Chapter 11

Another Pepsi 400 was history and Junior was simply happy to be back on track with a top-10 finish. Watching Tony scamper up the catch fence to the flag stand, Junior grinned. Well if me or Michael couldn’t have this one, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving team, he mused as he peeled off his firesuit. Tossing on his street clothes, he wandered out of the Bud hauler, duffle bag in hand and wandered back out to the garage compound. The area was a flurry of crewmen rushing to load up and head home. Ruined cars were pulled to their haulers and dutifully loaded, some that were beyond hope were no doubt headed for a date with the scrapheap; sheet metal and tires to be cut up and sold for souvenirs. He sighed as he spotted Greg Biffle in an animated conversation with his crew chief and Stiffy. Foster, the massive Boxer sat patiently at Greg’s feet; his big, brown eyes glancing from his master to Stiffy as the two men bantered back and forth. Junior knew the 15 had blown a tire and took Biffle on it’s way out. He cast a glance at his team mate’s ruined car. A few short hours ago, it was the pride of the stable, now it was a smoldering pile of junk.

“Hey bro, ya seen Michael?” he wandered over next to his cousin. Biffle was still a little agitated but reason seemed to prevail. He knew Michael had no control of the car and he basically was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, like most racers, it would be added to his mental index ledger of wrecks and who-owed-who. Every driver carried such a ledger in the back of their mind-to be taken out and reviewed at a later date and race should the offender find himself in need of assistance from the offended.

“…guess I’ll chalk it up to one of those racin’ deals.” Biffle shrugged, “But tell your driver and his spotter to get his eyes checked!”

Get your own eyes checked, you bug-eyed fuckstick, Junior thought but wisely kept the opinion to himself. “Tough break, man…you had a good car tonight.” It was all the conversation he could manage at the moment.

“Michael said he’d be in his coach for a little while, I guess.” Stiffy sighed, “I dunno, Junebug…he was pretty tore up. You know him better’n anybody-I’d just let him alone if I was you…think he just wants to be left alone.” He knew it was over for Michael and he didn’t need the shredded remains of that contract he found in the garbage to tell him so. When he confronted Michael, the big man simply looked up from his reverie and sadly replied, “You and I both know what I had to do, TJ-finish this season in the top 10. It ain’t gonna happen unless we really wanna believe in miracles. You might’s well talk to Ritchie and go back to workin’ for Jr….I’m only makin’ ya look bad. Go work for a real driver.”

“Mike…” Stiffy had never felt so helpless in his life at that very moment; the big man looked like he was on the verge of falling apart before his eyes.

“Go on, Tony…nothin’ more to see here.” His driver whispered softly and with that, Michael had turned his back and retreated into the gloom of the hauler.

“Tony? Hey...! Did you hear a word I said?” Junior peered intently at his cousin. Before the crew chief could reply, Matt Kenseth rounded a corner and roughly grabbed Junior around the neck.

“Heeeeyyyyy! C’mon…we got a throw-down on the beach! Let’s go, man! Great run, bro…time to celebrate!”

“Aww..c’mon yerself, Matty…I’m tired and I gotta talk to Mike…”

Stiffy shook his head, “Go on, kid. It’ll do ya good, Mike’ll be ok…”

Junior cast one more look at the hauler, opened his mouth as if to say something and then relented with a shrug. “Ok…if you see him, tell Mike I’ll catch up with him later.”

Michael sadly watched as Junior, Matt and eventually, Stiffy himself departed for the post-race shindig. Heart, body and soul were aching as he watched until they were long gone; he was one with the deepening shadows. He felt as if the world itself was slipping away from him.

Welcome, NC

Richard Childress leaned back pensively in his thick leather recliner as the chimes in the antique Big Ben struck seven o’ clock. After all these years, he still held his breath and cast an eye towards the phone-it was about the time Dale always called. These past few weeks, Richard seemed particularly on edge. Oh, he attributed to his struggling teams and the clock ticking away as the season dwindled down but there was something else in the air. And it seemed to be emanating from none other than Dale’s protégés-namely his son and Michael Waltrip. There was something very odd going on in the pits the day Michael had won the pole at Pocono. He sighed as he sat in the deepening twilight; shadows of the day lengthening and the dim light glittering eerily off the glass eyes of the long-dead creatures that graced his walls and study. The macabre menagerie suited his mood perfectly tonight.

