Dirt put his hands out and motioned for Burns to sit down. “Settle down, old man. If that report is true, I can assure you I had nothing to do with it. You know my hands are clean.”
“Says the man known as Dirt.”
Dirt edged closer. “They don’t call me Dirt because of what’s underneath my fingernails.”
“Please tell me how you got your nickname then,” Burns said, sarcasm dripping in his tone.
“Keep accusin’ me and you’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You keep tryin’ to pin this on me and I’ll tell everybody what happened when you went into debt fifteen years ago and why Greg Grant really lost that race in Homestead.”
Burns’ eyes narrowed. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”
“You’re dumber than you look if you’d believe such a story.”
Dirt let out a short breath. “Believe it? I heard it from your own mouth one night. You had a little too much in you and you were shootin’ off about it.”
Burns waved dismissively and turned around. “You’re full of it now.”
“The hell I am—I’ve even got a recording of it. One I’m holding on to in case you lose your entire mind and start blamin’ this on me in the press.”
“I’m callin’ your bluff.”
“Oh, so, you didn’t lose a couple hundred grand gambling? And you didn’t repay your debt by tweakin’ Grant’s car so it was so tight that it wasn’t competitive in the final race of the season—a race he only needed to finish twenty-fifth in to win the cup that year? You didn’t do that?”
Burns’ shoulders slumped and he stared at his plate.
“That look says it all,” Dirt snapped.
Burns looked up. “That wasn’t all there was to the story. I only did it because I needed some money to care for my momma. They were gonna put her in an institution if I didn’t come up with a deposit.”
“Cry me a river. You were more worried about someone crushing your knee caps than you were your momma.”
Burns stood up and lunged toward Dirt. “Don’t you ever talk about my momma—God rest her soul.”
Dirt backed up. “I promise to keep her name out of my mouth if you do the same to keep my name out of yours when you go slingin’ these accusations around. Got it?”
Burns nodded and sat back down. He gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath.
Dirt started to walk away and then stopped. “I’ll be watchin’ you tomorrow, Burns.”
CHAPTER 31
BEARING A BOUQUET, Ned Davis knocked on the hospital door to Jessica Tanner’s room. He conjured up his best sympathetic face and hoped she would buy it. While he felt a loss for her husband, he couldn’t say he was sad to see her go with him—only she hadn’t exactly gone yet. He loathed her meddlesome ways with Carson while he was a driver, and he detested them even more so now.
He forced a smile and plodded toward her bedside. “How are you feeling?”
Jessica scooted up and pushed a button on the automatic bed to help her sit more upright. She rubbed her belly and looked down. “I’ve been better.”
“I brought you something,” he said, offering the flowers.
“Thanks. Can you put them over there?”
He nodded and set them on a bedside table. “What are the doctors saying about what happened? I came as soon as I heard.”
“That was kind of you, Mr. Davis. I’ve been under a lot of stress over the last week and I think it just started to take its toll on my body.”
“I wanted to stop by with a get well wish and see what I could do to help.”
Jessica sighed. “You know, Mr. Davis, I don’t think there’s much you can do, other than help NASCAR come to the same conclusion as my independent investigator did. Help them figure out who tampered with Carson’s car. It’ll give me some peace, as well as help me get the life insurance I so desperately need.”
“I can help with money if you need it.”
“It’s not about money for me, to be honest. I’ve got some unexpected bills I need to pay. But even more so, it’s more about her,” she said as she pointed at her stomach. “I found out my baby needs costly surgery before she’s born. He’s got a condition that requires open womb surgery.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, it really sucks.” She paused. “But we’re gonna make it.”
“Well, I can help pay your medical bills and give you a generous bereavement package.”
“That’d be kind of you.”
“How does five hundred thousand dollars sound?”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch—just walk away from this investigation. It’s important for you right now to put it all behind you and move on.”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “Move on? My husband died in one of your cars and you’re not the least bit curious as to how something like that happened—and you just want me to move on? What kind of person are you?”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me? By paying me off?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m—”
“No, you listen to me,” Jessica said, wagging her finger. “I know exactly what you’re up to. Whether you’re trying to protect yourself or your brand or somebody on your team, I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’m not moving on until I find out what happened last week. Or more importantly, who sabotaged Carson’s car. Is that clear?”
“Jessica, I’m afraid you’re making a big mistake. They’re not going to find anything because there’s nothing to be found.”
The steady beat reported by Jessica’s heart monitor quickened. “I’m sure you’re going to make sure that’s the case, aren’t you?”
“I hope you’re not trying to suggest that I can control NASCAR, because let me assure you that no one can. I want the truth too, but the truth is it was an accident. And anything else that continues to challenge those findings does nothing but weaken our team and our brand.”
“I knew it. That’s all you care about is that stupid race team of yours and your sacred brand and marketing opportunities. You don’t care that one of the greatest men I’ve ever known died in one of your cars less than a week ago. And here you are with the gall to try to buy my silence.”
