Did Not Finish

Lap Twenty

A cab returned Dylan and me to the scene of our botched crime. The Subaru sat parked in the same place, untouched and still intact. Brennan had had plenty of time to put a call into Derek’s boys and I half expected to find a smoking husk as our punishment for poking our noses where they weren’t welcome.

We looked across the street at the workshop. No one watched us from inside. The place had remained just as intact as the Subaru. Our little night-time escapade had failed to provoke a reaction. There’d been no dawn raid to clear the place out and cover their tracks. We hadn’t caused them to lose a moment’s sleep. I didn’t know whether or not to be insulted.

‘That proved to be a less than successful night,’ Dylan said.

It was hard to disagree. We had nothing physical to show for our efforts, but a little more of the puzzle had been revealed. Derek was showing exactly how far his influence stretched. Maybe the stories about his links to organized crime were true. He did seem to have friends everywhere.

‘Could have been worse,’ I said and tossed the keys to Dylan. ‘We could still be in jail.’

He snatched them from the air. ‘Don’t remind me. Let’s get out of here before someone changes their mind.’

Dylan’s bitterness was hard to miss. I was pushing our friendship to the limit. There was no point in apologizing. It would only be pouring petrol on a fire.

We got into the car and headed home.

I checked my mobile. Steve had left six messages. I woke him up with my call and filled him in.

‘Jesus, I was worried sick.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. If we could have called you, we would have.’

‘I’m just glad you’re OK. Now get your arses back here. You’re meant to be testing today, if you’d forgotten.’

I didn’t argue.

By the time we got back to Archway, it was time to leave for Brands Hatch. Steve had the van packed and ready, including my race gear. All we needed to do was load the car onto the trailer and connect it to the van.

I hadn’t slept during the night and I was in no condition to even think about driving on a track, but I had little choice. The Festival was nine days away and I needed track time in the new car. Despite Vic Hancock’s connection with Derek, I had an obligation to him as my sponsor to do well. I wasn’t in a position to back out on him. It was pretty obvious after our sponsorship meeting he was suspicious of what I knew about his relationship with Alex. Pulling out on the Festival would only validate his suspicions.

We loaded up the car and headed out without a pause for breakfast, which wasn’t such a bad thing. I was agitated. The last thing I needed in my stomach was food.

Steve drove. Dylan sat up front, but soon fell asleep. I bedded down in the back of the van with the tools and equipment and rested my head on my kit bag. I thought I was too wound up to sleep, but one minute I was thinking about Brennan and the next Steve was sliding back the van’s side door and telling me to wake up, we’d arrived.

I slid from the van and checked my watch. I’d gotten an hour and a half of sleep and felt worse for it. The short nap left me feeling hung-over.

Dylan climbed down from the van.

‘You look like shit,’ I said.

‘Back atcha, buddy.’

‘Hey, enough,’ Steve barked. ‘You’ve had a crappy night. Big deal. Think of today as an endurance test. If this was a twenty-four hour race, you’d be feeling a damn sight worse. Aidy, you can wake yourself up by checking us in with race control.’

I jogged down the pit lane to get my blood flowing and flush the fatigue out. It didn’t help. I wanted to throw up and I was a little bit wobbly on my legs, but I never felt good before I went out on the track, so it wasn’t such a bad sign.

I cast a look down the pit lane. All the garages were full. I recognized most of the faces and teams. Of course, all the factory backed Formula Ford teams were present. A couple of the European teams were there getting in some early practice for the Festival. It was going to be a busy test session. Brands Hatch’s short circuit, the Indy circuit, isn’t much over a mile. Regulations restrict the number of cars on the track to twenty-six. We’d be divided up into timed sessions. It was a sensible approach and it prevented everyone from going out when they pleased. Normally, I found this a pain, but in my current condition it was a blessing. There were two groups and I was in the second group.

By the time I got back to our pit, Steve and Dylan had unloaded the car and wheeled it into the pit garage. They’d even gotten the timing gear out and all the tools set up. We looked professional and ready for action. All we needed was the driver.

I changed in the back of the van. The day was chilly and it felt good to have my flame retardant underclothes under my race suit to keep the cold out.

