Drag-Strip Racer (6 page)

Dana smiled at their game, then turned and headed toward the house.

Anxious to know how Ken’s meeting with Dusty came out, he was barely able to restrain himself from asking Ken about it. He
didn’t want Ken to have the slightest notion that it was he who was responsible for the meeting.

His concern and anxiety didn’t last. Ken told him the news almost before Dana had closed the door behind him.

“Congratulations, brother!” Dana said, and shook Ken’s hand. “What made him change his mind?”

“Someone had seen Scott Taggart and his brothers steal the engine,” Ken explained, “and made Scott promise to take it back
or expect to be arrested. Dusty didn’t say, but probably Scott paid the guy not to squeal to the cops.”

“It’s possible,” Dana said steadily. “Anyway, I’m glad you got Dusty to sponsor you. He’s a good man to have backing you up.”

After dinner he excused himself and took off on his Kawasaki for Nick’s pool parlor. His mother’s pale blue eyes hovered in
his mind as he barreled the motorcycle down the street, the warm wind whistling past the plastic shield of his helmet. He
knew she wasn’t crazy about his spending so much time at the parlor and in Nick Evans’s company, but the job was his bread
and
butter. And he liked the crowd that came to play pool. They
weren’t
all roughnecks and troublemakers as she had said they were. Once in a while one or two guys with a little too much to drink
might start a quarrel, but, in general, most of the patrons were nice, law-abiding guys and girls.

“For crying out loud, Ma,” he had said to her, “you seem to think that only bad kids hang around pool halls. There are a lot
of good kids that hang around them, too.”

He didn’t think he had convinced her.

He reached Nick’s place, parked his motorcycle, locked it, and strode into the building with the helmet under his arm.

He had a beer, then he found Nick and Bettix at one of the tables and joined them.

They were in the middle of a game when Nick asked him, “Well, is Dusty going to sponsor Ken?”

Dana watched Phil Bettix lean his tall, thin frame over his cue stick and size up his next shot. “He is,” he said.

“Good. Maybe he’d be interested in a proposition I’ve got to offer him.”

Dana looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that racing can pay off for him in more ways than one.”

Dana’s eyes studied him a few moments while butterflies started to flutter in his stomach.

“Maybe you should have told him that you would sponsor him,” he said.

“I’m not about to sponsor anybody,” Nick answered tersely. “Not just yet, anyway.”

Phil shot and drove the number-two ball into a corner pocket.

“He won’t throw a race, Nick,” Dana said, getting to the point. “My kid brother is too darn honest to pull a thing like that.”

Nick chuckled. “I’ve met a lot of honest kids in my day, Dana. Most of them have a little bit of larceny in that honest-to-goodness
heart of theirs. He’s your blood brother. You can’t make me believe that a little bit of you isn’t in him. And that powerful
green stuff, money, will bring it out of him.”

Dana watched Phil miss a side-pocket shot by half an inch. But his ears were tuned in to what Nick Evans was saying, and he
could hardly believe what he heard.

Time passed as if in slow motion. He watched Nick walk around the table to get in position for a shot on the eleven ball.
Nick didn’t play often; only when there were about two or three people in the room. Most of the time he lingered near the
cash register, watching the players or reading a magazine.

Nick made the shot, but the cream-colored ball ricocheted against the cushion, then rolled back across the table into a side
pocket.

Bettix picked the eleven ball out of the pocket, spotted it on the white dot, then got the cue ball and set it in position.

“Tell Ken to give me a call,” Nick said. “No rush. It can be at his convenience.” He glanced toward the doorway where four
customers were just entering. “Here. Finish the game.” He handed the cue stick to Dana and walked toward the front of the
room to take care of them.

Bettix, still leaning over the table with the small end of the cue stick poked through his looped forefinger, said softly,
“Don’t underestimate Nick, my friend. I’ve known him a long time. He gambles, and seldom loses. Even when it comes to predicting
people.”

He shot. The cue ball struck the three ball on the side, angling it straight toward the corner pocket. The ball dropped in.

But the cue ball hadn’t finished its job. It hit the far side of the table, then ricocheted sharply to the left and kissed
the five ball that stood near the corner pocket.

Bettix went on to clean the table.

