Chapter 6: Steve and the Snapper
Junior groaned as he fitfully rubbed his eyes and glared at the clock radio on the nightstand. Shit-in a little over two hours, he would have to do the presentation of the car at Daytona USA. He listened to the sounds of the coffee pot gurgling away as Rory attempted to prepare a breakfast of some sort with the meager provisions he had stocked in the condo. Beside him, still asleep, Michael's soft snoring was almost lulling him back to a slumber when Rory poked her head in the bedroom. "Jun-are ya up?" she whispered, "We gotta be leavin' soon and get to the museum."
"I'll be up in a bit-just give me a few..." Junior leaned his head against Michael's shoulder, not at all sure how to deal with the emotions that were waging war in his mind. The images of last night were on a continuous loop; replaying endlessly in his head as he stared at the ceiling. He felt Michael stirring awake and stretching his long legs and torso to his full six-foot-five length. Pulling himself up with a grunt into a sitting position, Michael rested his chin on his knees; quietly regarding Junior. "How ya holdin' up, bud?" he ventured softly; the concern in his voice evident.
Junior met his gaze, "Hangin' in there....tired, achy, hungover- business as usual. " he managed a grin. "Thanks for sharin' last night with me-both of you. That was probably the best night of my life..." A moment of solitude passed as they reflected on what had transpired between them. Junior was relieved that Michael had even acknowledged last night-it would have been the easy way out for him to pretend that nothing had happened at all. "I have a slight problem, though..." Michael said in a quiet, somewhat distant voice. Junior closed his eyes, shit here it comes, he thought. Michael turned to face Junior, "Last night felt almost too good. I didn't think I was really going to enjoy that, but I did. I think when I look back on last night, I`m gonna see it as a very memorable and very pleasurable moment." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, "But this is where it ends-for you, me and Ro. If we don't move on, it's only gonna end up tearin' us all apart." Though his statement could be interpreted as simplistic and ambiguous, the meaning was crystal clear to both of them.
Junior nodded as he rose, stretching out of bed, "I agree...whatever happened last night stays in this room." And he meant it-one night of physical gratification was not worth the lifetime of friendship and brotherhood they shared or the unbreakable bond between Michael and Rory. Plus the professional aspect of his relationship to them both- teammate and crew chief; complicating this by making the events of the previous evening a regular occurrence, could result in a very costly mistake.
As Junior shuffled off to the shower, Michael leaned back on the bed; trying to get in a few extra minutes of shut-eye. Even though his presence wasn't required, he decided to join his wife at the car presentation at Daytona USA. Plus, Junior was looking down the barrel of a media circus for the next week and he would need all the emotional support he could get. Hell Week-there was no better description of the ordeal that the 500 winner would endure. The only other thing that could possibly come close to it, was the publicity tour for the year-end Champion. Dealing with the media was a natural for Michael, who was always at ease in front of a camera. Junior was little less at ease and was already cringing at the prospect of the inane TV shows like Regis and Kelly. Still, it would be ludicrous to complain-there were plenty of veterans who had yet to take the checkers at Daytona who would sell their first-born for that honor.
"Hey-don't think yer gonna sleep the mornin' away..." Rory playfully grabbed him behind his knee-one of those extremely ticklish spots that usually send him screaming out of bed-and planted a tender kiss on his brow. Michael returned her kiss and pulled her on top of him. She rubbed her nose against his, Eskimo-style, "How ya doin', wild man?"
"Tired, hungry and hurtin'-when we get home, I'm gonna sleep for two days!" He yawned sleepily. "When we gotta pick up the kids form DW?"
"Soon-we have to catch the plane by 1:00." She curled up by his side as he lazily draped his arm around her. "I'll be happy just to see home again....between the race and last night, 'twas just a wee to much for me. Must be gettin' old..."
"A little too intense? For you? Rory Queen of the Jungle??" he cackled. She reached over and pinched him.
"It was fun, I enjoyed it, got me ya-ya's out so to speak but `tis enough. I want my husband back my life back to normal-this week was pure lunacy. I swear a Martian crew chief would have faired better than being a female crew chief! And last night...! I swear I knew you were always a kinky devil but..." she broke off; there were no amount of words she could have strung together to describe her feelings about the previous evening's escapades. "All I'm gonna say is that I'll never say another disparaging word about Gordon and his little orgies.." she sighed as she gently entwined her hand with her husband's.
"Ro! I'm sorry, sweetie-you've always been so open minded on this sort of thing-hell we've always been pretty adventurous over the years-I didn't think this would bother you."
She sighed and draped her arm across his chest, "It's not like that at all, I just feel bad for `im. After what ya told me about him and Park. He just seems so sad, so lost sometimes and I've seen Steve skulking about the garage yesterday- he looked as if he hadn't a friend in the world. But I could see a lot of anger and resentment there, too. I've just got a bad feeling that he's not about to let it end peacefully. I just want you out of the middle of it." A jealous heart had no place on a track at 200 mph with vengeance as a co-pilot.
"Don't worry `bout me, hon. I'm stayin' out of that whole situation. I've known Steve long enough to know that he won't try anything stupid. He's hurtin' right now, he's mad but I think the best thing in the world for him was to get out of DEI. and go to Petty. And Junior knows what the score is-last night was just a pleasant diversion-a little walk on the wild side. That's all it was and it won't happen again. That line ain`t gonna be crossed again and that`s all there is to it." Michael nuzzled her close. "You're the only keeper of my heart-that's the way it's always been and it always will be."
Rory chuckled softly, "You were such a freak! I never thought you had it in ya."
The sound of the shower being shut off ended their conversation . Reassured by his words but still a lingering uneasiness resided in the back of her mind, an almost palatable sense of foreboding.
"Next!" Junior hollered as he wandered out in his Levis and a black dress shirt. "Well-do I look presentable?" he grinned as Rory regarded his appearance.
"Hmmm...I'd button that shirt up or put a turtle neck on...you've got a really nasty hickey just below yer ear."
Junior eyed the dark purple splotch in the mirror, "Awww man! Ro-got any make-up?"
"That stuff doesn't work very well for a cover-up-it will still show through."
"Well at least it matches yours." he grunted, adjusting his collar.
"At least it's in the right place for a hickey. It could be worse..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The insanity of Daytona came and went. The critics were dumbfounded that DEI still remained dominant. Plates or no, The Intimidator still ruled Daytona well beyond the grave and with an iron fist. The final realization that there was no DEI "fix" was driven home as Michael and Junior slammed their way down to the final agonizing lap. Rockingham was next on the schedule and things were slated to return to normal as the dust from the beach finally settled.
"I think that's got it" Michael's backside poked out from under the hood of the bright red Craftsman Series truck. "Ok-start her up." Rory sat in the driver's seat and flipped the ignition switch. This teamwork was the bedrock of MWI Racing-it wasn't unusual to find both putting in long hours through the night in the race shop. What started out as a struggling second-tier operation, was now a force to be reckoned with-taking championships in the truck and Busch series. Eventually, the game plan was to build a Winston Cup team upon Michael's retirement with Mick taking over the reins-but that was still a few years off. The coupe of acquiring a major, well-funded sponsor for the truck series now brought that dream a little closer.
"Ok, babe-shut `er down!" Michael hollered. Rory flipped the switch with a smile. Perfect-it sounded like a symphony to her ears. Wait until Kenny turns her loose....
Michael shut the hood down and sat on a work bench as Rory clambered out and regarded the new sponsor's logo. She shook her head, giggling. Bemused, Michael arched his eyebrows, "What?" he said, chuckling. Her giggling soon disintegrated into a mirthful fit of a belly laugh. Michael shook his head, "Ok-I think I better open the door-methinks the fumes are gettin' to ya..."
"This!" Rory pointed to the hood. "Snapper!" she doubled over in another fit, wiping her eyes. "Do you know what this means where I come from?"
"I've got a feeling it has nothing to do with lawn mowers..."Michael folded his arms as he regarded this sudden wave of goofiness in his mate. Usually, the goofiness was his forte... "So-enlighten me. What's the Irish translation for Snapper?" he grinned. Rory stifled her giggles as she buried her head in his chest. "Ach...it's what you'd call me cooter! Sorry-I just couldn't help it!"
"You're getting strange in your old age, m'lady..." Michael smiled as he draped his arm around her. Life as he knew it, was perfect. He finally had it all-the long overdue success, the championship, his own fleet of race cars all wrapped up with the love of his wife and children. The serenity of the late winter afternoon with the promise of spring on the wing filled him with a sense of peace. Which is why he nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up in the doorway of the shop to find Steve's haunted countenance staring back.
"Hey man-didn't hear ya drive up! How ya doin'?" Michael wandered over warily. He had always enjoyed an open-door policy and it was no big deal to have his cronies popping over unexpected. But given the recent circumstances involving Steve's dismissal, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. "Great run, by the way. Another lap, and you probably would have passed me and JR."
Steve shuffled nervously, "Thanks-that was a pretty wild run you had too, what with that flat tire. I saw the replay of the race and you should have seen Bodine's face when they interviewed him. Still couldn't believe you jumped his car and the retaining wall! Fuckin' wild!" He seemed to relax a little as he joined Michael in a chuckle over the events of the day.
"So-how ya doin' otherwise? What brings ya over?"
"I'm doin' ok-I just wanted to know if you if you've heard from Junior. I need to talk to him..." Christ, why am I here, Steve wondered. I don't know what I'm doing anymore.... Michael sensed his old friend's unease and that overwhelming aura of sadness. "I saw you guys leaving the condo the other day...." he began. Michael clenched his jaw, resolving to end the speculation that was obviously growing now before it went any further.
"Yeah...Rory and I stopped over for a night-cap-a few drinks and a bull session. Rory ended up passin' out-you know what too much tequila does to my girl-so we just camped out in the living room, that's all." Michael said with finality. He studied Steve's face as a noticeable look of relief swept his features. "Don't forget-he's doing the 500 Hell Week tour-should be back by Thursday, though."
Rory wandered over, warmly greeting Steve as she handed a phone to Michael, "It's Kenny-he's sick. I don't think he's gonna make the truck race." She gently took Steve's hand, "How's it goin', Sparky? I hope Kyle isn't beating you too hard..!"
"It's great, Ro-I think I'm really gonna like working for them. Really fine people-nothing at all like-." he broke off. The rest of the sentence didn't need to be finished-they knew how he felt. "I think this is the best thing that's happened to me in a long, long time. I wanted to say thanks to you both for stepping up for me."
"You're a good man, Steve and a great driver. Neither Michael or myself could stand the thought of you being kicked to the curb like that."
Meanwhile, Michael finished his conversation with Schrader and sighed. "Fuck-looks like I better start making some phone calls....I need a driver and I don't have time to run all three races this weekend." He looked at Steve, "Looks like there was a reason you showed up here-how'd like to drive my wife's little red Snapper?" he grinned. Rory glared and smacked him in the belly.
Steve was speechless, "Awww-shit Mike! I'd love to! Thanks, man!"
"Why don't you both come up to the house and help me get the supper on? That herd of young'uns will be home from school any moment now." She started up the hill to the house with both men in tow. Michael now relieved that he didn't have to play phone tag with a dozen drivers to insure his spot in the race. Steve finally relishing his new lease on life amidst the solidarity of friendship.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rockingham Garage, Friday morning.
