At just about that time, he hit the oil slick. His deck swung out, and I screamed around him on the outside and his nose swung around, missing me by a hair and I was all alone and in the lead. I looked back and saw him stalled, high on the curve, almost against the outside rail. I had it in the bag, and there was no point in taking chance. Now I wish I had. Because when I came around the second time I looked for Johnny but he wasn’t there. The next time I looked in the pit, but he wasn’t there. I risked a glance back and saw him, a half lap behind, and coming on faster than I had believed possible.
Brick held up the chalk board that said 45. Only five more to go. I began to pour it on, and then eased off as I detected a faint wobble. A front end wobble. It was no time to hit the pit. I pushed hard, and the punishing vibration made my arms numb, but I was able to hold it. On the 47th and 48th lap, I could see Johnny out of the corner of my left eye as I made the turns. Then I couldn’t see him any more.
But I could feel him. I could feel him riding up on me.
On the 49th lap the green-black snout of the Franzetta-Gorf crept up to where I could have reached out and patted it.
Last lap. On the straightaway the menacing snout dropped back, but on the north turn there was a thin scream in my ears and suddenly he was riding even with me — on the inside!
On the south turn I tried to push it to were I could slide back down at him, slide by him, but once again the scream and he was a half length ahead. On the way down to the finish line, I cut that half length to a quarter length. And that was all.
I pulled into the pit after a slow circuit. The Special popped and died. Brick looked at me with utter disgust. I ignored him and took a look at the left front. As I had suspected, two of the bolts had pulled just enough to give the front left a tiny shimmy. Not enough to use as an excuse.
Hoop clucked sadly as he saw it. I drank all I could hold of cold water, then ambled down to congratulate Johnny. He didn’t look so good. A first-aid citizen was dabbing his face with goo.
“What happened?” I asked.
“When Harkness conked out,” he said, “I got a batch of oil in the face. Hot oil. It smeared the goggles. That’s why I hit the oil patch — couldn’t see it. I stalled by the rail, and it gave me a chance to rub the oil off the goggles. The plant was hot enough to catch when I jumped out and gave it a little shove down that slope. I was afraid you were going to lap me, Joe.”
The hot oil had pitted his face.
Jane pulled me over to one side. “Did you talk to Brick?” she asked.
“I tried to, Janey. He doesn’t listen so good.”
We talked a little while and made a date. After dinner I took the sedan, picked her up and went to call on the kid who had gone through the fence. But when we got to the hospital we found that they had doped him because the traction splints were bothering him. We walked out to the car and I lit her cigarette as we sat in the darkness.
“What’s the point in it, Joe?” she asked, her voice calm.
“In what?”
“In these nice kids getting killed and banged up. Just to see which car can go the fastest? Just to see who can drive better?”
“There’s... well, there’s more to it than that. I can’t explain it. I don’t know the words. You’ve just got to believe me. There is more to it. Something that gets in your blood.”
She sniffed audibly. “Take me home, Joe.”
“Sure.”
They were in a two-bedroom tourist cabin a half mile from the track. When we got there Johnny was sitting on the floor just inside the door, his face white, holding onto his wrist. His wrist had a funny bend in it.
“Johnny!” she gasped, and dropped on her knees beside him. “What happened?”
His lips were pale. He tried to smile up at me. “Your friend, Arlen,” he said. “He came around and shot off his mouth. I popped him and he broke my wrist. Better get hold of a doctor.”
Hoop, Gil and Brick were playing three-handed showdown for quarters when I flung the door open and stomped in.
“What the hell kind of a trick did you pull?” I asked Brick, walking over to him.
“Relax, Joe. Relax! The punk got wise and popped me. See the lump here on my chin? We wrassled around a little and I left.”
“You broke his wrist!”
“Tch, tch, tch. Whadda ya know!” he said.
Hoop laid down his hand and pushed his chair back. “You didn’t tell me that, Arlen,” he said softly.
Brick tilted his chair back. “Do you guys need pictures? You know I talked to Big Arch Jeyett. He wanted to know what the hell has happened to us. I gave him the pitch and told him how this Wall guy cut me out in the first race. He sort of hinted around that maybe I ought to convince him he didn’t have me buffaloed, and then he talked about how much all this meant to the firm. And he said that we’ll be looking for jobs if I don’t come through tomorrow in first place. He said it would be a shame if Wall couldn’t drive tomorrow, and when I talked to him to be sure that I didn’t mess him up bad. Hell, I can take a hint.”
Bud Hoop had a look on his weatherbeaten face as though he tasted something bad. I said to him, “Is Arch that sort of a guy?”
“Could be,” Hoop said.
I leaned over and slapped Brick across the mouth, hard enough to split his lip and tip him over backward in the chair.
He came up, fast, ugly and silent. He was tougher and smarter than I, but not half as mad. He hit me high in the temple with a left and crossed a right to my throat. I gagged and rushed him until I had him over in a corner by the bureau. His face was something hanging in a mist. My arms slowly turned to lead and there was a thick, wet, hammering noise, jolts that ran up my arms.
Then my fist cracked into the bare wall, and I was sobbing for breath. Hoop pulled me back and I looked around for Brick. He was on the floor, his cheek against the wall, his eyes closed.
“When he comes to,” I said, “Tell him to call his good pal, Jeyett, and tell him that Joe Gartner resigned.”
I threw the stuff into my suitcase and walked out into the night.
By the time I got to the tourist cabin, the doctor had gone. Some color was back in Johnny’s face. He looked at me dully. “This tears it, Joe,” he said. “We’re all through.”
I glanced at Jane. “What are you going to do now, Johnny?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Sell the big wagon, get a stake together and try again. I’ll have to start at the bottom. Midgets or dirt. Something like that.”
Jane looked as though he had slapped her. “You promised!” she said.
Before he could make angry answer, I stepped in and said, “And what happens if I drive the iron and bring her in for you? Will you go back to that promise?”
Finally I explained to them. Johnny agreed not to race again, and then Jane was in my arms, laughing and crying. She looked up at me and said, “Be careful, Joe. Please be careful!”
The officials put up an argument. The Franzetta-Gorf had to be wheeled by John Wall. Then I told them what had happened. They saw the light. I glanced up mechanic’s row and saw Brick standing in the pit, glaring at me. I waved at him.
A pair of trim legs concealed by blue jeans stuck out from under the Franzetta-Gorf. I got down and crawled under. She was checking a lock-nut on the differential. I took the wrench out of her hands, pulled her toward me and kissed her.
She struggled for one-tenth of the first second. Then she got into the spirit of it. She whispered, “If I could break your arm to keep you from driving, Joe, I’d do it.”
“We’ll have a talk about that afterwards, Janey. It’s the only trade I know.” We crawled out from under. I looked at the Franzetta-Gorf and didn’t let her see how much I hated the ugly, shining snout of it. I had one of those hunches. Hunches are bad. I had a hunch with fire in it. Fire and blood and the bitter jagged ends of broken bones. It put a chill in the sunshine.