Chapter 22: Sold Out

Martinsville

Raceday dawned blue and pink over the ancient grandstands that surrounded the paper-clip shaped bullring. Shadows flitted about in the early autumn mist and echoes of engines from another time whispered on the breeze. Shades of Fireball Roberts and Davey Allison chased Alan Kulwicki to the checkers and the only one who saw them was the young man who’s namesake shared the realm of the legends. His uncle Darrell owned this place just like he did Bristol and of course, who couldn’t picture the finish line at Daytona without his father? He cast his eyes down the weathered patchwork of concrete and asphalt as he pictured in his minds eye the drivers that the mere mention of their names were magic: Earnhardt. David Pearson. Cale Yarborough. Bobby Allison. Petty. Waltrip.......

Mick sighed as he contemplated his future on the track. He felt as though he aged 10 years since that wild gallop he took in the Budweiser Chevrolet during first practice. He felt different somehow. His destiny was as engraved as the grooves of the old track in front of him. He wondered what Michael would think of his exploits. Knowing what a strong advocate for safety he was, he might‘ve been mortified and furious. On the other hand, in a year that had wrought so much disappointment and pain, he would most likely swell with pride to the point of busting. Just picturing the look of pride on his father‘s face, made his heart ache. "I wish you could’ve been here, Dad..." he whispered , unaware of Taylor as she sat beside him on the pit wall. Bundling a battered "Goodwrench" jacket around her that had belonged to Dale, she shuddered against the chilly morning. Not wanting to break Mick’s reverie, she sat silently regarding his turquoise-blue eyes and the ebony hair that tumbled over his forehead.

Suddenly sensing that he was no longer alone, he looked up and grinned shyly, "Hey....how long have you been here? Kinda early for ya, ain’t it?" When she didn’t respond, his thick brows furrowed, "Tay...is something the matter?"

Turning to him, her eyes now wet, she whispered, "Oh Mick...something awful is happening. I-it’s Ty....he’s come back and ....and.."

Mick automatically wrapped his arms around her, "Sssshhh...Ty? What’s going on? What’s he done?"

"He met with my mother last night in the coach-he had a couple of tall men in suites with him and an assload of papers. Mom started readin’ ‘em and just said over and over, ‘you can’t do this to me! I’m not signing anything until I speak with the board of directors!’ This morning, she hardly said a word-she was crying all night-when I asked her what‘s going on, she mumbled something about ‘it‘s all gone..everything but the Foundation and his name’ ....." She looked up at him as tears cascaded down her cheeks, "Mick-I’m scared. I haven’t seen Mom so upset since...."

"Come on." Mick said firmly, "We’re going to see if Mum or Junior has heard anything. I know Junior was saying the meeting she had with him and Dad went great-in fact, she even said Dad could have his old job back if he wanted it....who knows? Maybe Teresa’s going to be oustin’ old bastard Norris once an’ for all." He tried to grin but the haunted look in Taylor’s eyes began to frighten him too. He hated the thought of her so distressed and he held her close and nuzzled the top of her head. "Tay...whatever happens, you know I’ll always be here for you. Always." he whispered. He tried to dispel her fears as he massaged her shoulders but deep in his heart, he had the disquieting feeling that their lives were changing once again.

*************************

As they rounded the entrance to the Budweiser garage, their suspicions grew. Both Rory and Junior were both looking at identical reams of paper that was bounded in book-form. Shaking her head, Rory took another sip of coffee, "I’ll not be signin’ this until I have our lawyer go over it." she said finally. Junior sat on a jack with a look of intense consternation on his face as he tried to decipher the contents of the forms.

"I don’t understand it either-not a mention of Dale Earnhardt Inc. anywhere on this damned thing. It’s like it’s a contract to drive for another team..." Junior muttered. "Can’t believe Ty just dropped this off with you before the driver’s meeting."

Looking up from the papers, Rory noticed Mick and Taylor standing in the doorway behind the car, "Oh there ya are...I want you to take the car out and hose ‘er down. The whole front is black with rubber-it looks like shite!" She was already grumpy and impatient to get the day started and Ty’s games weren’t helping any.

"What’s all this stuff?" Mick inquired innocently.

Junior shook his head, "Oh just some shit that Ty brought over this morning-said it’s just an extension or revision of our contracts. No big deal, I suppose..." he muttered as he scratched his head. "I dunno-it’s all legalese bullshit to me!"

Taylor felt as though she was going to be sick and gripped Mick’s arm. Trembling, she whispered, "Aunt Ro-did you talk to my mom today?"

Rory and Junior both looked up at the sound of distress in her voice. Frowning, Junior walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her as she broke down, "Sis? Did she say something to you this morning or last night?" Briefly reiterating what she relayed to Mick, both fell silent as they regarded the contracts.

Rory frowned as she tried to dial Teresa’s cell phone only to get her voicemail, "I don’t like the looks of this at all."

Junior felt sick himself as he stared blankly out at the track. "What’s the game plan, chief? What are we going to do?" A ball of confusion had taken up residence in the pit of his gut-maybe it was the end the world as he knew it...maybe it was nothing more than a revised contract as Ty had said.

"What are we gonna do? Is that what you said, Jun?" Rory turned to him as she put her arms around Ty and Mick. "We’re gonna race. That’s why we’re here...we’ll sort the rest out later and Ty Norris be damned!"

Junior smiled, knowing she had fought bigger demons than Ty Norris and won.

"Don’t sign a thing until I have reviewed this thing forward and backward-don’t let Ty twist your arm either. Remember-this is still DEI and we’ve got to stick together on this." How much longer that would be, Rory had no idea. Indeed, it didn’t sound good at all-the date that the changes in the contracts were to become effective was January 1, 2006-just in time for the start of the new season. "Remember, Jun-you and I both hold stock in DEI-so does Michael. And as long as we have that leverage, Ty will never have control of the company."

God, I hope I’m right on this, she thought grimly.

***************************************

"Gentlemen-start your engines!" 43 cars rumbled to life and slowly began their pace lap as they drew away from pit row. Rory pulled her headphones over her cap and settled atop her perch on the war wagon. She scarcely took her eyes from the scarlet and black #8 Chevrolet as it snaked back and forth up the apron. He was starting 6th-one of his best efforts on the little bullring. Just bring it back in one piece, Jun....she thought. She had always been an independent creature but as she sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, she wished Michael were here. "I can’t do this alone anymore, luv..." she whispered. She glanced up as Mick and Taylor pulled themselves up on the wagon.

"Have you seen Teresa?" she yelled above the din.

"She’s in the official’s trailer." Mick hollered back. Taylor sat quietly by his side; pale and apprehensive. "I think I saw Mr. France and Helton with her." Rory sighed in relief. If Norris was planning a hostile takeover of DEI, Helton and France would put a stop to it until all parties involved were in agreement.

Smiling, she leaned over and held them both, "See-with the two of ‘em, they’ll put a stop to this. One good thing about Nascar, is they will look after their own. I’m sure everything will work out fine. Now then, let‘s see if we can bring home the trophy today!"

************************************

As the laps wound down and cars fell out of the field due to the usual accidents and mechanical failures, it was coming down to two old adversaries: Rusty-who was now in his final year on the track and Junior. Junior sailed effortlessly around Jimmie Johnson as he put the ailing 48 down another lap; the blue deuce hot on his heels. Sadler, who was now fifth, suddenly found a stray piece of sheet metal that reduced his left front tire to ribbons. As the 38 whipped violently around and the caution flag waved, a herd of stragglers lunged for Junior in a vain effort to get their laps back. Greg Biffle, who had also fallen out of contention, managed to tag the 8’s bumper in his wild charge and sent Junior careening into the outside wall. Cursing, he managed to regain control but not before the right side of the car was flattened.

"GODDAMMIT! I’m gonna KILL that bastard!" he yelled to no one in particular. Just a gut reflex and a primal scream-but it made him feel better.

"Bring it in-spotter said it ain’t too bad." Rory muttered. Fish-eyed bastard! She growled at the battered 16 as it lumbered into the pits. The crew quickly attended the wounded beast and sent it on it’s way. 25 to go and Junior was now in 2nd-right behind Rusty.

It had been over 150 races since the irascible old veteran had seen victory lane. It had been widely speculated that he should have retired long ago-he had lost his touch. He was burned out. Dale Jarrett was looking to retire next year as was Terry Labonte and Mark Martin. Junior felt somewhat saddened at the thought of loosing the company of these men who had been both friend and adversary over the years. Companions and competitor. He looked up at the blue Dodge in front of him. He could still overtake him-maybe a little bump and run....Lord knows, the old bastard’s done that to me time and again, Junior thought wryly. Rusty had never cut Junior an ounce of slack in all the years they had been running together. Any victory over Rusty was hard fought and well-earned. The man was tough as nails on the track-the toughest opponent an up and coming driver could go against as Junior had found out many times the hard way. One more lap under the yellow and-

...the green flag waved once again as the cars shot forward. Junior had found the outside groove much more to his liking and climbed high above Rusty as they shot into the turn. Furiously, Rusty pointed to the bottom-motioning Junior to stay below him. "No way-you old fart!" Junior grinned. The pair drew away from the rest of the herd, the 8 gingerly poking it’s nose in front of the 2. Two more laps and then it was one more to go.

Junior grinned as he looked over at Rusty-the 2 was badly loose but still he clung tenaciously to the side of the 8. How many more chances would he ever get to be this close to victory? Junior suddenly did something he couldn’t explain to a soul. Instead of gunning the throttle-he had a ton of car left-he eased up for a split second. It was all Rusty needed to scoot ahead and take the checkered flag. Rory was already yelling at him over the radio but he turned the volume down as he slammed into the side of the 2-one last victory donut for Rusty.

***************************************

Sitting in stunned silence, the Bud crew began packing up and Rory simply shook her head as Junior shrugged with an "I don’t know what came over me" look.

"You’re gettin’ soft! Of all the drivers out there-you let him win!" Rory growled.

"It’s not like he’s gonna be around much longer....." Junior began.

"That oul bastard will out-live us all and you know it!"

"That’s not what I meant-he’s retiring this year! I just wanted to let him have one more win for the road..."

