Sweet Carolina (12 page)

The Lady in Black, silent as the night,
wrapped herself around him as he stared through the window net at
his father's lifeless body and tried to find some emotion within
him stronger than the anger coursing through his veins.

Dell raised his eyes to the sky, as
flawlessly blue today as it had been dark that night. “Stupid,
fucker. You never did listen to reason. It was your way, or the
highway, and look where that got you.” Silence answered him. He
turned to go when the glint of sun on metal caught his eye. He bent
down and picked up the nickel-plated washer. It was hot from the
sun-heated asphalt. Dell pinched it between his thumb and
forefinger. A sign? Yeah, he chuckled to himself – a sign someone
else fucked up on this stretch of track. He palmed the coin-sized
piece of metal and curled his hand into a fist.

He turned back to the wall, and with every
ounce of strength he possessed, he chucked the washer at the wall.
It hit with a metallic ping and ricocheted across the track, out of
sight.

“Take that, you goddamned hard-headed
son-of-a-bitch.”

* * * *

“Can I see you for a minute?” Caro asked.

“Sure,” Dell said, taking the seat next to
her in the golf cart. “I've got a few minutes.”

Caro set the cart in motion. Dell admired the
lines of her legs and arms as she steered the cart. “Where're we
going?”

“Someplace we can talk,” she said.

The further she drove away from the relative
civilization around the track, the more worried he became. When
she'd passed the last row of motor homes in the fan parking area
and kept on going, Dell realized nothing good could come of this
conversation. He looked around at the empty field that would fill
in the next few days, but for now, was nothing more than
pastureland. “I'm beginning to think this may be a one-way ride for
one of us,” he said.

“No. I'll give you a ride back.” She finally
stopped the cart, but she didn't seem in any hurry to start the
conversation she said she wanted.

“What's up, Carolina?”

“Look, Dell. I'm worried about you.”

Dell chuckled. “Seriously? Why?”

“It's the way you drive – on the track, I
mean. I have no idea how you drive off the track.”

Her nervous babbling didn't help one bit.
“Just tell me, Caro. What is it you had to drag me out to the
middle of nowhere to say?”

“I know I've asked you before, but it was a
rhetorical question then. This time, I'm serious, Dell. I really
want to know. Are you trying to kill yourself? Is that why you
drive the way you do?”

Dell focused on an arriving motor home in the
distance, slowly making its way across the grass to one of the
chalk-lined parking spaces. She couldn't know how wrong she was,
and he wasn't going to tell her. “No.”

“Then why, Dell? What goes through your head
when you're racing? Because I can tell you, I'm not the only person
who thinks you drive like a suicidal maniac.”

The motor home made three attempts to back
into a space where there wasn't a single neighbor. Dell watched in
silence.

“Talk to me,” Caro said. “I'm only trying to
help, Dell.”

“Are you firing me?” he asked. He couldn't
lose another ride. Racing was the one thing that kept him sane.

“No! Good heavens, no, Dell. I'm trying to
figure out… oh, hell. I don't know what I'm doing.” He didn't dare
look at her, but he heard her frustrated sigh and noticed the way
her whole body slumped. “Damnit, Dell. You can't keep going the way
you are. You're going to get killed. The other drivers hate you.
More than a few would take you out at the first opportunity if it
weren't for the way your dad died.” She stopped, as if she'd said
too much. Dell kept silent watch as the motor home driver attempted
to level his rig. If Caro thought he was going to participate in
this conversation, she was sadly mistaken.

“I'm sorry. That was inappropriate,” she
finally said. “I'm concerned, Dell. That's all.”

He kept his mouth shut.

“Okay, I get it. You don't want to talk about
it, and maybe bringing the subject up at this track wasn't a good
idea, but I don't want you to get hurt.”

“Are you worried about me, Caro, or worried
about your car?”

“I won't lie to you. Both. I'm worried about
both, because the only time I need to worry about either is when
the two converge.”

Yeah, right.
No way was he going to
tell Caro his darkest secret – that the only time he felt in
control was behind the wheel. The fact she worried about him at all
was unexpected, and…nice. For that reason alone, she deserved
something from him.

