Dead and Gone by Jack Patterson (universal ebook reader .TXT) 📕

to him. He’d let the journalists parse out the details. He was going to run wide open in Phoenix without any fear of the consequences, since he’d already qualified for the final four.

“You ready, Todd?” asked the NASCAR media relations director.

“Let ’em fire away,” he answered.

Fire away, they did.

“Harold Bailey from ESPN. What did you see from your perspective on that final lap in regards to Carson Tanner?” asked the first journalist.

“I saw Tanner fly into the wall.”

“Any thought of slowing down?”

“This is racin’, man. I never think about slowing down unless the caution is out or I’m told to pit my car.”

Another journalist chimed in. “Gerald Stockton from Fox Sports. How bad did you think Tanner’s crash was?”

“It looked bad, but I’ve seen worse and watched guys walk away from it. I figured he would’ve been fine.”

“Shelton Bingham from Speed51.com. Do you have any regrets about your post-race celebration?”

Cashman sighed. “Not at all. We battle hard every week—and to be in this position at this point in the season is worth celebrating. Had I known Tanner was dead, maybe I would’ve toned it down a bit. But how was I to know. Besides, that’s karma for you.”

“Bailey here again. What exactly do you mean by ‘that’s karma’?”

“Come on, Bailey. You saw the race in Martinsville. Tanner put me into the wall and caused a massive wreck. He’s always drove reckless and I’m not surprised that it’s what also got him killed. I mean, I feel bad that it happened and really bad for his family, but if you race like he did, you’ve got to expect that something like that is going to eventually happen.”

The line went silent. Cashman wondered if his connection remained live.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

“The conference call is still in progress,” the NASCAR official said. “Any more questions?”

Cashman fielded a handful of questions about what his approach would be to the race in Phoenix. He also answered some questions about his state of mind going into the race, knowing that one of his peers just died. They weren’t the kind of questions he wanted to be answering. This was Cashman’s moment in the sun and Carson Tanner was still casting a dark shadow over him even after his death.

When the fifteen-minute session ended, Cashman hung up and yelled for Brooke Wyatt, his media relations director.

“What was that all about?” Cashman demanded once he found her.

“What was what all about?” she asked.

“Those questions. Weren’t you listening?”

She nodded. “You weren’t expecting anybody to ask you about Tanner’s death?”

“Well, no, maybe like a question or two, but not practically the entire time. I felt like they were giving me the fifth degree.”

Staring down at her iPad, she cut her eyes at him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned how his death was karma. Maybe you could’ve been a little gracious.” She paused and wondered if she should continue before casting aside better judgment. “Maybe you shouldn’t have acted like an insensitive jerk—and maybe they would’ve left you alone.”

Cashman puffed his chest out. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk to me like that any more. You are aware of what happened to my last media relations director, right? They didn’t tell you that story?”

“I’m not sure I would’ve believed it, even if you told it to me yourself.”’

He stooped down and glared at her, eye to eye. “She had a smart mouth, so I fired her.”

She appeared unflappable, ignoring his threats. “Much better than having a dumb mouth, like yours. If you think it was bad before, just wait until word of this press conference circulates. You’re going to be public enemy number one.”

Cashman grunted and looked down at his phone. “Enough of this nonsense.” He stopped and shook his index finger at Brooke. “Don’t ever let me get caught like this again. It’s not cool. Not for the team or our sponsors. You got it?”

She gave him a half-hearted nod.

“Good. Now, let’s get back to work.”

***

AT THE DAVIS MOTORSPORTS HEADQUARTERS, the crew members shuffled into the meeting room and bantered about who made it home first.

“Did you get my text?” Holmes said. “12:04 in my driveway last night.”

“That’s because you only live thirty minutes from the airport,” Ross said.

“I can’t remember. We were playing miles-per-hour rules or first one home?” Dirt asked.

“If it was miles per hour, I would’ve won,” Burns said.

“We were playing first one home—period,” Holmes snipped.

Ross didn’t miss a beat. “Said the guy who made it home first.”

Burns waved everybody off. “It doesn’t matter, to be honest. What matters is that we get our car ready for whoever is going to drive it on Sunday.”

“I can’t even believe Davis is going to try to get someone to drive the 39 car this week,” Holmes said.

“The show must go on,” Burns said. “But there’s something we need to do first.”

“Which is?” Dirt asked.

“Listen to Cashman’s conference call. I wanna hear what he has to say.” Burns surfed to the website and cranked up the volume.

Twenty minutes later once the interview was over, Ross stood up and slammed the laptop closed in disgust.

“Can you believe that guy?” Dirt asked.

“Yeah,” Ross said. “If he didn’t say junk like that, I’d think it was an impostor on the line.”

“Well, I never wish ill-will on anyone, but I’ll make an exception for Cashman. I really hope his car bursts into flames on the first lap. It’d serve him right for those comments. Besides, anyone with a pair of good eyes knows that Tanner never touched him in Martinsville. Cashman went into the wall all by himself. I can’t believe he’s still peddling the idea that Tanner bumped him.”

“Let him hang himself,” Ross said.

Holmes remained quiet, content to type away on his phone to his sizeable Twitter followers irate over Cashman’s comments.

“What’d you think, Holmes? You’re not saying a word,” Dirt said.

“Leave him be,” Ross said. “He’s having woman problems.”

“Well, we all need our heads in the game this week,” Dirt snapped. “Woman problems or not. We need to do whatever we can to