Hot Seat

Lap Ten

Dylan poked his head through the door just after noon. ‘Ready for lunch?’

I was more than ready. I’d been stewing in my own thoughts since Sergeant Lucas had left. I couldn’t believe that Miss Angry Renault had lied. What did she want — revenge for the incident? No. She couldn’t be that bent out of shape over it. Maybe she’d seen the Archway logo on the back of the van and thought she could squeeze some money out of the business. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said.

‘Rough morning?’ Dylan asked.

‘More than you know.’

I locked up Archway and Dylan drove us towards Ascot.

‘You want to lose the scowl and tell me what happened this morning?’

I hadn’t realized I’d been wearing my feelings for all to see. ‘Sorry. When I dropped off the Van Diemen the other day, I had a near miss with a car on the way back. The police just came by to question me because they’re investigating a claim that I ran a woman off the road.’

‘Has she got anything to back this up?’

‘Her word and her car. It’s a write-off.’

‘But you never made contact with her car?’

‘No.’

‘Then you’re golden. Did you show them the van?’

‘Couldn’t. Steve was out in it. The cops are coming back to check it out in the next week or so.’

‘Then you’ve got nothing to worry about, mate. The second they see the Transit hasn’t got a scratch, this bird is screwed.’

It was nice to have someone believe in me. My recent run-ins with the police showed they had little faith in anything I said.

‘Have you told Steve?’

‘Not yet. I’m not looking forward to that.’

‘Steve will have your back; you know that,’ Dylan said. ‘Let’s forget that crap. How’d testing go yesterday? Tell me all about it. I want to hear.’

‘It’s amazing, mate. I have five guys working on my car alone. If something needs replacing, it gets replaced. No scrambling for loose change to pay for it. You wouldn’t believe how many sets of tyres we burned through.’

Dylan beamed. ‘You are in a different world. You’re not trying to compete with the big boys — you are one of the big boys. I’m so proud of you.’

Dylan drove us out to one of his favourite haunts, The Coach and Horses. It was a pub restaurant where the local AC Cobra owners’ club held their meetings. Drive by the last Sunday of the month and the car park would be chocka with the king of muscle cars.

We ordered food and drinks at the bar. We grabbed a table by the window and Dylan went quiet. He fiddled with the beer mats on the table, stacking a bunch together, shuffling them, turning them around in his hands, only to shuffle them again.

‘You OK?’

‘If I say no, is that a problem?’

‘No. What’s up?’

‘It’s a weekday and I’m not working, and I’m not likely to be any time soon.’

‘What happened?’

‘Can you say economic downturn and housing slump? The building trade has dried up.’

Dylan was a bricklayer and plasterer.

I felt bad. I’d been so wrapped up with my own life over the last few months that I hadn’t kept up with Dylan’s situation. ‘I thought you were working on that housing development in Bracknell.’

‘They’ve finished with me and there’s little else going on right now. I’m trying to see if I can get on some plumbing or electrical crews, but that doesn’t really matter. I don’t want to be a bricky all my life.’

‘What do you want?’

‘To ask a favour.’

Last year, Dylan and Steve put their lives on the line to save me. Whatever he needed, I’d do my best to make it happen.

‘Look, I’m done with the building trade. My heart isn’t in it anymore. I want to work the pits. All I need is a break. Do you think you could ask Rags to give me a job?’

It seemed like a simple request, but it wasn’t. The days were gone where you could just be a good mechanic to get into motorsport. Technology was so ingrained in the sport, you needed to be junior rocket scientist and that meant qualifications, which Dylan didn’t have. He could claim that he’d worked alongside Steve, which carried some weight, but I doubted it was likely to sway Rags, especially since I’d pissed him off yesterday when I’d told him to leave Nick Ronson alone.

‘I can ask, but I’m the new guy. I don’t have any sway.’

‘I know you can’t make promises, but please do what you can. If I get on with a team, it’ll be my break from the building trade.’

That bittersweet feeling that I’d felt at Earls Court returned. If my motor racing continued on the upswing, I’d be forced to leave my friends behind. There was only room for one person in the cockpit, literally and figuratively.

The barman called out a number and Dylan got our food. Despite my limp promise, his spirits had lifted and his smile was back.

Two office workers walked into the pub. They went straight to the barman and pointed outside. The barman nodded and rang the bell for calling time to grab everyone’s attention.

‘Who’s got the Subaru WRX outside?’

‘Me,’ Dylan answered.

‘You’ve got a flat tyre, mate.’

‘Shit. That’s all I need.’

We left our food and went outside to check the car. Dylan didn’t have one flat tyre, he had two and neither were the product of bad luck. Someone had slit the sidewalls.

Dylan crouched in front of one of his ruined tyres. ‘What prick did that?’

A prick like Crichlow. His BMW was parked across the street and he was behind the wheel watching us. A moment later, my mobile vibrated in my pocket. I had a text with the simple message: Lose the friend.

I glanced Crichlow’s way and nodded.

‘I’ll call Steve,’ I said.

Replacing one flat wouldn’t have been a problem, but two turned our afternoon into a production. We jacked the car up and removed the wheels. When Steve arrived, he drove Dylan to a tyre shop for replacements. I stayed with the car to quell the pub manager’s fears that we were dumping it.

The second Steve and Dylan were out of sight, I walked over to Crichlow. ‘Was that really necessary?’

‘Consider it a reminder that you should be devoting your energies to the task you’ve been assigned and not getting lashed up in the pub with your mate.’

‘Duly noted,’ I said sourly.

‘Mr Gates wants to meet to discuss your progress,’ Crichlow said.

‘And so do I.’

‘Good. Maybe I won’t have to cut anything else.’