Pole Position

by Karen Botha

  “Who is it?” I shout. I’m not fully clothed yet, having spent too much time on the laptop in bed rather than rising and getting down to the offices.

  “Mr. Beaumont-Judd?” A strongly latino accented voice of the type native to the country we’re racing in, shouts back.

  Hmmm. “Which one?”

  “Mr. Kyle Beaumont-Judd.”

  I’ve already slipped on my running shorts and am halfway into a t-shirt as I open the door. “Can I help you?” I pull the top down to reveal two armed local police officers.

  “Are you Mr. Kyle Beaumont-Judd?”

  “Yes, I am. How can I help?” I’m getting irritated now and my voice shows it.

  “We are here to arrest one of your team members. Our colleagues are up there with the individual in question now, and we understand you run the place, so we’re here to let you know. Out of courtesy.”

  OK. Let’s just process this. Someone is being arrested, and basically because we generate so much money in the area, they’re not allowed to piss us off entirely and so they’re here to let me know. But, they’re still arresting rather than warning.

  “Who? Why?” And as I ask, I already know.

  “Mr. Axel Grant.”

  I close my eyes. This is Chase’s doing. I should have left Axel to batter ten bells of shit out of him. He’s timed this precisely to coincide with when he thought Elliott would be here. It’s a great way to put the competition off his race day performance.

  Well, fuck you, Chase. Elliott is out.

  “I’ll come up with you. I do not want him touched until I arrive. Please radio that through.”

  When I arrive with my convoy at the camp, Axel is already dressed in his uniform, ready to start his first race day. I rush over to him.

  “Do not say a word. I’ve already called Cifford, our lawyer, on our way up here, and he is going to arrange for someone local to come down and represent you. Follow only their advice. You hear me? This is just a way to try to throw Elliott off his game today. If Chase causes enough upset, it’ll mess with Elliott’s pre-race routine, and he won’t be able to concentrate in the same way. Do not worry. I doubt they’ve got anything substantial on you.”

  “Other than the videos everyone took. And a million witnesses,” he groans, pursing his lips and eying my flip-flops.

  “Sure, but no one knows what happened before they were switched on, and that’s what you need to discuss with your lawyer when they arrive. Got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now, if you’re OK, shall we get you out of here quickly before Elliott hears of all this? Are you OK if we do that?”

  “Yeah, I don’t want that fucker winning.” His voice is overly tough.

  My heart warms for this confused young kid, trying to be an adult while adapting to being loved by a dad who is still learning how to love a kid he didn’t know existed. It’s like learning to row without any oars: impossible, but it’s his only hope.

  I shove him again, as I did last night and lean in close so only he can hear. “See, you’re just like your dad.” I smile and when I do, my dark chocolate eyes connect with his azure ones, darkened by angst. Their glassy surface allows me to view a tiny fragment of his soul. They shimmer with the horror of being in over his head and unable to say. A good deed gone bad. The kid is scared to death, but unwilling to back down.

  “I’m proud of you, and Elliott will be too. Don’t let them bully you, kid. We’re here for you whatever. WE love you.”

  It’s the first time I’ve said it. I’ve no idea what Elliott has said to him in the past, but in this moment, as we stand there faced with our first crisis as a family, those words have never been truer and to speak them is the most natural thing in the world. There was a time when they would have felt awkward as they rolled off my tongue, when they would have stuck in my throat and choked me with a fear of doing the wrong thing. But now, none of that is important. The only thing that matters is that Axel knows he’s got people who want him.

  He shoves me back. “Ah, nah, that’s just too sappy. No need for all that bullshit.” But his eyes flash as he speaks and then he smiles, and it lingers, lightening his worried features.

  Elliott

  There’s a whisper swirling around camp, and it’s one that stops as soon as I’m close. Something has happened, and no one is telling me what. Again. No doubt for fear of whatever it is disrupting my race. I can sense the unsaid hanging in the air.

  I’m learning how the pattern works now. Except this time, rather than shoving whatever is unvoiced back under the proverbial rug, I hunt it out, knocking the dust out of that dirty old carpet covering the stain.

  Instead of finding Kyle, I head off in search of Axel. He’ll be less likely to avoid telling me what I want to know.

  Except it doesn’t matter where I look, because he’s nowhere to be found. I rub the back of my neck, still slick with oil from my earlier massage. My therapist has been working my shoulders and neck so that I don’t stiffen up during the two-hour stint struggling to control the heavy steering of the car. She didn’t account for missing family members.

  I might as well go and see Kyle. I’m passing his office, anyway. On my way in, I say hi to Luke. “Have you seen Axel around?”

  I don’t know Luke well, but his startled expression would give even his biggest stranger the head’s up that something is kicking off. His eyes and his mouth widen in unison, and he loses the ability to speak. Don’t forget, this is a man who gets a kick out of communicating his split second decisions in the heat of maximum pressure moments.

  “OK, don’t worry.” I don’t wait for his reply, choosing instead to barge right on into Kyle’s office.

  I don’t ask. There’s no point. He’ll come out with the same rehearsed answer as everyone else if I do. Instead, I play a bluff card. I stand there, silent, hands on hips, feet in a wide stance and I pause with my eyebrows raised.

