Chapter 10

I didn't see Smoky again for a couple days, which was probably just as well. Now, I'll be the first one to admit that I had mixed feelings about the whole affair. On the one hand, I could feel for the kids like Don Boies. There's a limit to how much fun racing could be when you had young punks like Bert Mansfield driving a hell of a cheater trying to wreck you, and somebody needed to set things straight. On the other hand, when you had people like Glenn Mansfield involved, it was clearly going to be nothing like trouble if you called them on it. Right at that point in my life I had enough trouble to hold me just raising a family with young kids and trying to keep going.

Don't get me wrong. There was a part of me that really wanted to do it, if for no more reason than to prove I could. I knew that I still had a lot of racer in me, and even as crappy as things had been out there at the Speedway that evening there was still an itching in my palms and my right foot. Since I had a family with small children, I firmly drew the line at getting back into racing myself – it is risky, no doubt about it, and was riskier in those days than it is today. No one had even thought of a flame-retardant driving suit in those days, roll bars tended to be on the flimsy side when they existed at all, and I hadn't seen one car out there on Saturday night that had a full roll cage. Snell Foundation-approved helmets were around in those days, but as far as I knew weren't required at the track. You had to have a helmet, but I know I'd seen some out there that had done prior duty on a football field.

But that didn't mean that I couldn't be involved in other ways, and this seemed like it had the potential of being a way I could scratch the itch without it eating up my life, even though it had some obvious down sides.

I was still of two minds about it when I sat down at the big breakfast table in Kay's Restaurant on the Tuesday morning break from riding around with my driver's ed kids. I was still flipping the pluses and minuses over in my mind without any real idea of what my decision would be when Smoky walked in and sat down across the table from me. There were only a couple other people at the table at that hour, so it didn't take us long to get down to talking business. "You must have gotten out of there Saturday night before I could catch up with you," Smoky started out.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I didn't see any sign of you, so Arlene and I just headed for home."

"Well, I was busy as hell," Smoky said without any hint of an apology. "After a race most people get to pack up and go home, but there's always about forty-'leven things I have to be doing at the same time. So, what did you think?"

"Smoky," I said honestly. "You've got a real mess there."

"Yeah, I know the joint could be cleaner, but it's a dirt track, so it's going to be dirty. I wish I had some money to fix the place up some, but with the car counts and crowds I'm getting there just isn't any money to spare."

"I mean in the Junior Stocks," I told him. "I mean, it's no damn wonder your car counts are falling off there. I talked to some kids after the race who have had about all they're going to take. There's several who were talking about heading over to Manchester next Saturday rather than be the targets for Bert Mansfield and his buddies. Hell, one of them was talking about chain-towing his car clear over there rather than just drive out west of town to get it wrecked."

"Yeah, that's getting a little out of hand," he sighed. "But it's the same damn thing as always. I can't be everywhere at once."

I took a sip of my coffee and replied. "That's going to shoot you in the foot, at least as far as the Junior Stocks are concerned. Someone needs to come down real hard on the Mansfield kid and three or four others. If one or two of them got their asses thrown off of the track like they deserve, I think the rest of them would get the message."

"Christ, I don't want to have to do that," Smoky shook his head. "Shit, I'd have Glenn Mansfield all over my ass."

"Smoky," I shook my head, "It about has to be one thing or the other. Either you have Glenn Mansfield all over your ass or by the end of the season you're going to have his kid running a one-car feature."

"I don't think so," he sighed. "Yeah, we might lose a few cars yet this season, but there'll be something left of the class."

"And that something left is frankly going to be cheaters that really ought to be running with the Sportsmen," I said. "Among other things, that totally blows up the idea of the Junior Stock class in the first place."

"I know there are some cheaters out there," he admitted. "But shit, I just don't have the time to tech all the cars. There's just too damn much to be done. That's why I need someone to do it for me. I know you don't have any axe to grind in the local racing community and I know you know racing, that's why you're about the perfect person to do it."

I took another sip of my coffee while I let that roll through my mind. "Look, Smoky," I said as I set the cup down. "Are you just looking to have someone else for Glenn Mansfield to blame, or do you really want to clean things up? I'll tell you right now, if that shit goes on, you'd be best off to just let it go for the rest of the season, and then just not run a Junior Stock class next year."

