Hot Seat (6 page)

I didn't see any vehicles that caused my neck hairs to stand on end, but I wasn't taking any chances. I wasn't stopping for anyone, unless it was a police car, and I wasn't so sure about that.

I kept my foot planted on the accelerator until Miss Angry Renault's temper tantrum had run out of steam. She gave up by the time we reached Old Windsor.

Rags had told me to stay out of the limelight. I wasn't doing a great job.

T
he following Monday, I drove down to Snetterton in Norfolk for my first official test session with Ragged Racing. Weekday testing is when the circuits open their doors so that teams from all classes and divisions of motorsport can practice between races. It can be a real zoo out there because you can be sharing the track with anything.

Excitement and anxiety joined me on my drive to the circuit. I wasn't playing at being a racing driver anymore. I was the real thing now. That realization had kept me awake most of last night. I couldn't screw up this opportunity. I had to believe in myself. If I maintained my confidence, I'd do fine.

I tempered my excitement. I had an additional job to do today. This test session would also give me a chance to check out the transporter. I hoped it would provide some insight into why Jason Gates was killed and give me something to get Andrew Gates off my back.

I arrived to find the team already in place and working on the cars. They were the only team in the pits.

Rags shook my hand. ‘Good. You're on time. I like that. Come with me. Driver briefing. How are you doing .?.?. since, you know?'

‘OK.'

‘Good. You witnessed a terrible thing. But you can't let it distract you. You ready for this?'

‘Yes,' I said and meant it.

Rags took me into one of the unused garages where Kurt Haulk was already waiting with Barry Nevin. Nevin was the Ragged Racing crew chief. He was short, squat and built like an oil drum with Popeye-like forearms. He almost broke my hand when he shook it.

‘Aidy, Barry will be running your car with his guys. He might look like he just escaped from Middle Earth, but he knows his stuff.'

Rags' joke got a laugh.

‘I'll expect you to get the best out of each other as well as the car. I think you two will do well together.'

Nevin grinned at me. ‘I watched you during the shootout. You have a good technical head on your shoulders, so we'll do great.'

Rags clapped his hands together. ‘OK, chaps, with the arse kissing over, here's today's menu. I want to give these cars a thorough workout. The ESCC has a new tyre compound for this season, so I want to see how it compares to last year's tyres. Aidy's new and I want to see how well he slots in with Haulk. I also want to run some exercises. Finally, we're getting to play on the new track. That will be a great leveller, so I'll get to see how good Aidy is and how rusty Kurt is.'

Snetterton had gone through a major redevelopment. The track's profile had always looked like a slightly wonky exclamation mark, but the track's owner, Jonathon Palmer, had redesigned the layout and installed a fantastic in-field section that added a mile to the track's length, making it a very challenging three-mile circuit.

‘OK, I think that's it. Everyone get suited up and let's get out there. We've got the track to ourselves.'

‘Ourselves?' I said.

‘Rags doesn't play well with others,' Haulk said. ‘He always books exclusive test days.'

Exclusive test days were commonplace for Formula One teams with deep enough pockets to rent the track for themselves, but not teams in the ESCC. The sponsors had to be pumping in some serious cash for Rags to afford this. I reckoned I was going to like racing for Ragged.

‘We can't keep a competitive edge if everyone gets to see what we're doing,' Rags said. ‘Before you get out there and impress me, I have a quick announcement. Come with me.'

We followed Rags out to the pit lane.

‘Can I have everyone's attention?' Rags called across the pit garages. ‘Everyone gather around, please.'

The crew stopped what they were doing and crowded around him.

‘As everybody is aware, Jason Gates was murdered last week.'

Several people looked my way.

‘Most of you know Jason started out with us.'

I didn't. That put a fresh spin on events.

‘He started out as a grease monkey and left us an accomplished technician. He deserved better. As a mark of respect, I'd like to have a moment's silence in Jason's honour.'

We bowed our heads. There'd been so much fervour in our preparation before hitting the track that the sudden silence was haunting. The only sound was the wind gusting down the pit lane.

‘OK, guys, let's get back to it.'

‘Lads, a moment,' Nevin said to his crew. ‘Aidy, these reprobates will be running your car. Say hello to Jim McLeod, Dalton Mitchell, Roy Carroll and Stephen Price. They'll break their backs for you, but they'll expect you to do the same for them.'