Michael looked up from his paper and coffee as Ty Norris stepped through the door of the Pennzoil garage. Something was up, he could just sense it. Offering a seat that Norris politely declined, he asked simply, "What's up, Ty?"
"Heard that Park's gonna drive for you in this afternoon's truck race." he said simply. "I'd like you to find another driver."
Michael's eyebrows shot upward to hide beneath his thick, curly forelock, "I can't pull him at the last minute! Jesus, Ty-what's the problem??"
"Let me make this perfectly clear. I don't think it's appropriate for you to associate with him-we let him go, remember?"
"You let him go from DEI-the truck operation is mine and I can put whoever I want behind the wheel." Michael growled.
"We still provide the engines for your operation, Michael. Let's not make this any more difficult that it needs to be. It will definitely be in your best interest to distance yourself from Park." Ty regarded Michael coldly, perhaps hoping to intimidate him. However, he was sadly mistaken if he had assumed that Michael was the same insecure man who Dale Earnhardt had given a new lease on life all those years ago. But that was then....
Rising from the tool box that he had been sitting on, Michael towered over Ty, "Steve's down right now-it would do him a world of good if somebody in this organization held out a hand to him. It would do him a world of good to let him know that not everybody here dumped on him. Dale wouldn't have abandoned him. I think you and I both know the real reason why you let him go and it has nothing to do with his driving. I know Dale wouldn't have done him like that-he would have tried to help him through this."
"Dale's not here anymore, Michael." Ty said pointedly.
"As long as I'm still here, so is he." Michael snarled. Without another word, he turned and left Ty standing alone in the garage.
Chapter 7-Riders on the Storm
Steve agilely slipped into the bright red Silverado as 35 other drivers did likewise for the start of the Duralube 250. One of the season’s most grueling races on one of the most exhausting tracks. Michael leaned in to assist him with the various straps and tethers, grinning broadly. "You look like you belong in this thing! Kenny’s gonna go back to runnin’ that Federated truck again next year-how’d ya like to sign on? I know it’s a lot to ask because of your other commitments..."
Shaking his head, Steve smiled and if he could’ve hugged his old friend, he would have. "Mike-I’d love to drive for ya-I’d consider it an honor, m’man! But could you fill me on with this Snapper deal? Did you see what your wife painted on the back?" Michael glanced to the back deck of the truck and painted neatly in large white letters: "Mind That Snapper!" Michael groaned, "I’ll fill ya in on all the gory details one of these days-trust me, it’s an Irish thing."
Steve chuckled, "Beats "boogity boogity boogity!"
"Can’t argue there..."
It was an impressive crowd for a truck race-the rough and tumble style of the races themselves and the increased exposure had increased the fan base considerably over the years. In fact, the Craftsman series was nearly as popular as the Busch events. It was predictably chilly for early March with the cloudless sky an inverted blue bowl that hung over the track. The vehicles sat along the pit wall in a gleaming rainbow as the colors were presented and the national anthem rang out. A terse order to start the engines brought the sleeping chargers to life as two by two they drifted to the track behind the pace car.
"Don’t be layin’ down on me out there now!" Rory’s voice crackled over Steve’s radio.
"No chance of that lady! I ain’t gonna let you guys down-no way! I’ll gonna be ridin’ that li’l snapper of yours down in victory lane!"
Rory groaned with her head in her hands as Steve’s announcement went out to the delight of the multitudes tuned in, "Shut up and drive!" she muttered. Inside the SpeedChannel booth, Darrell shook his head, and looked at Mike Joy.
As if reading the old veteran’s mind, Mike shook his head, "Yup-that sounded as bad as you think it did..."
Off to one side, Ty Norris glowered in the direction of Michael’s pit box. That sonofabitch! That arrogant sonofabitch, he mused. He never really did care for Michael-he always thought that Dale and Teresa were too involved with him personally to make rational decisions. The whole garage nearly went to mutiny when they heard that Dale Earnhardt was signing Michael Waltrip for the new team he was creating. For the first couple of years, Michael stayed just ahead of the game in his performance to keep his job. Then the wins came at the non-plate tracks-Bristol, Watkins Glen, MIS, Atlanta....now he is the defending champion....and there was no way in hell that either Teresa or Junior would get rid of him. Michael was secure in his ride until he retires. But at least he was well rid of Park....the man’s inconsistency was too costly and those unsavory rumors...
But what galled him most of all was Michael’s defiance. It ate at him. He would have preferred the insecure "yes man" that he once assumed Michael was. Now Ty was the one who felt threatened. There wasn’t a man at DEI who didn’t respect Michael. Teresa had often alluded to elevating him to a managerial position if he chose to step out of the car. Michael’s words came back to haunt him, "As long as I’m still here, so is he." In many ways, Michael was too much like Dale. Loyal to a fault to his friends and family-he would put them above his own life if need be. His heart would always overrule his head-even in crucial business decisions. To Ty’s way of thinking, if it hadn’t been for Teresa, Dale may have run DEI into the ground before it ever took off and Ty Norris could easily see Michael doing the same thing.
A roar from the crowd erupted and interrupted Ty’s thoughts. A billowing cloud of smoke enveloped the 2nd turn as a trio of trucks got together. Kevin Harvick had gotten his usual antsy self into a fracas with Bobby Hamilton and Mike Wallace, putting the three of them out of commission for the rest of the race.
"Wreck!" Larry MacReynolds yelled from his spotter’s perch.
"Where?!?!?" Steve yelled back, all he could see through the dirty windshield was smoke.
"In front of you! Go high!!"
Steve did as he was told and hauled the wheel of the Snapper sharply to the right. The truck plowed through the haze only to find the rear end of Brendan Gaughan’s truck directly in front of him. Steve stifled a yelp as he deftly dropped gears and dove for the apron. "Jesus Larry! You’re blind in one eye and can’t see out the other!!" he hollered once he was through the mass of tangled vehicles. The Silverado surged to the front of the teeming pack as they raced fender-to-fender; all the while swapping paint and epitaphs. There wasn’t an occupied seat in the house as Steve Park pulled ahead of Rick Crawford. The Snapper lived up to it’s terrapin namesake and clung tenaciously to the lead while slicing through the lapped stragglers like a hot knife through warm butter.
"Hey bud-ya did good!" Michael’s voice rang out over the radio. "Keep goin’!"
"Where’s my crew chief?"
"She’s right here-uhmm...she’s kinda indisposed at the moment.." Michael glanced over at his speechless spouse who sat with her face buried in her hands. "Is he through that? I swear I’m gonna hang Mac by his ear lobes..."
"Tell her not to worry-I won’t harm a hair on her Snapper!"
"10-4, bud-20 laps to go and we’re leading! Let’s bring ‘er home!" Damn, I getting a new sponsor for that thing if it’s the last move I make, Michael thought.
Crawford had managed to straighten his vehicle out and was gunning for a run on Steve. Around the slippery track the two combatants sailed, banging and bouncing off one another. Steve managed to hook his front bumper against Crawford’s machine and it was just enough to impede the defending race champ as the checkers unfurled above The Snapper.
"Ro-you can look now, baby." Michael grinned sardonically. He ran ahead to Victory Lane to welcome Steve with a bear-hug worthy of the Intimidator himself. Dick Bergren was already at Steve’s door, "Congratulations, Steve-incredible run!" To the delight of the crowd, Steve Park was back and in fine form.
Steve shyly grinned as Michael nearly choked him with his embrace, "I just want to say thanks to Mike for givin’ me opportunity to drive for him this afternoon-him and Rory have been fantastic. I don’t know what I’d do if it hadn’t been for them-their support means everything to me. Ohhh...almost forgot to thank the sponsors-I don’t think I’d get out of here alive, if I didn’t plug Rory’s Snapper."
A long day was over. Steve Park emerged from the ashes of DEI triumphant, the Snapper leaving an indelible mark on the competition, the network sensors reeling and a good time was had by all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Late Sunday afternoon...
Michael was in the midst of celebrating his victory at The Rock and cementing his position of defending champion; basking in the accolades of the fans and his fellow competitors. Pretty damn good for a driver formerly condemned as the "restrictor plate king". The endless sponsor photos and interviews were winding down and he was relieved that the weekend was finally at a close. It had been a very good weekend and now it was time to go home. With a final wave to the fans, he and Slugger waded through the cluster of hangers-on and well-wishers to the comparative sanctuary of the Pennzoil hauler.
Michael collapsed with a groan as he lowered himself into the deep leather couch in the lounge and cracked a cold beer from the fridge. He raised the bottle to Slugger, "Cheers, bro! Two down and too many to go!"
"To the team, bud!" Slugger raised his own bottle back with a grin. The wiry crew chief was almost a brother to Michael now. He had faith in the lanky driver right from the turbulent beginning in ’01, stayed with him and was almost single-handedly responsible in the end for the success of the 15 team. Michael seldom questioned his judgment-all he needed to do was sit back and keep the lines of communication open. Slugger had turned down many an offer in order to stay with Michael-they had that one of a kind chemistry to produce the wins that in the end would insure their respective place in the history books. For a crew chief and his driver, there was something so rewarding about that asterisk in the books that indicated "champion".
Michael rose from the comfort of his seat and began peeling the sweat-encrusted firesuite off. "Think I’m gonna hit the shower-can’t even stand myself!" he grinned and wandered back to the small shower next to the driver’s lounge. As he felt the luke-warm water cascade down his taut, muscular form, he idly wondered where Rory was. She was no doubt brow-beating Junior for that dismal 28th place finish. She was probably beside herself as there was no excuse for it. His set up was identical to Michael’s car. Granted, the Daytona Hell Week had taken it’s toll, but in this business, you were only as good as your last race. All weekend, he had avoided Michael and seemed unusually surly. Long used to Junior’s moodiness, Michael paid no mind to it as he turned the shower off and began rubbing himself dry with a thick towel.
Slugger was also putting his notebooks and personal belongings in order when he turned into the hauler’s front shop area and nearly bumped into Junior as he pushed his way through the door. "Michael still here?" he snapped. Slugger stepped back, a little surprised at Junior’s surly demeanor. Not at all the attitude of a winning car owner.
"Yeah-he’s just finishing his shower-should be out any minute." Brows furrowed, he pressed on. "Everything ok?"
"It will be as soon as somebody ‘round here remembers who’s in charge and leans how to take orders." Junior growled.
"Look-I know this ain’t my concern, but if this is about Steve drivin’ that truck-"
Junior glowered at him, "Does that mean somebody else ‘round here needs a refresher course too?" Slate-blue eyes narrowed as Junior drew close, "You’re right-it ain’t none of your concern and if you want to keep this job, you better stay outta this. It’s between me and Michael. And if you’re finished here, I’d appreciate it if I could have a word alone with him." That being said, Slugger quietly nodded and picked up his duffle bag. He cast one over the shoulder glance at Junior as he left the hauler. The driver would be here soon anyway to take the car back to Mooresville. He felt bad for his friend and questioned Junior’s motives and recent animosity towards all things related to Steve Park. From the look in Junior’s eyes, Slugger knew it was not going to be a social bull session between the two.