The officials sent the first group out for their timed session and I wandered out to the service road behind the pit garages and looked up at the sky. The forecast predicted rain, but the sky was relatively clear. It was cold, but if the weather held, it would make for a good day.

‘Aidy,’ a voice called.

From the far end of the service road, Alison was waving. She wasn’t alone. Her father was with her. She was smiling. He wasn’t. I groaned. I didn’t need trouble before I went out.

I walked over to them and met them halfway. Alison gave me a quick hug and her dad shook my hand and not my throat.

‘Thanks for coming out,’ I said. ‘You didn’t have to be out here so early.’

‘There’s a reason for that,’ Mr Baker said, looking embarrassed. ‘I wanted to apologize for my behaviour towards you.’

‘That’s OK.’

‘No, it isn’t. Alison’s told me about what you’ve tried to do for Alex and the resistance you’ve received. The last thing you need is me acting like a fool. This is a difficult time for everyone. Alison lost her husband to be and I lost my future son-in-law. But that’s no excuse and I hope you’ll accept my apology.’

‘Of course,’ I said and we shook on it.

Alison grinned.

‘Part of my apology is that I’d like to offer my help to you. I’m good with my hands.’

‘He is,’ Alison said. ‘He rewired my flat and redid the kitchen at home.’

I remembered Mr Baker’s well-equipped garage where I’d collected Alex’s car. If he used half the tools he had on the racks, he’d be useful.

‘We can always use an extra set of hands. You’ll have to do what my grandad says though,’ I said with a smile.

‘Deal,’ Mr Baker said.

I led them back to our pit garage. Things were looking up. I had one less headache to worry about. It lifted my spirits and did more to revive me than a decent night’s sleep.

I introduced everyone and Steve orchestrated the last minute tinkering consisting of retorquing the wheel nuts, checking tyre pressures and a spanner check to make sure every nut and bolt was tight.

Steve checked his watch. ‘Fifteen minutes before the cars from the first session come in. It’s time to fire it up.’

He inserted the key in the master cut-off switch and turned it, then flicked on the ignition. He nodded to me to press the start button. ‘It’s your car.’

I smiled, leaned in and pressed the starter. The engine turned over a few times before catching. Once it caught, it gathered strength and burbled with pleasure.

‘Aw, listen to that,’ Dylan cooed. ‘That’s a dirty, dirty sound. Automotive porn. Pure filth.’

The remark got a laugh out of everyone and for the first time, I was looking forward to today.

Steve left the engine running to get the water and oil temps up and the oil pressure down.

When the chequered flag came out to end the session and the cars began pouring back into the pits, I climbed into the car and belted myself in. Steve handed me my helmet and I pulled it on.

He knelt down next to me. ‘Take it easy out there. Don’t worry about times. Today is about getting a feel for the car and getting the set-up right for the Festival. Push the car, but don’t push the car. Be smart. Got that?’

I nodded.

He patted me on the helmet. ‘Good lad. Now go make me proud.’

I eased the car out of the garage and joined the line of cars waiting to be unleashed. The second the track marshal gave us the green flag my foot was on the gas. I joined the track, bursting through an invisible membrane separating racing from the real world.

As I came around to complete my first warm-up lap, Steve leaned over the pit wall with my pit board to show me where to look for my lap times. Alison was with him with a stopwatch in hand. I liked seeing her there.

At Steve’s request, I took it easy for the first couple of laps. The Mygale was stiffer and more unforgiving than my Van Diemen. Having a fresh engine at my back made the cocktail even more volatile. I let cars overtake me to find a gap in the traffic. I wanted some alone time with the car to feel it out. Despite its skittish feel, it was predictable, so I went for it. I made a target out of the pack of cars ahead. While they got in each other’s way, too eager for that flying lap, I steadily reeled them in. The lap times came down. They weren’t mind blowing, but they were respectable. I came in at the end of the session to a row of smiles.

‘You looked good out there,’ Steve said. ‘Where do we need to make improvements?’

Steve tinkered with the set-up, adjusting the anti-roll bar settings and ride heights. When I went out for the next session, he put Alison and her dad on the pit wall to record lap times while he and Dylan took up positions on different bends around the circuit to watch my performance on the corners. Their reports and the improved set-up brought the times down. At the end of my fifth session, I was consistently lapping a second and a half faster than my personal best around Brands. I didn’t know if it was the new car, the new engine, the feeling of a solid budget behind me, sleep deprivation, or the support of my friends, but whatever it was, it was working.

