Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

he would never have considered Kane to be ‘a bad one’. They had got off on the wrong foot but he had seen the way he had applied himself to the task of learning to be a top-class driver. The man had talent but that talent was augmented by hours and hours of application. The Mark Kane he was getting to know didn’t gibe with Tom’s description. Add to that the fact that Kane never talked about himself or his past and you had a riddle wrapped up in an enigma. Mark Kane seemed to have arrived on this planet as a thirty-something-year-old. No past, no relations, no school friends, only Uncle Tom Bell. Now that was bloody strange. He still had a few contacts at the Admiralty and the Ministry of Defence. Maybe it was time to run a check on Kane. He shielded his eyes as he looked up to watch the yellow crane picking Tadeka’s red and white powerboat out of the gentle swell at the quayside. The boat dangled in the air for a few minutes while an excited Watanabe screamed incomprehensible instructions in Japanese to the Italian crane operator. Eventually, the boat was secured on its plinth and the Japanese crew went about tying it down. Reg piloted their boat into the space at the marina vacated by the Japanese. In two days, they would be in Cannes and the whole circus would begin again. But in the meantime, he would have Kane checked out.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Barrett and his throttleman, Joe Milan, sat in a café on the edge of the marina watching the boats being lifted out of the water. A bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label sat on the table between them. Barrett was in a foul mood. He had been drinking until the early hours of the morning after hearing that his objection to Kane’s third place had been rejected.

“Ah, a hair of the dog.” Constantinos Karakatis walked briskly towards the crew of the Metro. “Or is it a completely new dog?”

“Fuck off, Dinos,” Barrett raised his glass and toasted the Greek. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere trying to rob the life savings of some poor widow or orphan? Time is money for you wheeler-dealer types. Is the corporate jet broken down or could the yacht not come to collect you?”

“I sometimes wonder where the English got their reputation for being gentlemen.” Karakatis pulled a plastic chair towards him and sat down. “If one Greek spoke like that to another, he would expect to have his heart cut out.”

“Don’t they wear skirts,” Milan laughed drunkenly.

“Fucking bastards,” Barrett said, looking over Karakatis’ shoulder to where the Penhalion boat was being lifted out of the water. He drained his glass and immediately refilled it.

Karakatis turned and looked at the subject of Barrett’s loathing. He turned back and smiled at the scowling Metro team. “What a pity you were beaten out of third place by Penhalion. The race committee was incorrect in refusing your objection. Kane clearly stole your water on the way to the final buoy. And they didn’t even fine him for a hazardous manoeuvre. Scandalous.”

“I’ll get the bastard.” Barrett took a slug of whisky. “He bloody robbed that money from me. I had third place in my pocket.”

“That’s the way it looked,” Karakatis said. “But you must give it to Kane. He has balls. There isn’t another driver on the circuit who would have pulled such a foolhardy stunt. If you hadn’t changed course, you might all have ended up dead. He seems to have no regard for life. He’s foolhardy to a fault.”

“Bloody bastard,” Milan mumbled under his breath.

Karakatis looked over his shoulder again at the Penhalion team surrounding their boat. It was time to rub a little salt into Barrett’s wound. “And then there’s the beautiful Morweena.” He turned to face Barrett. “I thought that you and she were ah… close friends.”

“We still are,” Barrett said defiantly. He poured another glass of whisky. “I’ll have her back and all. I’ll bury that fucker at Cannes.”

“Best of luck,” Karakatis said.

“Luck has got nothing to do with it,” Barrett slurred. “That fucker bluffed me out of a hundred thousand dollars yesterday. The next time the boot is going to be on the other foot.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Kane to land one of the places at Key West,” Karakatis continued. “Probably at either your or my expense. Penhalion has come up with a winner. His boat is outstanding and he appears to have found someone capable of getting the most out of it. Anyone who goes against Kane better look for an edge. Any edge. Do you know what I mean?” He could imagine Barrett’s addled brain working behind his furrowed brow. He looked back towards the port as the boom of the crane began to dip over his boat Hellas. “I better supervise the operation,” he stood.

. “Give the bastard something to remember at Cannes.” The Greek smiled as he strode towards the marina.

“Don’t you worry, Dinos. Kane and Penhalion will never forget Cannes.” Barrett watched the Greek walking towards the port. That sod Kane is fucked, he smiled to himself. Only one race and already the boys were beginning to put the finger on him. If Kane continued to pick up enemies at this rate, he’d bury him before the end of the season. He poured another whisky for himself and emptied the bottle into Milan’s glass. He flung the bottle against a wall smashing it to pieces. The owner of the café looked on but said nothing and simply reached for his broom.

Barrett turned to his throttleman. “We’ll show that bastard Kane that there are some people about that he really shouldn’t screw with.”

Hellas hung precariously for a few minutes before being lowered safely into its cradle on the back of the team’s lorry.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Barrett emptied his glass into his mouth and stood up. “The fucking greaser is right. We’ll need an edge.”