“Fair enough,” he said. “If it's any
consolation, I don't go out there looking for ways to wreck your
car, or to hurt myself.”

“Okay. Okay,” she said. “That's
reassuring.”

“This conversation is over. Take me
back.”

She placed her foot on the gas pedal, then
removed it. Dell slid his foot over to accelerate for her and she
kicked him in the shin.

“Ow!”

“You deserved that,” she said. “You're good,
Dell.” She shook her head. “I almost bought your act.”

“It's not an act.”

“Sure it is. You said all the things I wanted
to hear. But it's what you aren't saying that I should be listening
to.”

“You can't listen to something I didn't
say.”

“That's where you're wrong, Dell. I believe
you when you say you aren't trying to hurt yourself while you're
driving, but you were very specific about that. And you're off the
track more than you're on it. So, Dell, are you suicidal off the
track?”

Dell watched as another motor home made its
way across the grass to a parking space. Why couldn't Caro mind her
own business? “Look, Caro, I don't want to drag you into the fucked
up world inside my head. I'm not going to kill myself. I promise
you that.”

“Well, that's good. But it still doesn't
explain why they call you Madman.”

Dell sighed and released the tension holding
his back straight. Damn, why did this woman make him want to tell
her everything? It felt good to know someone cared, but he was
coping well enough. As long as he kept busy, the memories didn't
bother him so much. “I'm aggressive on the track. Some people don't
like it, that's all. I'm not trying to kill myself or anyone else,
I assure you. It's sweet of you to care, but I'd appreciate it if
you let me fight my own demons, Caro, in my own way.”

“Okay,” she said, pressing on the gas pedal,
setting the cart in motion. “But you better not be lying to me,
Dell Wayne, or I'll kill you myself.”

* * * *

Dell dropped the net and scrambled out
through the window. He'd had enough of Richard Warner to last him a
lifetime.

He tossed his helmet into the car and looked
around. Dick Warner's car was a mangled mess, but the
son-of-a-bitch was still inside, trying to restart it.

“Not today,” Dell vowed as he crossed the
track to Warner's car. Cars sped by under the yellow caution flag,
even as Dell threw caution to the wind. As he walked, he pulled off
his gloves and let them fall to the pavement. He wanted to
experience the feel of Warner's skin beneath his fingers as he
choked the life out of him. After nearly four hundred laps of
putting up with Warner's shit, Dell was through. Through pretending
Warner was a good driver. Through pretending the bastard hadn't
meant to shove Caudell Senior into the wall. Through pretending it
didn't matter. And he was damn well through letting Warner try to
do him the same favor.

Dell fisted his fingers in the safety net
covering the driver's window, and yanked. The netting fell free and
Warner turned toward him. His helmet covered most of his face so
Dell only saw Warner's eyes. Eyes filled with disbelief and a
white-hot rage that mirrored Dell's.

“Get out, Warner. We're going to settle this
right here and now,” Dell said through gritted teeth.

Warner gave up trying to restart his car. He
drew his gloves off, then his helmet. “If that's the way you want
it, C.J.”

Dell's vision clouded with a red haze. He
stepped back far enough for Warner to get one leg out. He grabbed
Warner by the collar and dragged him the rest of the way.

“Don't you ever call me that,” Dell said.
Then he planted his fist in Richard Warner's face.

Warner responded with a punch of his own.
Dell dodged it, connected a left jab to Warner's mid-section and
another right to his jaw. Warner stumbled backwards, but before
Dell came at him again, he lunged forward.

Dell absorbed the blow to his chin and
retaliated with another series of punches that connected with
satisfactory auditory stimuli.

“What the fuck?” Warner yelled over the roar
of engines buzzing past.

“You fucking killed Caudell, and I'll be
damned if I'm going to let you kill me too,” Dell answered between
jabs to Warner's abs and jaw.

“It was an accident, you asshole,” Warner
countered.

“Accident my ass,” Dell said as he landed
another punch.

“What's it to you, bro? You got everything
the old man had,” Warner said as he buried his right fist in Dell's
stomach. Dell doubled over, gasping for breath. Someone grabbed his
arm and pulled him backwards. Another set of hands wrapped around
his other arm and before he found his footing, he was in the back
of an ambulance.