By three o’clock, I was done. I still had one more session available, but fatigue had gotten the better of me. I brought the car in and found Vic Hancock in the garage chatting with Alison and her dad. He’d promised to drop by and while I needed him I didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with him. I climbed from the car and pulled off my helmet.

Hancock held up my lap time log. ‘These are good. I’m impressed. You are a chip off the old block.’

His praise was honest enough, but it sounded a little forced.

‘It’s been a good day,’ I said.

‘It’s been better than good,’ Alison said. ‘Steve said you’re only half a second off the times put up by the factory backed teams.’

Half a second doesn’t sound like a lot, but over the course of the twenty-lap final, that’s a ten second deficit. Around Brands, ten seconds equates to a little over a fifth of a lap which is around a quarter of a mile. Half a second was a lot to be off the pace, but it was promising after my first run out in the car.

Steve and Dylan wandered in from their watcher’s posts.

‘You looked a little shaky out there,’ Steve remarked.

‘I think I’m done for the day. Let’s pack up.’

Mr Baker groaned as he picked up a toolbox.

‘You OK?’ Alison asked.

‘Yeah. Just getting old. I’m not used to being on my feet this long.’

‘It happens to us all. Let that be a lesson to you youngsters,’ Steve said. ‘How many laps did he get in?’

‘Forty-nine,’ Mr Baker said.

‘That’s a good number. You won’t need that many next time out to dial this car in.’

I unzipped my suit and had started pulling it off when Steve stopped me.

‘Stay suited up. The weather’s closing in. I know you’re tired, but if it rains, it’ll be worth knowing how this car handles in the wet. You know there’s a good chance it’ll rain at some point during the Festival.’

It was good advice, but I just wanted a shower and something to eat.

‘I’m pleased to see you’re taking an interest,’ Hancock said to Alison. ‘I wanted to honour Alex as best I could.’

Alison stared at the decal dedicated to Alex on the side of the car. ‘It’s very nice and it’s why I’m here to support Aidy. He’s been so good to us.’

‘Look,’ Hancock announced, ‘to mark the end of a successful day, I’d like to take everyone out to dinner. There’s a great pub restaurant not far from here. What’s everyone say?’

No one declined and I saw the opening I was looking for.

‘One problem. I don’t fancy the risk of parking the car on the back of the trailer in a pub car park and we can’t leave the van and trailer here.’

‘I could stay with the van while you eat,’ Steve suggested.

‘No,’ Hancock said. ‘I wouldn’t want that. Tell you what, one of my salvage yards isn’t too far from here. It’s secure. You can park it there then collect it afterwards.’

I smiled. Fortune, bless her, was shining on me. It was about time I saw what Hancock kept on the other side of high walls. ‘Sounds great.’

The rain didn’t come, so I didn’t go out again. While everyone loaded the car up, I washed up as best I could in the men’s room. God love him, Steve had packed a clean set of clothes in my kit bag and they felt as good as an hour in the shower.

A message got back to my body that it wasn’t needed for a while and it went into sleep mode. It had burned a lot of energy on the track and it was done. My legs weighed three times their normal weight as I trudged back to the pit garage.

The car was on the trailer and the tools in the van. Everyone was packed up and ready to go.

‘You’re going to sleep well tonight,’ Steve said looking me over.

I nodded sleepily. I could have gone to sleep right there and then, but I had to keep it together for the next few hours. I needed access to Hancock.

Hancock led the convoy to the salvage yard. I rode in the van with Steve and Dylan while Alison and her dad followed in their car. Minutes into the drive, I knew we were going to the yard we’d followed Derek to. I smiled, pleased with this twist of luck.

Dylan saw it and frowned.

The yard was deserted by the time our convoy arrived. Hancock unlocked the gates and Steve drove us into the vast automotive graveyard.

‘The car’s in good hands,’ Hancock said waiting for us at the gate. ‘No one gets in here who isn’t invited.’

The joke rang hollow.

Steve, Dylan and I got into Hancock’s car while he locked the gates.

