Thunder King

2. Hell’s Curves

By the end of the long afternoon there were sixteen cars qualified for the big event, and for the minor races leading up to it. The way they work it at Darido, they race the big jobs on three afternoons. Twenty-five laps, fifty miles, the first day. Fifty laps, one hundred miles, the second day. One hundred laps, two hundred miles, the third day.

Because we wanted to make a showing, we were entered for all three. Some of them were saving their stuff for the big prize. I was checking the board when I saw that Johnny was entered for all three. I hadn’t figured it that way.

Since Brick, in a pinch, probably has the edge on me, and since his national rating is three points higher than mine, he was to drive in the big job. I drew the middle-sized one, and he wanted the short one to get the feel of the competition.

Nine cars were set for the first one. It was slated for two o’clock. I was to handle the board for Brick. Due to the qualifying speeds, when they lined up, three sets of three, Brick Arlen, Johnny Wall and Sam Waybo were the three last cars.

The pacemaker car led the parade, pushing it up over fifty as they finished a complete circuit. They hit the starting line perfectly, got the go-ahead flag, and all nine cars roared and jumped ahead as the pacemaker darted off the track like a scared rabbit.

They hit the turn in a pack, went around almost in formation, and then began to string out and jockey for position as they hit the backstretch. The roar of the motors was like a squadron of fighters going over.

It looked to me as though Johnny Wall was bottled and then I saw him jump through a hole. By then Brick had gone high around the outside and they came into the turn neck and neck. An orange crate in the lead kicked out some big puffs of blue smoke and lost speed fast. The kid driving it knew he had to get out of the way, and he cut down too sharply toward the inside rail. Another kid behind him swerved badly, went into a dry skid and, pretty as a picture, Brick went high and Johnny went low as they tooled around him.

They came down past the stands neck and neck, with Brick on the outside. He hung there and it kept Johnny from climbing a little to take the turn the way he wanted to. Brick held his advantage, went high, and then cut back to knife in ahead of Wall with more than the legal clearance.

They were fighting as though it was the last lap. Brick had talked as though Johnny was a crazy kid. I knew he was a little crazy, but after you hit a few score state fair dirt ovals, you’re no longer a kid.

I knew that Johnny was smart, and I suspected that as far as speed was concerned, the two irons were as close as they could be. I gave the Franzetta-Gorf a little edge on stability, and gave us a little edge in getaway.

Twenty-five tough, fighting laps. Johnny tucked his iron right in behind Brick and let Brick suck him along in the slipstream, riding close and careful.

At the end of eight laps, Brick began to edge up on the tail of the parade. There were only seven cars left in the race. It worried me to see the way the kid acted just on the verge of getting lapped. He was in a pale blue job, a home-grown outfit, and when Brick began to move up on his deck, the kid edged out away from the rail. Not much, just a little. It happened just before they hit the north end. Brick over-compensated for the little swerve the light blue job made, and as a consequence he went too high on the curve. He had to cut the speed to make sure he would cling.

Johnny had figured it nicely. He was riding high on the curve and he merely cut it in to the left and zoomed right between the pale blue job and Brick. It was pretty driving, but not the kind that lets you grow old gracefully. You could hear the yell of the crowd over the drone of the motors.

By the time Brick got under control, Johnny had three hundred feet on him and was still moving away. He was all alone on the south end, so he pulled that skid trick of his which gave him a little more distance.

While Brick trying to catch him, Gidge Putner made his bid in the old Walker Super. Gidge is one of the old men of the game. Hell, he drove a wagon in the big day when they still had two men in them.

And he kept Brick busy. They fought on turn and backstretch for fifteen laps before Brick made it so stiff for Gidge that he dropped back and held his place. By then Johnny was a full half lap in the lead.

With Gidge off his tail. Brick started to close the distance. But there was only three laps to do it in. It couldn’t be done.

Johnny breezed home without trouble, with Brick streaming in five hundred feet behind him. Putner was fourth.

Brick tore off his helmet and his face was white with anger. “You saw what that Wall character did, didn’t you, Joe?”

I grinned. “He passed you.”

“Not that, damn it! I could have been in trouble. How the hell did he know? I might have needed the room to cut back from that fence.”

“Take it easy, Brick,” I said. “I’ve seen you do the same thing.”

