CHAPTER 6

Dillon was just getting out of the shower when the knock sounded on his apartment door. That firm, no nonsense knock was either the police or Danica. Pulling on a T-shirt and shorts, he ran to answer the door.

His sister pushed past him into the apartment, dressed for work. "You called, I'm here. You sounded really worried on the phone. I have to get to the diner tonight, so is this a Mom and Dad thing, or something else? Cause if it's them, I need to be prepared for the usual lectures."

He ushered her inside, smiling at her tone. His big sister was someone he could always count on to listen to him. "It's not a Mom and Dad thing yet. No, I just wanted to tell you; I'm going to compete in that rally. The Dead Man's Run."

Her smile was genuine when she hugged him. "That's great news. Did Sammy finally come to his senses?"

"No. He's gone for good, I think. The company supplied a gunner. She's pretty good, too. And we clicked in the car. Better than I have with anyone else."

"She? And you two clicked? My, my, my. Tell me more." She sat on the arm of the couch, a small smile spreading over her face.

A blush spread over his cheeks. "It's not like that. She's a good shot and knows her stuff. And she listens to me."

"What's her name?"

"Kayla."

"Is she cute?"

"Danica! Are you even listening to me? We're a team in an autoduel event. It's not about how cute she is or whether she's Basher's daughter."

His sister's eyes opened wide. "Oh my. The boss's daughter. Aiming high, aren't we?" She punched his shoulder lightly. "And why not?"

"Danica!" This time the name came out slightly shrill. "Will you listen to me! Forget about Kayla. I told him I thought we could win."

Shrugging, she settled herself more comfortably on the couch. "So? I think you can, too."

He leaned back against the wall, hands in his hair. Staring at the ceiling, he pronounced the next words like they were his doom. "I told Basher Battaglia I could win a competition, in a car he's sponsoring, for a ten-million-dollar prize."

When his sister didn't respond, he looked down at her. She was only smiling that smile, the one he'd seen a hundred times before when she was encouraging him onward.

"Danica, he's sponsoring our team and providing the vehicle. He's got mechanics, weapons, ammunition… We're talking hundreds of thousands of dollars he's spending, and he’s expecting to win millions!" He trailed off and sank to the floor. In a small voice, he asked "What if I can't do it?"

In a soft voice, she said, "I know you can do it. And you know you can do it, too, and you're afraid to admit to yourself that you can. Don't be afraid of success, Dillon. Believe it or not, that's what mom and dad have been trying to teach you all these years."

He stared at her, fears momentarily forgotten. "When did you get to be a psychologist?"

She stood, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I was our bartender for a long time. Still do it sometimes. You get to learn a lot about people that way. I gotta head out to work, Dillon. Go out there and race that race, brother. Show them you got what it takes to win it all."

Standing and moving next to his sister, he put a hand on her shoulder before opening the door. "Thanks, Dani."

She kissed him on the cheek, her eyes serious. "Just drive, Dillon. Let the boss and his daughter worry about everything else. You just drive your way back to us, alive."

***

Eric sat in his office, multiple windows open on his triple-monitor setup. Their glow reflected in the windows, nighttime settling across the city of Denver. Despite the lights glowing in the distance, the lean man had no attention for them. The screen in front of him showed the map of the road rally, aerial images of the final destination, and several tabs worth of information about the various states they’d be driving through. He'd been trying to make sense of a nagging question for hours.

Why Sturgis? Why some backwater has-been of a place that wasn't even a home for racers? They could have picked almost any other place in the country to put the finish at. There aren't even good roads there anymore.

Leaning back in frustration, he rubbed his tired eyes. Ever since Nico gave him the full particulars, this one detail kept setting off alarms in his head. It was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. The historical quote fit the situation the best, because he couldn't make heads or tails of the solution.

This competition has hundreds of millions of dollars riding on it, the future reputation of the AADA, and they're ending it in a place that doesn't have an arena or a broadcast station. There's something else here. The trick is figuring out what it is and just who wants it. They went to all the trouble of arranging a nationwide race just to get a bunch of trigger-happy gearheads at Sturgis. Then what happens?

That last question bothered him most of all.

***

Rebekah Walton sat at her desk, carefully editing her article on the Dead Man’s Run. The AADA announced this event only a few days ago, and she was bound and determined to get the lead reporting role for it. After all, she’d been covering the sport for Denver and Colorado in general for years now. She was the natural choice, she thought, and it wouldn’t hurt to remind her viewers they would get the best commentary from her.

An email popped into her inbox. It was a press release from someone called ATSS Inc., and they’d sent it to all the major news organs in the state. She read it quickly, and then needed to reread when her eyes stopped at two words: Dillon Hodges.