Hancock drove us into the depths of Kent to a place called The Long Barn. The place lived up to its name. It was a long, brick building with a steep gabled roof. It was easy to tell the place had been a barn a long time in its past. Above the tall door was a stained glass window where the hayloft must have been.

The pub made up the front half of the place with the restaurant in the rear. Both halves were packed. Hancock walked in like he owned it. He had a quick word with someone and we were immediately seated.

There was no Mexican food on the menu, but they did have a steak and Guinness pie and a good pie is my other Achilles heel. The food was great and so was the company. Hancock behaved himself by not drinking too much. He acted like the benevolent uncle I never had, telling impressive stories about himself, and as much as I didn’t want to like them, I did. He was an endearing character. It helped everyone open up. Steve held court for a while with his stories about working for Lotus. Alison reminisced about Alex in a way that brought a smile to her face instead of tears. It looked as if her mourning period was passing. I hoped I’d helped in some respect.

‘Aidy, what are your motor racing aspirations?’ Mr Baker asked.

‘Yeah,’ Hancock said. ‘Do you hope to emulate your old man?’

‘I just hope to be half as good as him one day.’

‘Don’t sell yourself short,’ Alison said.

‘I’m not. Dad was an amazing driver, a rare breed — a natural. I’m not.’

‘What do you mean?’ Mr Baker asked.

‘I remember when I was little and Dad took part in a Formula Three race at Spa in Belgium to cover for an injured driver. He’d never driven an F3 nor had he driven at Spa. The first time he set foot on the track was when he went out for morning practice, but he secured pole position.’

‘And he won the race,’ Hancock said.

I nodded. ‘Put Dad in any car at any track and within five laps, he had the measure of both. I can’t do that.’

‘And your dad couldn’t tell you how he did what he did,’ Steve said. ‘Rob was a great instinctual driver, but he was a terrible test driver. He had no idea how to help the pit crew make the car better. You’re different, Aidy. You have a good engineering head on you. You know exactly what has to be done to improve the car.’ Steve patted me on the back. ‘You’re not your dad, but you’re just as good as your dad.’

‘To the Westlakes,’ Hancock said, raising his glass. ‘Father and son, may they keep burning rubber.’

‘To the Westlakes,’ everyone said, completing Hancock’s toast.

The dinner broke up after that. Hancock paid the bill after a swarm of protests and we filed out into the car park.

‘We have to go,’ Alison said.

‘My wife will be wondering where we’ve gotten to,’ Mr Baker said. ‘We’ve had a great day and thanks for letting us help. We chatted in the car over here and we’d like to continue helping you. It would make for a nice tribute to Alex.’

‘Sure. Of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll probably test the car again midweek before official testing for the Festival. I’ll let you know where and when.’

Everyone said their goodbyes and we watched Alison and her dad drive off before following Hancock back to the salvage yard. He opened up again and parked behind the trailer as we climbed from the car.

The yard was silent. Rusting hulks sat atop each other. Dismantled doors, bonnets, boot lids and hatchbacks hung off racks divided up by make and model. With all the surrounding businesses closed for the night, the silence stretched beyond the confines of the yard. I felt that if I screamed, no one would hear.

‘Well done, Aidy,’ Hancock said, ‘and I’ll see you soon.’

‘Do you think you could give us a tour while we’re here?’

‘What, now?’

‘We are here and it would help me. Pit Lane magazine is going to be interviewing me about the Festival.’ They weren’t but it was a plausible lie. ‘It will be good if I can sound knowledgeable about Hancock Salvage.’

My appeal to Hancock’s business side worked. He locked the yard gates and led us into the offices inside a large warehouse. We stood in a spacious waiting room while Hancock disappeared inside the building to deactivate the alarm system.

‘What are you doing?’ Dylan asked.

‘I want to see what happened to those cars Derek transported out here on Saturday. OK?’

‘Last night almost had you on your way to prison,’ Steve said. ‘Can’t you leave it alone for one day?’

I felt the weight of Steve and Dylan’s disapproval squeezing me, but I wouldn’t be dissuaded. ‘This is different. We’re not in Derek’s territory. Brennan isn’t acting as his eyes and ears. Hancock is the weak link out here. He’s vulnerable and that’s good for us.’

Neither Steve nor Dylan said anything. Their silence spoke volumes. They knew I was right.