He remembered going down to congratulate the pilot of the Napa Chevrolet and briefly caught the eye of a weathered old man standing in the shadows. He remembered the double-take and then…well, nobody was there. He would have simply shrugged the whole incident off had it not been for Rusty’s haunted visage. He had bumped into the Miller driver and to revisit an old cliché, the man looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Over the next few weeks, Junior seemed overly preoccupied with the last moments of his father’s life; calling him at odd times-even into the wee hours of the night-with questions about his father. And Michael had effectively built a wall around himself-not unusual in itself given the man’s moody tendencies-but the isolation from his own family and Junior gave Richard the impression that something major was going on in the house that Dale built.

One question that Junior had asked of Richard troubled him deeply. “Did you see my Daddy after they took him to the hospital? Did you see him before he died?” Truth was, come to think of it, really saw Dale except Teresa-at least to Richard’s knowledge. He hadn’t really given it any thought at the time, but it bothered him now. He couldn’t give Junior a straight answer other than, “You ought to talk to Teresa ‘bout that.”

Then Junior said something that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise and sent a chill down his spine. “Well you didn’t see him, I didn’t see him…perhaps he didn’t die after all.”

Richard remembered advising Junior that he needed to take a vacation at the time and seriously thought that the stress of the infamous crew swap with Michael had finally done him in. Now, he wasn’t so sure…and the notion quietly horrified him.

As if on cue, the shrill ringing of his desk phone startled him out of his reverie. Now stop it! He angrily scolded himself. You’re letting your imagination run right away with you. It was only the phone; it was more than likely Jeff Burton or even Chocolate looking for a little conversation to pass the time. Hesitantly, he picked up the receiver. He didn’t recognize the phone number on the caller ID but perhaps one of the few individuals had gotten a new cell phone account. Perhaps it was simply a wrong number. But it was still seven o’clock…

“H-Hello?” His voice trembled slightly as if somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this was no wrong number.

“Richard..?” He nearly dropped the receiver as his head swam. This is ridiculous! I must be having some sort of nightmare. Or was it? Not everyday you get a phone call from the grave. Softer and not nearly as powerful, but it was still his voice on the other end of the line-there was no mistake and this was not a dream.

“Richard? You still there?”

Barely able to speak, Childress faintly nodded. “I-I’m here. Where are you, Dale?” What else could he say?

“Please listen to me…I’m living in upstate New York now…if you could call this livin’ that is.” He paused, idly wondering if Childress was still conscious at this point. “There’s people that I trusted and loved more than life itself that did me an injustice. I didn’t die four years ago-but I may as well have. I just starting to acknowledge who I was and I need to get home and set a few things right and settle a few old scores. Think you could help me out on this deal? You still there, Richard?”

“I-I don’t know what to say…this is well, pretty damned overwhelming. How the hell do I really know it’s you?” Oh, but he did know. There was no mistaking that voice and so many things were adding up. “Were you at Pocono? Just answer me that.”

“Yeah…I was there. I saw ya too but skedaddled before ya did a double-take. I did enjoy spookin’ the shit out of Rusty though….” A wry chuckle that sent the hairs on Childress’s head straight up came over the receiver. “If’n you don’t believe me, go see Michael. He’ll tell you-hell if it wasn’t for him, I’d have stayed content to live out what’s left of my life in the middle of nowhere.”

“But you can’t anymore…shit, Dale. That company you left is falling apart.”

“Ain’t much I can do there but perhaps we can fix a few things….”

“You coming back…that’s gonna be one helluva bomb…”

“I know…ain’t it fun?”

Chapter 12

Mooresville, NC

The two old friends rode in silence along route 3-how ironic, Childress thought wryly, as he cast a glance at his partner. The old man sat quietly gazing out the window, watching the once-familiar countryside roll by. Although he looked his usual calm and contemplative self, inside Richard Childress felt like he was being sucked into an emotional vortex. He had found himself at the airport early this morning; not at all sure as to what to expect from the visitor who exited his plane. After a night of sleeping it off, he had almost convinced himself that the pressures of the business had finally gotten to him and the old man was no more than a confused fan, a thorough con artist and more than likely, someone in dire need of psychiatric help.