That twerp is driving for them? How in the world did he manage to get a sponsorship from them? I wonder if they realize just what a public relations nightmare he is? Does he know someone there? Is this a story beyond just the sport?

She opened a new file and started framing the questions on the screen, along with the facts she knew and the things she suspected.

***

"He's staring at the camera again," said the man behind that device. Dillon started and blinked his eyes several times.

"Sorry. Sorry. I just… forgot."

Nico sighed and rubbed his forehead. Waving a hand at his public affairs people posing as a mock reporter and cameraman, he said, "Take a break. Let me talk with him again."

The young driver leaned back against the prop representing the side of his car, then jumped forward when it started to tip over under his weight. His face red, he raised the helmet in his hands to his face. "I suck at this!"

His CEO mode put aside, Nico laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Look, just about everyone gets a little stage fright when that lens is on them. You get bombarded with questions and everyone wants to know how you feel. It's enough to get anyone's head in a twist."

Shaking his head, Dillon threw up his hands in frustration. "It's… not that. I'm not twisted--I mean, I know what I want to say. I know the answers I want to give to the questions. It's just… nothing moves from my brain to my lips."

"Well, you sure knew what to say, and you said it easily enough when it was just you and me. You also didn't have any problems convincing us to upgrade the tires on our design. You made good, well-thought-out points in your argument. You got me to agree from the driver's perspective and Kayla to agree from a logical perspective."

Dillon let the helmet swing down and he faced his sponsor. "That was easy. I mean, you guys know what we're trying to do, and you have the experience to understand."

"Do you think the reporters, and maybe even the audience won't understand what you want to tell them? Isn't that a bit egotistical, assuming they're not smarter than you? Kid, a lot of those fans can recite details about their favorite car or arena record that even the driver or gunner doesn't know."

"No!" The word came out in a low tone and with enough force to make the older man give him a sidelong glance. "I know how smart they are, and what they look for. I see them all the time in my parent's restaurant. I hear them talking about the events, the cars, the crews… all of it. And when the camera's not on me, I can give them my opinion on those things without freezing up."

"Then it's not a lack of knowledge, it's not a lack of will, and it's not a lack of interest. Alright, don't beat yourself up. We still have more time to work on this before the flag drops. We'll figure something out. Go get something to eat, cause Kayla's got the sim up with what we think is the final weapons loadout. We'll get some more familiarization drills in tonight."

Nodding dejectedly, Dillon trudged out of the room. Nico motioned to his people. "Start thinking of ways to interview him where there isn't a camera in his line of sight. Maybe seeing that thing causes some kind of mental block. And for God's sake, no one mention the pre-event interviews tomorrow. He'll just fret himself all night and look like crap on camera. Better to hit him with it and see how he reacts."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The cameraman looked thoughtful. "What about a camera in the car? Concealed in the dash? We know the AADA has plans for live commentary. If he thinks it's audio-only, then maybe he won't freeze up. We can feed him questions on a side screen, and if he thinks he's only talking to us and not the public, then that should eliminate the camera fright."

Nodding, Nico said, "Good idea. I like it. I'll tell Kayla to get one mounted. Work with her on the best angle. Now, on to our next task," and he turned to look at his head of public affairs. "Monica, we need to finalize our social media plan for engagements. I want to know what feeds, frequency of posts, other channels we might want to crossfeed to, all that. You know what I'm talking about. Figure out what kind of input we need from the crew, and how to upload that. Now that I'm done telling you how to do your jobs, any questions for me?"

They both shook their heads and he left, heading for his office. He needed a drink.

He stopped by Eric's office on his way up. The tall man was just finishing up a conference call with the rest of the entrants and the AADA planners. "Any updates on the route?" He motioned for the man to follow him to his office.

The director gave him a disgusted look when he stood up, smoothing the front of his suit jacket. "The governor won't budge on the Eisenhower tunnel. Too much risk of damage, they say. It's an important connection for the trucking companies, and they're throwing a shit fit about the potential delays the racers might cause on I-70. There were even some veiled threats about shooting any autoduellist that got too close. The AADA is now looking at a southerly route, down to Pueblo, west to Montrose, up to Grand Junction, and then on to Salt Lake from there. It's going to add a lot of miles to the trip. On the other hand, that's more time for crazy shit to happen, and that’s good for ratings."

"They'd better get that settled soon. We need… Excuse me, my director of field operations needs enough time to pre-position mechanics and supplies."

Eric gave him the Bird as they entered the office. "I can, and have, moved mountains on a day's notice. Usually because you had a wild hair up your ass about something. Mind you, just because I can do it doesn't mean I like to do it. At least this will all be in state for this leg. I've started lining up charters for heavy-lift helicopters. That's going to be the quickest way to get stuff in and out of the backroads areas. Salt Lake has a good airport but hell, once we get into Montana, all bets are off."