Rolling her eyes, Rory shook her head, "Like he’d ever do the same for you. This is Rusty we’re talking about! Besides, if he ever knew you threw that race, he’d be furious!"

"I ain’t sayin’ a word.."

"Me neither."

They both watched in amused silence as Rusty celebrated with his crew, wife and kids. The happiness and joy in victory lane that was the result of Junior’s sudden onset of sentimental generosity made it worthwhile.

Back home in Sherrill’s Ford, Michael and Slugger shook their heads in disbelief. "I’m gonna bust that boy’s ass-he’ll never hear the end of this!" Michael chuckled.

A rumble of thunder from a passing late afternoon thunderstorm rattled the windows. Slugger looked up at a framed picture of Dale on the wall. "Why do I get the feeling that if he ever knew Junior let Rusty win, he’d roll over in his grave?"

****************************************************

As the last of the equipment was loaded onto the hauler and the crew was getting to join the mass exodus from the track, the imposing figure of Mike Helton entered the garage. Junior sucked in his breath as he looked at Rory.

"I know you’re about to head out, but we need to see you both over in the trailer." His voice had a sad, peculiar note of resignation in it. Rory and Junior exchanged glances. Playing the innocent, Rory piped up, "If it’s about my comments regarding Greg Biffle this afternoon, I’m sorry-heat of the moment deal. Even though he’s still a fish-eyed bastard, you won’t hear it over the radio again."

Chuckling in spite of the gravity of the situation, Helton shook his head, "I wish that’s all it was, Ro. This actually has a lot to do with a business arrangement involving Ty Norris. Both he and Teresa are back there. I have requested that Ty call a round table to get all of the parties involved with DEI and has asked me to act as a liaison between DEI and the investors of Omega Racing Inc. Between you two and myself-I don’t particularly like this deal that Norris is proposing and I want to make sure that your best interests are protected."

Mick and Taylor followed behind them as they walked to the red official’s trailer. He held her hand tightly and looked up at the setting sun. They should be enjoying this beautiful evening together-not worrying themselves sick about the teams. Suddenly stopping, Mick pulled Taylor close to him, "Wait Tay-we have no business in this."

"Mick-it’s my dad’s company! We can’t let Mom sell out to him! Daddy put everything he had into DEI-all those years of hard work, his dreams, his ideals-his very soul went into this! We can’t just let them sell it! Don’t you understand, Mick?" She was crying now and he held her close.

"Taylor-I do understand. My father’s got our whole world wrapped up in his team now. But it’s just the material things-Dale Earnhardt and everything he ever stood for is bigger than all of them put together. There’s no amount of money in the whole world that can buy his dreams. Or yours. Go on-let them play their games and shuffle their papers-it will never diminish what your father‘s done ."

Looking up into his sweet face, she locked her gaze with his in what was one of the most defining moments of their young lives. "I love you Mick." she said finally.

Never hesitating for one moment, he whispered, "I love you too, Taylor." Together, they walked back to the now deserted garage and sat on the ruined remains of Elliot Sadler’s car and gazed up at the everlasting moon.

Chapter 23: Talladega Take Two

Unseasonably chilly winds whipped out of the north and howled along the catchfence that lined the towering banked turns like a thousand lost souls. Pregnant black clouds skirted across the sky as a cold front pushed through; one would almost pause to think this was more befitting the British Moors than Alabama. The track was pretty much deserted at this hour-a vast stretch of nearly three miles of concrete, asphalt and steel. Towering grandstands stood like the skeleton of some prehistoric animal that overlooked the gypsy encampment in the infield was still slumbering off last night’s fun. There was always something about this place that haunted the lone runner who pounded the apron in a morning run. Daytona and Bristol were places of raw energy, glory and excitement. Not this place. If the truth be known, most of the drivers feared it. Not one among them could honestly say they never felt apprehensive about the track. Maybe it was the memory of Bobby Allison nearly sailing into the grandstand, Neil Bonnet or Dale Earnhardt‘s spectacular wrecks- the specter of death always seemed to enjoy riding shotgun here. The potential for bloodshed was always particularly high and the crowd loved every minute of it.

Bloodshed. The runner loped into the third turn and shuddered to think that his own blood ran down the side of the bank on a day that replayed itself every time he thought of this place. He remembered everything, every detail in painfull slow motion. The stench of the tires being burned off his car, burning fuel, the continuous crunch of sheetmetal on sheetmetal as his car brutally pushed Ward Burton’s into the wall. He could still feel the heat from the Budweiser Chevrolet’s engine as it tore into the side of his car, crushing him against the rollcage as 3400 pounds of fury descended on him. The sensation of his body being ripped and crushed in the impact and the acrid scent of his own blood...and the screams...he could honestly never remember if they were from the crowd or himself. Then it was over.....

Climbing up the bank, Michael slumped against the outside retaining wall; burying his face in his hands as he sat facing the apron. Sobs tore his throat as he vainly tried to push the race out of his mind. A race that nearly ended his life, his career and now everything he owned was tied up in a dream that just maybe he could come back to the only life he had ever known. The prospect of never driving again frightened him more than death ever could. This was not the legacy he wanted to leave his children. He wanted to provide a good life for them; to remember him as a champion-not a recluse, broken in body and spirit. Only death could extinguish the fire that still burned within him...

He looked up at a patch of blue amidst the heavy clouds. He thought about Junior-it could very well be his last race for what remained of DEI. Bile rose in his throat at the memory of this past week. At the close of the Martinsville race, Helton, Darby and France pulled an emergency meeting with the DEI contingent and proceeded to hash out Ty Norris’s contract revisions for the team. Only it wasn’t a revision, he thought bitterly but a buy-out of the racing teams. Helton, in his infinite wisdom, allowed the 8 and the 15 to compete this weekend but suspended all future race entries until the issue of ownership was resolved. Refusing to sanction what fairly amounted to a hostile takeover, DEI would be on hiatus after the fall of the checkered flag this afternoon. Did Junior still care enough about the well fare of the team to try and stop it? He had often spoke of driving for another owner-had long proclaimed no interest in the responsibility of ownership. Ty had managed to sway some of the shareholders into investing in the new team, Omega Racing. He had the money and allegedly sponsorship backing to convince them-except himself, Teresa, Rory and Darrell-leaving Junior undecided.

A guttural croak of a raven that perched on top of the catchfence startled him. Looking up into the glittering eyes of the bird, Michael smiled in spite of himself. Remembering the raven that Rory often spoke about that perched on the Earnhardt vault at The Ridge whenever she visited the graves, he whispered, "What are we going to do, Dale?" The bird cocked its head and fluttered its wings and croaked again. Today was the day he was supposed to make a press announcement regarding his official comeback in the 3. The trade papers, magazines and internet sites buzzed with rumors for weeks following his successful test at Kentucky Motor Speedway.

"What’s done is done-there’s nothin’ more you can do for them-you tried, my friend, you tried.....just concentrate on your deal and puttin’ my number back in Victory Lane...."

Gasping, Michael looked up at the sound of Dale’s voice on the wind. The raven was gone. "Dale?" he called, knowing that his frazzled mind was probably playing tricks on him.

"Uhm..no Dad, just me." Mick climbed the bank and sat beside him. "Junior’s still in the garage-I’ll go get him if ya want him..." Michael grinned at him, the kid looked good in his Budweiser uniform. Even though he was pretty much relegated to team gofer, he wore the suit proudly.

"Where’s your lady?" Michael gently teased him. Mick blushed slightly and averted his gaze. Michael playfully nudged him, "Where she at, boy?"

"She’s with her mum in the coach. Dad..?" He looked up thoughtfully at his father’s face noticing how the lines had just begun to reflect his age, the streaks of silver scattered in his ebony mane. "When you first met Mum, was she like the only person in the world to you?"

"I couldn’t imagine life without her-I didn’t want to live without her. She was-is my world." Michael smiled gently, "From the day I bumped into her at Bristol, I knew she made my life complete. I almost lost my mind when she was taken from me."

"I kinda feel like that about Taylor-I know everyone’s gonna say I’m to young to know what I’m talkin’ about-but I know how I feel."

Michael sighed and draped his arm around his , "I’m hopin’ she feels the same way about you, son. But remember this-you are young and you’ve got your whole life in front of you. Just don’t lose sight of your dreams and try and keep this deal in perspective. Am I makin’ any sense?"

"Mum and Caitlin said the same thing." he grinned. "But I am gonna marry her some day."

Michael rose and glanced at his watch, "C’mon-let’s head back and see what yer momma has for breakfast. You’re makin’ me feel old talkin’ ‘bout marrying."

"No Dad-you’re never going to get old. Uncle Jun says you’re got too much piss an’ vinegar in ya."

Michael grinned and smacked him on top of his head, "Don’t know about the vinegar part but I’ll tell ya what-I sure gotta piss right ‘bout now..."

*********************************************

The coach door slammed with a vengeance as Rory stalked into the bedroom. The driver’s meeting had just ended and Michael had just returned from a successful press conference. Glowering, she threw her race notes against the wall. "He’s not fit to carry his father’s name! Fuckin’ spineless bastard!" she sputtered.

Michael patiently held his breath waiting for her rage to pass. Gently laying his large hands on her shoulders, he pulled her close and tenderly kissed her temple. "Wanna talk about it?" he whispered.

"Ach-I told ’im we had a shot to keep DEI in Teresa’s hands and he’s too bloody chickenshite to go to Helton."

Michael shook his head, puzzled. "Hon..calm down baby-what can he tell Helton that the man doesn’t know already?"

Furious, her brogue so thick she could barely get the words out, "Those damned pictures! If Helton were to know without a shadow of a doubt that Junior was being blackmailed, he put a stop to Ty Norris’ proposal in a heartbeat! But it’s got to come from Junior-he was the one that Ty was holding this over. I’ve already arranged a meetin’ with him and Teresa tomorrow about you an’ your release from DEI-I’d much appreciate it if ye’d join me, by the way."

"Of course I’ll be there. But I can see why Junior is balking on the blackmail deal-shit, if this got out, we’d both be up shit creek! Baby, this is one sleepin’ dog that should stay put to sleep!"

"Listen to me, Michael. You know damned bloody well that goin’ to Helton with this is the right thing to do. He’ll listen to us! He’d never let this go public, you know that! I was there too, remember-we’ll both go to him-to hell with Junior and his paranoia !"