Oh, he was convinced enough to tell himself that this would wind up being a quick, cordial visit to the museum to placate the old geezer and an equally quick dismissal. Until their gazes locked-that familiar, unwavering gaze and instant, heartbreaking recognition that blew all doubts away. Hair now nearly white and skin as weathered as leather belied the still-fierce glare that told him, “No…I’m not gonna let ‘em throw dirt on me yet!” He walked slowly and the pain from old injuries very evident yet the old cockiness and unyielding chip on his shoulder was still there for the entire world to see. He would never take a step back from anyone-he was Dale Earnhardt, back from the grave and the mists of the legend’s realm; sadly back among the living.

After the shock and tears of joy and rage had subsided, the two simply decided to take a ride. Not at all sure of where they were going but strangely, Richard felt as if it were in their best interest to keep moving and maintain as low a profile as possible. It was Thursday and soon enough, the place would bustling as the teams headed for New Hampshire. At the very least, Dale’s presence would draw more than a little unwanted attention. Yes, too risky to stay here Richard decided as the two climbed into the black Tahoe.

How could this have happened? Richard thought to himself. Who else was in on this besides Teresa and to some extent Ty Norris. Did the Eurys know? And just the thought of what had been taken from his kids…that alone sickened him. Sadly, Dale himself wasn’t much help in answering the hard questions-his own memories of 2001 were fleeting having spent most of the year semi-comatose. Some days those memories were as lucid as yesterday…sometimes he had trouble remembering what he had for supper.

“Well….where to?” Richard gave him a slight nudge; Dale seemed totally lost in thought as he gazed out the window. It was so good to see him again. Deep down, Richard always had a hard time believing he was ever gone; he never in a million years would’ve ever suspected how well the heart knew the truth all along.

Dale grinned, “I could use a haircut. And some new duds…I must look like a street bum. Can’t go waltzin’ into the board room lookin’ like a refugee from the Salvation Army!”

Eyebrows arched into his receding hairline, Richard looked at his companion astonished, “Are you serious? You’re honestly thinking of heading up to the shop so soon?” Shaking his head, he already knew Dale’s mind was made up. “I dunno if this is such a good idea…I think we should wait a little and set up a plan. I mean, I don’t think she’s gonna take this well…not well at all.” He honestly didn’t know if he was doing this for Dale’s benefit or Teresa’s. At the moment, he was so furious at the woman for her heinous deception, he felt like he could choke her with his bare hands.

“Could drop in on Michael and Junebug…”

Richard looked sharply at him, “Dale Jr. knows you’re alive??”

“Oh yeah…we’ve talked.” Dale shrugged.

“Uhm…well…it must’ve been one helluva shock for that poor kid! How bout Kerry, Kelley and Taylor? How ya gonna break the news to them?”

Dale sighed, “Don’t right know…I know June was gonna get ‘em together and tell them first. But I know this is fixin’ to become World War III….I just don’t know….it ain’t gonna be easy, I’ll tell ya that much. They’re gonna want to kill Teresa for what she did.”

“Why did she do this Dale?”

The old man sighed, “Guess she figgered I was gonna croak eventually and nobody would know the difference. Figured it would be in my best interest if the whole world thought I passed away quickly instead of lingering away as a vegetable. Not a fitting passing for The Intimidator.” He smirked at that last remarked, the bitterness was almost palpable.

Richard laughed hollowly, “Wait till you see the mausoleum they put up for ya…good Lord! Right behind the ol’ Garage Mahal!”

“You gotta be shittin’ me…a fuckin’ crypt??? Behind the raceshop????”

“Now would I shit you? You’re my favorite turd!” Both man laughed and the years melted away. “Oh, that thing’s a little ways off from the shop so the fans wouldn’t turn it into some shrine but it’s there…not too far from the main house.”

“I wonder who’s in it…” Dale mused. “Dammit! I want to know! I don’t want some bum’s carcass in my goddamn crypt! I’m gonna go dig the bastard up!”

“Now stop it! This is getting’ morbid! Besides, I honestly don’t think anything’s in that crypt. They had the funeral, the ceremony but I don’t think anybody ever saw the crypt being sealed. Teresa kept saying how it was your final wishes and such….”

“Such a buncha bullshit….” Growled Dale, “Ok..I’m getting’ too pissed off to deal with that bunch rationally. You win. Let’s go see what Michael and that boy are up to.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

At that moment, while Dale and his former boss were getting re-acquainted, Michael stared into his coffee cup while Junior paced the kitchen.