Basher went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of bourbon. They sat and sipped, and he said, in an offhand tone, "Dillon and Kayla seem to be getting on well."

Eyeing him over the rim of his glass, Eric only took a sip and leaned back into his chair. "That's good."

"She hasn't given him her patented 'engineer death glare' yet. Probably because he has enough sense not to question the weapons loadout."

"Smart kid."

The big man set his glass down a little too hard on the desk. "Dammit, Eric. Aren't you the least bit concerned over my daughter putting her life at risk in this race with a man we barely know!"

With a sigh, Eric loosened his tie and leaned forward, glass held in both hands. "I wondered how long the CEO was going to keep the father bottled up. Okay, Nico, here's how I see this. One, she's your daughter, through and through. Both of you, once you're convinced you've analyzed the situation correctly, are unstoppable in executing your chosen plan. She's decided she's the best choice for the gunner, and she's executing that plan. It's too late now to back out, so let's put that point aside."

He held up the glass of whiskey, peering at his old friend through the amber liquid. "Two, I did the work to find us a good driver. I'd like to think I'm also pretty good at analyzing things and finding the right people. I know we have a damned good driver. He'll do his best to win, and that means staying alive. He'll do his best to keep Kayla alive, especially now that you've been pounding teamwork into him. Besides, we've seen enough of how he operates now to know he isn't the type to sacrifice people to win."

Basher stood up abruptly, his huge fist carefully controlling the glass so nothing spilled. He went to stand by the window, staring out across the city. Eric waited, content to let him work things out for himself.

"Alright. Dammit. As usual, you have to go and bring logic into the argument, and I can't argue with any of it."

Smiling, Eric swallowed the last of the whiskey and stood. "Now it's up to you to do your part. You know what has to be done to win this thing. You know what the kids need and you know what you need to do to handle the other companies that are fielding teams. This may be a group effort until Sturgis, but that doesn't mean someone won't let something slide out on the road."

"Right. Time to make some calls and make sure everyone is ready to play nice."

***

Dillon arrived at the ATSS building the next afternoon, after a breakfast shift at the diner. He now possessed a pass that let him into the lab without an escort, and he wanted some more time behind the wheel of the simulator. Kayla finally settled on the design last night, and her email with the specs made it difficult for him to get to sleep. He figured he could get at least an hour before the scheduled activities started.

On entering the building, he found the lobby was full of people, all of them gathered around Nico and Eric. The two men were standing in the center of a circle of lights, with a tripod-mounted camera facing them. Kayla stood to one side, dressed in her racing coveralls and typing one-handed on her tablet.

Feeling overwhelmed by the activity, Dillon made his way to his gunner's side, dodging people moving around with cameras, lights, and other gear. "Um, what's going on?"

"Pre-event interviews followed by a launch event. The AADA is going to use them to build up the hype for the Dead Man's Run. People can see who the teams are racing for their city. She looked over at him, taking in his regular clothes. "Go ahead and change. Your suit is on a stand over there, and you can use the men's room here in the lobby. They won't start for at least another half an hour or more, and probably lead off with Dad, and it's better to be ready."

Numbly, he nodded and shuffled off to get changed. This morning was turning out to be nothing like he'd imagined.

Fifteen minutes later, he was changed and holding his helmet in one hand. The buzz of activity hadn't slowed, just shifted its focus. There was a car parked outside now, and Kayla was showing it off to the crowd of media people while they took video and still shots from various angles. It took him a moment to realize this was their car; the actual one for the rally. He made his way outside, curiosity building.

The differences between his competition car and this one were like night and day. The paint was fresh and unmarred, for one. The ATSS logo stood out on the door and the hood. The chrome was bright and new on the narrow barrel of the turret-mounted flamethrower, and while he watched, Kayla swung the turret back and forth several times for the media shots. Just barely visible in the front and back were the barrels for the machine guns and heavy cannon. The armored wheel hubs covering the tires completed the look.

Slowly, he walked around the vehicle, trailing his fingers over the body. The ceramic armor was cool under his touch, and he smiled at the untouched treads of the high-density radial tires. When he got to the driver's door, he saw Kayla sitting in the gunner's seat, working on the computer. She smiled at him and motioned for him to get inside.

The seat felt like he was settling into an old friend. It was nothing like his simple, bare bones frame and cushion in his car. This one cradled him, with the edges coming to cushion his neck and knees. The M-shaped steering controls were familiar from his time in the sim, buttons beckoning for his touch. Everything seemed right to him, like he was home from a long journey and found everything the way he'd left it.

Kayla leaned forward, her head next to his, and pushed the Start button. The powerplant hummed to life, and she asked, "What do you think?"