"Hold up-we’re leaving one important person out of this equation-Teresa! Do you have any idea what this is going to do to her? She’s suffered enough -let’s just set back and let Helton make his decision."

Rory steeled herself and looked her husband in the eye, "She knows, darlin’."

"What?!"

"Aye-and she’s with us. She can’t let that bastard slander your name and Junior’s. Especially you-God, Michael-you’ve already been through so much!"

Michael sat on the bed, face in his hands, "So when are we going to meet with Helton?"

"10 sharp at DEI. I will convince Junior to go-otherwise, he’d best be lookin’ for a new crewchief. I’ll not work for a coward."

*************************************

"You down off’n yer highhorse to be my crew chief this afternoon?" Junior growled sarcastically as he climbed into his car.

"Don’t get snotty with me." Rory fired back as she gave his lap harness a particularly nasty tug. "You know what needs to be done, Jun. Don’t you give a damn about what’s going to happen to your father’s company?"

"Listen to me real careful, Rory. I gotta look out for myself too. I ain’t about to air my dirty laundry in front of Helton and that’s that. If Michael wants to plead his case-fine. More power to him. I read Omega’s proposal and to tell ya the truth, I like what they’re offering. I’ve been trying to get these changes in my contract for years and nobody would listen to me." Angrily, he shoved a ream of papers in Rory’s hands. It was his contract with Omega Racing-signed. "Give these to Ty."

"Junior....." Rory looked back at him as he pulled his helmet on, stunned. "I can’t believe you’re doing this to Teresa!"

The order for drivers to start their engines rang out and the Budweiser Chevrolet barked to life. The window net went up and the car rolled away from her. "You son of a bitch....damn you, Junior." Turning to a puzzled Tony Jr, she snapped, "He’s your baby now. I’m done with him!"

As she stormed into the garage area, Ty caught her arm. Shoving the papers in his hand, she snarled, "You’ve won this battle but the war ain’t over yet!"

Norris smiled thinly, "Now Rory, calm down. Let’s talk about your deal-you’re one of the best car chiefs in the business and you’ve shown your talent as a rookie crew chief. How many can claim a Daytona victory in their first year? We really could use you on the team-after this week, you’re going to be a free agent if you don’t sign with us." He reached out to grasp her arm. "I can make it worth your while."

Jerking her arm back sharply as if recoiling from a snake, she growled, "Id never sign with you, ya slimy bastard! Mark my words, I’ll see you in hell first!" Ty momentarily tightened his grip on her wrist before he suddenly backed away as Michael suddenly materialized from behind the line of haulers. "Oh...how ya doin’ there, Mikey? Good luck on that new team next year-you’re gonna need it." he grinned slyly and backed away.

"You ok, honey?" Michael muttered, his eyes never leaving Ty’s departing form.

"I’ve never felt better, luv."

**************************************************

‘..the riders loped on by him and he heard one call his name
If you wanna save your soul from hell a ridin’ on this range...then
Cowboy change your ways today or with us you will ride....
Tryin’ to catch the devil’s herd across these endless skies..." -Ghost Riders in the Sky, Johnny Cash.

The race had gone from bad to worse for Junior. He fought an ill-handling machine that seemingly had a will of it’s own. The skies were darkening, rain threatening only a few miles away. They were all running on the thought of an early ending-every man for himself. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had made a dreadful mistake. He desperately wished Rory was on the end of his radio-she alone knew how to get the best out of his cars. His mind kept returning to the spring race and as his car looped into the third turn, a yellow form loomed in the corner of his eye. Suddenly his eyes made out the form of a 15 on the side-but his mind raged, "That’s not possible! Brendan’s out of the race!" Head swimming, he veered sharply to the left and sent the 8 into a violent spin. Luckily, he plummeted like a stone to the apron and as the car came to rest in the infield grass, he closed his eyes. What the hell happened? A flashback? He closed his eyes and he could see the tarps laying over the front end of the Pennzoil Chevrolet and Michael’s inert form on a stretcher. A scream rose in his throat as he fought valiantly to stifle it.

"Junior!! You ok, man?" The paramedic at his window was shouting something and Junior shook his head, still dazed. Finally, he unbuckled the net and put his helmet aside.

"I’m ok-car got loose-not sure what happened." he muttered as he climbed out of the car. He looked up at the bleeding skies, what have I done?

Chapter 24-All Things Must Come to Pass

SpeedChannel Studio, Charlotte

Alan Bestwick grinned as taping was about to commence for the weekly series, "Inside Winston Cup." Ever dapper and forever the straight man as the show’s host, he usually felt like the keeper of the asylum in which the patients have taken control. This week’s show was bound to be special as Michael was scheduled to make his return to the fold. Even though Kenny Wallace had done an admirable job substituting in his absence, it was never the same without their old, fearless leader spearheading the troops. Where Michael could switch from serious to silly, Kenny was pure comic relief. The emails, letters and cards that still flooded the office on Michael’s behalf was overwhelming and a testament to his popularity as the voice of the show’s "expert panel".

The weeks following the Talladega race were eventful to say the least. Foremost among the topics was the tremendous shakeup at DEI. If Mikey thinks he’s going to weasel out of the show without his take on this, he’s got another thing coming, Alan thought as he glanced over his notes on the show. The only "official" release from DEI was a terse note-"Ty Norris will resign from his duties at DEI as he will pursue his own racing team, Omega Racing, effective immediately. New management and restructuring will be announced on Monday’s Inside Winston Cup show." Idly, Alan mused, maybe we should have asked for a 2-hour special.... A loud whoop and cackle from the green room interrupted his thoughts.

"Herman! What did your brother tell ya about bein’ a little more serious? Now get off that table!" Michael didn’t quite know whether to laugh or cry. Indeed, there was Kenny standing in the middle of the table surrounded by the various crew and camera techs who put the show together each week. The ceiling was festooned with crepe streamers, balloons and a huge "Welcome Back!" banner in Napa blue and gold. Balanced precariously in Kenny’s hands, was a large sheet cake.

"Hey-it was either this little surprise party or me, Schrader and Johnny were all gonna jump outta the cake in a thong!" Kenny quipped, grinning mischievously.

"Would that be one thong or three for each of you?" Michael replied dryly. He seemed like his old self. More confident than he had been in months, before the accident. He looked well and rested; smiling easily and that old, devilish twinkle was back in his eyes. He had actually put on a little weight, no longer painfully gaunt. He was tilting back precariously in his chair with his large feet propped up on the table with his trademarked mischievous grin splitting his face ear to ear. Kenny, Johnny and Schrader also seemed to have that "bounce off the wall" energy emanating from them-not that Kenny Wallace needed any help in that department as the group’s perpetually hyper-active "problem child".

"God...that’s a disturbing thought. Thanks for the visual!" Johnny was shaking his head.

"Wazzat?" Schrader sat there with his perpetually bemused expression.

"You in a thong, numbnuts." The sound of a primal series of grunts and snickers resounded through the room. Even though it was a given that Alan would have his work cut out for him today as far as keeping the group in line, it was still music to his ears to hear them all laughing together like old times.

"Well kids-shall we get started?" he grinned, glancing at the producer who was already taking his place on cue.

As the troops headed for the studio, Schrader bowed slightly and gestured towards Michael, "After you, Mr. President." Michael hissed and shook his head, promptly cuffing Schrader’s balding noggin.

"Ssssshhhhh! What I say about lettin’ the cat out of the bag?! Sheesh..you’re worse than an ol’ woman!"

"Sorry, Mikey...can’t help it-this is huge!"

Alan glanced back at the two experts, "What’s this Mr. President stuff?....Mikey??? Is there something you want to share with us before we go on the air?"

"Nope-the only reason Schrader knows is cuz my danged boy was flappin’ off at the piehole at my garage the other day. He’s grounded til he’s thirty five..." Michael grunted as he took his seat at the end of the table, passively examining his nails as for all the world it was just another show.

The "on air" light went on and Alan started his weekly spiel.. "Hello and welcome to the ‘Welcome Back Mikey’ edition of Inside Winston Cup. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and for the viewers, we’ll be extending the show by a half hour tonight just so we can get everything. in." Gesturing towards the assembled experts, "With us tonight, is Ken Schrader, driver of the Federated Auto Parts Dodge. Kenny Wallace, driver of the Stacker 2 Dodge. Johnny Benson, driver of the Valvoline Pontiac and a return by Michael Waltrip, who will discuss his plans for next year as he brings back the ol’ #3 Chevy Monte Carlo for Napa Auto Parts. This is truly a special show and I’d like to thank each and every one of you for being here....."

The group progressed to review the week’s race in review and the usual color commentary the loyal audience loved. (along with the usual off-color shenanigans and bantering that were the show’s hallmarks) Finally, after the quick run-down of the Busch race, four pairs of eyes leveled at Michael as the bantering between Schrader and Kenny died down.

"What?" Michael asked nonchalantly.

"uhmmm...you said you had something you wanted to share with the viewers tonight, Mikey. Wanna elaborate?" Schrader grinned slyly.

Pausing and glancing at his camera and the monitor and ruffling his ever-unruly curls, "One of the horses had a baby last night back at my farm..."

"MIKEY!"

"How’s my hair look?" Michael mumbled, preening in front of the monitor.

Laughing and shaking his head, Alan relented, "It looks fine. Now will you please?? Our producer just ripped the last of his hair out!"

Michael sat a little straighter in his seat, his soft Kentucky drawl suddenly took on a serious tone. A mixture of sadness and triumph were reflected in his eyes when he looked up at the camera.

"I was supposed to just come out and read the official press release but there’s so much more to it. So much changes in this business we’re in-when Dale founded DEI, he was hoping to build a dynasty for his drivers, friends and most importantly his family. Unfortunately he was taken away from us before he could see his dreams come to pass and some of those he left in charge didn’t share his vision on how his company should be run. So to make a long story short, because we all know what happened, Ty Norris has decided to form his own team and Dale Jr. has signed with them for a tentative 2 year deal. He owns the license to the 8 and Budweiser’s going with him." He paused for a moment to let his words sink in, one could literally hear a pin drop in the studio-it was that quiet. Even Kenny was quiet and content to listen for a change.