After Slugger left, Junior walked to the driver’s lounge and sat down on the couch. Ty had given Michael an order to replace Park. An order that had been disobeyed. Junior was never comfortable in this position when it came to reprimanding any of the crew-but this was a considerable infraction. The orders were explicit enough when Park was dismissed-DEI was to distance itself from him and Park was advised to not to fraternize with any current DEI employees. Simple enough-there were too many hard feelings on both sides at this time. Hard feelings that could spill over onto the racetrack at 200 mph. Ty had a valid argument and Junior knew all to well how stubborn Michael could be. Which was why this nonsense must be nipped in the bud now.
Michael walked out into the lounge in his sweatpants and a ratty pair of sneakers. "Hey bud!" he grinned. "Seen my wife?"
"She’s still at the media center." Junior said flatly.
"Somethin’ wrong there, bud?" Michael gazed at the impassive expression on Junior’s face. What the hell was his problem now? Oh by the way, nice win today, Michael thought sarcastically. He was getting a little tired of this power play shit. I’ve been doing this for over 20 years, I don’t need this shit....
"Yeah." came the tight reply, "Ty advised you to get another driver for the truck-why didn’t you?"
"It’s my truck-I told him what my reasons were and now I’m tellin’ you-Michael Waltrip Racing is MY operation and I will put who I want behind that wheel. And that’s all YOU need to know!" Michael snapped; his eyes were cold, blue flame as they bore through Junior. That patented Earnhardt glare stared balefully back at him. "In fact-just so you know-Steve agreed to drive for me next year." Michael added with a degree of acid in his voice.
"Michael" Junior began softly, "I am asking you as a friend to reconsider your decision. You’re not gonna make it any easier on yourself if you keep him in that truck. And I will tell you this-I don’t wanna see him anywhere near DEI. You know goddamn well what’s at stake if he decides to get vengeful out there on the track. If anything happens-it’s gonna be on your ass."
"I hate to be the one to break this to you but I know that Steve would never do anything to endanger anybody out there. He’s done nothing but give DEI and he deserved more than what he got in the end. I figured it was the least I could do is to show him a little support. As far as I can see, the only problem with Steve Park is you, Junior." The two men continued their silent standoff as a wall inexplicably started to form between them.
"Hey luv! Sorry I’m late but-" Rory stopped in her tracks as she regarded Michael and Junior. "Did I miss something?" she said softly. The tension in the hauler was as thick as haggis.
"No hon, we’re done. Me an’ Junior are done..." Michael draped his arm around her as he shot Junior one last smoldering glare. At the moment, no words could have held more truth.
Chapter 8: Beginning of the End
As the early part of the season wore on, Michael defended his championship like a bear. With wins at Rockingham, Los Vegas and Darlington, he never finished worse than 17th. Bristol has always been an albatross around his neck but even at that god-awful fishbowl, a cut tire was his only downfall. Junior, on the other hand, continued to slide after Daytona and the sudden animosity between him and Michael grew. Professional in-fighting has always been the bane of multi-car teams and it was only a matter of time before it reared it’s ugly head at DEI. Michael, long tired of the role of "fall guy", had quite enough of playing the role of Junior’s understudy. In the end, it didn’t matter how many championships he would win, it was never enough to satisfy Ty Norris, Junior or the multitude of critics that still hounded him. It never failed; whenever he won, wherever he won, it was always regarded as a "fluke". On his own side, Junior condemned Michael as being arrogant, pig-headed, temperamental and letting his success go to his head to the point of believing that he no longer had to take orders from management. With neither side conceding, it was only a matter of time before something gave way. Michael had attempted to speak with Junior on occasion; for he felt there was more going on with Junior than met the eye. Having been so close to Junior since he was a boy and suddenly having his old friend turn against him, led Michael to believe that Junior’s troubles went far beyond DEI, the team, his association with Steve or his career. Michael’s attempts at reconciliation were always thwarted with Junior suddenly finding that he needed to be elsewhere than the company of the man who was only trying to help him. Hurt and angry, Michael elected now to avoid Junior whenever possible.
Things had quickly began down the disintegration route as the vehicles chosen to go to Talladega were divided up amongst the teams. Michael took one look at the car he was slated to drive and took note of it’s serial number. He shook his head-no fucking way! This was the dog he drove at Atlanta and survived to finish 14th. Looking up and barking at the hapless Slugger, he hollered, "You have got to be shittin’ me! THIS is my primary car for ‘Dega??"
"Fraid so-they’re givin’ Junior your car-Ty said it was because his other one was in Daytona ...." he broke off, knowing no amount of words could erase the look of fury in Michael’s eyes. "Mike-we can get ‘er right-I don’t care if I have to stay here all night-we’re gonna win with this car." But Michael was already storming into Ty’s office. Slugger trotted after him, in hopes of defusing the situation that was rapidly spiraling out of control.
"WHAT THE FUCK is going ON here!? I’m busting my balls every goddamn week to stay ahead in the points and you keep giving me junk to drive while you give Junior a new car to tear up because he’s too hung over to drive every week!" Michael was practically foaming at the mouth as he towered over Ty’s desk .
"Michael-I will not discuss anything with you until you calm down." Ty said levelly. He felt like he was being cornered by a wolf. A large, ornery one... "Now-here’s the deal. Yes, Junior needs help with his program. Yes-he’s got new crew members to work with-one of which is your wife. And yes-he does have some personal issues that we are trying to work through. All of which, this means it’s gonna take a lot of patience and sacrifice on all sides-including yours." An uneasy silence hung in the air between the two. "Remember Michael-it wasn’t so long ago that you were in the same situation."
"I was never in the same situation." Michael hissed, "Don’t ever let me hear you say that shit ‘cause you and I both know Junior ain’t goin’ anywhere. As long as I’m drivin’, it don’t matter how many wins I rack up or how many championships I earn-it’s always gonna be the same. I’m gonna have to fight for every fuckin’ thing I get around here. And that’s never gonna change until either I retire or I die." Without another word, Michael turned and left with Slugger behind him. His point was made. And duly taken...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was nearly seven, when Michael’s black Avalanche pulled up the long driveway. It was a pleasant early spring day that found Rory relaxing on her front porch while Caitlin busied herself with her studies. Mick was finishing his own chores in the barn with the horses-quite content to avoid his own school work in order to enjoy the balmy evening. She sighed as she saw him stumble slightly as he swung his long legs out of the truck. Been at the pub again. "Caitlin-why don’t you go chase your brother down and see what that lazy bones is up to. He needs to be hittin’ those books." Caitlin nodded-she knew all too well that her father had been drinking again. While he was never abusive -generally just tipsy and silly- Rory preferred that her children not deal with him until he was sober. Her own childhood experiences with her drunken father brought back too many unpleasant memories. Still, she couldn’t completely blame him for his actions. She already heard what went on in Ty’s office. She walked over to the truck and put her arm around Michael’s waste. He grinned as he leaned heavily on her and smothered her lips with his. "Hey, sugah...sorry I’m late, babe. Got myself into a couple of rounds of darts tonight..."
Rory leaned her head against his shoulder, "You’re not that late-’tis just seven. I still have supper warming for you."
He leaned his head against her in an attempt to stop his surroundings from spinning,, "You’re too good to me-Buffy would’ve been hangin’ me by the balls..."
"Well now, she never did know what they were for, did she luv? We don’t have to talk about this now-we have all the time in the world-let’s just get you in the house before ya fall down." She suddenly just wanted to hold him and not let go-it was that odd, "somebody just walked on your grave" sort of feeling. She pulled him close and buried her head against his neck, "You’re a good man, Mikey-don’t ever let ‘em tell you otherwise. I don’t know what I’d do without you..."
"I’m not goin’ anywhere, sweetie. Not goin’ anywhere.." he held her tightly as a chilly breeze picked up out of the north.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Talladega 2005
"Hey bud! How’s it goin’?" Michael attempted a friendly bit of conversation with Junior as the drivers filed into the conference suite for the pre-race driver’s meeting. The thought of another race like the without the plates, chilled Michael to the bone. He sat on the provisional pole after the terrifying qualifying run of 222 mph. Ryan Newman would be starting beneath him-the kid still knew no fear when it came to slamming his car around the towering banks. But Michael duly noted the pale, shaking driver they pulled from his car. Head spinning, Newman had to sit beside his car just to get his bearings and to think that they would have to endure 499 laps of this, sickened Michael.
Mike Helton cleared his throat as the others took their seats. Michael and Junior sat together in the back, along with Dale Jarrett, Rusty and Kenny Wallace, and Johnny Benson. Rory and Slugger also took their respectful places with their drivers. Junior acknowledge Michael’s earlier greeting with a tepid grunt as he huddled hunched over in his seat. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days; eyes rimmed red and features gaunt. DJ looked over, also noticing Junior’s deathly gray pallor, "You ok there, Junebug?" he asked quietly.
Junior nodded, "Yeah-I’ll be ok...guess I’m comin’ down with somethin.."
"Maybe we should get you a relief driver for this afternoon.." Michael suggested, genuinely concerned.
"What-and let you have all the fun?" Junior quietly snarled. "God forbid you come out lookin’ like my bottom.." He turned and glared at Michael, who sat in shocked silence. "I mean-that’s what you want right? Don’t want me out there stealin’ you thunder.." his voice rose threateningly as those around cast curious glances at the DEI contingent.
"Knock it off, boy..." growled Michael.
"Fuck-ya got everybody in the world thinkin’ your gettin’ screwed." Junior emitted a brittle laugh, "Hell-you weren’t complainin’ about gettin’ in the ass befo-"
"Junior-that’s enough." Rory snapped, cutting him off. Ty, who just joined the group, backed her up, "Stop it, Dale! For Chrissake-!"
The words were barely out of Ty’s mouth as Michael lunged at Junior; easily knocking him on his ass. Michael quickly had him up by the collar and pinned against the far wall as Kyle, Slugger and Ty attempted to break the two up.
"You little sumbitch-I’m gonna knock the shit outta you!" snarled Michael. By this time, Helton was shouting for order as several officials joined the fray. Michael glared furiously at Junior but one look at Junior’s dead, glazed eyes and he nearly broke down. The man he had known as Dale Earnhardt Jr, was gone. The face that stared vacantly back belonged to somebody else. "Jun-what’s wrong with you? What’s happened to you?" he whispered hoarsely. He pulled Junior into an embrace as Slugger barked at the others, "Leave ‘em alone-let’s have some space here!" He gently put his hand on Michael’s shoulder, "C’mon-let’s go outside..."
Helton ponderously made his way to the two drivers as the others pulled away in a semi-circle around them. "I don’t know what’s going on here-but it’s ending now, so we can get this meeting under way. Both of you will report directly to the official’s trailer after the race." He turned to Slugger, "If you were taking them outside, Labbe-I suggest you do it now. You will be brought up to speed on the proceedings later."
Rory was about to join the departing trio, when Ty stopped her. "I need you here." he said simply. She cast one more look at Junior’s shattered figure being practically carried out by Slugger and Michael. Even though her heart was breaking, she nodded quietly, wondering why in the hell she ever took this job in the first place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are you sure you’re in any shape to drive?" Rory asked Junior crossly. He looked somewhat better than he did earlier this morning. But nowhere near 100%.