He was too engrossed in looking around the car to notice the hesitancy in her tone, taking in the displays while they came to life. "It’s amazing. This… it’s the best car I’ve ever seen."

She chuckled, soft breath in his ear. He turned to see that she was grinning ear to ear, a smile that lit up her eyes. "I’m glad you like it. We’re going to be spending a lot of time here, and it needs to feel right. I spent a lot of late nights working on the design."

The dashboard layout was just like the simulator, right down to the ruggedized mounts. He used the buttons on the steering wheel to page through the weapons listing. "Front and rear mounted Javelin cannons, linked twin machine guns, and the flamethrower in the turret. That's the configuration we practiced with the most."

His gunner nodded, satisfaction on her face. "The data analysis supported that employment. A good mix of firepower and placement, given your driving ability."

"And your gunnery skill?"

She blushed slightly and continued on. "I put a lot of time into putting the data we gathered into the sims into a high-confidence result."

He was about to say that it was worth it, and then a microphone appeared in front of his face, shoved through the window. Rebekah Walton’s voice came next.

"Mr. Hodges, can you give us your initial impression of your new car? You’ve never driven for ATSS before, so how did you come to terms with them? Will this sponsorship continue past the Dead Man’s Run? Is there anything you want to tell your fans about this contest?"

Kayla squeezed his shoulder with one hand and remained where she was. Her presence was comforting, making the question less invasive. "Well, Rebekah, this is the best car I’ve ever driven. We’re going to be able to do a lot–"

He was cut off by Eric’s appearance at the reporter’s side. He took her arm in a firm and gentle grip and waved a finger in her face. "Now, now, Ms. Walton. You know the schedule. Interviews are later on, after the introductions and car review."

She smiled and withdrew the microphone, displaying blindingly white teeth in an artificially pleasant expression. "Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Williamson. Dillon and I know each other from the arena, and I thought he could give me a teensy scoop on the other stations. No harm, right, Dillon?"

"Sure thing, Rebekah. You heard the man. I have to follow the schedule. We’ll talk later, okay?"

The reporter turned her shiny smile on all of them before walking away. Dillon sank back in his seat, aware of his heart racing. Kayla leaned on his seat back and frowned.

"She doesn’t like you. I mean, she got upset at Eric for interrupting her scheme, but she doesn’t like you at all, Dillon. What happened?"

He closed his eyes. "We go way back. She was just starting out, and her assignment as covering the arena fights. I got my first win about the same time, and she was bound and determined to get a ground-breaking interview with the guy who won while doing the least amount of damage to his opponents. I don’t know if she thought that was the story or that I had somehow cheated, but her questions got a little overboard. I… shut down, hardly speaking at all. I heard later her producers got really pissed at the blown interview. They blamed her lack of skill, and she blamed me."

Eric whistled low while he leaned on the window. "Sucks to be you, man. Seeing as how she’s the lead on this whole rally and all."

Dillon felt his heart sink. "I am so dead. She’s going to screw us over on the coverage, I just know it."

"Not if you make the coverage worth her while. All right, kids. Play time’s over. Time to be nice with the officials. They need to inspect the car to make sure it complies with the rules. Out you go."

They were required to stand at least twenty feet away from the inspection team, and the five men and women checked every weapon, every system of the car with meticulous attention to detail.

Kayla stood with her arms crossed, a smirk on her face. "Good luck finding a violation. I triple-checked everything before we went to production. They won’t find a thing."

Dillon wasn’t watching the team. Instead, he kept a weather eye out for Rebekah, sure that she would try again to catch him in some kind of slip up. Eric elbowed him in the ribs after one too many glances around the room.

"Easy, kid. Calm yourself. That reporter chick isn’t going to come near us again until it’s time for the formal interviews. All you’re doing is making people think you’re nervous about the inspection, the competition, or your gunner. Just take it easy."

"Easy for you to say," Dillon muttered. "You don’t have to go in front of a camera and make a fool of yourself." He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

"Keep working on it. Remember the catchphrases. Now, I’ve got to go mingle. Stay loose and keep calm. You got this, Dillon." And with that he moved into the crowd, gliding through the knots of people like a shark swimming through the shoals of fish.

Kayla squeezed his arm and said, "Just do what Eric says. Now, I’m going to change. You should too. After the inspection is over, we’re headed off to the launch event at the Washington Park arena, where all the teams will get introduced together. After that, it’s cocktails and socializing. Make sure you get something in your stomach. We don’t want you to pass out in front of everyone."

He watched her go, stomach tightening at the thought of all the people he was going to have to talk to later on. He headed back inside to change, feeling like it was better to be in the arena, with people shooting at him, than being part of a media event.