Michael continued, "In that respect, Teresa has asked me to take over Ty’s position and to simplify things on my end, we decided to merge Michael Waltrip Racing with DEI. Tony Eury will take the place of Steve Hmiel as Technical Director-he’ll stay with us another year before he retires. Steve also decided to go in with Ty on the Omega Racing deal as well as Tony Jr. We’re still hashing out the logistics for next season and trying to line up sponsors-we’ve got a definite ‘yes’ on Napa-but we can’t say anything further until we got it in writing."

Alan cleared his throat, "I understand there was some issues with your dismissal from DEI earlier this season due to your injuries-I take it those issues have been resolved between you and Teresa?"

Looking down at the desk as he thought of Dale and the monumental responsibility he was handed, he looked up and quietly answered in perhaps the most eloquent way he could have, "Dale knew there was a clause in my contract regarding injuries that should have never been there. It was one of his last requests that was never honored. Right now, I feel as though it’s my duty rebuild and restore his company for all that he’s done for me and my family."

**********************************

Mike Helton leveled his ever-intimidating gaze at Ty as he sat quietly across the desk from him. Helton regarded the manila envelope that contained the graphic, incriminating photos taken from Junior’s security camera and a video tape. The contempt that was emanating from Helton was almost palatable. Leaning forward, he growled at Ty, "You do understand that if any further pictures such as these re-surface, you will be brought before the law. Blackmail is a felony, Mr. Norris-do I make myself clear? The reason that I made the decision I did to allow you to keep Omega up as a separate company from DEI, is to keep this material from going public. You have done enough damage to that company with your mismanagement and chicanery. I cannot allow you to ruin Dale and Michael’s lives as well. Now-are you sure this is all this evidence as you call it?"

Wordlessly, Ty nodded. "That’s all there is-there is no more copies. I swear."

"Good. Let us be done with this whole sordid affair then." With that, Helton gathered the envelope and the tape and promptly flung them into the fireplace. It flared up brightly as the new fuel was added to the wood, diminishing into a charred mass by the firewall.

"Pure folly, Norris and you almost ruined yourself in this venture. I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Let’s keep the battles on the track, shall we?"

And with that, it was done. A hefty fine paid to Nascar, now a social pariah in the garage, and loss of Teresa Earnhardt as a valuable friend and ally. But he had his own team now and Junior was making headway in returning to his former championship form and most importantly, he would never have to cross paths with a Waltrip again.

Chapter 25-Watcher in the Stands

"Goddammit this slab is cold!" Michael grumbled as he stared at the ceiling tiles while he awaited his CAT scan. The flimsy hospital gown left his entire backside bare and he picked the wrong day to wear the sheer silk boxer briefs. Rory stood quietly by his side and gently held his hand. It was just one of the many tests he had to undergo in order to gain clearance from Nascar to drive. Rory sighed as she glanced at the clock; soon it would be over and they could go home. She hated hospitals as much as he did-nothing but places of sickness and death. Flashbacks of last April haunted her the minute they walked in the door. Every time she looked at him, she could see his face and body ravaged by bruises and lacerations; his broken body hooked up to a multitude of machines and monitors. Involuntarily, she squeezed his large, calloused hand. Michael looked up and ceased his complaining as he reached up and tenderly touched her cheek.

"Honey? You ok?" Rising up, he cupped her face in his hands.

Rory nodded as she looked into his eyes. "Just hate this awful place. It serves no purpose in my mind except to remind me of how close I came to losing you." She paused a moment, "Michael-you know you don’t have to drive anymore. Your job is secure now-we’ll be fine. Let Brendan take your seat -he’s already told Rick Hendrick he wanted to stay with us."

Michael shook his head, "I need Brendan in the 15 and we’ve just signed Jason Jarrett to the 1. We need the money that Napa is committing to the team and they’re counting on having me behind the wheel. We’ve got to give it a chance, babe. Without Junior and Budweiser to anchor DEI, we’re shit out of luck if this deal falls apart. It’s our last shot."

"I know...I know...I just wish the stakes weren’t so damned high." She pressed his hand to her cheek. "I feel like we’re flying straight into a firestorm. I wish Dale were still here.." she whispered.

"I told Norris this a while ago," Michael began firmly, "As long as I’m connected with this organization, I’ll make damned sure his ideals won’t be forgotten. He’s still with us, baby."

His words still could not dispel the clouds of uncertainty that settled around her like a shroud. In the face of adversity, they had always landed on their feet. The first tests at Daytona were only two weeks away and the there was a wave of excitement building over this season like no other in recent memory. 2005 ended as a lackluster footnote. Thee was no clear-cut champion after Michael fell out of contention. Not a victory to his name in the past year but through happenstance having accumulated the most points, Greg Biffle walked away with the trophy. After an exciting season opener that began with the roar of DEI"s victory with Junior seemingly shot out of a cannon to capture the 500, ended with the pop of a soggy firecracker at an anti-climatic dinner in Manhattan. Rory half-heartedly accepted her award for crew chief of the year as Junior, who ended up a respectable 16th in the final standings, wrestled with his own decision. He warmly congratulated her later that evening as Michael barely acknowledged him. While Michael publicly supported Junior’s decision as an effort on Junior’s part for personal and professional growth, deep inside, Michael felt Junior had deserted him when he needed him the most. Junior knew how deeply his decision hurt Michael and it tore him up just to look in his old friend’s eyes. But what is done is done and Junior had committed himself to two years with Omega Racing and at this point, it would have been very costly indeed to buy his way out of the contract.

In the end, Michael’s tests all came back with a clean bill of health and he eagerly looked forward to the start of the new season. He felt as though he was somehow returning to life instead of just the passive role of observer. Later that evening, he sat in the stiff seat behind the wheel of one of the cars slated to compete in the Bud shoot-out. It bore a special paint scheme of a deep royal blue fading to black with the stark, white 3 on the side. The gold Napa shield decal and subsidiary sponsors stickers would be applied in due time for the race but now she sat darkly gleaming in the harsh lights of the shop. He thought about Dale’s last ride-how this could easily be his too. But, he mused, if this is the way I’m gonna go out, then so be it. His heart beat quickened at the thought of putting this car through it’s paces; the howl of the engine as it would tear down those towering banks as he ran down his competitors like a wolf on a herd of deer. He owned Daytona and as he sat in his car anticipating the chase, he was certain the others dreaded his comeback to the place that he had so strongly dominated. The finest car to ever roll out of DEI would soon be gracing those high banks and Michael was certain a trip to Victory Lane was also in it’s future. Ritchie Gillmore had outdone himself-the engine alone was a masterpiece. Slugger himself had built the shocks and suspension with all the care and diligence of a Swiss watchmaker. The final question still remained-would it run?

Flipping the sequential ignition switches, Michael gently depressed the accelerator while holding the beast in place. As he revved the engine to a deafening roar, the walls shook and reverberated with an 800hp monster straining against it’s leash.....

January 2006-Daytona

Kevin Harvick glanced at the rear-end of his teammate’s car as he closed in on Jeremy Mayfield. The tests were going well and he was confident to the point of already declaring himself the winner of next month’s 500. He knew his Goodwrench Monte Carlo was going to be the one to beat. Junior was a no-show so far at the annual test as Omega Racing battled it’s first growing pains. Away from the state of the art garages at DEI and dealing with a new facility and personnel, the Budweiser team was painfully struggling. Jeff Gordon was as much a threat as he usually was but both he and Tony Stewart found the revised body styles and aero packages not to their liking. At least they were bringing the restrictor plates back for the superspeedways. Last year’s experiment failed miserably. While the over-all television ratings skyrocketed, what remained after the dust and Victory Lane confetti settled, was a pile of ruined race cars and mangled and broken drivers. Kevin grinned to himself-it would be great to bring the trophy back this year-the first time an RCR car had won the 500 since ’98.

Suddenly he was jolted from his reverie as his spotter yelled, "Outside! Outside! 3’s on almost on top of ya an’ comin’ hard!"

Kevin momentarily panicked as he looked at the gleaming midnight blue and black car as it swept effortlessly along the top groove; nearly kissing the outside retaining wall. Only one driver ever dusted off that top groove like that. Michael. And as Kevin watched the departing car blow by him as if his own had quit, a mix of emotions waged war inside his mind. Elated that his old friend and adversary had indeed come back but frustrated as it looked like he now had some major competition. Chuckling as he gunned his engine, he took off in hot pursuit of 3. "You ol’ sonofabitch.....well let’s get it on, man!"

The 29 ducked around Mayfield’s car and quickly closed in on the 3. Michael glanced lazily up at his rearview mirror as Kevin approached. Checking slightly, he allowed the 29 to shadow him for a moment and grinned at Kevin before he opened up the 3’s engine full-throttle. As he left the 29 bobbling in his wake, he deftly cut low as he quickly overtook a pack of slower vehicles. He marveled at the quick response and handling of the car as it hugged the high banks. The boys in the shop outdid themselves and hopefully, he would reward their hard work with another Daytona 500 trophy. As for himself, it had been a long time since Michael had felt this much alive. Heart pounding, it felt as if his soul were on fire. 200 laps were nothing-hell, he could easily drive 2000!

"Bring ‘er in-I’m puttin’ ‘er on the dyno." Slugger’s voice crackled over the radio. Michael sighed and motioned for the inside to Harvick, who continued to doggedly shadow the 3. The 29 rose, along with Mayfield, Brian Vickors and Brendan Gaughn and the drivers watched the 3 descend to the apron on it’s way to the garage in awed silence. It was only a 20 lap test yet there was no doubt among the challengers that they had their work cut out for them.

Sitting in the nearly-vacant grandstand, Darrell poked his nephew in the ribs as Mick continued to stare off into space. "One of these days, boy-that’s gonna be you drivin’ that car!"

Mick looked back at the old champion and shook his head, "No, Uncle D. That’s my dad’s car now-I can’t see anybody else but him drivin’ it. Not me, not Junior-just him."

"What about me?" Darrell grinned, his cerulean blue eyes twinkling. "3 time champion like me should be ‘lowed to take ‘er out for a gallop!"

Mick gave him a mock-scowl, "Ach... Aunt Stevie would take yer arse out fer a gallop!"