‘I won’t need to do much. I just need to find something on those cars Derek transported. Just follow my lead, OK?’

‘I’m with you,’ Dylan said.

‘OK,’ Steve said, ‘but on one condition. The second I don’t like what’s happening, I’m pulling us out.’

‘Thanks.’

Hancock appeared in a doorway. ‘Come through here and I’ll show you how everything works.’

We followed him into an open plan office filled with workstations.

‘Essentially, I buy write-offs from the insurance companies and low end trade-ins from car dealerships. I break the vehicles down for parts and classify them so individuals and repair shops can buy the parts. What can’t be salvaged is crushed and sold for scrap.’

‘You auction cars too?’ Dylan said.

‘Yeah. We act as auctioneers for dealerships, municipalities and individuals who want to offload their unwanted vehicles.’

‘Do you ever auction the write-offs?’ I asked.

‘We have. Half the cars classified as write-offs are totally good cars. The damage is cosmetic but the parts and labour make it cost-prohibitive for the insurance companies to repair them. We can fix them up. The down side is we have to register the cars as recovered vehicles and we can never get their real value at auction. We do it from time to time, but not often.’

‘Could you walk us through the process from write-off to salvage?’ I asked.

Hancock didn’t look keen but he agreed. He fired up a computer and launched an inventory program that logged the cars entering Hancock Salvage.

‘Has anything good come through recently?’ Steve asked.

‘Got any 7-series BMWs?’ Dylan asked. ‘I’ve had my eye on one of them.’

I thought Dylan was pushing a little too hard to the point of cluing Hancock in to our motives, but he played along. He ran a search for BMW 7-series and four popped up. I looked for the one I’d taken pictures of in Bristol. It was there, third one on the list.

‘Take your pick,’ Hancock told Dylan.

‘I like that one,’ Dylan said and pointed to a red one and not the one I’d seen. ‘Complements the colour of my eyes.’

Hancock double-clicked on the red BMW’s details. It listed all that had happened to the car since Hancock had received it. ‘It’s gone, my friend. You wouldn’t have wanted it. It was a wreck according to this.’

I didn’t want to fixate on the BMW too much or we might alert Hancock. ‘So what happened to that car then?’

‘This way,’ Hancock said and led us out of the office and into an area of the warehouse with clean and well-equipped service bays. ‘The car would have been brought here and my guys would have stripped it for everything we could get — engine, headlamps, mirrors, seats, steering wheels, bumpers, doors. Basically, anything that wasn’t damaged. The small stuff goes into our warehouse and the big stuff goes out in the yard. You saw the racks with doors and bonnets on them.’

Hancock ran a very smooth operation. It was easy to picture the salvage business as a dirty business run by guys covered in grease and dirt, but Hancock had a twenty-first century grasp on the business. He’d taken the supermarket approach to selling scrap. It was pretty impressive.

‘That’s how you deal with the meat,’ Dylan said, ‘but what do you do with the bones?’

‘We crush them.’

‘You have a crusher here?’ Dylan asked with boyish enthusiasm. ‘I’ve always wanted to see one of those things.’

‘Well, let’s go see it. It’s not anything special, so don’t get too excited.’ Hancock walked over to one of the bay doors and hit a button. It rolled up into the roof.

‘Don’t spoil it. It must have some awesome force to squash a car into a three foot cube.’

Dylan played the dopey friend to a tee. It gave me the opening I needed.

‘I’ll give it a miss,’ I said. ‘Can I use your toilets?’

‘Sure. They’re back in the office, next to the reception area where I brought you in.’

The second Hancock, Steve and Dylan were out of sight, I sprinted back to the offices. I ignored the men’s toilet for the computer Hancock had left on. I closed the file he’d opened and double-clicked on the dark blue BMW I’d seen Derek drive out of here. The notations on the file said the car couldn’t be salvaged and was crushed in ‘as-purchased’ condition.

I searched for the other cars I’d seen transported from the warehouse. They all had the same notation: Unsalvageable condition. Crushed in ‘as-purchased’ condition.

I stared at the innocuous sounding statement. It sounded so believable. But none of it was. It was a deception. Was I looking at the information that got Alex killed? If I was, then I’d just made myself a bigger target.

‘You’re a big fat liar, Vic.’