"I’ll be ok-like I said earlier-I think I’m comin’ down with the flu or somethin’. I can’t afford to miss this race, Ro." Junior was shouldering himself into his firesuite.
"Did you straighten things out with Michael? Jun-he cares so much for you-you’re breakin’ his heart with what ya said earlier. Twas no need for it!"
Junior sighed as he nodded, "I wanted to tell him I was sorry- but then, the guys from Fox got him for an interview and I never got a chance. You’re right. I had no business sayin’ what I did. I promise after the race, we’ll sit down an’ try to work this out.."
Rory wrapped her arms around him, "That’s my Junebug-I can’t stand to see you two fightin’ like this..
We’re just so worried about you-you just haven’t been yourself lately."
"I’m not sure who I am anymore, Ro." Junior stared absently at the teeming grandstand as the drivers lined up for the introduction ceremony.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"He’s on something.." Slugger muttered to Michael as he lent assistance with securing the HANS device.
Michael’s brows furrowed , "On something-y-you mean, like some kinda drug??" Slugger nodded and sighed.
"His arms-at first I thought ol’ Buddy lit into him. But then I saw how those marks went right up in a little row-he’s gotta be shootin’ up."
"But we have to take regular piss tests-why wouldn’t they catch him?"
Slugger shook his head, "That’s the weird part-we’re all supposed to be tested. I gotta weird feeling that somebody’s coverin’ his tracks.."
"Well-I guess that shit would explain his attitude lately." Michael sighed, "I’m gonna collar him right after the race and have me a talk with that boy. I can’t stand the thought of him killin’ hisself, Slugger. It hurts my heart that he never came to me with this problem-just like he didn’t come to me about him an’ Park-" Michael broke off before he said too much. But it was too late, as Slugger raised his eyebrows, "Him an’ Park? Ya mean, them rumors are true?"
"You didn’t hear it from me." Michael said gruffly as he stuck his head in his helmet and fastened his window net. The last note of the national anthem rang out over the PA and as the order to start the engines was given, Michael fired the black and gold Monte Carlo and slowly made his way to the apron with the others.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael bore down on Jeff Gordon at lap 135. No more need to find a drafting partner as his car sliced ruthlessly through the pack and hovered momentarily beside that Technicolor blue that Gordon piloted. Gordon dug in vainly as Michael shot by like a streak. He had a good run, and it was best to simply let him go. I’ll catch him later, Jeff grinned. He enjoyed the on-track tangles with Michael-he always promised a feisty battle. He looked in his rear-view mirror. Now this is going to be interesting! he thought as the crimson blaze of Junior’s car swept in tight to Michael’s bumper. Considering the pissing match those two were in at the meeting, anything was liable to happen...
Jeff noticed something about the 8 as it sailed by. Normally, Junior handled his cars smooth as silk-especially at Talladega and Daytona. Watching him in action was like watching a ballet. But now, the 8 bobbled, climbed and dropped as if he were trying to block somebody-only there was no one behind him. Jeff looked to the right of Michael as he approached Ward’s car, making it now three-wide as they were about to enter the turn. Elliot Sadler was directly behind Ward and Jeff now found himself hooked onto that train. Steve Park had also entered the picture and latched onto Michael’s bumper as Junior continued to slide up the track.
Steve looked fearfully at Junior too-what’s wrong with him? What the hell is he trying to do?
Michael also noted the floundering Bud car and radioed Slugger, "Chief-what’s wrong with JR-is he loose?"
"I’ve already heard about him-all over like horseshit. Rory said he might be a little loose."
"A little loose? I’d say he was a lot loose..." Michael broke off as suddenly he felt a hard bump to his left quarter panel. He motioned frantically for Steve to back off as his car started swerving. He managed to gain momentary control of his car and eased up on the throttle, hoping Junior would pass him. No such luck-the Bud hung at his side. Ward Burton cursed under his breath as he also lifted, only to feel a sharp tap as the 38 nosed into his bumper.
Inside the cockpit of the 8, Junior fought to stay conscious. The high speeds and impossible G-forces were taking their toll on him. He couldn’t even see the track now-it was just a gray haze. On the radio, Rory was shouting for him to respond, "Junior! I want you to pit now! I’m taking you out of that car before you kill somebody! PULL IN! JUNIOR, DO YOU READ ME!!!"
Rory was shaking as she clutched the radio in her hand. Why wasn’t he answering her? She looked at Ty helplessly. "We need to bring him in!" Turning to an official, "We need to black flag the 8! He’s out of control and not responding!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Darrell shifted uneasily in his seat, "Looks like the black flag is out on the 8. He’s all over the place, folks." He tried punching into the 8’s radio, "Jun-it’s DW up in the booth son. Answer me, Junebug...." He watched helplessly as the Bud slammed into Michael’s car again, and once again, Michael maintained control. The pack was now on top of the lapped traffic and if somebody didn’t rein Junior in pretty soon, things were gonna get ugly....He shook his head and turned off his mic, "What the hell is that boy doin’?? Why ain’t he headin’ for the pits Noticing Darrell’s near-panic, Larry MacReynolds picked up, "The caution is out and I just got word that if the 8 doesn’t respond, they’re gonna throw the red." The cars had already begun to check up when inexplicably as thousands watched in horror, the 8 suddenly veered sharply into the Pennzoil Chevrolet.
Inside the 15, Michael never knew what hit him as he saw the outside retaining wall and Ward Burton’s car beside him. The last sensation he felt or saw was nose of Junior’s car, the heat from the engine and life’s very breath being knocked out of him. There was a voice that kept calling over his radio, "Michael! Hang on Mike! Hang on!" Was it Slugger? No-it sounded like Dale...just like Dale...
Then blackness engulfed him.
Chapter 9: View to a Kill
<
"Roulette ..that’s the game now
Roulette...who’s the unlucky stranger
Roulette...the stakes get bigger
Roulette...the finger’s on the trigger"-Bruce Springsteen
From the Fox Sports booth and the Hollywood Hotel, every one of the announcers tried to decipher the events of what had just happened in the matter of seconds. From the time the yellow flag was waved to the impact of the #8 Budweiser and the resulting chain reaction, all it took was four seconds. Four seconds. Nine cars destroyed. Three drivers injured-two possibly dead. That’s all it took.
Darrell Waltrip had seen his brother wreck so many times in the past-but only one came to his mind now. Bristol 1990. Old timers still referred to it simply as "The Wreck". The wreck that he wasn’t supposed to walk away from-but he did. Rising like Lazarus through what had been the engine compartment to walk away with only a few bruises. But now, the old veteran eyed the twisted, smoking ruins off turn three and he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that his brother’s number was called. Time to pay the piper. He sadly shook his head as he felt familiar hands on his shoulders of another who had also been there at Bristol. "Why?" he whispered. "Why Jeff-why now?" There was nothing either of his co-hosts could say as they watched the wrecker laboriously pulling the Budweiser Chevrolet off the remains of the 15’s cockpit. The car had been nearly cut in two. Ward Burton’s car was pushed and twisted grotesquely on it’s side; pinned against the wall while Elliot Sadler’s 38 was neatly shoved underneath the 8 and the 22 like a piece of jigsaw puzzle. And beneath all of this wreckage, lay the flattened remains of the 15.
"Darrell-I think we better get you down there-they’re gonna start cuttin’ him out." Jeff Hammond said softly as he wrapped his arm around Darrell’s shoulder. He looked as if he had aged 20 years in that four-second interval. Larry and Mike Joy both nodded. The red "on the air" light flashed as the commercial set was finished. Dick Bergren took this cue and cleared his throat as neither of his comrades were ready to continue.
"Welcome back-we’ll bring you up to speed in a moment-right now, I’ll do a quick run-down for the folks just joining’ us..........."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jeff Gordon climbed out of his car as he knew it was going to be a while before the race would be restarted. If they bother to restart it at all, he thought grimly. Medics were already assisting Elliot Sadler as he was eased out of the 38, cradling a shattered wrist. Jeff offered an arm to Ward Burton, who was climbing out of his own up-ended car. "You ok, Ward?" he inquired as the other driver testily tossed his HANS harness off.
"Yeah..Ah’m ok. What the fuck was that all ‘bout?" he grumbled. Jeff just shook his head, "Looks like Junior finally lost it and slammed right into Michael...Sweet Jesus, it doesn’t look good.." he whispered to no one in particular. How fast was the 8 going when it hit? 150? 175? Did it even matter now.....
Steve Park was also climbed out of his car and stood shaking as a sob caught in his throat. "Mike..c’mon man. Put your window net down...please put your net down."
"Forget it, Park. He’s dead-ain’t no way he coulda suhvived this.." Ward muttered. "He weren’t movin’ at all."
"Shut the fuck up!" Steve yelled, advancing threateningly toward Ward. Jeff immediately stepped between the two; throwing his arms around Steve. "Stop it! You’re not going to help him by busting Ward’s head-even though he deserves it!" Jeff glared at Ward.
"He’s going to be alright! He’s not dead...he’s not dead...." Steve broke down on Jeff’s shoulder; the painful memory of February 18, 2001 now flashing in his mind. Jeff closed his eyes to the nightmare that continued to unfold before them as he tried to lend comfort to his fellow drivers.
And prayed as the sound of a band saw cutting through the tube steel roll cage drowned out all sounds around them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Junior stirred on the stretcher as he regained consciousness. He looked up into the slate-gray sky, not at all comprehending anything that just happened. He wrecked-that much was obvious. But he had no knowledge of the accident or the events leading up to. Teresa knelt beside him as he tried vainly to sit up.
"Whoa...lay back, Dale. They’re taking you to the infield care center. Just take it easy..." she said softly.
"What happened? Ter...please tell me I’m the only one who it the wall." he knew something awful had happened just from the look in her eyes. Haunted. It was the only word that could have described her.
Junior shook himself as he rose from the stretcher, "Ter...Please tell me I didn’t take anyone else out...please tell me..." He looked at the pile of cars next to the ambulance and buried his head in his hands. Odeargod. He looked at the crushed Pennzoil hood as his car was finally pulled away. No. He shook his head as if he were trying to dislodge the vision that greeted him. No! This can’t be happening! This can’t be happening! his mind screamed over and over.... As Teresa and a paramedic gently eased him into the ambulance, he stared back at the wreck as the tow driver and an official started unfurling a tarp to cover the front of the 15. It was an image that would haunt him for the rest of his days.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Slugger and Rory stood apart while the rescue workers feverishly pulled the cars apart. Rory stared blankly at the remains of her husband’s car as Junior’s car was slowly extricated from the tangle. She noticed the pool of red fluid that dripped from the torn side of the 15. It’s just transmission fluid from Junior’s car..that’s all it is, she told herself. The other drivers stood by helplessly-wanting so much to help their fallen comrade but unable to do so. His old friends-Steve, Rusty, Kyle, DJ and Kenny stood protectively by the car. Rory felt as if it were all some sort of dream...she moved as if her own limbs belonged to a mannequin; Slugger dutifully at her side. The wrecker operator was dragging out those dreadful blue tarps and suddenly the full impact hit her. Tarps. They’re bringing out the tarps. Oh no...NO! He’s not dead...he wouldn’t leave me like this...
Rory’s feet felt like they had weights attached as she charged up the embankment towards Michael’s car. An official was already barking, "Don’t let her come up here yet!" as another grabbed her slight figure and tried to keep her back.
