’t my thing. Being as enthused as my husband, I
understood why Jameson hated them so much. When you’re in the spotlight like he
is, or even the rest of his family, our kids and myself included, the meet and
greets had turned into an invasion of privacy and the questions they asked each
year got more and more personal. Would you feel comfortable telling them about
your personal lives?

Probably
not

A girl all
of thirteen was talking to Jameson about USAC racing, Casten intently listening
to her. It surprised the hell out of me. Casten usually never paid any mind to
girls his own age.

Jameson’s
attention, though he was smiling, seemed to be more on the crowd rather than
the polite girl standing before him. It was getting slightly out of hand with
the thousands of fans flooding the infield of the Monster Mile in Dover but
that’s what this race was about.

It was
different than the All-Star race held the weekend before the Coca-Cola 600 race
as this one was strictly based on votes. 

The guys
mingled in the infield with the fans for close to an hour Thursday night and
then it was back to the motor coach before we all headed to dinner.

Tommy and
Willie approached Jameson when we were walking to the car and said Jimi was
waiting for him in the hauler. Most everyone else headed to the restaurant to
wait while Jameson asked me to come along with him and the boys to talk to
Jimi.

Jimi was
retired this year for racing and it was actually rare that he was even at the
track these days. It seemed since retirement him and Nancy had been spending
time together and every other week took off to Florida and Hawaii together.

When we
walked inside the hauler, Jimi was leaning against the cabinets near the back
wall with Grady, Justin and Rager standing across from him. Justin smiled when
we came inside but Rager and Grady remained looking at sheet of paper in front
of them. Rager looked up and smiled. His bright blue eyes were noticeable from
under his black JAR Racing hat but then again, you could see Rager’s eyes in
the dark, they were just that blue.

Grady
didn’t look up but Grady also never spoke to anyone but Jameson.

Something
about Grady had rubbed me the wrong way from the time I met him. He was a quiet
boy but I didn’t trust him. Couldn’t tell you why, but I didn’t.

That
weekend was the first real interaction I had with Grady outside of payroll with
JAR Racing and even then he never actually spoke to me, only to Jameson.

“There
seems to a 410 engine missing.” Jimi said as eyes focused on Jameson.

Jameson
shifted his stance from relaxed to tense, his hand in mind gripped me a little
tighter. “What do you mean there seems to be? There is or isn’t.”

“There
is.” Jimi confirmed.

“Did you
ask Noah and Charlie if they noticed anything? They were doing monthly
inventory last night.” His eyes flashed with an emotion that was hard to catch.

“They noticed
it and brought it to me.” Jimi clarified keeping his voice even though Jameson
was nearly yelling now. He had every right to be concerned over this. A 410
engine ran around hundred thousand these days. “Jameson, you have to deal with
this now or before you know it, you won’t have JAR Racing.” Jimi told him
quietly. “This is a lot of money gone. You can’t keep shuffling things around
to avoid the issue. You have someone stealing from you.”

Jimi had
come to me last month and tried to talk about the inventory issues but I told
him what Jameson told me when I questioned him about it. “Jameson will take
care of it.”

  
He had for the most part. He installed surveillance cameras and started doing
weekly inventory. The thing was that all of us knew who was stealing without
needing the proof.

Jimi was
incredibly business savvy but so was Jameson. He’d been successfully running
JAR
Racing
for nearly twenty years without so much as
a hiccup. He landed sponsors for his drivers, was able to keep track of how
each car was doing in the series, could rattle off every top five, any victory
his drivers snagged, and had a one-on-one relationship with all of his
employees. He understood when there was a problem and I think deep down he knew
where that problem was.

Most of us
looked at Grady and I think he sensed himself being singled out.

“I didn’t
steal anything!” Grady’s voice echoed through the hauler, Jameson’s eyes
drifted to his, focusing on him standing beside Tommy and Willie.

“You’re
the only one here that would have any reason to.” Jimi said to Grady.

Jameson
shot Jimi a look that told him to back down and none of us, including me,
understood why he was defending Grady.

Jameson
cleared his throat, pushing past Willie and Tommy, his hand clasping Grady’s
shoulder. “Come with me.”

None of us
followed them as we understood Jameson had some things to say to Grady alone
but we also didn’t have any actual proof that Grady was the one stealing for
JAR Racing. For Jameson to believe that Grady was actually stealing, he needed
proof.

Jimi
leaned into me, his head near my ear to whisper only to me. “I have Clint
looking into this kid. If there’s something to be found, he will find it.”

It was
true. Aside from being our bodyguard, Clint was a private investigator too. It
helped when you had to keep those around you closely guarded.

The rest
of us made small talk in the hauler before Jameson came back inside with Grady
and smiled taking my hand. “Let’s get to dinner honey.”

I didn’t
say anything as we walked to the truck, Jameson seemed distracted.

When we
got inside, he looked over at me, green eyes glowing in the night. He went to
start the engine and then his hand fell away and he sighed, his head hit the
back of the seat in frustration. “I couldn’t fire him without knowing for sure
he was the one that stole the engine.”

I nodded
and gave him a weak smile. I knew it was hard for him. He trusted him when
everyone told him not to. He wasn’t going to fire him without actual proof of
any wrong doing. I could understand that to a point.

Friday
morning, the energy around from the team and Jameson seemed to have returned.
We agreed not to discuss the stolen engine until we returned home. For now, the
focus was on the race.

Come late
September, right after the field was set for the chase, the season was heady
and a tight battle was shaping up between Jameson, Tate and Paul. When the
monster million approached their focus shifted from the championship battle to
the fan favorite race. The boys were amped and raring for some healthy
competition of the best of the best. Honestly, I think it was more for the
bragging rights. Who am I kidding? It was without a doubt about the bragging
rights.

Jameson
had won the first Monster Million last year and Tate was on him about how this
was his year.

“What if
they vote you off the island?” Tate asked him when voting began Friday night.
We were all glued to the television along with millions of others like this was
some kind of presidential election. In our eyes it might as well be.

“This
isn’t Lost,” Jameson replied and then looked over at me in confusion. “Wait,”
he looked around in confusion, “who votes you off the island?”

“I don’t
think that’s the right show,” Aiden replied.

“It’s all
right baby, we understood.” I assured Jameson rubbing his back.

Tate
smiled. “By the way, the show was Survivor.”

“Who
cares?”

Anybody
could vote aside from drivers, team members, and NASCAR officials. The
interesting twist was that family could vote.

Since they
started the race last year, it had been the most talked about race of the year
because it was completely unpredictable. No one knew until the morning of the
race if they would be racing or what the format would be.