Darrell nodded sagely, "Can’t argue with ya boy. She’d have the dogs out a-huntin’ and she wouldn’t rest till she had me treed like a momma coon."

Mick rose and stretched his lanky frame. "I’m headin’ for the garage-gotta make myself useful." Off he wandered in his new Napa team shirt. He was still too young to be anything more than a gofer but he was a member of the team nonetheless. "Comin’ down?"

Darrell Waltrip grinned and looked out at the long backstretch at the setting sun, "Oh, I’ll be along in a bit. I’ll see ya down there." Mick shrugged as he leapt down the stairs and left the old man alone with his dreams of past glories. After the boy was gone, Darrell glanced up as he caught the slight shadow that stood by the rail out of the corner of his eye. A warm, comforting breeze stirred out of nowhere as he regarded the silent figure that also seemed to be watching the activities in the garage; worn denim jacket pulled up against the advancing chill of the night, battered Goodwrench cap pulled low over his brow.

The figure turned once and gave his former rival a sly Cheshire grin beneath the bushy mustache before he turned and faded into the advancing shadows of dusk.

Darrell smiled at the departing figure, "Good seein’ you too, bud. I’ll keep an eye on him too. Ain’t gonna let ’im mess yer car up!" he chuckled.

******************************

"Mick-run this hose into the reservoir so we can cool the engine." Slugger was pulling what amounted to a dialysis machine that would drain the hot water out of the block while running cool water back into it. Mick looked back up into the stands. "Everything ok?" the stocky crew chief inquired.

"Uhm...yeah...guess so. Uncle D’s just actin’ a little odd, that’s all. Got all quiet....kept lookin’ out at the track like he was waiting for somebody."

"DW actin’ odd?! No way!" Michael grinned as he pulled a clean t-shirt over his head. He winked at Taylor, who had been sitting on the tool box, "Hey-if you can pull your head out of that car for five seconds, you got a guest over here."

Mick jerked his head up as hot water belched out of the car like a horse pissing on a flat rock. Jumping back, he tripped over a jack stand and landed flat on his backside. All to the amusement of Napa crew who tried unsuccessfully to stifle their mirth. Michael hauled him up by the collar of his shirt and grinned, "Why don’t you take off now before you end up killin’ yerself-just don’t be too late, yer momma is gonna kick yer butt and mine too for lettin’ ya out!"

Blushing furiously, Mick attempted to salvage as much composure as he could. Taylor reached up and rubbed a bit of grease of his nose as she whispered, "Come on- Mom’s ordered out for some Chinese tonight."

"Oh..there’s cat on the menu at the Peking Moon....!" Michael grinned as he sang a few bars of the obnoxious Weird Al tune.

"Ugh! Dad! That’s disgusting!" Mick glared at him-not sure whether his father’s off-key warbling or the feline cuisine reference was worse. He casually draped his arm around Taylor as the brushed by Darrell. It was actually getting rather dark as the moon rose above the skeletal backdrop of the grandstand. The teams were finally wrapping the day up and busily going about the preparations for tomorrow. The Home Depot hauler growled as it made it’s way through the tunnel. Tony Stewart was done with his test and on his way back home to North Carolina. Several more teams would be descending on the track tomorrow along with a plethora of media personnel ; eager to get a look at the would-be contenders as they made their predictions for the year. But right now, the night was still young and Taylor was by his side. He draped his jacket over her shoulders to ward off the chill ocean air.

Darrell grasped his shoulder, "You behave yourself boy!"

"I’ll be a perfect gentleman-just like me daddy!" Mick chirped as he sauntered out the door and down the road to Teresa’s coach.

"That’s what I’m afraid of!" Darrell muttered as he regarded his grinning brother. "C’mon, bro. Walk with me a little." Michael shrugged as he and Darrell headed towards the grandstand. Darrell looked over at Michael, suddenly seeing him through the eyes of age; watching him grow from a struggling, mediocre driver to a champion. Now here he was-slated to start the season as the head of DEI, trying almost single-handedly to resurrect the failing team.

"What’s on yer mind, bro..?" Michael wondered, half to himself as they leaned against the wire fence overlooking the track.

"I’m proud of ya, Mike. I want ya to know that." Darrell said softly, "I always was, ya know." He cleared his throat and went on, "Oh there was times I thought ya should give it up, just like Daddy. But ya stuck with it. And you’ve won."

Michael said nothing and stared down at his feet. After a moment, he looked up as emotion choked his words, "I almost did give up. I couldn’t have done any of this without you harrassin’ the shit outta me-all those times you kept on me, ‘give it up-you’ll never make it in this business!’, just made me dig in even more. When I won the championship-that was for you an’ Daddy. And Dale-if he didn’t give me this ride, I’da quit by now." He looked out at the dark banks near turn 3, "I want so bad to restore everything he’s built that Ty’s destroyed."

The two sat for a long time in silence; sharing a moment as finally equals. On the evening breeze, one could almost hear the sounds of races long past and roar of the crowd. Far above the two brothers, stood the lone shade of their former comrade; watching for all the world like a sentry as well as a guardian.

Shaking his head as he regarded his former driver and friend, "Don’t worry about makin’ me proud, Mikey. You already have....."

Chapter 26-Rebel without a Clue

Daytona Speedweeks, 2006

"Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and wouldn’t you love to love her
takes to the sky like a bird in flight and who would be her lover
All you life have you ever seen
a woman taken by the wind?
Would you stay if she promised you Heaven
Will you ever win?
Will you ever win?......." -Fleetwood Mac

Candlelight made shadows dance like mad faeries on the walls of the motorcoach. Incense drifted lazily from a marble burner as the stereo softly throbbed away; drowning out the faint sound of the shower. Rory turned back the coverlets on the bed, lightly misting the pillows with a sage and lavender sachet. Her long hair cascaded about her fair shoulders in a golden mass as she swayed to the seductive music. For tonight, she wasn’t a crew chief-she was an enchantress! Though 43, the same age as her mate, she had only a few strands of silver in her hair and those first fine lines at the corners of her eyes and forehead. She dabbed a bit of sweet patchouli oil at her wrists and throat, knowing the intoxicating scent drove him wild.

Smiling as she heard the shower being shut off, she sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a brush through her mane. She could almost taste his kisses and feel the heat of his body as she awaited the moment when time would stand still as they became one. She glanced at the mirror as he stood quietly watching her. The soft, golden light of the candles lent his dark features a strangely exotic look. He too, was savoring the moment of simply being alone with her. With his elevated position at DEI and his anticipated return, more and more demands for his time were exacted from him. The simple pleasure of being alone with his wife was getting harder to come by.

Unable to keep his distance any longer, Michael crossed the small room quietly and quickly as a cat. Rory rose from the edge of the bed and melded against him; breathing the clean scent of his skin mingling with the wintergreen on his breath. Tenderly kissing her cheek, he whispered, "Been a long time since we had some peace, babe....let’s just enjoy this."

Long, sinewy arms encircled her from behind as she felt his hot breath and the raspy tickle of his unshaven whiskers on her neck. Leaning her head back against his broad chest, she allowed Michael’s mouth to engulf hers as she felt him gather her up in his arms. In the soft light, his deep-set eyes were luminous; almost hypnotic. Rory lost herself in his eyes as he lowered her to the bed. Drawing her hips up and opening her legs to him, she sought quench the hunger in those eyes. Hearts beating as one, at last drowning out the music.......pounding, pounding like ancient drums; like hoofbeats....like.....

......The sound of their offspring bounding into the coach in a mass stampede. Michael tossed one of his enormous shoes at the door, slamming it shut as he pressed himself into her. The room and the outside world began to fade away again as Rory buried her face in his neck, softly biting him as she entangled her fingers in his hair. Her tiny hands drifted slowly down his shoulders, down his broad back and sides to his flanks. Her touch electrified him as if it were all a new sensation. His breath was ragged and uneven as he moaned, "Obaby...I need you..." She drew her legs tightly around him, driving him in deeper.....

However...the storm outside the door began to increase in intensity as now the youngest child also got into the act.....Macy yelled, "DAAAAADDD.....MICK WON’T LET ME USE THE COMPUTER FOR HOMEWORK!"

"I need it for ONLY A MINUTE! I’LL GIVE IT BACK-!..........Mace...c’mon ! Don’t grab it......SHIT! NOW SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO?!"

"Mick! Stop swearing in front of your little sister!"

"SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE, CAITLIN-IT’S YOUR FAULT!!!"

"DAAAAAAAAD! MICK BROKE YOUR LAPTOP!!!"

"It’s not Dad’s-it’s Slugger’s!.....Maybe it’s not broken.....I’ll try to restart it after I clean the Coke off’n it....."

The sound of the outside door slamming and the bickering that became louder began to take it’s toll. Rory sighed at the impending disaster of lost files and important notes, wondering if anybody bothered to back them up. Michael remained lustfully oblivious.

Rory groaned as the first battle cry erupted from Caitlin: "MOOOOOOOOOOOM!!" This is hopeless, she thought, that brood is becoming the loudest argument for birth control I’ve ever heard in my life.

"Darlin’....Mikey....Michael...look at me, darlin’...I think we need to check on the brats before they tear this place apart." Michael ignored her by smothering her passionately with his kiss. For a moment, Rory allowed herself to be swept back up in the moment as his playful tongue found her ear.......

The pounding down the hall to their bedroom grow ominously closer........

"Ignore ‘em!" Michael growled. "They know better than to open that bedroom door if it’s shut!" His eyes were blazing as he rocked against her. Today’s practice had not gone well at all-a defective valve spring and a ruined engine promised a end-of-the-longest-line start for the Napa Chevy. He desperately needed the release and escape a moment alone with Rory would bring. He would not....refused to ....let that inconsiderate mob destroy this moment!

"Ach...Michael...it’s no use! We’re done..." Rory sighed. Panting and furious, Michael nodded and slowly rolled off her.

"DAD!" MIck’s angry voice bellowed as he pounded at his parent’s bedroom door.

"GET AWAY FROM THAT DOOR, BOY! I’M WARNIN’ YA...!" Michael roared back as he pulled himself away from what had promised to be a lust-filled evening. Rory had dejectedly put out the candles and incense, putting them away for another day. She had already wrapped a worn, flannel robe about her. Michael sighed and pulled on his sweatpants.