The jolt of the man’s hands on her brought Rory out of the cloying grip of shock as she pushed frantically pushed the official away. "Leave me alone!" she screamed as she fell against the side of the 15. The man roughly tried to pull her away when he was violently yanked backwards.
"You touch her again and I’ll kill you!" snarled Kyle as he stood imposingly between the official and Rory.
Rory tore at the window net, "We’ll get you out...hold on Michael..answer me, Mikey. Please-Michael answer me.....MICHAEL!" No response as she collapsed weeping into Slugger’s arms as he knelt beside her. Her normally steely reserve was gone. He was her life; the love of this simple but noble man was all that ever kept her alive. Without him, the iron will that endured more trials, loss and heartache than should be allowed, was finally broken. She couldn’t-wouldn’t go on without him-that was a vow she had made and by the grace and forgiveness of God, she would keep.
As her tiny hand rested on the mangled steering wheel, another weakly rose to hold it. The strength was gone, but the heart that still beat was there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kyle and Slugger gently pulled Rory away from the side of the car as paramedics moved in. Darrell and Hammond joined them as the team began to cut through the sheet metal, knowing well that they were working against time. Darrell tenderly embraced his sister-in-law. Knowing well that death rode shotgun in these cars every weekend, didn’t make it any easier to accept.
Helton himself strode through the cluster of drivers, ordering them to their respective cars-those that were still drivable. Even those who's only relationship to Michael was that of cut-throat competitor stood helplessly by. Tony Stewart, who was still recovering from broken ribs suffered in his Daytona wreck, glowered at Helton. The experiment of lifting the restrictor plates proved to be an utter failure and a costly one at that.
"The bastards have been screaming for blood at the plate tracks for years and now they've got it. I hope everyone's happy.." Tony growled as Jeff Gordon stood silently by his side. "It could've been anyone of us.."
"Ok-I said, 'all drivers to their vehicles' five minutes ago-once the vehicles are started, you will enter pit row and remain there until the red flag has been lifted." Helton snapped, ignoring Tony's barb. "The remainder of the race will be finished."
Reluctantly, the drivers returned to their cars and the first guttural barks of the engines began. Jeff walked over to Rory and placed his hand on her shoulder as she stood cradled in Darrell's arms. "I'm so sorry. I just want you to know I'll be there if you need me. My prayers are with you both." the Dupont driver said softly, his throat tight as he watched he watched the team slowly, agonizingly extricate the inert driver from the wreckage.
"Thanks, Jeff. We're gonna need all the prayers we can get." Darrell whispered through his own tears.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His world was agony. Every labored breath brought nothing but a white-hot searing torment. Every attempted movement was shrouded in excruciating pain. He tried to focus on something-anything to distract him from the torture. So this is it, this is how I'm going out-suffering in this god-forsaken coffin. He mentally pleaded with the armed security guard who was standing nearby. Please shoot me-I don't want to live like this another minute. He tried feebly to raise his right arm to remove his helmet but his shattered collarbone prevented it. It felt as though every bone on his left side was broken. His left leg was soaked in blood as sharp pieces of splintered bone ripped through his skin. He wanted to scream but he didn't have the strength to weep. Please God, have mercy on me-
Then he felt her presence beside him. Her voice-she's crying. Baby, please don't cry-he wanted to hold her and comfort her; to tell her it was going to be ok. He couldn't even speak; his bloodied lips tried to form words but all he could manage was a strangled whimper. Her hand rested on his steering wheel and with every once of strength left within him, he desperately placed his hand on hers and held it until he could hold on no more. Then once again, the mantle of darkness began to settle over him ...
As he resigned himself to the comforting blackness, he suddenly felt hands pulling him through the top of the car. The sudden jolting movement sent new waves of pain shooting through every fiber of his body. The light nearly blinded him as his helmet was gingerly removed and an oxygen mask placed over his face. He struggled against the hands that pinned him to the backboard as the medics placed him on the stretcher. "Easy now, Mike" said a voice he didn't recognize as he vainly attempted to sit up against the hands that restrained him. The sharp prick of the needle and the comforting wave of blackness settled over him again as the sedative wrapped him in its embrace. He looked once into his brother's stricken and drawn face as he lost consciousness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rory sat beside Michael, gently stroking his head as Darrell gently held her; both silently praying as they made that long journey to the hospital and fate unknown. Darrell shuddered at the memory of his brother's eyes, wild with pain, just before he went under. He sadly regarded Rory as her gaze never wavered from her husband’s face; as she recited a prayer in Gaelic. "Dear God, how is she going to live without him?" he wondered, knowing full well that he may loose them both.
Chapter 10: Heaven Can Wait
As the hours crawled by, Rory rested her head in her arms as she continued her vigil at Michael's side. Emergency surgery had repaired the collapsed lung and the CAT and MRI scans indicated a cracked vertebrae-the dreaded "hangman's fracture"-something that could heal if given proper rehabilitation time. Rory sadly contemplated the rest of the traumatic injuries. Just thinking of the list of reconstructive operations and subsequent therapy that he would have to endure-it made her head spin. The compound fractures alone were daunting enough-collarbone, sternum, left rib-cage, femur, left hip-not to mention the internal injuries, muscle and ligament damage. The prognosis right now was 50-50; it was a waiting game to see if he could simply survive the night given the amount of shock his system was in. His one saving grace was the fact that he was in impeccable physical condition before the accident and it was this fact that gave her hope.
Mick felt as if his world had ended as he sat on the opposite side of his mother, along with Stevie, Darrell and his sister. He had only really known his father for the past four years since he and Rory were reunited with Michael and Caitlin in 2001. He wished Junior was here-at least there was a kindred soul who could help him deal with this nightmare. Caitlin oddly seemed to accept the possibility that her father may never come out of the coma he was in. Death and debilitating injuries were so much a part of her world-it was if the deaths of Adam Petty and her Uncle Dale had prepared her for the worst. Michael's accident had however, reinforced her hatred of the sport-her sights were set on the world of veterinary medicine-as far away from the track as possible.
Stevie rose and placed her hand on Mick's shoulder, "I think it's time I got you two young 'uns to bed" she said softly as Darrell nodded. "Ro, honey-why don't you come home with us? The doctor will call if there's any change..."
"I'm stayin' here-I'll not leave him." came the hollow reply. Her normally clear, lilting voice was but a whisper. Stevie nodded-she knew too well from having been at her own husband's bedside on many occasions.
Caitlin kissed her father's clammy forehead before she gave Rory a hug goodnight. "Mom-you gonna be ok?" Rory nodded absently as Darrell and Stevie exchanged concern glances. Darrell squeezed her shoulder as he herded his brood out the door, "Y'all call us if anything happens-we'll be stayin' at your place."
Finally, she was alone in the darkened room. Alone with her own thoughts; how could she even think about going on without him? Nonsense-he's going to pull through this! I just put my daughter in the ground-now you're taking my husband? she thought angrily. He's a good man! Dear Lord, why have you forsaken him? Forsaken us? Her only answer were the sounds of the various monitors and Michael's shallow breathing. Sighing, she dozed off for a little while beside him; her hand firmly holding his as her head shared his pillow. Sometime a couple hours later, as she slept fitfully beside him, his heartbeat suddenly became wildly irregular for a moment. As he struggled for breath, his heart slowed, faltered and ultimately stopped.....and finally Michael Waltrip slipped quietly away....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael rested peacefully now-the dreadful pain no longer tormented him. He could feel the warmth of the sun streaming through the bedroom window and the lull of the cicadas and songbirds outside as a fragrant summer breeze ruffled the curls of his forelock out of his eyes. He felt an inner contentment that he hadn't felt in years-no worries, no plans-just the ease of lazing an afternoon away....
Suddenly, he was jolted out of his slumber by a large hand roughly shaking him awake and a familiar voice rattling the his peaceful solitude. "Come on boy! Get up! You can't stay here!" Michael looked up startled as his father continued to shake him.
"Dad! W-what are you doin' here??" he stammered-not at all sure of where he was at the moment or even how he got here. He briefly took in his surroundings-it looked like his father's old fishing camp; rustic and rough-hewn. He could smell the pines, honeysuckle and fresh-mown grass on the late afternoon breeze. If only he knew where here was.....confusion was setting in as he shook his head.
"I live here! You ain't supposed to be here now! C'mon boy-get up an' get yerself dressed! Ya got things to do yet!"
"Dad-I don't understand..why do I have to leave? I want to stay here with you-!" The elation of seeing his father again was mingled with sadness and confusion as Michael couldn’t understand why Leroy wanted him to leave.
Leroy Waltrip shook his head; this was gonna be more difficult than he had thought-and time was running out. Looking up towards the screen door, he hollered, "Dale! If yer still out there-get in here now!" Turning back to his visibly disoriented son, he grabbed Michael's shoulders and pulled him to his feet, "Mike-if you don't leave now-your wife is gonna be here! She can't be here-not now, boy!"
"Rory's comin' here? Why can't I stay-?" he broke off as he found himself suddenly staring into the annoyed face of Dale Earnhardt. "omygod..." he whispered as emotion choked off any further words. His old friend looked just as he remembered him but now, quite flustered. He had on a battered, floppy hat decorated with dozens of fishing lures and dry flies and his favorite fishing vest along with a bamboo rod. He shook his head and hollered out to the open door, "Hold on, Neil! I gotta knock some sense into sleepin' beauty here!" Turning back to Michael, he jabbed his finger sharply in Michael's chest and the patented Earnhardt glare was in full effect.
"Listen boy! You gotta go-Mikey ya can't stay here any longer! You gotta go back-your wife and kids need ya-don't turn your back on 'em now! Rory can't live without ya-she won’t live without ya-do you understand me, Michael? " Michael slowly nodded as he tried to comprehend was Dale was telling him. As Dale grasped Michael's shoulders, tears filled his eyes, "An' my boy-he's in serious trouble, Mike. You're the only one who can help him-everything I've worked for is gonna fall apart without you. Please, Mike-you need to be fixin' to git instead of loafin' 'round here! You'll have your chance to come back-but you've gotta go now!" Both men were shoving Michael towards the back door of the little cabin. Then, as he stumbled out into the bright sunlight-so bright, he couldn't see a thing.......
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.....Michael was suddenly back in the hospital bed as a platoon of doctors and nurses huddled over him. As his lungs drew in one, long shuddering breath and his heartbeat grew stronger-the pain came back twofold. He uttered a strangled cry as just the act of breathing felt like it would crush him. As his eyes began to focus, he felt Rory's hand gently clutching his, "Hold on, Michael...please hold on." she whispered, "I love you, Michael-I need you so much..."
He turned his head and weakly mumbled, "It's gonna be ok, baby-love of my life.." Or at least, that's is what he thought he said...for all he knew, it was delirious gibberish. But Rory caressed his cheek and smile softly, "Welcome back, luv." She was waiting for her own heartbeat to return to normal-she had suddenly woke from her slumber to find Michael in full cardiac arrest. How she managed to keep her wits about her as she summoned the doctor, she would never know; the past twenty minutes were but a fading blur. All that mattered now, was the fact that he was alive.