I shook hands with all of them.

‘OK, intros out the way, let's impress the boss,' Nevin said.

I jogged back to my car, grabbed my kit bag and changed into my race clothes. This consisted of flame retardant socks, long johns, a long-sleeved T-shirt, shoes and overalls. The clothing always seemed like overkill. Racecars rarely caught fire these days, but there was always the exception. I just hoped I'd never get to find out what it was like to be the exception. All dressed up, I jogged across the paddock back to the pits.

I stopped when I reached the team transporter. The doors were open, so I clambered up and stood inside. The transporter was a mobile workshop, all gleaming aluminium and polished steel. The cars sat on tracks inside. Storage compartments galore provided a home for replacement parts and tools. Everything that might be needed to strip and rebuild any of the cars was here. Jason had wanted something from here, but what? Nothing stood out at first glance. There was plenty worth stealing, but there'd be no point. Anything he'd find here he'd also find with his own team and certainly none of it was worth killing him over. If Jason had been breaking in to take something, it would be something very specific.

‘Aidy, what are you doing?' Nevin asked from behind me.

I hadn't heard him walk up on me. ‘Just looking. It's a bit more than I'm used to.'

‘Well, you're in the big leagues now, son. C'mon, we've got work to do.'

I jumped down from the transporter and the two of us walked back to the garage.

‘I know you've driven this car, but now you've got to race it. Remember, it's a lot different from your Formula Ford, OK?'

‘Got it.'

‘The telemetry will feed us everything you're doing, so don't think you can bullshit me on what's happening.'

I smiled. ‘I won't.'

Nevin smiled back. ‘Good lad. I want you to go out and give me twenty. Use ten to get a feel for the car and then give me ten flying laps to let me see how you put it all together.'

‘No problem.'

‘Questions?'

I frowned. ‘More of a request.'

‘Shoot.'

I had pre-race customs, although Dylan called them superstitions. I was used to prepping my own cars and knew every inch down to the nuts and bolts. Before I climbed behind the wheel, I always checked each joint and torqued my wheels. It served a technical purpose, but it also calmed and focused me. I explained this to Nevin and he and his crew laughed their heads off.

‘We're going to get on well,' Nevin said. ‘Aren't we, boys?'

His crew responded with thumbs-up and yeses.

‘You're in a different world now, Aidy. These lads have got your back. We'll forget nothing. You're in safe hands, but I like someone who crosses t's and dots i's.' Nevin handed me a checklist. ‘I run through this with the boys before any of my drivers hit the track. You call it out and we'll do it.'

I liked Nevin's military precision. I called out the checks and my crew carried them out, making sure everything was tight, locked down and operating normally, even down to retorquing the wheels.

When the checklist was completed, Nevin handed me my helmet, which was mic'd up. This was the first time I'd be driving with a headset.

‘I like drivers who talk to me,' Nevin said. ‘I want your commentary. Your feedback is just as useful as the telemetry.'

I completed my final pre-race custom by kissing my mum's St Christopher that I'd been wearing since her death. I pulled on my helmet and climbed into the car. Nevin belted me in, plugged in my headset, then sent me out.

Haulk had already joined the circuit and I accelerated hard on the pit lane. The car shuddered over the concrete surface on its stiff springs until I hit the track's smooth asphalt. I wound the car up through the gears. With its interior stripped out, the roar of the engine echoed inside the cavernous cockpit.

As Nevin asked, I worked my way into the car, adjusting to its power and adapting to its idiosyncrasies. The extra weight and higher centre of gravity meant I couldn't corner as fast as in my Formula Ford. I had to work the brakes hard before I entered every corner, but I also had the power to compensate on the straights. As I racked up the laps, the car lost its unfamiliarity and I felt it respond to me.

‘That's ten laps,' Nevin said through my headset. ‘Now show me what you can do.'

I pushed the car, but I didn't go crazy. With each lap, I went a little deeper with the car, getting on the power earlier, braking later and refining my racing line. Nevin kept in contact the whole time. I liked having his voice in my ear, guiding and encouraging me. It reminded me of Steve, that voice of reason smoothing my reservations away.

At the end of my second set of laps, I came in. Nevin kept me in the car while the crew carried out checks and refuelled.

