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

bumping some tougher competitors out—and proving a point.

He revved up his engine and prepared for his pole laps. All he needed was a few good runs and he’d take pole position. It wasn’t like he needed it, but he needed everyone to know that he was there to win, no matter how secure his place was. Winning trumped everything each and every week. If any of the other drivers thought he might be taking it easy, they’d be mistaken.

His car roared onto the track and hit 143.014 miles per hour on his second lap around the track.

“New track record,” said one of his spotters over the radio.

“I like it,” Cashman said. “But I ain’t done yet.”

Cashman jammed his foot onto the accelerator again and readied for another run.

“Is this really necessary?” his crew chief asked. “Nobody’s gonna top that.”

“Just getting a feel for the track and this new set up,” Cashman answered. “Good thing you guys got me on your team.”

Cashman guided his car around the track three more times before deciding to call it quits, never nearing his record-breaking lap time again.

He switched over to his private channel as he pulled onto pit row.

“You want to make some adjustments?” his crew chief asked.

“I think we’re good.” He paused. “Is Beaumont driving the No. 39 car this week?”

“Yep.”

“I still owe that little punk. Remember what he did to me two years ago?”

“How could I forget? You remind me constantly.”

“Time to welcome him to the show.”

His crew chief protested. “Can’t that wait until Sunday?”

Cashman decided to get in close to Beaumont’s car, which was also pitted. As he veered closer to Beaumont, one of the Davis Motor Sports crew members nearly stepped in his path. Cashman laughed as he blew past them—and all the while unaware that he nearly hit someone.

Cashman slithered out of his car to find Beaumont’s entire crew standing just a few feet behind his pit. The Davis crew immediately started jawing with Cashman and his team, trading insults and obscene gestures. Before Cashman could get over the wall and find out what was happening, one of his crew members landed a sucker punch on one of Beaumont’s guys. Within seconds, fists and elbows started flying. The crew members brawled for about a minute before NASCAR officials and several other teams’ crew members helped pull the men off each other.

Cashman shook his head as Beaumont’s crew meandered back toward their pit.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“You,” his crew chief answered.

“Me? What’d I do?”

“You almost ran over one of their guys.” He glared at Cashman. “Keep your cool next time. Got it?”

***

OWEN BURNS RUBBED his face and took a deep breath. Managing the fragile egos of all the crew members on his team proved taxing work, far more difficult than rescheduling a pair of flights the day before. While he had cooled down from the previous day’s confrontation and he and Ross had come to an amicable agreement to stay out of each other’s way, now he had to deal with a bunch of hot heads who were ready to trade punches after Todd Cashman’s antics on pit road. He ushered everyone back to the team hauler to deal with the fallout. They all filed into the cramped room.

“Settle down,” Burns said. “No need in anyone getting suspended over that hot head’s move. Let’s take out our anger by getting our race car in tip-top shape, not in taking shots at Cashman’s crew.”

Russ Ross stood up. “Well, not everyone was taking shots.”

Burns furrowed his brow and stared at Ross.

Ross continued. “Some people just stood back and let everyone else do the dirty work.” He fixated his gaze on Pat Walters. “Dirt decided not to join his teammates.”

“Now, wait a minute, Ross,” Burns interjected. “The last thing we need is for you to start slinging around accusations.”

“Too late that for that, boss. Didn’t you read that article this morning? Apparently someone on this team isn’t exactly a team player and sabotaged our car last week.”

Burns sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, I read it. It’s horse crap, and you know it, Ross. Just chill out, okay?”

Ross sat down. “I doubt I was the only one who noticed.”

“I noticed,” Jackson Holmes chimed in. “Nice to know who’s got your back—and who doesn’t.”

“You guys are crazy—” Dirt said.

“All right, all right. Settle down, everyone. It’s not worth getting upset about it at this point.”

Ross stood up again. “Oh, yeah? Well, I take issue with anyone who tinkers with one of my cars.”

Then Dirt stood up. “What are you tryin’ to say?”

“If the message isn’t coming across loud and clear by now, you’re deaf as a doorpost.”

Dirt didn’t bother responding. Instead, he reared back and took a swing at Ross, who landed an uppercut that spawned a bloody lip for Dirt.

Burns stepped in and pushed them back to opposite sides of the room. “Enough, you two. This is no way to treat your teammate.”

Ross felt his jaw. “It’s no way to treat your driver either, no matter how many races he chokes away.”

Burns stamped his foot. “Shut up—both of you. We all know that report was a lie. Tanner died in a tragic accident, but no one here had anything to do with it. We can blame each other and point fingers, or we can grab each other around the neck and hug. We’re a team—let’s act like it.”

After delivering a pep talk for several more minutes, Burns stepped out of the hauler to check his phone. It had been buzzing for the past several minutes.

He noticed an abnormally high amount of voice mail messages. He growled as he listened to the first two—both of them identical in nature. They both sought his opinion on the fight that happened on pit road and wanted to know if he noticed if Dirt chose not to get involved in the fracas.

Then he opened his Twitter app. It was lit up with links and comments about a blog pointing out how Dirt had sat