“So, it’s just like that. You’re actually quitting the team at the end of the season.” Junior glared, getting more furious by the minute. “And just where the fuck do you think you’re going with this? Do you actually have a ride lined up or do I have to consult Jayski to get the scoop?”

“June…it’s done. I’ve made my decision and I don’t want to fight with you right now. Do you honestly think this was easy for me? Especially with your Daddy back and all he’s done for me?”

“That’s right.” Junior hissed. “You remember that. It’d break his heart to know you’re leaving! Michael-awww goddammit anyway! I hate it when you’re like this! Every goddamn time the goin’ gets tough, you find a hole to crawl into and ya pull the hole in after yourself!” He dropped to his knees beside Michael and wrapped his arms around him. “Mike-I still need you…Daddy needs you. Don’t do this to us!”

Michael’s reserve was already breaking down. “June…listen to me. DEI’s giving me a year with a three year option. Sound’s nice on paper but with Martin coming on board next year and the limited garage space that we have, it just doesn’t bode well for me. I’ve got to have a decent car and come next year, those resources that would be available to me are going to be severely limited. That’s not what I want and you know damned well that Napa hasn’t been happy with the way the car’s been runnin’” He paused for a moment, choosing his words with care. “Yes, I know I’ve made my share of mistakes, but Christ June, Helen Keller could see that there were a lot of issues with the equipment I was given. Plus the game of musical crew chiefs hasn’t helped-I just got over Slugger stabbing me in the back and Stiffy has helped me a lot but in order for me to be successful, I need him to pit me next year and it just looks like this isn’t in the cards.” He looked at Junior carefully, “Is it?”

“Mike…I don’t know what to say. I know you and Tony are close but you know it was also Daddy’s plan for us to be a team and win some championships too. I know he’s done wonders for ya, Mike but we just couldn’t promise him to your team.”

“And how does he feel about this? You gave him fuckin’ ulcers with your tantrums and this is the first time in years he hasn’t had to start a race by downing a bottle of Pepto-Bismol!”

Junior looked sadly at Michael. He didn’t know how to respond to him. Team racing could not always afford itself to be charitable-even to a team mate. He didn’t like it but that’s the way things were and had to be. He also understood Michael’s position and it made it all the more difficult.

“Are you pissed at me Mike?” He said softly. “You know I can’t always help the way things turn out around here.”

Michael swallowed and laid his head against Junior’s shoulder. “N-no…I know it ain’t your fault.”

“So…uhm…what about us?”

Michael sighed, “I don’t know…ain’t nothin’ feels right anymore. I do love you and always will.”

“I just don’t want to loose you…”

“You won’t. I promise.”

Junior looked up into Michael’s face for the first time since the argument started. Big hands gently brushed away the tears.

“Mike…I just don’t want to see you not drivin’ next year. Who are you gonna drive for?”

“Well Rusty’s ride is open and Jack kinda hinted that Mark’s would be open next year too..that is if the old coot doesn’t stay. Don’t worry bout me, kiddo….I’ve been through this before.” Michael tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Just don’t feel like I’m abandoning you…we’ll still work together-if you can keep up with me, that is!”

Michael rose from where he had been sitting at the table and poured another cup of coffee. The early morning sun blazed golden in the kitchen. Junior silently studied Michael’s face, noticing the deep lines around his eyes and streaks of grey in his unruly hair. Younger men and women had vied for his attention but the big man by the counter still owned his heart. Quietly, he slipped behind Michael, wrapped his arms around his abdomen and rested his head on those broad shoulders. T-shirt damp with the sweat of an earlier run; sweat that mingled with the scent of his aftershave and strong coffee. He slowly ran his hands over the muscular torso and gently nuzzled the space between his neck and shoulders. Michael responded with a sigh and settled back against him, nuzzling the top of his head.

“Bedroom?” he grinned, lightly nibbling Junior’s ear.

“Hmmm-hmmm….I always thought that the best part of arguing was the makin’ up…”

“We were arguin’?”

“I guess so. I reckon I was kinda dumb for gettin’ all hormonal on ya..”

“Hormonal??” Michael laughed as he pulled Junior into the bedroom. “That’s something I’d expect from Buffy.” He playfully rubbed Junior’s now-bare belly. “I didn’t knock ya up did I? As weird as things have been around here lately, nothing would surprise me anymore…”

“Jeeeezzzus! Can you imagine? I’d look pretty stupid in a maternity firesuit….” He straddled Michael playfully, “Besides, it’s my turn to be on top!”