"Times like this, I think we should invest in a coach just for them..." he muttered. Pulling the door open, he glared and snapped, "This had better be goddayum important..."

Mick swallowed hard as he regarded his father’s angry gaze. "I can’t have a moment’s peace! I was plannin’ on watching some movies with Tay-..."

Caitlin sidled up behind her seething brother, "...Alone in her room, I might add!" she spat.

"And what’s wrong with that? She’s helpin’ me with my studies too! Mind yer own business!"

"Right Casanova..." came the snide reply. "What are you majoring in, Heavy Petting 101? You know danged well Uncle June would kick your skinny ass all the way home if he caught you two like I did last month in her mom’s coach when we came here for the tests!"

Macy paddled down the hall, carrying the remains of Slugger’s laptop; it’s hard drive now jammed in backward and it’s keyboard sticky with spilled Coke. (which no doubt fried the innards completely)

"Daddy...can you fix this? Is Slugger gonna be mad? We didn’t mean to do it...."

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! YOU KIDS ARE MAKING ME NUTS! MY GODDAMNED HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE!" Michael yelled, ramming his ham-sized fist into the wall; immediately halting the sibling feud. His face inches away from Mick’s, he growled menacingly, "You got some ‘splainin’ to do boy...." He felt somewhat hypocritical at this point, knowing full-well that he had been guilty of the same crimes of passion as a lad himself. But, as the old saying goes, "do as I say-not as I do"......

Rory gently squeezed her husband’s arm, "Enough, Michael-why don’t you lie down for awhile-I’ll take care of your offspring." When he didn’t move, she firmly pushed his lanky frame back to the bed. "You’ve a race tomorrow, remember? Working yourself into an aneurysm isn’t going to help the situation." She whispered, gently laying a kiss on his cheek. Michael nodded with a sigh and laid down, staring at the ceiling and willing his blood pressure to return to normal. Shutting the door quietly behind her, she herded her brood down the hall.

"Now then..." she began as she sat at the small dining nook, "I’ll take care of the computer-give it here...." She lifted the laptop and set it aside, secretly praying that Slugger’s notes were copied elsewhere. "We’ll have no more of this feuding. This is the most important race your father will ever compete in and I daresay I’m disappointed in all of you-especially you, Mick." Letting her words sink into the three hang-dog faces in front of her, Rory turned to Caitlin and Macy, "You two can go over to Kelley’s for a bit-if she’s not in, go to Kyle and Patti’s coach." Mick also rose until a steel-strong hand gripped his arm, "You sit." The brief flicker of anger in Mick’s eyes only turned the grip on his arm tighter. Rory knew at his age, the natural rebelliousness of youth would rear it’s ugly head. Waiting until both girls were out of ear-shot, Rory continued quietly. "What have I told you about staying focused? You are going to throw it all away, Mick. You have a chance to make something of yourself! Do you have any idea the sacrifices that were made for the privileges that you obviously take for granted? God knows I love Taylor like she was my own, but she has had everything given to her-she’s never gone without. She has no idea what it is to be hungry, to see your dreams dashed because of a foolish mistake. She forgets, Mick, that you’re almost 3 years younger than she is!"

"Mom...I love her...I want to be with her..." Mick began, speaking to the floor as he sunk back in his chair, his throat tight as he felt hot tears well up in his eyes.

"Mick-you’re forgetting where you came from. You’re forgetting the hard times we’ve been through in Belfast. I’ll be perfectly blunt here-if you get her pregnant and providing Kerry and June allow you to live, do you want to destroy her dreams as well as your own?"

Mick glared at her, "Mom-I would never hurt her. Can’t you remember how you felt when you first met Dad? How you wanted to be with him?"

Like I wanted to be with him before we were so rudely interrupted? Rory thought wryly. "Look, Mick-all I’m askin’ is for you to start using your head for a change! I’m not belittling your feelings for her-I’m not gonna tell you you’re too young to understand what true love is. You’ve been through more in your thirteen years than most endure in a lifetime. But you can’t always let your heart rule your head......now where are ya goin’?" Mick rose quietly to leave, "Did I say I was done with ya?"

"Sorry, Mom....I was supposed to meet Taylor at 3...she was goin’ to help me with my studies....Aunt Teresa is gonna be there..."

"I’ll be callin’ over there-it’s not that I don’t trust ya Mick-I do. But when it comes to something like this...." But he was out the door before she could finish. Sighing, she picked up her cell phone and breathed a sigh of relief when Junior answered it.

"Ah! June...I’m glad yer there....."

**********************************************

Junior took a swig of Snapple as he spoke to Rory on his phone, "Hold on-I think that’s him poundin’ on the door..." Setting the phone down, he hollered, "Hold on! You break it, your daddy’s buyin’ another one!"

Mick looked puzzled for a moment, "Uncle June! What are ya don’ here?"

"Waitin’ for Teresa to get back from that Foundation luncheon-I gotta talk business with her and yer daddy if he ever gets up....."

"Taylor here?"

Junior nodded down the hall, "Yeah...she’ll be out in a minute. Plop a squat and help yourself to the fridge if you want."

Junior went back to his phone, "Hey Ro-he’s here...wanna talk to him?...no? ....ok.....yeah, Teresa’s supposed to be back soon....I’ll stay for a little while and keep an eye on ’m.....I gotta talk to her an’ Mike later anyway....awrighty...bye."

He no sooner hung up when his phone buzzed again, "’Lo?..." Brows furrowing as he recognized the caller’s voice, he sighed, "Ok....but just for a minute...told you I ain’t into that shit anymore....listen-I’ll get you the hot pass then ya gotta just leave me alone, OK? ...I’ll meet you near my hauler in 10 minutes." He clicked off the phone as Mick looked over at him.

"Is something wrong, Uncle June?"

Junior sighed and ran his hand through his bristly hair, "Not really...just somebody I don’t really want to deal with. Listen Mick-I gotta get a pass for this guy and he can be a real asshole sometimes. If I ain’t back in about an hour or so-come get me. I need to talk business with your daddy. I’ll be in my hauler."

Mick shrugged, "Ok. See ya later." He had something of a queasy feeling in his stomach that he couldn’t explain as he watched Junior grab his jacket and walk back to the garages. Something didn’t feel right but he simply shrugged it off as the blow-up at his parent’s coach earlier.

All that was forgotten the minute Taylor walked out into the living room area. She had just come out of the shower and wore just a simple pair sweat pants and an old t-shirt of his. Grinning, he walked over and brushed his lips across hers. "Hey." he whispered.

Taylor looked up into his handsome face as she draped her arms around his neck and pressed into him. His mouth captured her lips as Taylor’s hands drifted down the small of his back to cup his rump and pulled him ever tighter...ever closer. For the life of him, Mick couldn’t remember a word Rory had just told him, or the imminent threat of Junior’s fist if he were to walk in the door. His world faded away as he felt her hands now exploring his upper body only to drift lower to his most intimate of places.

For one moment, a flicker of reason entered his mind, "Tay...w-we shouldn’t be ....shouldn’t be doing this.." he gasped as he felt her hand unbuckle his belt.

"I love you Mick.." she whispered as she pulled his face to hers. "Mom’s not going to be back until 6...." she gently took his hand and pulled him to the bedroom.

****************************************************

What happened? Mick sat up in the dark room, confused and feeling not a little frightened. Taylor curled up tightly beside him. Drawing his knees up and resting his head against them, he whispered, "What have I done...? Ogod...what have I done...." he felt like sobbing but he turned to Taylor and gently spooned himself around her. "Taylor...? Are you ok......please say something."

"I’m ok, Mick....just don’t leave me."

"I’m not going anywhere...I was afraid I hurt you...."

"It did hurt a little...will it always hurt, Mick?"

Mick swallowed, "Do you still love me? I-I didn’t want to hurt..." He was openly crying now as Taylor buried her face in his neck and held him tightly.

"I love you, Mick....I’ll love you forever..."

Just then, Mick looked over at the clock. 7:00! Junior! He was supposed to find Junior! Frantically, he looked at Taylor, "Ogod...I was supposed to meet him over at the hauler around 4! He’s gonna kill me!"

Taylor shook her head, "Mom’s supposed to be home too....wonder if she stopped at your Dad’s? Maybe that’s where Dale is..."

With hands shaking, Mick punched in his parents number, and was relieved when Michael answered it. "Yeah?"

"Dad?"

"Yeah, boy....what are ya up to?"

"Is Aunt Teresa there...she is? We were just worried......is Uncle June?....He never called back?...I-I think he might be in his hauler.....I...I’ll go round him up...ok...I’ll see ya in a little bit."

Mick hung up as a storm of emotions threatened to drive in insane. He looked at Taylor, "They haven’t seen him....I’ll be he’s still at the hauler...."

"I’ve tried ....I think his phone is out of service." She looked up at him, "I’ll go with you....."

Mick pulled on his clothes and tried to block out the consequences of his actions and the day’s events. How he wished he had stayed home. He had a very bad feeling that this day was far from over yet.......

Chapter 27-Redemption

Together, Mick and Taylor made their way from the motorhome compound to the deserted area behind the garages where the haulers were parked in a stately row. Spying the familiar red and black Kenworth with the "8" on the airfoil, Mick broke into a trot. It looked dark inside as did the rest of the sleeping machines.

"I don’t think he’s here, Mick...let’s go." Taylor shivered against the chill night air. The place had something of a creepy feel to it. Far away, the celebrations going on in the fan’s RV infield were in full-swing and the smell of campfires wafted in on the salty, ocean breeze. The track grandstands stood out black against the indigo blue of the night, tomorrow they would be filled to capacity as the world tuned in on this annual rite of spring. But that was for tomorrow and Mick knew he had to contend with the here and now.

Shaking his head, he whispered, "I’ve got to be sure-see there’s a light at the end of the hall-he’s probably just in the driver’s lounge!" Indeed, he could here voices coming from the trailer but he couldn’t make out what exactly was being said. He was surprised to see the door open as he poked his head in. "Uncle June?? It’s me...sorry I’m late...Teresa’s still in Dad’s coach if you want to talk to ’em......" he broke off when the voices stopped.