“He didn’t give that number twenty-three official clearance.”

“Then it’s up to that guy to shout about it, not you, Brick.”

“Are you pulling for Wall, Joe?”

There was a sneer behind his words. “I’m pulling for the Jeyett Special, son,” I said.

“Tomorrow we’ll see how good you do with him.”

“I’ll do okay, Brick. Don’t worry about me. Don’t worry about me at all.”

He spat into the dust and turned away. “Wall seems to rile him,” Hoop said quietly.

“Guys who get riled don’t live long,” I said. And then I was sorry I said it. When you follow the iron from track to track you never know how long you’re going to be around. So you don’t talk that way. Any more than you try to buy insurance. If Brick should get it, I’d wonder if I’d hexed him by saying that.

It was a hot evening and the town was full of little kids lapping ice cream cones, girls in light dresses, the sound of laughter and loud music. A carnival atmosphere. I didn’t get hungry until after dark, and then I took a cab into town. Brick was out in the sedan and Hoop and Gil were overhauling our spare power plant just in case it would have to be set in before the big race.

There was a place where the pale green neon yelled about steaks and air conditioning and all legal beverages. I decided I’d blow myself to a good meal and then go back to the hotel near the track and fold up.

The interior was dim and paneled and nice. As I went by a booth a girl’s voice said, “Joe! Hello!”

I turned. It was Wall and his sister. Johnny said, “Eating alone? Move in here with us. We’re celebrating.”

Johnny looked gay enough, but the sister didn’t look too happy.

I sat beside her. Johnny grinned across at me and said, “I’ve been trying to convince Janey that I don’t take chances.”

“After you convince her, you might try Brick Arlen. He needs convincing.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Arlen? Didn’t he like the way I slipped by him today? Hell, there was a lot of room. Two or three inches on either side.”

Janey looked as if she were about to cry. “Arlen didn’t like it,” I said. “He’s sore and he’s a redhead and he’s driving the Special on the big day. I’m wheeling it tomorrow.”

“I’d rather race against Arlen,” he said. “I like a man who gets sore. Then he makes mistakes. You’re as cold as a snowman out there, Joe.”

“Maybe I look that way. In the middle I’m made of mush.”

“Johnny,” Jane said, “I don’t want Arlen mad at you on the last day. Why don’t you find him and apologize?”

Johnny got sore. “Apologize! For what? For winning a pipsqueak race? Arlen’s got pebbles in his head.”

“He’s a rough little man,” I said. “Garry Larue tried to run him off the track in a dirt job in Atlantic City three years ago. Neither one of them would give up. Brick held it steady as she went, and when he saw the wheels about to look, he went downstairs. Brick walked away from it. Garry won’t ever do any more walking.”

Jane gasped. She put the back of her hand to her mouth. I was sorry I said it. I got a good look at her out of her work clothes. She was something very Special, I decided. Very special indeed.

When Johnny left the table to get some change, she put her hand on my arm and said, “Please, Joe. He’d promised not to race any more if he wins the main event the day after tomorrow. See if you can keep Brick from getting too angry. I... I don’t want anything to happen. You see, Joe, he’s all I’ve got, now.”

I looked into her eyes and we sat there like a couple of fools, feeling something happen to the two of us, and then I felt myself blushing and I looked away. When I looked back she was as red as I thought I was. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

“Thanks, Joe,” she whispered.

There were eleven cars in the hundred miler. We lined up, four, four and three. I was in the back row, in the middle, with Johnny on my right. I grinned at him, and saw his lips move, but I couldn’t hear what he said over the roar of the motors.

The start was ragged, and they flagged it down and we went around again. This time it was okay.

As in the beginning of every race, I glanced around at the other cars, wondered who would be dead when it was over.

Some neck-and-neck kids bottled us until the second turn, and then the kid on the outside didn’t seem to turn at all. He went through the fence, tossing timbers high in the air. I gulped, but before I could move outside to ease by where he had been, Johnny had moved up with me, driving straight ahead for the hole.

The second time around I caught a fleeting glimpse of the gap in the fence, oily smoke rising in a plume beyond it.

I fell in behind Johnny and rode his tail. It seemed that I’d better let him make the race. He was my reference point, and it was no trick keeping right on his tail.

