Sweet Carolina(5)
“Sit down, Dell.”
Dell glared at Virgil, unable or unwilling to believe what was happening.
“Sit down, son.”
Dell returned to his chair and sat with his elbows braced on his thighs. “There's more?”
“Look, Dell… you know I think of you as a son. Your daddy was a hard man, but he was a friend. I hate to see you doing this to yourself. Ever since he hit the wall, you've changed. You aren't the driver you were when I took you on. Caudell was an idiot when it came to you. He loved you too goddamned much, I guess. He didn't want you to race.”
Dell forced his neck muscles to cooperate and raised his head so he could look Virgil in the face. “What are you talking about?”
“I'm trying to tell you something – something important. Caudell and I were friends up until I gave you a ride. He never spoke to me again after I took you on, except to tell me he'd kill me if anything happened to you. I believed him. The man worshipped the ground you walked on.”
Dell's laugh was without humor. “Let's suppose for a minute any of this preposterous story is true. Why did you give me a ride?”
“Because you're the best damned driver I've ever seen. Or you were. Look…Dell. I hate to do this, but I owe Caudell this much. I made him a promise, and I aim to honor it. I'm taking your ride. You're done, son.”
Dell sat up. “I don't believe this. You tell me I'm the best, and in the next breath, you take my ride? What the hell?”
“I'm doing it for your own good, Dell. I promised your daddy I'd make sure you were safe. It was easy enough when you were driving like the pro you are, but ever since Caudell died, you've been driving like a madman. That's what the other drivers call you, behind your back. Madman. It's not a name I would have ever associated with Dell Wayne, but it fits the new you. You're a danger to yourself, and to the other drivers.”
“You're shittin' me.”
“No, Dell, I'm not. Your sponsor threatened to pull their support if NASCAR suspended you. They'll continue to sponsor the car, but they want another driver.” He pushed a piece of paper across his desk to Dell. “It's all there in black and white. NASCAR will ban you from the track if you ever do anything like that again.”
Dell studied the decree handed down from NASCAR.
“Take some time off, Dell. Get a grip on whatever it is that compels you to be a madman on the track. If you get it together, come see me. I'd like to see you back in the 21 car.”
Chapter Two
Carolina eyed her senior crew chief over the desk. What to tell him? Somehow, telling him if they didn't start winning races, he and everyone else would be out of a job, sooner rather than later, didn't seem like a good idea. She needed to instill confidence, not fear. She needed to set a positive example.
“What happened on Sunday?” she asked.
Russell shrugged his shoulders and cast his eyes anywhere but at her. Damn. Russell was almost as old as her father, and one of his best friends. Answering to Stewart Hawkins twenty-three-year-old daughter wasn't something he accepted easily.
“Look, Russell. Whether you like it or not, I'm in charge now. Daddy's gone, and he isn't coming back. I own Hawkins Racing now, and I'm going to run it, so get used to it.”
Russell fidgeted in his chair and Caro fought the urge to roll her eyes at him. This was all her father's fault. If he'd let her be a part of the business for the last few years, all this proving herself stuff would be behind her now. “Was it the car or the driver? How did the engine perform?”
She'd already read all the stats on the engine and knew it wasn't the problem, but she wanted to hear Russell's take on the race. Would he come to the same conclusion or would he place the blame somewhere else?
“The car was fine. It qualified well, and had the power to win.”
She was relieved to hear him say what she already knew. “So?” she prompted.
“I hate to place blame, but in this case, I'd say the driver was at fault. Wilson doesn't have what it takes to run with the big boys, not yet anyway.”
“He is young,” she agreed.
“There are drivers younger than him winnin' Cup races.”
“True.” Caro tapped her pencil on the desk blotter. “What do you suggest?”
“We need a driver who's got the ba…, I mean, the guts to go up against the pack. Someone who won't back down from a challenge. Wilson lets the seasoned drivers push him around. Someone cuts him off, he just moves back a position and lets 'em go.”
“He's not aggressive enough,” she surmised.
“I guess you could say that. He does fine in qualifying and practice runs. There's nobody on the track to intimidate him – it's just him against the clock. He's green, but if you don't stand up for yourself during the race, they're gonna eat you alive.”