Junior slowly walked out of the lounge and down the hall towards Mick. As the boy’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, something about Junior made his blood run cold. The usual, sauntering, easy-going gait was now slow and unsteady like that of a sleep walker. When Mick looked at his glassy stare, the hairs on the back of his neck rose-he looked the same way at Talladega, just before the wreck that changed all of their lives. "Hey kid..." Junior gave him a vacant smile, "Mmmm...who’s that cute babe? Gotta share, bro." he laughed.

Mick swallowed and said flatly, "Your sister." His eyes never left Junior’s face. He felt the bile rising in his throat as he whispered to Taylor, who clung to his arm. "Mick...what’s wrong with him?"

Turning, he handed her his cell phone, "Go to Dad‘s hauler-here’s my key. Call Dad and Uncle Kerry -don’t worry about me-just go! It’s just on the other side of Elliot Sadler‘s. "

Taylor slowly backed away from the hauler’s entrance. "Mick-"

"Just go!" he hissed as she finally trotted off towards the garage.

"What was that all about?" Junior asked as he was joined by two other men-neither of who Mick recognized.

A squat, Hispanic man of about 25 glared at Mick, "Who is this?"

"He’s cool, Paolo...he’s Mike Waltrip’s kid-I’ve known him forever." Junior pulled Mick down the hall with him and his companions. "He’s a good kid...."

A taller, slightly older man shook his head, "No fuckin’ way, Earnhardt-I don’t like it. We’re still talkin’ business-don’t need no kids around." He was a nervous, twitchy sort and somewhat unstable. He held one hand in his coat pocket and that alone made Mick uneasy. For the first time, Mick cast his eyes on the small table. Amongst the usual assortment of car parts, crew chief’s notes and empty coffee cups, a large bag containing a white substance sat surrounded by smaller sandwich-style bags and a couple of hypodermic needles. He made the mistake of shooting Junior a wordless "Why?"

The older man, Christopher, glared menacingly, "You got some kind of problem, kid?" He took a step towards Mick. Immediately, Junior imposed himself between them.

"I said he’s cool-leave him alone!" he growled.

"C’mon Chrissy...take it easy, man....we don’t want no trouble with these people. They’re good people..."

"Fuckin’ rednecks...I should’ve stayed in Newark..." he snapped and paced to the door. "Who was that little bitch I saw headin’ out a minute ago?"

Mick’s jaw clenched and Junior shot him a warning glance. as he said very slowly. "Just my sister-told her to get back home....you call her that again and I’ll split your Dago head wide open..." The buzz from the sample narcotic that Junior allowed himself had now begun to wear off. Junior rose from the couch and glanced at his watch, "Look...we been bashin’ this out all afternoon-told ya once, I done quit this shit. Thanks but no thanks. Here’s the passes and tickets I promised ya and I even threw in a VIP parking pass-so if you don’t mind, I gotta have a sit-down with this boy’s daddy."

"Ok June....good seein’ again, amigo-" Paolo began but was cut off as Christopher stood up suddenly facing Junior.

"Fuck this shit! Can’t you fucking see? Asshole’s a fuckin’ narc!...He’s got us and as soon as he leaves, he’s gonna blow us in!" Christopher shouted.

Junior shook his head, "No way, man....I just don’t wanna see your fuckin’ asses again-this is it, dude. Go on-get your shit and get outta here!"

"C’mon Chrissy...I’ve known Junior a long time, man....he won’t do us like that..." Paolo was already bagging up the assortment on the table when he was halted by the site of a revolver pointing directly at Junior’s face.

"Put that thing away!....C’mon, man...just chill." Junior held up his hands, genuinely frightened now as he tried to defuse the situation that was now spiraling out of control. "Look-nobody is going to the cops. Just take your stuff and leave....please leave."

Not sure if they forgot he was even there or if he would be the next target, Mick sat on the edge of the small sofa watching this strange tableau as if the events surrounding him were a bad television show. Still dazed from his brief introduction to manhood, things seemed to be happening in slow motion. Rising, he caught the attention of Christopher, who whirled and grabbed Mick; pinning the boy against the wall with the muzzle of the gun pressed firmly against his temple. Mick stared at his assailant blankly as a deer caught in the oncoming headlights of a tractor trailer; unable to comprehend the peril he was now in.

"Let. Him. Go." Mick could hear the low snarl of Junior’s voice.

"Madre de Dios! He’s just a kid-Christopher! Put it down, man!" Paolo was half out the door when he heard the sound of fast-approaching footsteps on the asphalt outside. "Somebody’s coming-we gotta get the hell out of here!"

Junior knew all too well that one wrong move would end both of their lives. The sound of footsteps halted just outside and suddenly the sound of a police bullhorn ripped through the night. "Please come out with your hands up! This is the Florida State Police! Come out with your hands up!"

The sound of the bullhorn was all it took to shake Mick from his stupor. The ensuing events took only a matter of seconds but it seemed an eternity. As Christopher’s attention was distracted for a split second, Junior launched himself forward; grabbing Christopher’s gun hand. Mick, in his haste to escape, managed to trip over the table. Shaking Junior off, the gun was leveled on Mick once again-this time the bullet found it’s target. Screaming in rage, Junior threw himself on Christopher as Mick staggered to his feet; only to collapse in the hallway of the trailer. Once again, the muffled sound of the gun discharging filled the room...once, twice...then it was silent. Mick lay in the hallway, only a few feet from freedom, a searing, white-hot sensation radiating from his mid-section. His vision was rapidly fading to a reddish haze as he struggled to rise, only to fall forward once more. "I’m so sorry Tay...." he whispered as consciousness slipped away.

***************************************

Steve had just finished a late night game of cards with some of his cronies as he decided to cut across the hauler lot. He pulled up short at the sound of muffled gunfire. "What the fuck-?!" he muttered as he glanced around, thinking it was probably only a few over-exuberant fans tossing an M-80 firecracker into a port-o-john. As he rounded the front of Jimmy Johnson’s hauler, the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he caught sight of two burly state troopers trying to restrain an enraged Michael as he frantically struggled against them.

"....My son is in there! Goddammit! Let me go!" Teeth bared and eyes wild, he looked like a madman. "Mick!" he called the boy’s name in vain.

"Mr. Waltrip...please stand back-they’re armed and there’s no telling what they’ll do." Michael firmly held his ground as a small SWAT contingent advanced up the steps, guns drawn. As Paolo walked forward with his head down and arms raised, the trooper turned to Michael, "See? Take it easy...we’ll get your boy back to you...we’ve got it all under control."

Steve wordlessly slipped up beside Michael as his old friend collapsed against him sobbing. "Mike....what happened? Where’s Junior?"

In a voice raw with emotion, Michael whispered, "Tay called me a little while ago ....said Junior was in trouble and Mick was gonna bring him back....looks like he hooked up with a couple of dealers......they..t-they...shot him....the bastards shot my boy....ogod Steve....how could he do this to me?" Steve simply threw his arms around Michael as he felt his big frame shaking with grief. He had never felt so helpless in his life as he whispered a silent prayer to the heavens. A million stars looked down from the blue velvet sky as if they were tears of ice. Strangely, a raven screamed in the distance as it perched far above the garages on a light pole.

By now, it seemed as if the entire population of the speedway -everyone from the racing community itself to a few curious denizens of the infield society-had gathered as close as they could to watch the drama unfolding. As a couple of ambulances and even more police made their way through the throng, Mike Helton strode forward like Moses parting the Red Sea. It seemed as if the events of the past year and the controversy that swirled about DEI and the rumors surrounding the company’s drivers had finally built up to the final act in what was just another Great American Tragedy. Faces from all sides watched Helton, waiting for him to say something-anything -just as they did in 2001. He spoke briefly with the captain of the SWAT team, who gestured to Michael as he knelt crumpled against Steve. He wondered if there would ever come a time when this man could enjoy his life in peace without being dealt one cruel blow after another. Quietly, Helton walked over to Michael and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Mike...they’re taking Mick now. You should be with him...." he said softly. Michael nodded and rose, walking back to the hauler as the paramedics finally wheeled Mick out on the stretcher. Michael gently brushed Mick’s long locks out of his face as he settled beside him in the ambulance. He wondered what his son had been up to in Teresa’s coach as he lightly felt the red and purple welts bruising his neck. He prayed it was only a little necking as he caught the slight scent of Taylor’s perfume on Mick’s still form. "Awww Mick...what am I gonna do with you, boy?" he sighed as he remembered the grim humor in his father’s curse- "You’re gonna have a son one of these days and he’s gonna be just as big a pain in the ass as you!" Stirring and nearly ripping the IV from his arm, Mick struggled against Michael’s strong hands. "D-Dad...?..." he whimpered. "It hurts Dad...please make it stop...."

"Sssshhh! Don’t try to talk...you’re gonna be OK." Michael’s voice was choked with emotion as he pulled a blanket over Mick as the boy began to shiver.

"Mom...where’s mom...?"

"She’ll be meetin’ us there with Darrell....just try to rest."

"Junior....." Now Michael’s eyes flashed in anger at the mere mention of the name. He held Mick’s hand tightly as he whispered, "He’ll never hurt you again...he’s lucky I didn’t get ahold of him..."

"No Dad...he wasn’t trying to hurt me....he saved my life!" Michael stared blankly at him, his head spinning as the events of the past hour converged on him. "Please Dad...don’t you understand?....Junior was trying to get rid of ’em...guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time...."

By the time the ambulance reached the emergency room, Michael sat with his face buried in his hands as Mick related his side of the story. The wail of a second ambulance behind Mick’s pulled in behind them as they wheeled Junior’s inert body through the doors; Steve dutifully by his side. Michael watched them until they disappeared through the double doors of ER. The paramedics were already unloading Mick as Rory and Darrell rushed to his side.

"Mom?" Mick weakly tried to rise but he had been sedated and fell back against the pillow.

"I’m here Mick....I’ll be right here..." she whispered as she softly kissed his forehead. "I won’t leave you, I promise."

"Scared...Mum...so scared..." finally he drifted off to the sweet black void of unconsciousness. Michael and Darrell pulled Rory between them, heads bowed in prayer as now the vigil began.