  “What?” He looks up from his screen.

  I maintain my posture.

  “What is it, El?” Oh, he’s good.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  “After the race of course.” He smiles. It’s meant to charm me.

  “Well, tell me now.”

  A flicker of uncertainty crosses his features as he works out whether I’ve called his bluff, before he stops tapping away on his keyboard and walks around to face me. He places his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye.

  “Seriously, I wasn’t going to tell you because you need to focus.”

  “It’s not like trying to figure out what everyone else knows isn’t distracting.” I’m huffy, frustration bubbling.

  Kyle must see because he brushes his lips over mine in a way that puts out the fire, which had been threatening to rage. “The police picked up Axel earlier. They’ve taken him to the station on the equivalent of grievous bodily harm charges. I’ve called Clifford, who has already sourced a great lawyer over here so it won’t be long before he’s out. Until then we just need to wait. I’m sure the charges won’t stick, El. It’s more than likely Chase trying to throw you off your game plan by causing maximum disruption. Don’t let him win. The kid understands. He’s just biding his time down there.”

  The anger, which had abated, flares wild now.

  “Why get the fucking kid involved?”

  “I guess he pissed off the wrong people.”

  I turn, ready to knock off Chase’s block myself this time. Marching toward the exit, my brain filled with murderous intentions, Kyle shouts me down.

  “You know this is what he wants?”

  “It’s what I want too.”

  “I know.” He leans against the door so that I’ll have to move him before I can leave. “But why let him win? He’s not worth the aggravation. Channel this energy. Use it against him positively. You can’t do anything more than is already in place to help Axel. And think how the kid will feel if he thinks he ruined your result today.”

  And then, just as qui
ckly as it came, that tumultuous anger abates. All the turmoil that had been somersaulting around inside me just fades away. My limbs feel heavy and I suddenly need to rest against the wall. But where my body has weakened, my brain is sharp, focused. “You’re right. He wants me to go steaming over there.”

  And that’s the dangerous thing about a temper. It can be used in so many ways. Anger can be counterproductive like Axel is finding out, a young man who hasn’t had the time yet to understand its different forms. And then there’s the type of cold-blooded fury that allows you to use its force to drive your determination, your success, and your performance.

  Kyle

  With Elliott dealt with, the doubt that has been niggling the back of my mind since this whole episode with Axel kicked off resurfaces.

  If Chase reported Axel to the police, why would he wait until now?

  No one knows that Axel is Elliott’s kid, so why would Elliott give two hoots what happens to the high school dropout who’s landed a role at Judd Racing as his PR trainee?

  It was the first explanation that popped into my head, but that’s because I know the truth.

  If you’re unaware of all the facts surrounding these two’s history, there is no reason in this world to expect that Elliott would even be interested in Axel’s fate.

  Taking matters into my own hands, I take a stroll over to see Chase. He’s standing talking to some wealthy all access spectators when I arrive at his team’s garage. I have no choice but to wait by the entrance. They’re not going to let me just wander in behind the Tensa barriers and grab his attention. And, if I did, he’d ignore me, anyway.

  It’s odd, standing there, being an onlooker to a place which until recently felt like a second home. A lot of the staff has changed. Many people from Chase’s team are now working with us. But, even that doesn’t cease to make me feel melancholy. Sure, we’ve had our differences, and Chase has been a dick over the years. There’s no denying that. But this warfare that we seem to have gotten ourselves involved in isn’t Elliott or me. This whole leaving and starting up on our own thing has just gotten out of hand. Massively. And with the time to consider this, I'm sad that we’ve allowed that to happen.

  Jon is out with his TV crew. “Quick interview, Kyle?”

  Sure, it’s not like I have anything else to do. May as well keep our sponsors happy. “Of course.”

  We chat about how Elliott is preparing for the race day, how pleased we are that he’s ninth on the grid and how we see the start of the race playing out. I give him no information, other than what I expect, our competitors, i.e. Chase’s team, to be up to.

  When I wrap up, Chase is free and I’m able to bellow over the cacophony. “Chase, can I have a quick word?” I speak like a reporter on purpose. He may then look my way for fear of upsetting the wrong people.

  It works.

  He looks.

  I wave.

  “Chase, two minutes.”

  He stalks over, his eye socket still a deep shade of purple and despite my best intentions a few moments earlier, it still makes me have to smother my smile. “I wanted to talk to you about that unfortunate incident the other day. Have you reported it to anyone? He’s only a kid.”

  “No, of course not. I don’t appreciate being on the receiving end of his anger, but I admire his grit. You can’t be in racing without a certain number of those characters knocking around. It goes with the territory.”

  I’m not so much listening to his words, more to his tone. He’s not avoiding eye contact.

  I believe him. I don’t think he had anything to do with this.

  I try to play a different card. “The thing is, Axel was arrested this morning. If they charge him, you know you’ll be dragged into this. I was just thinking it’s the last thing that any of us needs with the back-to-back racing calendar.”

  Chase shakes his head. “You’re right. I do not want that. Who would have reported that though?”