But I went to sleep doing it. I was out too far when we were lapping the end of the string, and Harkness boiled by me on the inside, slamming it into a tight turn that swung his deck dangerously near me, his experimental job whining like the Cleveland Air Races. It had a lot of stuff.

He screamed out in front of Johnny, too. And Johnny tried to sneak high and cut in on the next curve, but he couldn’t get enough clearance. The Sternevaunt moved out and Johnny tucked his nose behind it, with me behind him, and in that way, in that order, by the time we had finished the twentieth, we were a lap and a half on the nearest competition. It was fast company to be in, even as third man. I knew that Bobby Harkness was riding with a funny feeling in the back of his neck, two cars so close behind him that any pileup would ride him down.

It was a lucky thing that Johnny made his bid to pass Harkness exactly when he did. And lucky that I swung out too, to follow Johnny.

Because something blew up and shredded the bonnet of the Sternevaunt, and the oil puffed out in a black spray and he dropped behind so fast it was as though a big hand had grabbed him and yanked him backwards.

When we hit the same spot the next time around, I saw the oil slick on the black macadam and decided it would be a good thing to keep away from. Johnny started acting funny. His car seemed uncertain, and suddenly I realized that he was slower.

At just about that time, he hit the oil slick. His deck swung out, and I screamed around him on the outside and his nose swung around, missing me by a hair and I was all alone and in the lead. I looked back and saw him stalled, high on the curve, almost against the outside rail. I had it in the bag, and there was no point in taking chance. Now I wish I had. Because when I came around the second time I looked for Johnny but he wasn’t there. The next time I looked in the pit, but he wasn’t there. I risked a glance back and saw him, a half lap behind, and coming on faster than I had believed possible.

Brick held up the chalk board that said 45. Only five more to go. I began to pour it on, and then eased off as I detected a faint wobble. A front end wobble. It was no time to hit the pit. I pushed hard, and the punishing vibration made my arms numb, but I was able to hold it. On the 47th and 48th lap, I could see Johnny out of the corner of my left eye as I made the turns. Then I couldn’t see him any more.

But I could feel him. I could feel him riding up on me.

On the 49th lap the green-black snout of the Franzetta-Gorf crept up to where I could have reached out and patted it.

Last lap. On the straightaway the menacing snout dropped back, but on the north turn there was a thin scream in my ears and suddenly he was riding even with me — on the inside!

On the south turn I tried to push it to were I could slide back down at him, slide by him, but once again the scream and he was a half length ahead. On the way down to the finish line, I cut that half length to a quarter length. And that was all.

I pulled into the pit after a slow circuit. The Special popped and died. Brick looked at me with utter disgust. I ignored him and took a look at the left front. As I had suspected, two of the bolts had pulled just enough to give the front left a tiny shimmy. Not enough to use as an excuse.

Hoop clucked sadly as he saw it. I drank all I could hold of cold water, then ambled down to congratulate Johnny. He didn’t look so good. A first-aid citizen was dabbing his face with goo.

“What happened?” I asked.

“When Harkness conked out,” he said, “I got a batch of oil in the face. Hot oil. It smeared the goggles. That’s why I hit the oil patch — couldn’t see it. I stalled by the rail, and it gave me a chance to rub the oil off the goggles. The plant was hot enough to catch when I jumped out and gave it a little shove down that slope. I was afraid you were going to lap me, Joe.”

The hot oil had pitted his face.

Jane pulled me over to one side. “Did you talk to Brick?” she asked.

“I tried to, Janey. He doesn’t listen so good.”

We talked a little while and made a date. After dinner I took the sedan, picked her up and went to call on the kid who had gone through the fence. But when we got to the hospital we found that they had doped him because the traction splints were bothering him. We walked out to the car and I lit her cigarette as we sat in the darkness.

“What’s the point in it, Joe?” she asked, her voice calm.

“In what?”

“In these nice kids getting killed and banged up. Just to see which car can go the fastest? Just to see who can drive better?”

“There’s... well, there’s more to it than that. I can’t explain it. I don’t know the words. You’ve just got to believe me. There is more to it. Something that gets in your blood.”

She sniffed audibly. “Take me home, Joe.”

“Sure.”

They were in a two-bedroom tourist cabin a half mile from the track. When we got there Johnny was sitting on the floor just inside the door, his face white, holding onto his wrist. His wrist had a funny bend in it.