Michael closed his eyes as he laid back as his lover’s hands worked their magic on his body. “Mmmm…tell ya what…I’ll just lay here and be your toy. Play with me anyway you want…just don’t toss me in the corner when you’re done….”

Chapter 13

DEI Headquarters, Mooresville.

“Mmmm…tell ya what…I’ll just lay here and be your toy. Play with me anyway you want…just don’t toss me in the corner when you’re done….” Junior closed his eyes as Michael’s words echoed in his mind. This is it, he thought as he glanced at mask of fury on Michael’s face, this is finally the beginning of the end. His mind raced back to earlier this afternoon, blissfully wrapped in the sanctuary of Michael’s embrace; the memory now ripped to shreds. Everything had come undone-he could have prevented this and he knew it. The evidence of his betrayal was reflected in the stony glare his own father shot him as he turned his back and walked away, perhaps forever. Now I know how Judas felt, Junior thought miserably. As if reading his thoughts, Michael glared at him briefly, momentarily suspending his rage from Gilmore and Teresa.

Good! Drown in your own misery! Those fierce, stone-blue eyes seemed to say. The painful flashback ran like a defective news-reel as he sat with his head in his hands, remembering how it all started…..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shrill ringing of the phone on the nightstand struck like an ice pick; rattling the golden bliss of the late afternoon. Michael squeezed his eyes shut, somehow hoping if he simply ignored the intrusion, the intruder would go away. Beside him, Junior snored away-completely oblivious. I knocked your ass out, didn’t I… Michael chuckled softly to himself as he rose a sitting position, still shaking the cobwebs from his mind. The phone kept ringing. Glaring, he recognized the number: R. Gilmore. Fuck.

“Yeah?” he growled into the receiver.

“Well good morning to you too, sunshine! Just wanted to let you know that I’m holding your letter of resignation in my hand and I’d appreciate it if you would be so kind to join us at 3-seems we need to discuss this sudden organizational restructuring.”

Michael, now fully awake, “Listen, there’s no need to hold a company meeting. I’m going to fulfill my contract obligations; I’m not bailing on anybody.”

“No-you listen!” Gilmore snapped, “Contrary to popular belief, I’m calling the shots, Michael. I don’t want any bullshit from either of you-you can be gone right now! And this is just a warning to Junior-whenever he gets his lazy ass up-if he doesn’t like it, it’s just too goddamn bad. This move’s on you, Waltrip.”

Michael looked at the clock-1:45-and sighed as he gently nudged Junior, “Ok…ok..we’ll be there in a bit.”

“You’d better.” Click.

Michael groaned as he swung his long legs out of bed, yawning and stretching. Playfully, he tugged on Junior’s exposed toe as it poked from under the covers. “C’mon, Bedbug, we gotta roll. Gilmore wants us down at HQ….probably gonna ream my ass about resigning but that’s what the motherfucker wanted all along.”

“Shit.” He knew this meeting was coming but was hoping it could wait until they were back from Loudon. No such luck…there was still enough time for Junior to salvage this season and reclaiming his old team and those resources promised to the Napa Chevrolet could ensure that. He hated that he had to do this to Michael, but had he only an inkling of the treachery to come; he would have moved Heaven and Earth to stop it.

He closed his eyes as he remembered another meeting with Teresa after Daytona. She seemed a bit rattled or perhaps it was just the stress of this season in Hell. She had been the one who had delivered the news of Michael’s imminent resignation. “If he hadn’t turned his papers in, we would have had to relieve him of his position anyway. He was emotionally unstable at Daytona.” She said this in a detached sort of way, as if she were only discussing the weather and not someone who had been considered a long-time friend.

Junior narrowed his eyes as he regarded her. Michael unstable? Depressed about the way things have been going lately and all the bad luck-yes. Who could blame him? “That’s nuts, Ter….he’s just a little upset…” “I’d say so-first he came on to me. I brushed him off and he started raving about your father…talking all sorts of nonsense…he’s not right, June. He shouldn’t even be driving…” She turned her back on him as he stared, astonished and remembering how highly agitated his teammate was on the night of the 4oo.

Lost in thought, Junior didn’t hear the front door open or even notice who had come up the driveway. Michael was already downstairs, half-dressed. Hopping about on one foot as he pulled on his running shoes, he flung open the door with a wide grin.