  “Probably one of the do-gooders who recorded it. You know what can happen sometimes; if a video gets into the wrong hands, the police have to be seen to be doing something.”

  “Hmm. But, without me pressing charges...” He drifts off.

  “How about after the race, once we get everything tied up, we take a trip to the station and sort this out. Sound like a plan?”

  He shakes my hand. “See you in three hours.”

  Elliott

  I’m lined up on the starting grid. We’ve completed our warm-up lap, and my car is rumbling away as her fierce engine idles, waiting for the starting lights to flash off and for the chaos that is fifteen cars shooting off the blocks as fast as they can to commence.

  This should be a time when I’m nervous, but I’ve channeled my thwarting resentment into the ice cold fever burning in my chest. My jaw is set under my helmet, and energy runs from the focus of my eyes down to the edge of each limb. I’m poised and ready to take the fight to my competition.

  The lights start to countdown; the radio falls silent and all I can hear is my slow, focused breath. My ankle flexes, my foot lifts, poised. My fingers are charged with energy, ready to slam up the paddle on my steering column and kick-start this baby into action. Final light, and then it’s go.

  Bam!

  My fingers flick in time with my lead boot, and all my senses fire up as I tune into every nuance of the other cars repositioning around me.

  This car doesn’t have breakneck speed on the straights, but it can pull away quickly, and I must capitalize on this opportunity to move up the pack and finish higher than the ninth place we started in.

  I’m blessed with a gift as two cars in front collide, sending one spinning to the other side of the circuit and the other bouncing over the rumble strips, giving him a bad back for the rest of the race. I glide through the fog and debris to pick up a seventh position.

  “That’s how it’s done,” I gloat over the radio, really starting to get into my stride.

  “Well done, Elliott. A great move,” Luke coos. “Now, keep pushing. We’re on game plan two.”

  He’s telling me in code that I moved ahead quicker than we’d anticipated and so now my primary role is to pick off as many positions as possible while the cars are bunched up. As the race progresses, the time between each position will increase. Therefore if I don’t do this rapid-fire overtaking now, I’ll struggle later when there’s more of a gap between cars.

  It also means my tires won’t last as long, as I’ll be pushing the engine hard in the hot air pumped out by the cars in front, which will melt the rubber, shortening their life. So, I now need to go easy on my tires. If there’s no need to throw this girl around a corner, I’ll ease her through instead.

  But, right now, that’s not an option. I am pushing and as we approach the bend in front, the car ahead is busy trying to make a pass, so he doesn’t spot me approaching. I slip off the racing line and overtake on the outside, surprising him so it’s too late for him to react.

  There’s lots of whooping on the radio, but I don’t reply. My brain is lasered into the rear wheels of the car in front, making sure I don’t run into them as he weaves around the track, protecting his position.

  Kyle

  “His engine is overheating. He’s running too close to the car in front.” Trevor rubs his chin, mumbling to himself, but it broadcasts over the radio. Elliott's channel is shut off, allowing him to focus, so thank goodness he won't hear the concern in his engineer’s voice.

  Trevor continues, speaking to his team of engineering specialists back at our factory, checking their data is indicating the same at their end.

  “He needs to slow,” he says eventually, gritting his teeth.

  “But he’ll lose track position then. He’ll be overtaken. They’re packed too close together. Isn’t there another engine setting?” I ask this, but I know the answer. Trevor has just been through everything. It’s frustration making me check.

  He shakes his head. “Sorry.”

  “Tell him to back of
f then.” To be fair, we were way out of position up in fourth place, but it breathed life back into every one of us.

  “Too late.” Trevor spits at precisely the same time as Luke curses.

  “Loss of power.” Elliott sounds calmer than he probably is as we watch on the screen as he’s overtaken by the series of cars he just passed.

  “It’s the engine. Pull over. Do not return to the pits. I repeat, pull over to the side.” Trevor rests his head in his hands. “Fuck!” he mutters.

  I feel sick for Elliott. I should be pissed off that we, as a team, were so close to making an amazing entry into the most competitive sector of the sport, and then failed. But, that pales into insignificance at how my heart breaks for my man.

  Elliott so needs to be competing again, and to have that snatched away when he allowed all his hopes to soar is just cruel. I watch on the monitors as he smashes the base of both his palms against the steering wheel before shaking his head. A few seconds pass while he sits there, downcast and no doubt reeling, before he then removes the steering wheel and climbs out. His walk is heavy and his head bowed as he makes his way to the scooter waiting to bring him back to the pits.

  Keegan is still out there on the track, and he’s also started great. He’s made up two positions, in slightly less spectacular fashion than Elliott. But I can tell that the way he’s also been pushing the engine has Trevor concerned. He’s firing questions at his engineers, trying to secure a strong finish for at least one of our drivers. Especially as he’s now fighting through heavy traffic.

  Luke is speaking to Keegan, explaining that he needs to avoid the hot air of the cars in front by keeping back a good distance from them. Then he's listening to Keegan's rapid response, firing into him for preventing him from racing when that’s his job. These drivers get snappy when they’re on the track. Usually fun personalities flip into cantankerous old biddies when they sit inside that cockpit. And Keegan is no exception.