“Johnny!” she gasped, and dropped on her knees beside him. “What happened?”

His lips were pale. He tried to smile up at me. “Your friend, Arlen,” he said. “He came around and shot off his mouth. I popped him and he broke my wrist. Better get hold of a doctor.”

Hoop, Gil and Brick were playing three-handed showdown for quarters when I flung the door open and stomped in.

“What the hell kind of a trick did you pull?” I asked Brick, walking over to him.

“Relax, Joe. Relax! The punk got wise and popped me. See the lump here on my chin? We wrassled around a little and I left.”

“You broke his wrist!”

“Tch, tch, tch. Whadda ya know!” he said.

Hoop laid down his hand and pushed his chair back. “You didn’t tell me that, Arlen,” he said softly.

Brick tilted his chair back. “Do you guys need pictures? You know I talked to Big Arch Jeyett. He wanted to know what the hell has happened to us. I gave him the pitch and told him how this Wall guy cut me out in the first race. He sort of hinted around that maybe I ought to convince him he didn’t have me buffaloed, and then he talked about how much all this meant to the firm. And he said that we’ll be looking for jobs if I don’t come through tomorrow in first place. He said it would be a shame if Wall couldn’t drive tomorrow, and when I talked to him to be sure that I didn’t mess him up bad. Hell, I can take a hint.”

Bud Hoop had a look on his weatherbeaten face as though he tasted something bad. I said to him, “Is Arch that sort of a guy?”

“Could be,” Hoop said.

I leaned over and slapped Brick across the mouth, hard enough to split his lip and tip him over backward in the chair.

He came up, fast, ugly and silent. He was tougher and smarter than I, but not half as mad. He hit me high in the temple with a left and crossed a right to my throat. I gagged and rushed him until I had him over in a corner by the bureau. His face was something hanging in a mist. My arms slowly turned to lead and there was a thick, wet, hammering noise, jolts that ran up my arms.

Then my fist cracked into the bare wall, and I was sobbing for breath. Hoop pulled me back and I looked around for Brick. He was on the floor, his cheek against the wall, his eyes closed.

“When he comes to,” I said, “Tell him to call his good pal, Jeyett, and tell him that Joe Gartner resigned.”

I threw the stuff into my suitcase and walked out into the night.

By the time I got to the tourist cabin, the doctor had gone. Some color was back in Johnny’s face. He looked at me dully. “This tears it, Joe,” he said. “We’re all through.”

I glanced at Jane. “What are you going to do now, Johnny?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Sell the big wagon, get a stake together and try again. I’ll have to start at the bottom. Midgets or dirt. Something like that.”

Jane looked as though he had slapped her. “You promised!” she said.

Before he could make angry answer, I stepped in and said, “And what happens if I drive the iron and bring her in for you? Will you go back to that promise?”

Finally I explained to them. Johnny agreed not to race again, and then Jane was in my arms, laughing and crying. She looked up at me and said, “Be careful, Joe. Please be careful!”

The officials put up an argument. The Franzetta-Gorf had to be wheeled by John Wall. Then I told them what had happened. They saw the light. I glanced up mechanic’s row and saw Brick standing in the pit, glaring at me. I waved at him.

A pair of trim legs concealed by blue jeans stuck out from under the Franzetta-Gorf. I got down and crawled under. She was checking a lock-nut on the differential. I took the wrench out of her hands, pulled her toward me and kissed her.

She struggled for one-tenth of the first second. Then she got into the spirit of it. She whispered, “If I could break your arm to keep you from driving, Joe, I’d do it.”

“We’ll have a talk about that afterwards, Janey. It’s the only trade I know.” We crawled out from under. I looked at the Franzetta-Gorf and didn’t let her see how much I hated the ugly, shining snout of it. I had one of those hunches. Hunches are bad. I had a hunch with fire in it. Fire and blood and the bitter jagged ends of broken bones. It put a chill in the sunshine.

I knew what I had to do. I strolled down to the big red Jeyett Special, spat into the dust and said, “Arlen, I’ve got some advice for you. Just stay the hell out of my way.”

I was banking on that red hair. I walked back. When I turned around, both Hoop and Gil had hold of his arms. He was bucking and plunging, trying to get loose to come after me.