Dana stared at him, incredulous. “Hey, who are you, anyway?” he asked.

Bettix smiled. “Head mechanic at Troy’s Garage, and one heck of a lucky pool player. Come on. I’ll buy you a beer.”

T
HE PHONE
woke Ken. It rang and rang, and II he began to wonder if there was anyone else in the house.

Presently he heard footsteps hurrying across the floor, then the ringing stopped. Seconds later there was a tap on his door.

“Ken, are you awake?” It was his mother’s voice. She sounded worried.

He flipped back the covers. “Yeah,” he said.

“Dana’s on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”

Dana? What does he want? “Be right there,” he said.

He turned on the lamp that stood on the night-stand next to his bed and glanced at the small, radium-dialed clock sitting
next to it. Quarter of
three. Oh, man, he thought. Now what was Dana up to?

He reached for his crutches and hobbled out of the room.

The light in the hall was lit. It created a soft glow around his mother’s head as she stood there in front of it, her face
slightly in shadow.

“He says he’s all right, but what’s he doing out this late at night?” she said worriedly. “And why should he be asking for
you?”

Ken hobbled past her. “Go back to bed, Mom,” he said. “I’m sure he’s all right. If he wasn’t, it would’ve been someone else
calling.”

It was a lame statement, he knew, and he didn’t think he was fooling her one bit. But he had to say something and that was
the best thing he could think of right now.

He got to the phone and picked it up. “This is Ken,” he said.

“Ken, I’m in the brig,” Dana said. “I had an accident with my bike and they got me on a DUI.”

“Great; driving under the influence, really smart,” said Ken, feeling a stab of disgust. “What do you want me to do?”

“Bail me out, what else? It’s only two hundred
dollars. But I don’t want anybody else in the family to know about this.”

Ken glanced back over his shoulder and saw his mother staring at him from the next room.

“Dana, I haven’t got two hundred dollars,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’ve put all I had in that car. You know that.”

“I know, I know,” said Dana. He didn’t sound drunk to Ken. “Ask Dusty Hill for it. I’m sure he’ll give it to you.”

“I can’t ask him. I haven’t even raced for him yet. What about Nick Evans?”

“No, not Nick,” countered Dana. “Look, see Dusty…”

“Why not Nick?” Ken interrupted. “You work for him. Why wouldn’t he put up bail for you?”

He heard Dana take a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t want Nick involved in this, Ken,” he said irritably. “That’s final.
Keep his name out of this. See Dusty. He’ll give it to you. Tell him I’ll pay him back in a month or so. But, for crying out
loud, do it as soon as you can this morning. I don’t want to stay in this hoosegow all day.”

Ken sighed. “Okay, Dana. I’ll see what I can do.”

He hung up.

He turned slowly, hoping his mother wasn’t still back there waiting for him. But she was. Her eyes were wide with anxiety,
her face like dough in the weak light.

“He’s in trouble, isn’t he?” she murmured.

He hobbled toward her, then started to go past her. “He was in a small accident,” he said uneasily. “He isn’t hurt, though,
so don’t worry.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “Where is he?”

He hesitated. “Mom, he’s all right. Don’t worry about him.”

He walked past her, feeling her eyes piercing his back.

“Ken,” she said.

He paused and turned around. “He’s in jail, Mom, under two-hundred-dollar bail,” he explained. “I’m going to ask Dusty Hill
for the money this morning to bail him out.”

He felt he had to tell her. He couldn’t let her go to bed worrying the worst about Dana.

“If I had it—” she started to say.

“But you don’t,” Ken cut in, “so forget it. Go to bed. It’ll work out.”

He went back to bed himself, staring up at the darkened ceiling. That brother of mine, he
thought. What is it going to be the next time? A real smashup in which he’d barely survive? Or didn’t survive?

It was ten of eight, and his father was already sitting down at breakfast when Ken entered the kitchen. Ken could tell immediately
from the expression on his father’s face that he had learned about Dana.

He sat down and had a glass of orange juice while his mother started to cook some hot cereal for him.

“So your brother finally got jailed on a DUI charge,” his father broke the awkward silence. “I’d let him sit there for a couple
of days. Let him get some sense into that crazy head of his.”

Ken stared at him.