"Can't hardly do that," he said. "The Sportsmen are doing all right, and I wish we had more Mods. But it takes the car count from the Juniors to keep things afloat."

"If things go on you're not going to have the car count from the Junior Stocks by the end of the season," I told him bluntly. "I talked to a guy in the stands Saturday night who said that you were starting maybe thirty cars in Junior Stocks when the season opened. You were down to twenty on Saturday, and I don't think you'll have that many next Saturday unless someone comes out of the woodwork. In another month, you could be down to having a single-heat race. Kids will only put up with getting their asses kicked so long before they take their bats and balls and go home, or to Manchester, or something. So, if they're that critical to your cash situation then you might as well close up, because that's what's going to happen if you keep letting Glenn Mansfield have his way."

"Shit, Mel," he shook his head. "You know I'm between a rock and a hard spot on this."

"Sure I do," I told him. "That's why I'm talking with you about this, rather than just turning you down." I realized I'd left the door open with that statement, but before he could drive through it I added, "It's like I said earlier: if you really want to clean things up I'm willing to talk about it some more. If you just want to have someone to blame when Mansfield gets on your ass, then I have to ask if you think the Cubs are going to be able to pull it out this season."

"No, they ain't," he shook his head. "The hell of it is that you and I both know that Glenn Mansfield is an asshole and his kids, well, they didn't fall far from the tree. But he's got some drag around here, and around some of the racers. I don't want to have to piss him off if I don't have to."

"Then sell him the track," I told him. "That really is about the only other thing you can do."

"I offered it to him," Smoky admitted. "But of course he just wants me to give it to him. What's it going to take to get you to come in and straighten things out like we talked about?"

"Several things," I told him. "The biggest thing is that I will not allow myself to be second-guessed. I have control. I can't just be an advisor. That means what I say, goes. When Glenn or someone comes to you after I've made some decision that pisses him off, which will be about one minute after he finds out about it, I don't want you overruling me. Smoky, that's an absolute. You do that, I'm out of there no matter what's happening at the time, even if it's in the middle of a feature. Period."

"Christ, he's going to be all over my ass."

"Then he's going to be all over your ass," I agreed. "Now, you can blame me, tell him that you think I'm being a little tough or something, but you don't overrule me. Now, I will say that if something like that comes up we can talk about it and I might change my mind, but overruling me without even talking about it means all you're going to see of me is my backside as I head for the gate."

Smoky shook his head. "Jeez, you're going to get me in a hell of a spot with that kind of stuff."

"Smoky, you're already in a spot for letting Glenn Mansfield and a few others run roughshod over you over this shit. I might get you out of it, but remember that I'm not doing it for your sake. I'm doing it for the sake of those kids getting screwed over by those bozos. That means that you don't have to pay me anything for it."

"You don't want anything?" he asked, truly surprised to hear that.

"Just remember that some wise man once said that there ain't no such thing as a free lunch," I smiled. "I don't want to feel like there's a paycheck riding on this. If I can get this straightened out in a year or so, well and good and we might have to talk about it again, but for now that's how it will be."

"Well, I feel like you ought to get something," he said with another headshake. He had been doing a lot of that in the last few minutes.

"How about a couple chili dogs and a couple cokes, then?" I smiled.

"Hell yes, I can handle that. What else do you want besides not second-guessing you?"

"Only things that should be done in the first place. I don't know what your rules for the Junior Stock classes must be, but whatever they are they will be followed. No exceptions, not for anyone, especially not for someone named Mansfield. Same goes on the track, someone breaks the rules, they get a penalty that's appropriate, whether their name is Mansfield or not. To make sure of that, I want my own flagman for the Junior Stocks."

"Why would you want that?" he asked. "Shorty does a good job."

"Shorty wouldn't know a black flag if it bit him in the ass," I snorted, not ever having met Shorty to the best of my knowledge. "Just during the heats last Saturday night here were at least six times that he should have thrown a black flag, sent someone to the back of the field or to the pits for the evening. You know that as well as I do. I want someone who will throw a black flag and not take any shit from a driver or a parent."