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Racetrack By Geoffrey C. Porter I handed the lady at the bank my last unemployment check and said, "I'd like to deposit this and I need a balance on my account." The lady smiled and took the check and my driver's license and started pecking away at her computer. She wrote the balance on a slip of paper and handed it to me. It read 750.32. I needed work and fast. I picked up an employment weekly as I left the bank. I read through it as I sat in the car pondering. Most of the ads looked like grunt work, still, at this point I needed anything so I made a mental note of them and their application process. Most wanted you to fill out an online application, email a resume, or fax a resume. One ad stood out though: Wanted: Drivers. Fast paced opportunity for growth, clean driving record a must. Applicant must pass a full physical, including drug screening. Driver must be shorter than six feet in height. Full benefits including medical and dental. Apply in person M-F Noon-4pm, Elway Race Track, 1414 Cattle Drive Lane. I looked at my watch, and it was just past noon. I remembered the time I worked as a temporary driver for an auto parts store and how much I enjoyed driving all day. I had never heard of Elway Race Track or Cattle Drive Lane. There was a coffee shop nearby with wireless and I had my laptop. I went and adopted their internet connection. I'm new to the city, and Mapquest has been my friend ever since arriving. The directions weren't hard to follow, but they took me out of the city proper for a good few miles. I drove past corn fields and pasture for almost a half hour before I started seeing signs for the Elway Race Track. I turned in the main entrance and drove through an empty parking lot past a spectator stands up to an office building. I stepped into the building, and racing memorabilia, books, clothes and model cars surrounded me. A blond woman about 35 sat behind a counter and asked, "Can I help you?" I smiled and nodded, "You have an ad in the paper for work." The woman nodded, "For drivers or mechanics?" I said, "I'm surely no mechanic, miss." The woman pushed a button on her phone and said, "Frankie, we got another one, driver this time." The phone said, "Ha-ha, those ads are like fly paper. Do they look ok? Boy or girl? How old are they?" The woman said, "He looks fine. He's maybe twenty. Short and thin." I said, "I am twenty-two and I am not short!" The phone said, "Get his license, Margie. Pull his records and send him back." The phone clicked off and the woman held out her hand as if she wanted something from me. It dawned on me she wanted my driver's license and I handed it over. She said, "Go down the hallway. His is the third door, it's marked El Presidente." I reached the doorway and knocked. I heard back, "Come in, you moron!" I stepped into the room and smiled meekly. A man in his late forties with grey hair and a grey and black mustache eyed me up and down. He wore thick glasses and a cigarette dangled from his hands. A giant crystal ashtray sat on the desk and nearly overflowed with cigarette butts. Frankie smiled at him and asked, "How's your driving record? Can you pass a drug test?" I smiled, "My driving record is clean as a whistle and so is my head." "Good. How about a physical? Do you have any heart problems or nervous system disorders?" "No, sir, I'm fit as a fiddle as far as I know." Frankie smiled and nodded, "You've got the build for it, kid." I said, "My name is Jerry. What kind of delivery job is this?" "No delivery job. We need drivers." "I thought it was a delivery job." Frankie pushed a button on his phone, "How's his record, Margie?" Margie replied, "Not even a parking ticket, he's golden." Frankie pushed the button on his phone and stood up. He said, "Come on." I stood up and Frankie led the way out of the office and down the hallway to a door marked garage. Frankie opened the door and the smell of oil and grease and tire rubber assaulted my senses. Tires were on racks, two mechanics were working away on little cars. The cars looked like little one seat go carts with a formula one frame on them. Frankie pushed a button on the wall and a garage door lifted up and away. He grabbed a jet black helmet from a rack and handed it to me. He said, "Try that on, there's a radio in it so we can talk." The helmet fit nicely. Frankie pointed at the miniature car and said, "Hop in. You can drive a stick right?" "I can drive a stick." I climbed into the car and started drooling. Frankie said, "Stay in second gear through most of the curves and use third when you hit the straight-aways. The car tops out at about a hundred." I pushed the clutch in and turned the key. The machine rumbled to life. I zipped out of the garage and followed the arrows and signs to the track. I pushed the little car around the curves and through the straight-aways. I kept it on the track, that was my main objective really. Finally after countless laps the sun started to set and I pulled back into the garage smiling a wicked smile. I climbed out of the car and noticed the sweat soaking my clothes. I went back through the maze of offices to Frankie's office and knocked. Frankie hollered, "Come in, you idiot." I stared the man in the eye and asked, "Why do you keep calling me stupid?" "I called you an idiot because you're knocking on my door. This is a place of business I don't do anything illegal here and I don't have secret conversations, just come on in." I nodded and smiled weakly. I asked, "What is the job? Racing go carts?" Frankie smiled and nodded, "Simple matter." "Did I get the job?" Frankie said, "You haven't passed the physical yet, but yeah, you got the job." "Do I get paid?" Frankie