The trio was eventually joined by others in the waiting room-Teresa, Taylor, Slugger, Stevie, Tony Eury-awaiting word. Junior suffered the worst of the injuries; his spleen had been removed and had lost a frightful amount of blood. Mick had some deep tissue damage-fortunately (and most embarrassingly) the extent of his injuries were a nasty bump on his head and the removal of the bullet from his backside. Another bullet had passed clean through his midsection without touching anything vital-that in itself was a miracle. A doctor finally materialized out of ER and spoke quietly, "Michael?...Dale has been asking for you."

Michael slowly rose and followed to the small recovery area. Steve, looking like he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, smiled wanly, "Looks like he’s gonna make it."

Michael pulled up a chair and quietly leaned on the bed rail. "Hey.....how ya feelin’?"

"Copin’....I’m sure it’s gonna hurt like hell tomorrow...guess I won’t be visiting Victory Lane any time soon....how’s Mick?"

"He’s sleeping....he’s gonna be ok, Jun...." Michael had so many things he wanted to say. "Jun....?"

"Yeah bro..."

"You saved my boy’s life back there....I don’t know how I could ever thank you."

Junior struggled to rise up on an elbow, "Mike...I thought for sure you’d be ready to kill me...I mean, me and my stupidity put Mick in danger." He looked up into eyes bluer than his own, "I’m so sorry, Michael...for everything...I put you through so much...I’m sorry..." he choked back the tears as he continued, "I mean...I know I’m done...I’ll never get in a car again once Helton gets through with me...but I want you to know that I’ll be behind you -and that boy when he starts driving."

"We’ll worry about that later....right now, let’s just concentrate on getting through this and moving on." Michael gently but firmly clasped his shoulder just the way Dale used to do to him in his moments of doubt. Junior drifted off to sleep once more as the pain killers began to take effect. Before he left, Michael wordlessly left a single raven feather on the nightstand. As Steve looked up at him with a bewildered expression on his face, Michael smiled sagely, "Just for good luck...his Daddy always like ravens."

In spite of all the rehabilitation that he would have to go through, the fines for "actions detrimental to stockcar racing" and subsequent banning from the sport he was born to do, Junior knew that unconditional love and redemption in the eyes of a friend was worth all the victories and championships that he would never win.

Chapter 28: A Friend Indeed

A well-meaning nurse thoughtfully pulled a TV into the room that Mick and Junior now shared with the thought that both would want watch the race. Mick was in too much pain to take much of an interest in the festivities; fitfully dozing off from time to time. Junior simply turned his back; also in pain-although one could not be sure if it was purely physical or if it was the ramifications of all his chickens coming home to finally roost. From any standpoint, it simply looked downright hopeless for Michael to fight his way to the front after having been relegated to the end of the line due to an engine change. That and the fact that he was coming back after a long lay-up-even the most optimistic knew the odds were against the driver of the Napa Chevrolet.

The warm afternoon sun filtered in through the window and Mick drifted off once more. The drone of the cars on the track lulled him to sleep. His rest was short-lived as Mike Joy’s disembodied voice bellowed, "Trouble of turn 3-looks like this is The Big One!" Indeed, as Mick cracked his eyes open, cars were shooting off in umpteen directions at once; bouncing off each other and the retaining wall, all in a thick veil of tire and oil smoke. Weakly pulling himself up on his elbow and shaking the cobwebs from his mind, he scanned for a sight of his father’s car. Finally, slowly emerging from the smoke, the familiar blue and gold hood appeared. Mick breathed a sigh of relief, "He made it!"

Junior grunted and painfully rolled over so he too, could watch. "What happened?"

"Sprague cut a tire and lost it....took about 20 with ‘im..." Mick regarded the wistful, sad look on Junior’s face, aching to be out there with the others. "Uncle June...? If this is botherin’ ya, I can turn it off...." Junior lay back on his mountain of pillows and whispered, "Nah...ain’t botherin’ me, kiddo...I wanna see your old man win." He managed a weak smile that couldn’t belie the heartache within. "I made my bed, Mick....gonna have to lie in it."

"......Here’s a rundown through the field.." Joy’s voice continued, "Out front, is Ryan Newman, Kevin Harvick is second, Brendan Gaughn is third, Steve Park’s running fourth-good run for Steve and Petty Enterprises today-!"

"Look-he’s still on the lead lap!" Mick sat up excitedly as he read the running scroll at the top of the screen. Larry McReynolds confirmed it as he continued the rundown for Joy. "Gordon is 7th , Matt Kenseth is 8th and coming in from 37th to 9th is Michael Waltrip-welcome back, Mikey!" Indeed, there was the 3, snaking back and forth as Michael cleaned his tires. As the cars passed the towering grandstand, a majority of the crowed rose as one, cheering loudly as he went by. As the pace car pulled away, the field surged as one wave of cars; each man sizing up his drafting partner and scrambling to attach himself to the fastest car.

Like a rocket, Michael’s car soared to the top groove, overtaking the leaders and pulling a train of about a dozen cars with him. Lay off or not, there wasn’t a man out there who didn’t consider Michael as the finest plate racer since Earnhardt himself. He was at once the man to follow and the man to beat.

Darrell’s voice cheerfully announced , "Here we go! Michael’s making a bid for the lead and he’s got Brendan right behind him!" As the 3 and the 15 lunged to the front of the pack, it was painfully obvious that the only car that was missing was the Budweiser Chevy. As fate would have it, replacement driver Jon Wood had gotten involved with the monster wreck of a few laps ago and was now sitting dejectedly in the garage.

"How many more laps?" Junior wondered aloud.

"30-aww dammit! ‘Nother caution!" Mick groaned as watched the image of Elliot Sadler going up in smoke. "Awww Dad! Why didn’t you pit?!" Mick yelled at the screen as all of the top 10 cars headed for the pits except for Michael and Brendan.

"Goddamn idiot does it every fuckin’ time! He’s still screwin’ himself on his stops! I can’t believe it!" Junior sputtered. "They’ll eat him alive on fresh tires!"

From the booth as if echoing their thoughts, Darrell rumbled, "That car’s gonna be dogmeat in 5 laps! The others are gonna be around the 3 like it quit!"

A series of commercials put the race on hold as they watched a clip of an upcoming "Godfather" film festival featuring all of the celebrated mafia saga on FOX. With a wink, just like old times, Junior puffed out his cheeks and uttered in a raspy Don Corleone voice, "Luco Brazi sleeps wit’ da fishes!" Mick stifled a cackle.

"That’s Luca Brazi!" corrected a low growl of a voice with a distinct New Jersey accent. Both looked up as an impeccably dressed man of roughly 50 stood quietly in the doorway. Another individual stood near by, obviously a body guard of some sort. He had an enormous, hulking presence but a kindly face and seemed to be engrossed in the race.

"Where’s Andretti? I don’t see him!" he whispered with a child-like enthusiasm. "I love this stuff!"

"Bobby...show some manners here!" snapped his boss as he ran a hand through his shoe-polish black hair. "How you kids doin’?" he asked softly, genuine concern in his voice.

"We’re doin’ fine." Junior began slowly, a cold hand of fear gripping his heart. Surely these men were associates of one Christopher Moltisani. "Uhm....I don’t think I got your name......"

"Silvio Dante." The man stepped forward, extending a well-manicured hand. "Forgive me...I should have introduced myself and my comrade here, Bobby Baccala. Mind if I sit? I must’ve walked a fuckin’ mile just to get from the parkin’ lot over here!" Junior nodded wordlessly, never taking his eye of the two of them or his hand off the security buzzer on his bed. Silvio pulled up a chair and paused a moment before he continued, "First off...even though this is about last night and my boss’s nephew, I want you both to know we mean you no harm. Christopher was way outta jurisdiction and he had no business bein’ down here-as soon as he recovers from his injuries, his uncle Tony will deal with him."

Junior nodded slowly, "I didn’t mean it to get out of hand like that...he just started -"

Silvio waived him off, "It’s done...over. My boss felt so bad about what happened-he is a huge fan of your father’s and he just wanted to let you both know that he’s going to take care of all of your expenses here." When Junior started to protest, Silvio shook his head and wagged his finger at him, "Don’t argue! This is a gift-a thank you for all the year’s that my boss has enjoyed watchin’ your father race." He looked over at Mick and Bobby staring at the screen. "Look at ‘em...." he grinned.

"Yeah..." Junior said softly, "Wish I was out there....I’m gonna miss this.."

Silvio shrugged, "You’ll be back-you’re still young. Once you start feelin’ better..."

"It’s more than that....My license has been revoked because of the drug use and the fact that Mick was damn-near killed. I caused that goddamn accident at Talladega last year that almost took out Michael...they’ll never let me get in a car again." Junior sighed and stared at the ceiling as Silvio quietly walked over and lay a hand on his shoulder, "I deserve it though....it’s a hard lesson to learn. But I think I’ve finally learned it...."

"I think my boss can help speed up you gettin’ your license back. Lemme do what I can with this..."

"No-I’ll get back behind the wheel on my own accord...."

"They still haven’t let that Hmiel kid come back and he got busted years ago. Listen to me, kid-you wanna race or do you wanna sit around and bitch every Sunday?" Silvio said with a wink.

"GO DAD!" yelled Mick as the white flag was waiving. The 3 was rapidly closing on Jeff Gordon for the lead, struggling against the old, worn out tires. Inside the cockpit, Michael knew he couldn’t overtake the 24 unless he sprouted wings. Or another drafting partner. Looking up, he spied Steve Park above Gordon. Summoning every ounce of horsepower left in the car, he rose and attached himself to the 43. Steve looked up the moment he felt the familiar tap on his bumper. Eight wheels were always better than four, as Darrell was so fond of saying. For the first time since Richard Petty drove that celebrated number, the 43 took the checkers with the 3 glued to it’s bumper. On the cool-down lap, Michael pulled alongside Steve, rubbing a donut imprint into the side of Richard Petty’s finest. Even though he placed second, somehow it felt even better as he watched Steve Park pull into Victory Lane. There was still 35 more races to go.....

Back in the hospital room, Mick was already on the phone with Michael. Junior leaned back in his bed, tears streaming unabashed down his face as he listened to Steve sending him his best wishes from Victory Lane. Silvio motioned for his companion, knowing his work here was done for the time being. "You gonna be ok there, kid?" Wordlessly, Junior nodded. As the strangers departed, he sighed, "I’ve never been better."

Epilogue