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The laps count down, and I move towards the 19 when the white flag appears.
It doesn’t work, and I settle for eighth. Good enough.
“Who won?” I ask, already guessing the answer.
“Boone Rivers,” Mike says. “By a full second.”
“Wow, good for the asshole,” I say, and focus on the cool-down lap.
Pit row is next.
∞∞∞
The crew is already shutting down our pit box and returning my car to the hauler.
“Will you tell me your problem with the rookie?” Mike asks me. “If there’s going to be more trouble with him, it would help to incorporate that into our strategy.”
“He won’t be a problem,” I say. I scratch my scalp and wipe some of the sweat away. Sarah is probably waiting for me.
Teams often park their haulers near each other, so Joey Fisher doesn’t take long to appear. We are smack in the middle of one long row of big-rig trucks. Crews and staff are everywhere, busily shutting down so they can get on with their evening. It’s a perfect setting.
He barrels right toward me, and I smile.
“What was that?” he asks.
“It appears you need to work on your racing performance.”
Almost all of Joey’s crew is at his hauler, while only a few of mine are. That might be a problem.
“It was a long time ago,” he sputters. “It’s not fair. This is my career.”
“Was your career,” I correct.
He goes for a punch, and I let him. Joey’s poor aim results in his fist sliding across my chin and past my shoulder.
Yelling starts up around us, but that isn’t enough. Ourslight altercation needs to become a complete brawl, with him as the cause.
“It’s racing, and that happens,” I roar. “Hit me again, and the same will happen next week.”
Joey goes for another hit, but his pit crew pulls him off. That’s unfortunate.
He wipes his chin and says, “We’re done. It’s over.”
His crew backs away.
“Not even close,” I say. “You have a target on your back, and I promise the number of drivers going after you will grow. This is only the start.”
He shivers as understanding sinks in. Sarah has Boone and Julian, who will do the same thing. The realization frightens him, and I let that fear grow.
“You asshole,” he says and lunges once more. “All this over a dumb bitch.”
It’s the reaction I wanted.
“What the fuck?” I hope the shock from my yell carries to onlookers.
That catches everyone’s attention, and the brawl I need is on. One of his crew members grabs one of mine, and they wrestle. Another one of mine is hit by Joey while pulling me to safety. He shifts to defending himself and also throws a punch.
Officials show, and it rapidly breaks up. The incident was thirty seconds, if not less, but it’s enough. There are plenty of witnesses and plenty of phone recordings.
