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

Burns nodded. “In a minute.”

He knelt down next to Walters and got eye level with him, glaring at him the whole time. “You sorry, son of a gun. You disgust me.”

With that, Burns rammed his fist into Walters’ face.

Walters unbuckled his seat belt. He leapt to his feet and took a swing at Burns. It missed as his fist collided with another passenger’s seatback.

“Gentlemen, please,” the flight attendant barked.

Burns stopped to look at the woman, but Walters gave no such reprieve. Instead, the break in action was an opportunity for him to land a punch on an unguarded Burns.

Once Burns regained his bearings, he charged toward Walters, putting his head down into the middle of Walters’ chest. He drove Walters all the way down the aisle and didn’t stop until Walters’ back rammed against the cockpit door.

One of the pilots flung the door to the cockpit open. “What’s going on here? Enough!”

“I’m going to have to ask both of you to exit the plane,” the flight attendant said.

Neither Walters nor Burns paid her any heed as their tussle led to the floor, where Burns landed on top of his subordinate. The two traded punches with Burns getting the better of Walters due to his position on top. Burns leaned back to avoid several punches from Walters before he landed a jarring right hand to the left side of Walters’ face.

Burns stood to his feet and watched as Walters attempted to stand up. A few passengers gasped while other voiced their contempt for the altercation and belittled the two men. Obviously woozy from the hit, Walters staggered as he tried to get up before collapsing again. Burns then towered over his crew member.

“Is this how you wanna play this, son?” Burns said. “I can end your career right now with a couple of emails. Right now, this isn’t about winning a championship—this is about respecting the dead. It’s about respecting your friend. He may not have been the world’s greatest driver, but he was a heckuva human being.”

Walters looked up at him as he felt the blood oozing out of the corner of his mouth. “As bad of a driver as he was, Tanner was still a better human being than you’ll ever be.”

Burns pulled his hand back to unleash another punch before a pair of TSA security guards stormed on board and stopped him. They jerked Walters to his feet and led both men off the plane.

“Drivers don’t just die in their race cars,” Burns said. “That doesn’t happen unless somebody is negligent.”

Walters struggled to shake loose from the agent holding him. It was a fruitless attempt. “If you wanna blame me, just say it. I may not have seen eye-to-eye with Tanner, but I would never wish anyone dead. And I would’ve never acted negligently.”

Burns sighed and shook his head. He stumbled forward at the urging of the guard behind him. “Maybe not, but you have a knack for overlooking things.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not responsible for Tanner’s death,” Walters said.

“We’ll see about that,” Burns said, staggering forward at the behest of the guard behind him.

CHAPTER 12

CAL SLUMPED INTO THE CHAIR next to Eddie Simpson’s desk and waited for him to end his phone conversation. Simpson held up his index finger to Cal and gave him a knowing nod. Cal tried not to look impatient as he glanced at his watch. He was only a few minutes early to his appointment with NASCAR’s lead investigator on the Carson Tanner accident.

Never one to let an opportunity to glean information slip away, Cal tuned into Simpson’s conversation. He pretended to ignore what was being said as he studied the cramped quarters of the NASCAR hauler and Simpson’s makeshift office. It included a desk barely large enough to hold a framed family photo along with a University of Tennessee paperweight, which sat atop a mountain of haphazard files.

“Yes, I know it’s a lot of money, but Emily would be heartbroken if I told her no,” Simpson said to the person on the other line. “She might not be so heartbroken when she gets the bill for her student loans.” He laughed. “Maybe I’m just delaying her outrage—but at least in four or five years from now she’ll have a diploma from Duke to go along with her anger.”

Simpson exchanged goodbyes and ended the call.

“So, Mr. Murphy, what can I do for you?” Simpson said as he folded his hands and leaned forward.

“I’m here to get some comments on the record about your investigation into the Carson Tanner accident,” Cal said.

“There’s not much to say, to be honest.”

“Anything you care to go on record as saying?”

Simpson squinted and froze. “What exactly are you getting at?”

“Without going into too much detail, I’ve got sources telling me that there was nothing accidental about Tanner’s crash on Sunday.”

“So, what do you believe happened?”

“I think someone tampered with Tanner’s car, causing him to hit the wall at a break-neck speed.”

“He didn’t break his neck.”

“You know what I mean.”

Simpson put his hands behind his head and leaned backward. “I’m not sure I do.”

“What I’m trying to say is that the accident was no accident. It was an intentional act by someone to take Tanner out.”

“Mr. Murphy, I know you haven’t been covering our sport for very long, so let me explain something to you about how things work around race week. You just can’t go gallivanting into the garage and start tinkering with engines. We have people guarding this area and we have regulations about when cars can be worked on. So, to suggest that someone could just walk in here and turn a team’s car on its head with the twist of a wrench is absurd and highly unlikely at best.”

Cal stared at Simpson and refused to blink. “Who said anything about someone breaking into a garage?”

“Surely you aren’t suggesting what I think you are.”

Cal nodded. “Yes, I am. You obviously don’t believe there’s any way this