“Let me go,” he growled as he lunged for the
door.

“You aren't going anywhere but to the track
medical center,” the medic said. He knocked on the roof, and the
ambulance lurched into motion.

Dell refused treatment. All his injuries were
from Dick Warner's knuckles, and those would be gone soon enough.
As he made his way to his motor home, Warner's final words echoed
in his mind. What did he mean by them? Of course Dell got
everything. He was an only child. Why wouldn't he? Did Warner think
that was reason enough for Dell to want his father dead?

Hell, he couldn't care less about the money.
He'd already given a huge chunk of it away, and he'd give the rest
away as soon as he figured out the best way to do it. If he
suddenly started living like a pauper, people would notice and
wonder. He'd have to let them think he blew the money or tell them
the truth. And the truth was none of their business.

* * * *

Too Tough to Tame. That's what they said
about Darlington. The same could be said about Dell Wayne, though
“Too Wild to Tame” might be more accurate. Her little talk with
Dell accomplished nothing.

He was still alive, but she had another
wrecked car. Another Did Not Finish to post, and on top of that – a
fine to pay. Dell's fistfight with Richard Warner, in the middle of
the track – while cars dodged the wreckage – resulted in a fine for
Hawkins Racing and a personal fine for Dell.

Caro tried to think positive thoughts. Having
refused a ride through the tunnel to her motor home, she welcomed
the painful jolt of each hard step on the concrete walkway. It gave
her something to think about, something to be angry at besides
Dell. She needed to get out of there, as far away from him as
possible or she might be facing criminal charges along with another
fine. In her present state of mind, Dell and Warner's altercation
might look like a brawl on a kindergarten playground compared to
what she wanted to do to Dell Wayne.

What the hell had he been thinking? NASCAR
drivers don't fight each other. And they especially don't fight in
the friggin' middle of a race! Stupid. And juvenile. And even more
stupid. Stupider than stupid.

How he got off with a fine and no suspension
was beyond comprehension. If she came up with the money to pay her
share of the fine, Dell would race next week – provided she managed
to put a car together. Caro snorted. The last thing she thought she
would be doing was mentally calculating the price of scrap metal,
hoping it would amount to enough to keep the doors open another
week.

It was a short drive home, by NASCAR
standards, but long enough to give Caro time to calm down and
reassess her situation. Maybe selling scrap metal to pay the bills
was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. Hawkins Racing
couldn’t take many more hits like the one today. Not only had they
lost another car and been fined, but Dell's fistfight would bring
unwanted talk. Speculation was running rampant already, fueled by
the reporters who delighted in scandal. Caro sighed. She still
needed to talk to Dell's sponsor, convince them to continue their
support, or the scrap metal idea might come to fruition after all.
How could she justify Dell's behavior? She'd seen the footage of
the altercation. Dell was the one who started it, confronting
Warner so the man had no choice but to defend himself. Though it
did appear Warner threw a few punches that weren't strictly in
self-defense.

Whatever.

There wasn't any excuse for two grown men
punching on each other.

* * * *

The last person Dell expected to see on his
doorstep was Richard Warner.

“Can I come in?” Richard asked.

Curiosity got the best of him, and Dell stood
back, indicating Richard should enter. Since their brawl on the
track the night before, Warner's words continued to echo through
Dell's mind, taunting him with the certainty that there was
something behind them – something he should know.

“It's Mother's Day, don't you have some place
to be?” he asked as he closed the door. He walked past Warner,
expecting the man had enough sense to follow him, though he wasn't
at all sure it was the case.

“No. I haven't seen my mother in three
years.”

“Funny, I took you for a momma's boy,” Dell
said, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. He held up the bottle.
“Want one?”

“No. I'm driving.”

“Well, aren't you the Boy Scout.” Dell pulled
a diet soda out of the refrigerator and tossed it at his guest.
Warner caught it with one hand and murmured his thanks. Dell leaned
against the counter and took a long pull from the bottle. As far as
he was concerned, he'd offered enough hospitality.