The head doctor looked up from the monitor, "Vital signs are stabilizing-he's conscious-looks like he's gonna make it." he grinned. "Mike-just nod if you can hear me-try not to talk." Michael followed the sound of the man’s voice and weakly whispered, "Where am I?"
"SSShhhhh! I shoulda known I can’t keep a Waltrip from talkin’!" The head doctor shook his head, "My name’s Dr. John Anderson and I’d say from the look of your report, you’ve had a little accident yesterday! You’re at Duke Medical Center right now and this is where you’re gonna stay until we get you fixed. I ain’t gonna lie to ya, Michael-you’ve got a long road ahead of you.." Anderson spoke in a soft Virginia accent and chose his words with care in order for Michael to absorb them. "But you were in incredible shape before the accident and I’m confident that we can get you back in that car in no time." he finished cheerfully. "Old Ironhead knew a winner when he saw one and so do I." he chuckled.
A movement or was it a shadow in the corner? Whatever it was, it suddenly caught Michael’s eye. It looked exactly like-
"Dad!" Michael croaked as he struggled vainly to sit up. Alarmed, Rory gently pushed him back to the pillow. She shot Anderson a quick glance, "He’s hallucinating...there’s nobody there." she whispered.
Anderson nodded, "It’s the pain-killers-gonna make him a little loopy. He’ll be ok-just try to keep him calm." Michael continued to stare at the wall until he dozed off. The image of his father smiling etched in his mind like a photograph. The rest of the staff checked and re-checked his vital signs one last time before they too, left to attend to their other patients. Rory resumed her vigil at his side, her faith renewed as her bond with Michael would remain intact for a little while longer.
On a lake far away and beyond mortals, Leroy smiled to himself as he made a cast into the still water and poked Dale in the ribs as the Intimidator raised a beer. He missed the company of his son but as all things come to pass, he would see him again. He was content at the moment knowing that for now, Heaven can wait.
Chapter 11: The Long Road Back
"I’ll be in my basement room
with a needle and a spoon
And another girl to take my pain away..." -The Rolling Stones "Dead Flowers"
".....Michael Waltrip has just passed Ward Burton for the lead!" Mike Joy’s voice rang out as Junior stared blankly at the television screen. The volume was turned down to barely audible-the background banter was hardly necessary-not that he could comprehend anything beyond the ghastly tableau that he had been replaying dozens of times over the past week. Junior’s unwavering gaze followed the red Monte Carlo as it bounced repeatedly off the side of the 15; each time the 15 rebounded and stealthily held it’s course as the others began stacking up behind him. The 15 started to poke her yellow and black nose further ahead of the troublesome 8 that clung tenaciously at her side; drawing away from the thundering herd behind as if trying to escape. Perversely, Junior urged the car on as if he could somehow change the inevitable. "Go, Mike." he whispered as tears once again rolled down his cheeks. "Go!" The yellow flag just came out as lapped cars scrambled to regain their position. The Pennzoil Chevrolet pulled away from the 8 that still dug into the driver’s side. Black flag on the 8. His mind continued to scream, why didn’t I go in?! The Budweiser Chevrolet suddenly drifted to the apron, as if he finally headed his crew chief’s frantic orders. Then, inexplicitly he decided to make a sharp, right turn and swung violently back up the track.
"Trouble off turn three! Dale Earnhardt Jr. has just swerved into Waltrip’s car! Both cars are up the track-Ward Burton is on his side against the wall as the others keep piling into them...." With a muffled whimper, he buried his face in his hands as sobs wracked his body. No matter how many times he had viewed the tape, it wouldn’t answer the elusive question-why? It was all so senseless...I should be in jail for this, he thought angrily. I almost killed him-it would have been the same if I held a gun to his head. No-I had to fucking run him down like a goddamn dog at 160 miles per hour. A gun would have been a kinder death-at least he wouldn’t suffer. Like he’s suffering now. He tried desperately to push the frightening vision of his friend’s broken body laying so still in the ICU. His expressionless eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling, wrapped in Morphine’s cozy embrace. Eyes that once snapped and sparkled with the fire of competition, the warmth of friendship and the love of his family. It should be me laying there with half of my body crushed-not him. Not Michael-he didn’t do a fucking thing to deserve this. I don’t deserve to live.
Though Junior suffered from his own share of bruises, a cracked sternum and a few cracked ribs, the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the anguish he felt for his fallen comrade. Friend. Teammate. He closed his eyes tightly against the flood of memories that inevitably crept in; standing arm in arm on top of the 15 at Daytona, breaking down in his arms after they laid his father to rest, sweetly surrendering themselves as one to absolute pleasure for one unforgettable night. It was over now-how could he ever be forgiven? He single-handedly cut down a champion in the prime of his career. Twenty years of hard work, blood, sweat and tears had brought Michael finally to the top of the game and in four minutes, it was over.
Junior looked at a photo on the wall of he and his father at Texas-his first win. A new wellspring of tears formed as he thought of how disappointed and angry his father would be now. "Daddy-please help me.."
There was a soft knock at the door and Kelley poked her head in. "Dale-?" frowning, she moved to the sectional sofa that Junior had curled up in with his back to the doorway. "Hey" she said softly.
"What?" This was the only response afforded her. Kelley sat down and gently rubbed his shoulders as old Buddy paddled into the room with Cuz in tow. The big Manx butted his head against Juniors and purred loudly; poking him softly in the face with a large paw.
"You’ve got a visitor-" Kelley started but Junior cut her off with a low growl, "Tell ’em to go away-I ain’t up for company." Kelley looked back towards the doorway, shaking her head as she angrily snapped the television off, "You shouldn’t be watching this -it’s unhealthy.." Junior mumbled something back in response as he kept his back turned.
"It’s ok, Kel-I’ll go.." Rory whispered from the hallway where she was holding Dude, another housecat and Cuz’s partner in crime. At the sound of her voice, Junior abruptly turned, painfully wincing from his own injuries. "Hey!" Kelley slowly backed out of the room, "I’ll let y’all alone-holler if you need me..."
Rory and Junior quietly regarded one another for a moment. At first, she never wanted to see him again and was quite ready to turn in her resignation papers to DEI with a message for Ty to shove the whole deal up his ass. The same "why?" question ran through her mind as it did Junior’s-but she also knew that dwelling on water under the bridge while feeding the demons of bitterness and sorrow wasn’t going help Michael or Junior. It would be so easy to turn her back on him now. Her mind went back to his father. In her blackest hour of need, it was Dale Earnhardt who stood up for her-had never given up hope. Her freedom and reunion with Michael and Caitlin was a testament to his devotion and friendship, Give up on Junior? Not now-not ever.
Clearing her throat and gently setting Dude on the floor, she sat next to Junior. "I won’t stay long-but I thought you’d like to hear that they’ve taken Michael out of the ICU and he’s been upgraded to ‘fair’ condition. Have you heard when they’d let you race again?"
"I’m out of the car for six weeks-they want to make sure I’m good and competent to drive. I’m on probation until the end of the year though."
Her brows furrowed, "Probation-whatever for?"
"Disobeying the black flag-we got fined too..." he whispered. "I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted out.."
"Don’t ever go there, Junebug. I signed a contract with this company and I still know what loyalty and commitment means-unlike some others around here."
Junior sighed and buried his face in his hands, "I don’t even know how you can even look at me now-after what I did-" Rory pulled his hands away from his face and glared at him.
"Done is done, Junior. We’ve all got to move forward-so get over yourself! I’ll help you in any way that I can-but you’ve also got to help yourself. This wallowing in self-pity isn’t a start-it’s an ending." Rory glanced at her watch and rose, "I’d stay longer, but I’ve got to find somebody to drive the Busch car and I’ve a meeting with Teresa later. But I’ll tell you this one thing now-don’t be layin’ down on me. You will get on with your life."
Junior sighed, wishing to change the focus of conversation from himself, "So-how is he doing? Is he awake now?" Junior had visited only two days after the accident but he was unable to remain in the room due to the discomfort of his own injuries and thinly veiled hostility and resentment from Michael’s family-particularly and most disheartening from Darrell.
"He’s in good spirits-when he’s awake, that is. He’s a fighter, Junior-he’s been through a lot before and he’ll come through this-I’m sure of it." Rory spared him the impending reconstructive surgery that was facing Michael this week. "You should stop by-he’ll be so happy to see you. I think it would do you both a world of good."
Junior shook his head, "I’m afraid, Ro."
"Afraid? Afraid of what? That he wouldn’t forgive you?" Junior nodded. Rory gently took his hand, averting her eyes from the scars on his arm, "There isn’t an unforgiving bone in his body and you know it." she said slowly. "Michael loves you, Jun-it would hurt him more if you shut him out now. You’ve been through so much together-it was an accident, Jun. It’s not like you deliberately wrecked him." She reached over and embraced him tightly, "Now-let’s just concentrate on getting you both well again."
A chilling thought entered Junior’s mind just then as he returned her embrace-what if I did? Subconsciously speaking-I may have wrecked him because I was angry, jealous and I can’t deal with my own failures anymore.....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later that evening, Junior stared vacantly off into space as the rush of heroine filled his veins. He should have been heartened by Rory’s presence and the reaffirmation of love and support but instead only felt like the worthless dog he had convinced himself that he was. Unworthy of their friendship. Unworthy of this world. Unworthy of his father’s legacy. Forever the unforgiven.......
He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Duke Medical Center
Two months later
"Hey, Mick." came a familiar voice as Mick thumbed through his latest edition of Speedway in the waiting room. He looked up as Dale Earnhardt’s youngest daughter Taylor sat beside him on the couch. Although she was a couple of years older than Mick, she had developed a crush on the lanky, handsome boy. He peered at her through his long, thick curly forelock that was so much like his father’s. "Hey yourself." he grinned sadly.
"How’s he doing?" Taylor adored her Uncle Mikey and had visited so often she was almost regarded as an extra sibling to Mick, Caitlin and Macy.
"He’s havin’ his hip replaced-the doc said this was going to the toughest one." Mick shuddered at the amount of work his father had already undergone. Michael had tried to dispel his brood’s anxiety with his usual sense of humor as he joked about trying to get through airport security with all the pins, screws, plates and wires that held his shattered bones together. But all the joking in the world couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes. Mick felt his own throat tighten as he contemplated the unfairness of it all and angrily wiped his hand across his eyes. Taylor impulsively wrapped her arms around her and Mick buried his face in her soft hair.
"It’s not fair, Tay-I hate seein’ him like this. I know it’s the chance ya take-but Jaysus-all he’s been through.." Suddenly angry, he glared, "An’ would be killin’ yer brother to stop by? It’s his fuckin’ fault that all of this happened! Rotten bastard! He should be in there an’ crippled for life-not Dad!" He instantly regretted his words as her eyes welled up and she pulled away from him and buried her face in her hands. "Awww...don’t cry! I’m sorry-I shouldn’t have taken it out on you..." He held her closes and let his own bitter tears fall. He held her for what seemed like a little eternity as she rested her head on his shoulder while he rubbed her back. He had always like Taylor-if fact, he was downright smitten. He didn’t even notice as Darrell pulled up a chair in front of him.
"Hey, boy! Gonna come up for air sometime and tell yer ol’ DW what the status on my baby brother is?" He grinned and gave Mick a playful swat on the head. "Whar’s yer sister at?" he added, puzzled that Caitlin wasn’t there.