“Hey! Whatarya doin’ down here?? Dang! And we gotta a meetin’ to go to down at HQ…” Dale chuckled as he grabbed Michael in a bear-hug, momentarily silencing his banter while Richard Childress stood smiling warmly behind him.

“I just couldn’t stay forever.” Dale grinned as he practically choked Michael; mussing his hair even further. “You go on and do whatever ya gotta…..we’ll be down at Lancaster’s stuffin’ our faces on pig sammiches. Just don’t take all day, I missed the hell out of you, boy!” He gave him one final smack upside the head, “When ya gonna get that mop cut?? Looks like someone took a Weedwhacker to ya!”

Upstairs, Junior cringed as he recognized his father’s voice. As if things couldn’t go more awry, he thought grimly. His father’s sudden arrival back from the grave wasn’t part of his plan at the moment. He bristled slightly as he watched Dale and Richard with their arms around Michael as if he was the original prodigal son. A twinge of jealousy surged through him. Things were definitely going to change around here; he decided that the day Michael had told him of his father’s existence among the living. The thought of losing Michael, destroying his love and trust, hurt like hell but if it meant bridging the gulf between his father and himself, perhaps it would be worth a few sacrifices. Only together could they repair the damage that Teresa and Gilmore had done to the company Dale had so carefully nurtured.

“Damn you Waltrip, you old bastard! And you kept this a secret from me?” Childress laughed as he too, grabbed Michael. “Thank you, Michael. Thank you for bringing him home.” He whispered.

Great, Junior mused as he observed this exchange; he’s got Richard in his pocket too. I’ll give you this much, Mike, you sure know how to play your hand and build your allies. Enjoy the moment, because you’re gonna need all the help you can get.

“Just waitin’ for the right time, RC.” Michael muttered. “Hey June! Get your tail down here, boy!” He hollered up the stairs.

Junior thudded down the stairs as he managed to paste a smile on his face. “Hey y’all. Didn’t expect to see ya for another few weeks.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Dale grinned, “Like I told Mikey, wild horses couldn’t keep me from my boys. So what’s this big meetin’ about?”

For a moment, two pairs of Earnhardt blues regarded one another. “Some changes down at the shop, Daddy. Seems like Michael’s got him some better options than we could offer.” He said flatly, never wavering.

Michael sucked his breath in sharply, “June-you didn’t have to put it like that now…was that really necessary?” He looked helplessly at Dale and Richard’s shocked expressions.

Only momentarily taken aback, Dale looked at his old friend, “Is that true, Mike?” he asked softly. If he saw the briefest flash of triumph on Junior’s face, he didn’t show it. In fact, much to his son’s chagrin, he simply shrugged. “Well, given all the shit you’ve been takin’, can’t say I blame ya. You know damned well I’d never have allowed you or Park to come to this. You woulda both been champions if I had anything to do with who got what equipment-those cars woulda been dead equal when they dropped the green rag and ya know it.”

He smirked at Junior’s now-speechless countenance. “What? You think I don’t know what’s been goin’ on down here?” Before Junior could turn his fury to Michael, he waved him off. “Nope..don’t even think of lightin’ in to Michael. He loves you too much to stab you in the back like that-and that’s more than I can say for some of the dirt you done him over the past few years. All that smack you was talkin’ to the press there at Daytona a couple years back-why I woulda knocked you into next week for airin’ the company dirty laundry like that!”

“Dale-please don’t…it’s done and over…” Michael pleaded. Richard shook his head, “Mike, it’s things that shoulda been said long time ago…”

“And why are you bringin’ Steve Park into this?” Junior snapped, his voice rising.

“Why you ask? Why indeed…” Dale looked at him, unblinking, every bit the Intimidator of old, “Why was it every time one of your team mates was runnin’ good, did you have to throw such a fit till both Michael and Steve was runnin’ R & D parts just to make you look good? I might have been flat on my back there for awhile, but I still followed what was goin’ on. Steve wins at Rockingham-you have a malfunction till he gets the biggest piece of crap in the barn to drive. Michael wins his second 500-you start slammin’ him at a press conference! Now you’re holdin’ his job over his head, tellin’ him he’s gotta finish in the top-10 by year’s end, yet here ya are-you’re fixin’ to implode a good crew, take his crew chief away and the best cars in his garage. Now ‘splain that one to me!”

