Pete wasn’t the fastest of racers but he was outdoing himself. He was making mincemeat out of my speeds. He closed within fifty yards and my stomach dropped. I recognized the helmet design. It wasn’t Pete’s, it was Derek’s.
If Derek wanted to tangle with me, I wasn’t going to give him the privilege. I came off the gas a little.
Derek closed in behind me, so close that he disappeared in my mirrors. That meant he was a car length off my gearbox. The noise bleeding into my helmet confirmed it. The mirrors on a single-seater give limited rear-view vision and that’s when a driver relies on his other senses. When two cars get within a car length of each other, the sound of a screaming engine changes. There are two engines and resonance comes into effect. In a race, it tells you you’re about to be overtaken and it was no different this time. Derek moved out from behind me. My heart fluttered when he drew alongside me, slowing to match my speed. We were heading towards Barrack Hill and Derek inched slightly ahead of me then elegantly slipped his left rear wheel in front of mine. He was teeing me up for the same fate as Alex.
Carefully, I inched left and untangled myself from the web Derek was weaving.
Derek moved in again and looped his left rear in front of my right rear. I had nowhere to go. I was at the edge of the track. Taking to the grass run-off would be just as lethal. Derek and I were interlocked; our wheels inches apart. One wrong move could kill us both.
Our cars were so close that if Derek and I reached out for one another we could have shaken hands. I looked over at him. The only view I had of him was the letterbox slot in his helmet. Derek’s eyes were dots where his cheeks were bunched up. The bastard was grinning.
We bore down on Barrack Hill and Derek made no move to untangle his wheels from mine. The turning point was seconds away. I couldn’t do a thing. Derek held my fate.
We hit the turning point for Barrack Hill. We had no choice but to match each others’ moves. For once, we worked as partners. If either of us got out of step or phase, we were both going off the track and into a wall. Derek turned for the bend and I turned with him. I synchronized my driving with his. It was all I could do. We exited the corner together and I released a relieved breath.
Derek eased his wheels out from mine. I glanced over at him. He flashed me the thumbs up then accelerated ahead of me.
I guess I’d just been threatened for the second time.
I kept to myself for the rest of the day, chatting with the punters instead of hanging out with my fellow drivers. I needed someone to watch my back and the punters were the best I could lay my hands on.
The Hansen brothers had used me. Today had been set up to teach me a lesson. They tossed me into the den with Derek so he could prove yet again he could get to me at any time. It was a point well made. Derek had friends down here. I couldn’t trust anyone. No matter what I did, someone would be there to protect him. A curtain was being drawn around this circuit and its dirty little secret and I was on the wrong side.
When the last of the clients went home, I left Tony and Pete to put their cars away. I wasn’t helping them. I changed and collected my cheque for playing patsy.
Derek had left before I came out of the changing room. Now that my fight or flight senses had been set off, I didn’t take his absence as a good sign. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was putting together something else for me. I knew I wouldn’t be following any detours on my way home.
I tossed my kitbag and helmet in Steve’s Capri and jogged over to Chicane’s. I hadn’t checked in with Paul yet in case Derek pulled a stunt like he did on the track and took the tape from me. It was best to get it from Paul on my way home.
Chris greeted me with a smile when I walked into Chicane’s.
‘Is Paul around?’ I asked.
‘He’s at home, recovering.’
‘Recovering from what?’
‘Didn’t you hear? He was mugged. The guy roughed him up real good.’
This had Derek Deacon written all over it. No wonder he wanted to show me his moves on the track today. He’d gone after Paul. Paul would have talked. I didn’t blame him. Paul would have been outnumbered and probably outgunned.
‘That’s terrible,’ I said. ‘Where’s he live? I’ll drop ‘round and see him.’
Chris looked at me suspiciously. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘I like Paul. He’s been good to me. He did me a favour and I owe him a drink. The least I can do is give it to him after this.’
Chris’s suspicion didn’t ebb away, but he gave me Paul’s address. I hoped Chris wasn’t in Derek’s circle of friends, but I had to assume that he was. It was too late to worry about that.
I drove over to Paul’s place. He lived in a converted loft above a barn at a working farm on the outskirts of Chippenham. This wasn’t some trendy affair, but the cheapest accommodation Paul could find on his small income.
The barn was a quarter mile from the farm itself. I liked that. It gave us the privacy I wanted. I parked and bounded up the wooden staircase to the loft door. There was no doorbell, so I knocked.
No one answered. I’d parked next to Paul’s VW pickup that Chris had given him for making local pickups and deliveries. He was home.
‘Hey, Paul, you in there?’
Paul didn’t answer, but I heard movement. There weren’t any windows, just skylights built into the roof. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked.
‘Hey, Paul, it’s me, Aidy.’
Just as I said my name, a shotgun blast punched a fifteen inch diameter hole in the door, spitting thousands of wood splinters at me. Dozens embedded themselves in my face. The shock sent me staggering back into the crudely constructed wooden safety rail. It gave way against my weight and I plunged over the side and stuck the soft dirt on my back. I just lay there, too winded to move.
Paul appeared at the doorway. He saw me, muttered something and disappeared back inside.
When he didn’t emerge, I rolled over and I climbed to my feet. I picked splinters from my face and counted myself lucky it wasn’t buckshot.
I was a little too dazed to comprehend how close I’d come to having my head blown off as I re-climbed the stairs. This time, I stopped short of the open doorway and pressed my back up against the buckshot-proof brick wall.
‘Paul, it’s me, Aidy. Can I come in?’
‘OK,’ a sheepish voice came from within. ‘Sorry, Aidy.’
‘That’s OK,’ I said, hoping that I could trust him.
I peered through the doorway before venturing inside, just in case Paul was still in the shooting mood. He sat on the corner of a single bed pushed up against the far wall with the shotgun spread across his lap.
Whoever had roughed him up had done a good job. His face was a painter’s palate of reds, blues and purples. Swelling almost closed his right eye. I felt sorry for bringing this upon him.
‘Do you want to put the shotgun down before it goes off again?’
He nodded and held it out to me. ‘It’s not mine. My landlord leant it to me.’
I took the twelve bore. I broke the gun open and removed the cartridges before setting the weapon against a wall.
‘What happened?’
He looked up at me, disappointment moulded into his swollen features. ‘He took the tape of the race.’
I’d guessed as much, but I wasn’t prepared for the disappointment this news brought. One of the few pieces of hardcore evidence was gone.
‘I came home from Chicane’s late last night. It was dark. I didn’t see anyone until someone smacked me across the back with a baseball bat.’
‘Did you see who it was?’
‘No, he was wearing a balaclava and before I could get up, he pulled a bag over my head. That’s when he started beating me, punching and kicking. You think my face is bad, you should see my back.’