"She’s takin’ some tests at school-gonna take some college adjunct classes-Mum just went down stairs to get some coffee with Uncle Kenny and Steve." Darrell nodded and sat back in the chair.
"Looks like it’s gonna be awhile before he comes out-that’s a helluva operation..." he mused.
"Aye-but it’s the last one-if all goes well, the doc says he can come home in a few weeks."
Darrell shook his head sadly, "It ain’t gonna be easy, kids. He’s got a lot of therapy yet an’ we’re all gonna be waitin’ on him hand and foot for a while. He’s gonna need every one of us to get through this."
"Uncle D?"
"hmmm?"
"Do you think he’ll be able to race again?" Mick asked. Darrell closed his eyes-it was a question he wasn’t comfortable in the least in answering. Sighing, he looked sadly out the window and chose his words with care, "I don’t know, Mick. He might not ever be sound enough to race again-not at the level he was. This is gonna be the hardest part of all-dealing with the ‘what-ifs’. What if he has to retire? He ain’t gonna be easy to deal with for a while-this is all he’s known and to sit on the sidelines is gonna be pure torture. What if he tries, wrecks and ends up paralyzed or killed? What if he looses his ride with DEI?" Mick stared at his feet and shifted uneasily. "You gotta think about that, boy. You gotta prepare yourself-cuz that’s the way it’s gonna be and we’re all gonna have to take this deal one day at a time." Mick nodded-not sure if he totally understood or even wanted to. The fact that Michael was still alive was a miracle unto itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A little while later, Michael groggily tried to focus his eyes as he tried to move. Still disoriented from the anesthesia, he nearly ripped the IV out of his arm as the nurse and Darrell steadied him. He felt numb from the waist down and for one frightening moment, he thought he was paralyzed.
"Michael? Nod if you can understand me." It was Anderson’s voice and he weakly nodded. He tried to focus his blurry vision on the man’s face but it just made him dizzy. "I wanted to let you know that the operation was a success and you could be lookin’ at goin’ home in three weeks." Anderson grinned as Michael drifted off to sleep again. Shaking his head, he turned his attention to Rory and the rest of the family. "I knew I should have waited a little longer-but he’s making remarkable progress. He has incredible spirit-these injuries would break a lesser man."
"You don’t know my brother!" Darrell chuckled, "He don’t know enough to quit!" Stevie gave him a poke in the ribs to silence him. "Why don’t we get you an’ those kids fed, D? Let Ro and Mike have some peace to themselves." Darrell nodded and as soon as they left, Rory quietly sat by Michael’s side, gently tousling his hair.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael finally woke up and winced as sharp needles of pain shot through every fiber of his body. Shifting his leg to a more comfortable position, he couldn’t help but notice the thick gauze padding covering his incisions. He had been told there would be scaring but seeing the many swaths of bandages on various parts of his anatomy still spooked him.
"Hey, darlin’." Rory said warmly as she kissed his dry lips. "How’re ya feelin’?"
"Awful." he groaned, "It hurts like hell..." He followed her gaze to the bandages, "Ain’t so pretty anymore, am I?’ he remarked sadly.
"Mikey-I swear if you weren’t layin’ in a hospital bed, I’d smack you!" she exclaimed, chuckling softly. "Aye-you’re gonna look like 40 miles of bad road when those bandages come off-but you’re always gonna be the sexiest thing on two legs to me." She kissed him deeply and gave him a dirty wink, "When you do get well-we’re gonna have some makin’ up to do."
He laughed weakly, "I knew I could count on you to cheer me up.." He tenderly caressed her face and gazed lovingly into her eyes. "I miss you so much, baby."
"I know-I can’t even sleep in that bed without you. You’ll be home soon -it will be so good to hold you at night again." She rested her head against his, "I love you so much Michael."
"I love you too, babe." He sighed-in spite of his physical pain, he felt at ease in her arms. It all went back to the foundation of the bond between them. No matter what obstacles they’ve faced in the past, as long as they were together they could overcome anything. As night closed in, they drifted off peacefully together.
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
Chapter 12: Warm Beer and Cold Turkey
Rory pushed her way into her cluttered office at DEI, balancing notebook on Sunday's race, coffee and the morning edition of the Observer. Actually cluttered wasn’t an apt description of her cubby-hole that overlooked the race shop for the Budweiser Chevrolet. It was an eclectic hodge-podge of old newspapers, clippings about the team, back issues of the Winston Cup Scene, piles of notebooks (some dating back to her tenure at Team Petty) of set-ups, meeting minutes, performance journals and parts catalogues. A cut tire from Bristol resided in one corner covered by a saddle that she meant to take to a tack shop for repairs. A wide assortment of pens and pencils collected in a stack of 200mph tape rolls. Budweiser promo material hung from the walls (the neon Budweiser guitar sign complemented the velvet Elvis wall hanging nicely), scattered about the desk and sat in unopened boxes along the coat closet door. Several Elvis whiskey decanters and a god-awful fringed lamp that bore the King of Rock ’n’ Roll’s likeness sat on a walnut vertical file cabinet. Perched among the Elvi, snoozed the shop cat, a foul-tempered Siamese named Bleu.
Like all good wives and mothers, she kept the usual pictures of children and husband displayed on the desk next to an ancient Gateway computer. (except in this case, the husband was dressed as Dr. Frank N. Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show with a feather boa wrapped around his neck and various accomplices-ie one Kenny Schrader and Johnny Benson-dressed as drag queen Transylvanians.) The whole mess always seemed on the verge of toppling over and burying the feisty occupant.
Not exactly anxious to deal with Ty this morning, she reflected on the new kid-Shane Hmiel. As far as she was concerned, if they ever get around to starting up a third team again, she would be the first to vouch for him. She had been pleased with Shane’s progress as he stood in while Junior was recuperating. Second place yesterday at Sear's Point, in addition to the two top 5's and a 10, plus he was eager to learn and did his job willingly without copping the usual know-it-all attitude. Both the 8 and the 15, now with Brendan Gaughan at the wheel, had done well-Brendan had won the June race at Pocono to everyone's delight and dedicated his victory to Michael. The Monday meeting was half an hour away and Rory settled in her chair with the sports page. Engrossed in an article feature on the musings of Dave Despain, she never heard her office door open.
"Hey..." The soft voice had caused Rory to look up startled as she sat up in her reclining chair and settled nose to nose with Junior.
"Well now and where have you been hiding yourself lately." she inquired rather crossly. "You've crawled out of that den of iniquity to bless us with your presence?" She had grown annoyed at him for shutting his family and friends out-particularly Michael and Mick. It bothered her to no end that his indifference and wallowing in self-pity had hurt Mick, who at one time looked up to Junior almost as much as he did Michael. Now, in addition to keeping Michael's spirits up while he underwent physical therapy that was often painful, emotionally draining and discouraging, she also had to deal with Mick's anger and resentment. All of this on top of her on-going duties as one of most high-profile crew chiefs on the circuit. Now, here he comes looking to be greeted with open arms, she thought bitterly. Sighing, she motioned for Junior to shut the door and have a seat. Removing the stuffed, plush pink flamingo from the one chair in the office, Junior pulled it over to her desk and sat quietly for a moment, not exactly sure what to say or even how to start. Staring at a stuffed and mummified horned toad that doubled as a paperweight, (god, he loved looking at this stuff..) he simply decided to start with what he felt was his whole basis for coming here in the first place.
"I just wanted to let you know that I'm gonna be back this Sunday. Sorry I kinda dropped out of sight...I was just tryin' to get my head straight. But I had to do this on my own, Ro. I know what you're thinking-hell what everyone's been thinking-I didn't intend to push you or anyone else away." He tried to get a read on her expressionless face as she sat impassively across from him.
"So tell me, why do you feel like you have to put your head on straight? It looks fine where I’m setting." she began, choosing her words with care. "Junior-I want you to be honest with me now-how and why did you get mixed up in this shit? Don’t even try to deny it-I’ve seen your arms and I could tell just by looking at your eyes that something was very, very wrong here."
Shifting uneasily in his seat, he knew he was caught. "I honestly don’t remember a point where I got into it-yeah, I admit it. I was shootin’ up. An associate of mine-it’s not even important who it is now because I’ve since cut him off-turned me on to heroin. I felt like I was loosing control over my career, I felt like I didn’t even care if I ever got in a car again. I came so close to winning the championship in ’03 then I just started screwin’ up again-runnin’ bad-nobody’s fault but mine. I can’t live up to the hype anymore-I just got tired of being Dale Earnhardt Jr. I just wanted to escape-that’s the bottom line. The shit felt good-but it started to scare me too....because sooner or later, I wouldn’t be able to live without it." He paused for a moment as he started to relive the events of the past two years. Rory continued to sit quietly, listening intently, "Go on" she said softly, "It’s ok, Jun. I want to help you get through this. What about Steve? Where was he in all of this?"
Junior hung his head and drew his hands to his face, "He tried, Ro. He tried to get me away from the crowd I was runnin’ with and the whole scene. I pushed him away because I felt he was getting too close to me-I wouldn’t listen...." his shoulders started shaking and Rory gently put her hand on his knee. "See-Ro, when it comes down, I’m chickenshit. I don’t want to get close to anybody ‘cause I’m afraid of losing them. I don’t want to be alone anymore yet all I do is drive everybody away... I love Steve-and you an’ Mike are closer than family to me....That’s why I had to just be by myself for a little while. I had to think through all of this and get rid of the drugs, get rid of the things that were bringin’ me down."
"So you’ve quit? Just like that?" Rory’s brows furrowed with concern, "Jun-breakin’ yourself of heroin just isn’t that easy-it’s not like givin’ up cigarettes. It might do you some good to get into a professional detox program. I knew a few of my brother’s musician friends were into that scene and none of ‘em could do it cold turkey. Once that’s shite’s in your system, Jun-it’s hard to get out from under it. Remember, you’ve got 43 lives in your hands if you’re out there and you get a bad case of the shakes." She squeezed his hand tightly for a moment, then looked into his eyes, "Is that what happened at Talladega?" she whispered.
Junior shook his head, "Rory, I swear on my father’s grave I wasn’t high or goin’ into DT’s. I blacked out-I was sick that day and remember, we were hittin’ 220-230 miles per hour out there. But I wasn’t high-please believe me, Rory."
She closed her eyes for a moment to block out the mental picture of the tow truck pulling the 3400lb vehicle off her husband’s body. "Ok Jun-I’ll give you a chance. But I want you to go with me after the meeting and talk to Michael. I’ve told you before that I’ll help you any way that I can but you’ve got to keep your end of the deal up-understood?"
"Yeah-it’s all good on my end." Junior grinned-almost looking like his old self again. Rory glanced up at the clock, "Come on then-let’s get it done. Ty’s probably shittin’ his knickers because we’re late." Inwardly, she still had her doubts-she wanted to believe him so badly. She couldn’t ignore her old survival instincts-the nagging voice that told her this was but the calm before the storm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The physical therapist, Jamika, shook her head as she eased Michael back into bed. "You done pushed yourself too hard-you can’t do that! You gotta take it easy-one step at a time!"