“Frank!” Mrs. Oberlin exclaimed. “He’s your son! How can you say a thing like that? Why, he’d be more hurt than ever—”

“Hurt?” her husband cut in, looking up at her. “How about me? And you? Aren’t you hurt about what happened to him, and what
he keeps doing to mess up his life? Maybe a couple of days in jail will be just the thing to teach him a lesson or two.”

“Don’t say that, Dad,” Ken said. “He already
thinks you don’t care what happens to him. And that you don’t love him. If he could hear what you’re saying now—” He paused.
“Well, I don’t know what he’d do.”

“If I didn’t love him I wouldn’t care what happened to him,” his father grunted. “And the same goes for you.”

For a moment their eyes met, and Ken felt a desperate urge to reach over and touch his father’s hand. But just then his mother
came over with the cereal and poured it into the bowl in front of him.

After his mother had left for work, Ken left to run his errand, knowing that Dana must be sitting on pins and needles in that
jail cell waiting for him to arrive with the bail money.

He drove the pickup to the Wade Mall and found Dusty having coffee and doughnuts with Rooster. They both looked at him as
he stepped into the store, and for a minute he wondered if he should mention his mission to Dusty in front of Rooster.

Anyway, Dusty didn’t ask what brought him here so early. Instead, he offered Ken a doughnut which Ken accepted.

They talked briefly about his leg. “You’re walking with those crutches as if you’ve always
had ’em,” Rooster said. They talked about his little red racing car. “Race coming up this Saturday. You going to enter it?”
the mechanic wanted to know.

Ken said no, he wasn’t. He wanted to run more passes with the car.

Would he be ready to race next weekend? He wasn’t sure, he said.

Rooster finally finished his second doughnut and his coffee, ran a hand across his mouth to wipe off the rim of powdered sugar,
and left. The minute the door clanged shut behind him, Ken began to steel himself against the embarrassment of asking Dusty
for the money to bail Dana out of jail. They had signed an agreement that Dusty would back him up in three successive races,
with the option for more races should they find that their partnership was mutually satisfactory. But Ken still didn’t feel
close enough to Dusty to ask him for two hundred dollars to bail out Dana without alligators prowling around in his stomach.

“Something on your mind, Ken?” Dusty asked, wiping the cup out with a napkin and then setting it on a shelf next to the coffee
maker.

“Yeah.”

Thoughts jumbled in his mind for a few sec
onds before he finally got them together. “I need two hundred dollars to bail my brother out of jail.”

Dusty’s eyes widened with surprise. “What did he do?”

“He got into an accident with his motorcycle and was arrested for drunken driving.”

“Did he get hurt?”

“No.”

Dusty sucked in a deep breath, pursed his lips, and shook his head. Ken interpreted it to mean that Dusty was refusing him.
But then Dusty leaned over to one side, took out his wallet, and picked out two fifty-dollar bills. He got two more fifties
out of the cash register and handed them all over to Ken.

Ken felt his hand tremble as he took them. “Thanks, Mr. Hill. I hadn’t wanted to ask you, but—”

“Forget it. Always willing to help a friend.”

“Thanks again. Dana promised he’d pay you back within a month. If he doesn’t, well…I’ll try to myself. I’ll sign an IOU if
you want me to.”

Dusty raised his hand. “Hey. Forget it. I’ll take your brother’s word that he’ll pay me back. He’s not all that bad.” The
last sentence came out almost as an afterthought.

Ken stuck the two hundred dollars into his wallet, said good-bye to Dusty, and walked out of the store.

Within twenty minutes Dana was out of jail.

In the pickup Dana said, “Dusty gave you the money, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

Dana reached over and squeezed Ken’s knee. “I appreciate this, brother.”

“Well, you owe him two hundred. I told him you had promised to pay him back in a month.”

“Don’t worry,” Dana said easily. “I will.”

On the following Monday Ken hauled Li’l Red to the Candlewyck Speedway in hopes of running a dozen or so passes with her.
This time both Janet and Lori rode with him. Lori hadn’t seen him drive the little red Chevy down any speedway track yet and
had begged to go along.

He got the surprise of his life when he got out of the pickup and started to pull down the ramp on the trailer. He had heard
a voice over the public address system and looked up to see someone waving to him from a window of the timing tower.