After the briefing, I pulled Dylan to one side. ‘Where are the wheels?’
‘Over there. When we pulled them off, I stacked them and marked them with a blue dot.’
He nodded to the corner of the pit garage where the eight wheels were stacked.
‘And the others?’
‘In similar spots.’
‘Keep an eye out for anyone coming by to take them.’
‘Will do.’
‘Aidy, ready to cause some more havoc?’ Nevin called across the pit garage.
‘Yeah, just give me a minute.’
‘This is a game of seconds. No time for minutes.’
I smiled at Nevin and said to Dylan, ‘Call Barrington. Tell him to expect a tyre delivery.’
The sound of my car firing up told me it was time for me to get back out there. I returned to the pit garage.
‘Get in the car and earn your pay,’ Nevin said.
‘What pay?’
He smiled and handed me my helmet. ‘Just get in the car.’
I wore a groove in Zandvoort, piling on lap after lap. Rags didn’t give Haulk or me any downtime. Today was costing the team a pretty penny and Rags seemed to be on a mission to get the most out of that penny. We logged over a hundred laps before we called it a day. The two cars had guzzled tanks of fuel and shredded dozens of tyres. The crew would be working hard to overhaul the cars as soon as they got back to the workshop. A hundred miles of track punishment was the equivalent of ten thousand road miles. The oil would be soup, the brakes would be bare and the wheel bearings would be shot. The cars would be old men after a season of this punishment.
I climbed from the car, not realizing how sore my back and arse were. I’d feel it in the morning. Nevin handed me an energy drink and I tottered into the pit garage. I peeled off the top half of my racesuit and tied the sleeves around my waist.
I sucked down half the sports drink, but my throat closed up when I spotted the eight wheels still sitting where they’d been all day.
Dylan sidled up to me. ‘No one’s been by for them.’
It didn’t make sense. I grabbed my kit bag and went into the men’s toilet to change. While I was in there, I called Barrington. He didn’t answer and my call went to voicemail. I left a message telling him to call me.
After I cleaned up, cheering greeted me in the pit garages.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked Nevin.
‘Dinner’s on Rags.’
‘Nice.’
I helped my crew pack up the car and equipment. The move bought me plenty of goodwill with the team. It also forced Haulk to help out. What was he going to do otherwise — just stand there?
Rags disappeared to his car and made call after call.
Who was he calling? His connection in Holland? Or Honda to tell them how testing had gone?
I made a move to grab the wheels carrying the drugs. I thought someone might stop me, but no one did. As I went to load them on to the tyre rack, my crew shooed me away. ‘No stealing our jobs,’ Roy Carroll said.
When everything was packed up, Rags led the convoy. As we had in the morning, Haulk and I rode with Rags. Dylan rode with the crew. We drove through the town of Zandvoort and picked up the road that took us east towards the airport.
The chatter in the car was upbeat. Rags rained compliments on us for our performances. I struggled to keep up with the conversation. All I could think about were those cocaine-loaded wheels. Why hadn’t anyone come for them?
We left the town of Zandvoort in the distance and travelled on a quiet stretch of road. Just as the road signs announced Bentveld was the next town, Dutch police cars poured out from a side road, lights and sirens blaring. Two cop cars raced in front of Rags’ car and slowed, blocking the road ahead. A string of police cars came up on our left side to pin us in. There was no going around them and Rags stamped on the brakes to avoid slamming into the back of them.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ Rags bellowed.
Barrington, I thought.
Rags pulled up short, causing the transporter behind to lock up its brakes and rear-end us. The impact felt like a punch in the back and sent Rags’ car forward a couple of feet.
‘These fuckers are going to pay,’ Rags snarled and flung the door open.
‘Stay in the car,’ Haulk said.
Rags ignored the good advice and jumped from the car.
‘Shit,’ Haulk said and jumped out.
‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em,’ I said and opened my door.
Three cops, talking in a mix of both Dutch and English, were telling Rags to calm down and get back into his car. Rags just shouted at them, demanding to know what the hell was going on and who was going to pay for the damage to his vehicles.
Two more cops appeared in front of Haulk and me. Haulk immediately fired off something in Dutch that disarmed them. We jogged over to Rags and a plain-clothes cop who had a sheaf of papers in his hand. Haulk cooled the situation down by talking to the cops in Dutch. Rags crossed his arms and just smouldered while Haulk spoke to the detective in charge.
I looked back down the line of vehicles. The whole crew was at the side of the road looking bewildered and confused, Dylan amongst them. He looked worried. I understood his fears. This wasn’t on the script.
With half the road blocked, a handful of cops took over traffic duties. Cars drifted by the scene, staring at the transporters and us.
I looked for Barrington. He was the ringmaster of this circus, but I didn’t see him at first. He swept past me at the wheel of a car, moving with the traffic and fixed me with a disapproving stare.
‘What kind of bullshit is this?’ Rags bellowed.
‘The warrant says they’re looking for narcotics,’ Haulk said.
I inched closer to Haulk and Rags.
‘Seriously, they think we’re moving drugs?’ Rags said to Haulk, then turned his disgust to the cop in charge. ‘I have just dropped a small fortune in your country today and this is how I get treated?’
I wondered how much involvement Haulk had in the smuggling. It had been his idea and connections that brought us to Zandvoort today. Had his problems with the law ended in his teens or had he matured into something more insidious?
‘Sir,’ the lead detective said, ‘I just want to search your vehicles. If we find nothing then you’ll be free to go. The quicker you stop protesting the quicker you’ll be on your way.’
Rags was silent for a minute. This was one race he couldn’t win. He threw up his hands. ‘OK, do it. Waste your fucking time.’
The detective signalled to his men and they descended on the transporters and Rags’ car. Rags told the crew to open the transporters up. Once the doors were open, the police ordered everyone back and they descended on the vehicles.
Barrington played it smart. The cops didn’t go straight for the wheels. They rifled through toolboxes, storage cabinets in the transporters and the cars. The drugs had to be discovered organically. First, search the obvious, then get inventive.
‘This is bullshit,’ Rags said for the umpteenth time.
He didn’t get any arguments, not that anyone was saying anything. Everyone stood in silence while the police worked.
I didn’t know what to make of Rags. He reacted how I would expect someone to react if they were innocent. These weren’t the protests of a guilty man. I looked at the crew for anyone who was sweating. The only person who looked even close to guilty was Dylan.
The lead detective clambered up into the transporter and grabbed a wheel off the tyre rack. ‘I want the tyres removed,’ he said to Rags.
‘What do you want?’ Rags said.
‘I want the tyres off these wheels, so I can see inside.’