laughed out loud. He pressed a button on his phone and said, "Get this, Margie, the new kid asked if he gets paid." I heard Margie laughing through the phone. I scowled, I needed work. Frankie stopped laughing and opened a drawer in his desk. He started shelling out 100's on the desk until there were ten of them for I was counting. He said, "There's a grand, how's that for a signing bonus. You get paid for racing. You do well in a race you make more. You do poorly you make less. You're just going to have to trust me that it'll be enough to get you by and then some." I took the cash and asked, "When's the next race?" Frankie smiled, "Saturday, the next race is Saturday. Margie made an appointment with the team doctor for you. Come back to the racetrack everyday this week and practice." Margie gave me my driver's license and a card with my doctor's appointment on it. The physical was at some new age medical center and they poked and prodded at everything. They even put me on a treadmill and made me run for five minutes with wires hooked to my chest. I wouldn't have minded so much but they had to shave where they put the wires and I itched afterwards. I made it to the racetrack by two o'clock. On Friday I saw Frankie in the garage and I went up to him and asked, "The race, will it be on this track?" Frankie shook his head no. I asked, "What track?" "It's a secret, you'll find out the day of the race." "Surely it's publicized, couldn't I just look it up on the internet?" "Only the bookies and betters know the track ahead of time. I don't even know." My head inadvertently tilted to the side and I said, "Bookies?" "Did I say bookies? That's not what I meant at all." "What did you mean?" Frankie sighed, "I'm not sure, kid. Just race the track!" I sighed and climbed in my car. I did as I was told and I burned up that track. I didn't sleep that night. I kept tossing and turning at the thought of racing a car as a living even if it was just a little go-cart. I went to Elway bright and early Saturday morning and the place was a swarm of drivers and crews. Miniature cars like mine were on trailers scattered throughout the parking lot of all colors and designs. I parked my car and went inside to change into my racing suit and get my helmet. Frankie showed me to a car parked out back, it wasn't my usual car. It was jet black with the number 73 emblazed on the hood and sides. Frankie said, "She's a little faster than what you've been driving. Ride up front in the pickup truck." I climbed into the pickup truck and in a great caravan all the trucks pulling trailers with go-carts left Elway. We drove along country roads for a while until we reached a derelict shopping center and all the cars pulled in and parked. One-by-one crews pushed the go-carts off their trailers and drivers too to their cars. I asked, "Where are we?" Frankie smiled at me, "The track is nearby, you'll drive the car to the track. I'll be on the radio. There is a lot of money riding on you, kid. Make me proud." I climbed in my car and turned the engine on. The other go-carts in the line started up at the same time and we formed into a line and took to the street. Within a mile we came upon an interstate highway and the lead car turned up on the on ramp. Then I heard, "Go Jerry! GO!" I noticed the cars in the lead of the pack starting to accelerate and I paused, this was no track. I said, "What the hell?" Frankie said, "Race! The time is now!" I dropped the machine into second gear and punched the gas all the way down quickly accelerating towards the rear of the pack. The engine started to whine and I hit third gear. I passed the first of the opposing cars as we merged onto the three-lane freeway. The engine whined again so I dropped it in fourth gear and passed another competitor and another. A giant semi truck loomed in front of me in the middle lane and I dodged around it to the left. I could see him shaking his fist at me out his window. I darted past a car in the left lane. That's when I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw flashing red and blue lights. I sighed, I knew better than to think I could outrun a v-8 intercepter in a go-cart. I pulled over to the side of the road and waited. Frankie said, "Relax, kid. Worst is, you'll get a ticket." "Yeah, right." "Just stay cool, relax." The cop walked up to my car and asked, "Do you know how fast you were going?" "No, officer. These things don't have speedometers." "93. License?" I handed over my license and proceeded to wait. He brought me my license and a piece of paper. He said, "I'm giving you a warning. The warnings are logged in the computer so if we catch you again it'll be worse for you." I said, "Thank you, officer." The officer smiled a wicked smile and walked back to his cruiser. Over the radio Frankie said, "Next time we'll do it at night, less traffic and less cops." I just sighed and peered out along the highway... Frankie said, "Relax, kid. Street racing is still legal in this state. For twenty years the state legislature has debated it, but we've always been able to fight it. You just made some cash." I said, "How much?" "One and a half percent of every wager placed on you. Winning a race you get two and a half percent." "How much?" "At least 700k was bet on you, kid." I did some quick math. Ten percent of 700k was 70k, one tenth of that was 7k, one half of that was 3.5k, so, 7k plus 3.5k... Dear god, over 10k? I said, "I just made ten grand?" Frankie laughed, "At least, some of the bets were placed since I checked the last tally." I smiled, "When do we race again?" This is a pointless little story I wrote for Tim Waggoner's Fiction Writing course. |
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