Nearly blind with agony, Michael gritted his teeth and hoarsely whispered, "I am gettin’ out of this goddamn bed and back on my feet if it’s the last motherfucking thing I do!"
"You gonna end up hurtin’ yourself again-them ol’ bones is still tryin’ to heal!" She finished plotting his progress in her notebook and laid her caramel brown hand on his shoulder, "You gotta a lot of heart, Mr. Waltrip. I wish’d half m’ patients had this much spunk." Michael swallowed the pain relievers and seemed to relax a little. "I just want to go home to my wife an’ kids. How much longer do you think I’m gonna have to stay?"
"That’s up to Dr. Anderson to decide, honey. Should be soon-you’re way ahead of schedule." A knock at the door stole her attention. "Well, well...looks like you got some company.." she smiled warmly as Schrader and Johnny poked their head in.
"Hey Mikey!" Schrader grinned as Michael struggled to sit up. He winced at the obvious pain his old friend was in. Lowering the bedrail, he situated himself on the edge while Johnny promptly sat a large dish garden on the night table. Clearly concealing something behind his back, he edged over to the head of Michael’s bed. Jamika gave him a sideways glance, "I don’t know what you’re hiding back there, but if it’s hootch-I didn’t see it."
"US? We wouldn’t do anything like that!" he chuckled.
Jamika shook her head, "I can’t be foolin’ with you boys all day-I’m gonna leave an’ tend to my other patients-y’all behave yourselves." With that, she left for her other duties.
As soon as the door closed, Johnny nudged Michael, "Say-what’ve they got you on? We brought you a little somethin’."
"Oh, mostly anti-inflammatory stuff-some muscle relaxers but I didn’t take them yet. They cut me off the heavy-duty stuff weeks ago. Didn’t want me to get hooked, I guess." He started nosing about in the duffle bag that Johnny was hiding. "Aww ...you shouldn’t have!" he grinned as he retrieved the somewhat warm beer. The three old friends toasted one another and basked in the warm glow of camaraderie.
"We ought to do a show from here....it just ain’t the same without you, Mikey." Schrader emitted a pleased belch and dug into another beer.
"From here?? Think Alan would go for it?" Michael wondered.
"Alan misses the hell out ya-I mean Kenny’s great on the show and so’s Jimmy Spencer, but you wouldn’t believe the letters and the emails we’ve been getting!" Johnny exclaimed. "It’s all about you!"
Schrader rolled his eyes and grinned, "It’s ALWAYS about Mikey! Even when he WAS there!" The three enjoyed a good laugh -almost too good of a laugh, as Michael clutched his aching ribs. "I think I cracked another one-shit!" Well into their cups, this provoked another round of guffaws.
"It was sure good of you two stoppin’ by...I was feelin’ pretty low there before y’all came in...." Michael mused.
"Glad we could be of service-I just remember after my bad spill at Daytona a couple years ago-remember? You came up after the race just to see me.." Johnny grinned.
"When I coulda been gettin’ laid.." snorted Michael. "See-now that’s a bud!"
"Yep-bud’s till the end!" Schrader said softly. The three remained quiet for a moment, reflecting. Suddenly the warm beer made it’s presence known in the form of a long, low rumbling belch from the normally quiet Benson; shattering the stillness and all three looked around as the burp echoed comically around the room.
"What the hell was that? Did we just have a moment??" Schrader snickered as Michael arched his eyebrows, "That was about a 14." (on a burp scale of 1-10)
"Got the last word in that time!" Johnny grinned, giving Michael a playful nudge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chicagoland
Mick dutifully assisted in sweeping out the garage of the #43 Dodge as Steve left for the last round at Happy Hour. Not old enough to go over the wall, he settled for helping out around the shop as much as possible. He preferred to work with Team Petty as opposed to DEI-he knew Junior would be back this weekend and he did everything he could to avoid him. Still angry and hurt, he didn’t understand that Junior was hurting as well.
"Hey son, why don’t you take a break and go do some exploring?" Richard Petty gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "Dang, boy-yer gettin’ as tall as your old man!" Indeed, with each day’s passing, Mick looked more and more like his father.
"I rather be workin’-seen one track midway-ya seen ‘em all." he grunted, "’sides-somebody’s gotta keep an eye on ya, ol’ man!"
Richard poked his long, skinny finger in the boy’s broad chest in mock admonishment, "Don’t go gettin’ sassy! You ain’t too big fer yer mamma to take ya over her knee!"
"You givin’ ol’ Richard here a hard time boy?" Junior stood in entrance to the bay, grinning.
Mick bristled at the sight of him. Ignoring Junior’s intrusion, he shrugged, "Maybe I’ll take a walk now, you’re right-I do need to take a break..." He turned and brushed by Junior without saying a word. Richard shook his head, "He’s hurtin’...talk to him if you can."
Junior ran to catch up with Mick’s long strides. "Hey...Mick. Wait up, a minute-I wanna talk to ya."
Mick abruptly halted and whirled to face him, eyes blazing. "Why? Why now?
"Mick-I couldn't even possibly begin to explain what's been going on with me-do you think this was easy for me to deal with? Hell, when you get down to it, I couldn't deal with the fact that this goddamn thing is my fault. " Junior gazed into the ice-blue eyes glaring back at him. Christ, he thought-kid's 13 going on 30-what happened to that funny, little shit who used to tag along everywhere he went? "Listen-I'd give anything to trade places with your father but that's not how it works. Accidents happen and people get hurt. People die. Nobody knows this better than I do." He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. " I know there's not enough 'I'm sorries' in the world to make it right. Mick, I AM sorry. You have no idea how much it hurts to think about what Michael's facing. " He frantically searched for the right words to say, but he found himself slipping further away as Mick's fury continued to build.
"So you fuckin' abandoned him and holed yerself up-feelin' sorry fer yerself while he's sufferin' an' tryin' to put his life back together! You pushed Mum away when all she wanted to do was help yer lousy ass! Ya broke Taylor's heart by doin' the same to her! I'd kick yer ass for that alone! 'Oh, I'm sorry-I just couldn't deal with it!' Ain't it too fuckin' bad?? He's gotta deal with this for the rest of his life! Yer a selfish, spineless bastard!" Mick swallowed hard, as all the pent-up bitterness and anger laced each and every word. "Now here ya come, now that Dad's just startin' to get back on his feet, an' yer actin' like we're gonna just forget everything an' let it go-well, it ain't happenin'!" He spun to head back to the garage as Steve pulled in, curiously regarding the two.
Junior grabbed his arm, "Mick-! Wait a goddamn minute!"
"Piss off! Call someone who cares..." Mick whirled around and gave him a shove. Steve was already out of his car and heading to break the two up along with Kyle. A brawl with cars streaming in and out was an accident waiting to happen.
"No! You're gonna hold on and listen up!" Junior grabbed the boy in a bear-hug. He should have known better-Mick was every bit his father's son and arguing with a Waltrip was futile to say the least. He also underestimated the boy's strength as a vicious right-hook sent him sprawling. "Awwright, you little bastard! Now yer goin' down!" Junior lunged at Mick again, only to find Kyle's arms around his waist.
"DALE! Stop it!" Kyle yelled. "Are you out of your mind goin' after a kid like that?" That kid is as strong as a bull, Junior wanted to remind him but thought better of it.
Mick angrily scrambled to his feet and snarled at Junior; shaking his fist in his face, "FUCK OFF an' leave me the hell alone! I don't need your pity-neither does my Dad! Just leave us all alone!"
Steve gently put his arm around the seething lad, "C'mon Mick...let's get you back to the hauler-gotta cool down there, buddy." Mick shot Junior one more glare before he turned with Steve and left. The tension hung in the air like a shroud. Junior turned silently as dozens of eyes watched him depart; his soul bleeding.
As Junior headed for his own garage, a long, bony hand grasped his shoulder. Looking up into the wizened face of Richard Petty, he shook his head, "I'm sorry-all I tried to do was talk to him-I don't blame him for bein' mad-I don't blame him if he hates me."
"Stop talkin' like that. Yeah, he's mad, but he don't know no better right now. I'm gonna have a little talk with him right now. Fightin' with that boy ain't gonna get yer point home. He's a Waltrip, remember." Richard grinned sagely. "I think I can ease some sense into that hard, Waltrip noggin-I'm an authority on the species, ya know. Between fightin' with ol' DW and watchin' his Daddy whup the hell outta Kyle, I could write a book!"
Junior smiled sadly, "I think you an' dad were the only ones. Except Rory-she's the only other person I know that can put Michael in his place." He knew all to well that the genus Waltrip was not an easy creature to deal with.
"Y'all go on back to yer garage-don't say nothin' to Rory-she'll hang that boy by his ears." Junior nodded as the King walked back to his hauler.
Richard Petty walked into the lounge area of the hauler and promptly smacked Steve on the shoulder, "Don't know if I mentioned it or not, but congrats on that pole! Ya doin' good, son!" Steve bowed his head shyly, still not fully accepting the success he's had with Petty Enterprises. He hadn't finished out of the top 15 all year, much to the chagrin of Ty Norris and the rest of the skeptics. He currently rode 7th in points; a true testament to a dedicated driver and his team.
Richard looked at Mick's curled up form on the sofa; face still red and tear-streaked. He patted the boy on the shoulder and turned to Steve, "Uhm..if you don't mind, I wanna have a word with this young 'un."
"Yes, sir." Steve reluctantly headed for the door, "Uhm ..Mick? If ya wanna hang with me later, that's ok. I'll be around."
"I'll see ya...thanks, Steve." he whispered, almost afraid to look up at the older gentleman who situated himself on the end table. Sheepishly, he peered up as Richard regarded his godson quietly. "Well boy.."
"I'm sorry..." he uttered in a choked voice.
"Don't be sorry, son. Everyone knows how hard it's been for you. But this is the nature of the business, Mick. You want to be a driver some day-this is the risk you're gonna have to face. You can't hold onto grudges-Junior knows what he did was wrong. He made an awful mistake-now he's gonna have to live with it. So's yer Daddy. But you know somethin? There ain't a more forgiving man than your Daddy." Richard paused for a moment as Mick listened intently to him, "Oh sure, I've seen your Daddy so mad he once beat the hell out of Kyle for spinnin'' him out-an' you know those two are almost brothers. But that's where it would always end-he'd forget all about it the next day and go right back to racin'."
"But it hurts so much to see Dad like that...an' Junior hasn't even spoken with him since 'Dega...."
"You don't think Junior ain't hurtin'? Trust me-he's hurtin' right now like you wouldn't believe. To think that he almost lost the one man he loved almost as much as his own Daddy. An' I know it's killin' him to think that you hate him for what happened at Talladega. He just has his own way of dealing with his grief and regret."
Mick slowly nodded and slid off the sofa, Richard also rose from his perch. "So-where ya off to?"
"I think I've got some 'splainin' to do. I'll be over in the Budweiser garage-if he'll talk to me that is."
Richard smiled his mile-wide toothy grin, "Oh, I think he'll talk to ya, boy. He might want to take a little hide outta yer ass, but he'll talk to ya. Go on now."
The King watched Mick's tall form slip out into the gathering dusk and smiled. Age, treachery and 'sperience won out every time. Add another chapter to the "Waltrips for Dummies" journal..... Chapters 13-21