“But I thought you’d want Tony Jr. and me back together-him as my crew chief. You said we were gonna win championships together…isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course I want to see you win a championship-Michael too. But not when you have to crucify your own teammate to get it! Hell, if that’s the way it’s supposed to be done, then it pretty much looks like there’s no place for me here. This ain’t how I raised ya, boy. I thought maybe if I was back home, I could somehow get yer head on straight. And for the most part, you are doin’ ok. But I’d like to see ya do things a little more my way, otherwise Teresa’s gonna run DEI right into the ground.”

Not sure why he said the next words or where they even came from except via the heat of the moment, Junior returned the icy glare, “Look-all these years, you’ve been dead. You died at Daytona and I’ve had to manage my life on my own. Oh Michael’s been a big help here and there, but I’ve become my own man. Maybe I don’t need you as much as I thought. It’s pretty obvious that you’ve always loved Michael more than me anyway. Bottom line-I ain’t like you. I’m never gonna be like you-I’m me, plain an’ simple. Get used to it, because it’s the way things are gonna be now.” The minuet those words left his lips, he instantly regretted it as he glanced at Michael’s shattered expression.

“Well. I guess that’s it then. Good luck at your meeting-sound’s like it’s pretty much your show now.” Dale said simply. “If and when you ever think you might need some advice, you always know how to find me.” He gently squeezed Michael’s arm on the way out the door, “Stop by the bar afterward Mikey-we ain’t goin’ nowhere for awhile. You’re gonna need a few drinks after those jackals get through with you.” With that, he turned with Childress and left.

Michael and Junior stood silently watching Childress’ vehicle depart. “Come on-we better get going.” Junior said quietly.

“I’ll drive myself.”

“Fine.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Now here they were, seated around a large mahogany table with an ornate oil portrait of his father staring down at him. The tension in the room had already the boiling point when Teresa threw out the first volley.

“I’m shocked that you didn’t consider our offer of a years’ contract with the 3-year option. I thought it was rather generous considering your performance of late.”

Michael, already frazzled to the core, glared at her. He was about to explode; jaw clenched and eyes flashing in the dim light like blue lightning. “If it hadn’t been for your stepson and a flat tire, three blown engines and a host of other shit, I’d be about 6th in points right now. You would’ve had another Daytona trophy to gloat over right now. You can be assured, Dale’s not too pleased with the way you’ve been mindin’ the store lately…” He smiled with mock sweetness as she whirled on him.

“Michael, what the hell are you talking about? This is the second time you’ve made mention of my husband as if he were still alive. You seriously ought to look into some counseling and a little time off, my friend.” She glanced at Junior, who at the moment wished that he was elsewhere. He knew where this was heading and it wasn’t about to get any prettier. Beside him, Tony Eury Sr, “Pops”, looked at her questioningly.

“Ter, you’re tellin’ us that this driver here is hallucinating? Bad enough what happened at Lowe’s, but did ya stop to think that maybe he’s got some head injury?”

“Michael thinks Dad’s alive somehow.” Junior said quietly, not looking up as Michael stared at him in utter amazement.

“Who the hell do you think we were talkin’ with just before we left the house??” He shouted.

Junior stared straight at him, “Richard Childress. He came by to see if we wanted to go to Lancaster’s tonight-remember? Ter’s right, Michael-I think you need to check in some place and get straightened out. Folks gonna start talkin’….as if they didn’t enough already.”

“Just where do you think you’re gonna go next season? As it stands, you’re over 40, you’re record pretty much speaks for itself and if you think that Napa is going to follow you out the door, you probably are crazy.” Gilmore leaned back, smiling, knowing the trap had already been set.

“You wanna think I’m crazy? Fine. I’ll live with that. I will have another ride next year if I have to drive my own stuff. Right now, I don’t think there’s anything else to discuss.” He pushed the signed copy of his resignation to Teresa.

“My work’s done here. Thanks for the memories.” He added not without a bit of sarcasm. “I’m done with DEI and” he glanced at Junior, who sat studying his hands, “I’m done with you. Have a nice life.”

After Michael left, Teresa, Gilmore and Hmiel all walked out together. Pops looked quizzically at Junior, eyes still downcast. “I know that was hard but we had to do it.” He gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before he too left.

Now alone-finally. Junior hugged himself, sobbing as his own heart broke, ashamed of his treason yet knowing that Pops was right for all their sakes.