Davis chuckled. “One of the greatest men you’ve ever known? You need to get out some, Jessica. He wasn’t who you thought he was.”
“I lived with him. I know what kind of man he was. And you better watch your mouth.”
“Did he tell you about his gambling debts?”
Jessica didn’t flinch.
“Oh, so you knew. Did he tell you how much he owed? Because I can tell you that it was a lot. He used to get visits from some guys that I had to get extra security for because they roughed him up one night.”
She put her hands over her ears. “Enough. Get out, now!”
Davis started walking backward toward the door. “What? I thought you were determined to get the truth out? Maybe it’ll all come out. Who knows?”
Jessica picked up a bottle of orange juice next to her beside and flung it at Davis. He slipped out just before it crashed against the door.
He took a deep breath and strode down the hall.
Nobody turns down my money. Nobody.
CHAPTER 32
CAL WIPED THE SWEAT streaming down his face off with his sleeve and peeked over his shoulder. The two men remained in full pursuit, eyes locked on him. Cal sprinted toward a tram stop where a tram began its departure.
Another truck pulled out in front of the tram, causing a slight delay. It was the break Cal needed. He hurdled the chain latched across the left side of the tram that served as a minor safety device—and slid into his seat. The conductor scowled but said nothing as the tram began moving forward.
Cal glanced over his shoulder. The two
men continued racing toward the tram.
“Friends of yours?” the conductor in the back asked as he observed Cal’s nervous looks at the fast-approaching men.
Cal shrugged and returned his gaze forward.
The tram rolled down a hill and under the track, headed for the next stop outside the raceway entrance.
As the tram approached the next stop, Cal didn’t wait for it to stop moving. He leaped over the chain and landed on his feet. He shot a quick look behind him and saw the two men still in pursuit.
Cal navigated the congested area outside the stadium. Fans had begun to arrive for the Xfinity Series race early that afternoon. They awaited entrance to the stadium, moving like a listless tide. It created a challenging obstacle for Cal.
He pushed his way through as efficiently—and as politely—as possible. He knew the fun-going crowd could transform into a mob in seconds if he knocked over a small child or an elderly lady. When he broke into a small clearing, he looked behind him to see the men peering above the crowd, scanning for him.
Cal continued to head for a walkway that served as a safe perimeter for fans to circumnavigate the stadium. However, it was fenced in on both sides almost the entire way around, devoid of almost any getaway exits for over a half-mile. But it was the only way Cal saw to maintain his lead and avoid attracting unwanted attention.
“Cal Murphy! You look like you need a pair of sneakers and gym shorts movin’ like that.”
Cal turned to his right in the direction of the airy voice with a Southern twang. It was Alayna French, sitting in a golf cart with one of her corporate sponsors.
“Hi, Alayna. What are you doing out here?” Cal asked as he looked over his shoulders at the two men closing in.
“We’re goin’ to the pre-race concert. Need a lift?”
Cal jumped into the seat. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Alayna launched into full promotion mode, jamming nearly every corporate sponsor that supported her driver into a quick description of what she was doing that day. Cal sensed she was fishing for a commitment to show up for at least one of the events. He tried to act interested despite focusing on the men who hadn’t stopped running after him.
“They never quit, do they?” he muttered under his breath.
Alayna stopped. “What was that? You’ll be there after the race? Is that what you said?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cal answered. “Sounds good. Can you let me out here? I’ll see you then.”
The driver slowed down and Cal jumped out and headed straight for RV city. If ever there was a place to get lost, this was it.
As he peered over the rise, RVs and campers covered what seemed like at least a couple hundred acres. He hustled toward the entrance, checking over his shoulder once more to notice the men no more than a couple hundred yards away.
He disappeared into RV city and began to search for a more permanent place to hide. With a few moments to catch his breath, Cal thought a clearer mind might help him plot a way back unharmed. He’d been so focused on escaping that he hadn’t thought to look for an officer. He decided that if he could find a location to hide in for a few hours, he could re-emerge and alert the on-site law enforcement to what was happening. It was the best plan he could think of on the fly.
Cal scooted down one makeshift street, sliding between a pair of RVs to the next street at every opportunity. While the area made it easy to disappear, the wide alleys between each row of RVs made it easy to search for someone. If he didn’t switch often enough, they’d be on him again—and he might not get so fortunate in his attempts to escape.
As he dashed down one street and aimed to switch to another, he ran past a couple, grilling out and drinking beer.
“Where do you think you’re goin’ so fast, young man?” the man grumbled. “Don’t just cut through my RV without stopping to have a drink.”
Cal noticed a vehicle was parked in the passageway between the two RVs and he couldn’t pass through them. He froze and turned around. The old man grinned. He had a beer bottle extended in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.
“Sit for a spell,” the man said. “You should never be in a hurry around here, much less empty handed. I thought I was gonna have to call the cops if you didn’t stop.”