‘I like your times. They aren't earth shattering, but you're chipping away at them. Keep it up.'

I put in another thirty laps under Nevin's tuition before Rags called in all the cars for lunch. I hated stopping for lunch. It meant losing the rhythm I was in, although it made sense to come in to refuel the body as well as the car. Most people would be amazed at how much energy a driver burns off during a race, considering he remains seated for all of it.

I came in to find the crew had converted two of the unused garages into a team canteen with tables and chairs. It was just one of the many perks of having the whole pit lane to yourself.

Nevin handed me a prepared lunch consisting of a pasta salad and roast chicken and I grabbed a bottle of water from an ice bucket. I took a seat at the table with everyone else and ate a forkful of the pasta salad.

‘Hmm, that's weird,' Price said to me.

‘What?'

‘I'm surprised you didn't turn around three times before you sat down. You being a superstitious sod and everything.'

Everyone laughed.

‘Ha-bloody-ha,' I said with a smile. I should have known I was going to take some ribbing over wanting to carry out my own spanner checks.

Haulk ruffled my hair as he passed by. ‘So what else are you superstitious about? You don't sit down when you take a piss, do you?'

This got another laugh.

‘Leave the lad alone,' Nevin said.

‘I'm sure I'm not the only one who has superstitions.'

‘Show him,' Rags said to Haulk.

Haulk frowned.

‘Do it,' Rags insisted.

Haulk reached inside his overalls and pulled out a tiny teddy bear. It was frayed and manky looking. ‘I never race without it.'

‘What's everyone else got?' I asked.

Nevin slapped his groin. ‘I've got my lucky underwear.'

‘Not so lucky from where I'm sitting,' McLeod said.

‘Hey, at least you can find me in the dark,' he said.

‘I don't know why I have any of you working for me,' Rags said, grinning.

The crew spent the next twenty minutes taking pot shots at each other. I liked it. We felt like a family instead of a team and it was nice to be a part of the fun, but I had to get them talking about Jason.

‘I didn't know Jason Gates worked for Ragged,' I said.

The life went out of the crowd and frowns replaced smiles.

‘Yeah,' Rags said. ‘He started with us four years ago, the year after Mike Whelan won his first championship for us.'

‘Jason left us about a year ago,' Nevin said.

‘Was he really still alive when you found him?' Mitchell asked.

I nodded.

‘Christ, I can't imagine having my throat cut.'

That brought a fresh lull to the conversation and everyone focused on their food.

‘Why do you want to know about Jason?' Carroll asked.

‘Just wondering. I was with him when he died and I don't know a thing about him.'

‘He was a good lad,' Nevin said.

‘He didn't know a wing nut from a hand job when he started out with us,' Price said.

‘But he was a fast learner,' Nevin said.

The crew shared half a dozen stories about how Jason had either screwed up or saved the day, but none of it helped me explain why he'd been killed and who would have done it.

‘The thing that confuses me,' I said, ‘is what he was doing hanging around our transporter.'

My remark brought the conversation to a screeching halt. Everyone looked to Rags for guidance.

‘Time to wrap this up. We've still got a lot of road to cover and this conversation is getting a little morbid for my liking.'

And that was that. At least I had one answer. When it came to skeletons in the cupboard, Ragged Racing operated on a code of silence.

Rags sent Haulk and me out on drills for the afternoon session. We practised slipstreaming with the cars running nose to tail with no gap between us. The first car made a hole in the air, which reduced the wind resistance on the cars behind. We'd use this practice when it came to setting qualifying times. Next, Rags had me practise blocking. I drove ahead of Haulk and protected my position by keeping to my lines and making myself as wide I could to keep him behind me. Then we swapped. We finished off the day with a dogfight. Rags told us to pull off the gloves and go for it. The two of us went at each other for twenty-five laps like we were in a real race. It was a serious affair. Haulk didn't want to finish second to the new boy and I didn't want come off second best. I deserved my spot on the team and I wanted to prove it. And I did. For the most part, nothing separated us. I rode Haulk's bumper for five laps before I blew by him. But my lead didn't last. Haulk pulled an audacious move, out-braking me on the back straight and muscling his way past. Naturally, I blew it on the following lap and spun out on the hairpin trying to regain my position.