Cal eased back toward the couple. He hustled toward them and then glanced in both directions down the street. Then he surveyed the RV site. The flags hanging off the RV provided a good cover, which was why Cal hadn’t noticed the couple in the first place.
He decided to take the man up on his offer.
“Cal Murphy,” he said, extending his hand.
“I’m Fred and this is Norma,” the man said, gesturing toward his wife. She rocked in her chair and smiled at Cal. Fred put a beer in Cal’s hand.
“Thanks,” Cal said.
“So, where you off to in such a hurry? The race is that way.”
“Long story—and to be honest, I don’t have much time.”
“I must admit, you look kinda suspicious running around like that. I figured I’d kill you with kindness.”
Cal laughed. “I don’t get much of that in my line of work.”
“You a politician?”
Cal laughed again. “No, a journalist.”
The man reached his hand out and leaned toward Cal. “Then give me that beer back.” His straight-man comedy routine left Cal laughing. Fred then broke out into a smile and sat back down.
“So, who’s gonna win the race?” Fred asked.
Before Cal could answer, he looked up to see the two men staring right at him. “Sorry, gotta run. Now’s the time to call the cops!”
Cal leaped out of his chair and hit his full stride in less than three seconds. He had about a fifty-yard lead on the two men, but they were closing fast.
Cal dashed down one street and then found two RVs to cut through to the next one. He weaved his way back toward the throngs headed for the stadium. Down one street and through another. Back and forth. His attempts to lose them seemed to fail at every turn.
However, it did give him enough time to scout out a location to hide. He noticed one RV two streets back that had set up a temporary brown lattice around the bottom of the vehicle. And no one was there.
Cal worked his way back toward the RV and lost the men, giving him just enough time to move a piece of the lattice to the side so he could slither in behind it. Everything about it was perfect. It was dark and kept everything under the RV hidden.
With his face pressed to the gravel pad beneath the RV, he watched and waited. He looked at his watch. The race started in an hour and there would be another wave of latecomers in about thirty minutes. He thought he could blend in with that crowd long enough to find a sheriff’s deputy to help him.
Cal scanned the area and saw very little activity, with the exception of a small group of fans wandering toward the stadium. The smell of a nearby barbecue wafted across Cal’s nose, while a George Strait song blared over the loudspeaker several RVs away.
Why would you ever leave and go to the race?
Cal thought it was heaven.
Until a pair of shiny black shoes appeared in front of the lattice.
Cal froze. So did the shoes.
For several agonizing seconds, Cal held his breath and hoped those shoes didn’t belong to whom he thought they did.
Without warning, the man squatted down and peered through the latticework.
“Hello there, Mr. Murphy.”
Cal rolled toward the other side and kicked the lattice out. He scrambled to his feet, only to be met by the other man.
“We need to talk.” The man recoiled and punched Cal in the face.
Cal slumped to the ground.
CHAPTER 33
OWEN BURNS CONCLUDED that the only way to beat a cover up was to produce indisputable evidence. And the evidence was there, right in front of him—if he could just get his hands on it. If NASCAR had truly suspected foul play in Carson Tanner’s accident, they would have con
fiscated the car indefinitely. Or if the police had been involved, the footage would be airing on the cable news cycle for the next week and a half. But when Ned Davis had everyone in his hip pocket, people only looked for what he wanted them to find.
He drove back to his hotel with Jackson Holmes to drop off a few things before going to an early evening dinner.
“You all right, Burns?” Holmes asked.
He shrugged. “I’ve been better.”
“Well, we just haven’t had a chance to really talk about what happened to Tanner.”
“What’s there to talk about? It sobers us up and reminds us that none of us are immortal. But I can’t see getting into a deep conversation about it. Why? Do you need to talk about it?”
“He was a good guy and I miss him.”
Burns sighed. “We all do. He went far too soon. But he wasn’t perfect.”
“Nobody’s perfect. He was far from it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, all those gambling debts he racked up.”
Burns laughed. “Who doesn’t have gambling debts these days?”
Holmes remained stoic. “I don’t.”
“Well, congratulations.”
“And I’ve never run anyone over in a race car.”
Burns shot Holmes a look. “That was a long time ago—and completely accidental.”
“Maybe. You never know about people.”
“True, but most people can’t hide that kind of darkness forever. Eventually, it comes out.”
“You think people will ever find out what kind of person Carson Tanner really was?”
Burns shook his head. “He was normal—deeply flawed but loving and kind. He did his best and that’s all you can ask for.”
“And he left his daughter fatherless and his wife a widow.”
Burns glanced at Holmes and sighed. “Are you sure you didn’t have anything against Tanner? You sure sound like you don’t have a lot of compassion right now.”
“Rough week.”
“Tell me about it.” Burns reached for his door handle. “I’ll be right back.”
Burns hustled into the hotel with his bag. He was rounding the corner toward his room when he nearly ran over Todd Cashman, who was engrossed with texting someone.
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