The green flag is waving! The race is starting! Do you have what it takes to win the most coveted prize in racing history? Put the pedal to the metal and burn rubber on that concrete roadway!
Pit Row – the area behind the track where the racers and their crew meet to check over their cars and make certain they’re in working order. Yvonne was pacing in front of Della’s trailer, waiting for her client’s arrival. Rusty was beneath the hood of Della’s car, tinkering with the engine, one of his workers sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Try it now!” he waved out from under the hood. The engine was ignited and the smooth rumble of the engine made Rusty smile. He slammed the hood closed and signaled for the other guy to the cut the engine. “I want tire pressure, oil and fuel triple checked before Della heads out to the track.” he ordered, wiping his hands on the rag he kept in his back pocket.
“You got it, Boss.” the other man nodded before jogging off to the rest of the crew. Rusty turned to look at Yvonne.
“You need to relax, Vonnie. She’ll be here.”
“Don’t tell me to relax, Rusty. I won’t relax until she crosses that finish line.”
“You’re going to get gray hair before you’re 50 if you don’t chill.” he snickered. She glared at him and opened her mouth to reply when Della pulled up beside the trailer.
She jumped out and headed inside, Yvonne hot on her heels.
“Took you long enough to get here.” Yvonne growled as she watched Della strip out of her clothing to put on her race uniform.
“Don’t start, Yvonne. I’ve had one hell of a morning.” Della snapped back, clearly not in the mood to have her manager nipping at her like an angry pitbull.
“What happened?”
“Fucking park manager had a party last night. Kept me awake for some time. Went over there and yelled to keep it down then said screw it and wore my headphones to sleep. Woke up this morning and one of his “guests” puked all over the front seat of my car.”
“Oh shit!” Yvonne gaped, knowing how Della felt about her cars.
“Oh shit is right! Called mom and she’s got George coming to get the car to clean it up for me.” She zipped up her uniform and tied her hair up in a messy ponytail before slipping into her boots. “So where are we?”
“Third. Guy #2 is out on the track now. I think he’s on lap 8 or 9.”
“What’s the times?”
“First guy lapped in 7:14. This one’s just under 8.”
“So I’m shooting for at least a 5 or 6.” Della nodded, stepping out of the trailer, her helmet underneath her arm. She met up with Rusty who was supervising a tire change on the car. “How’s my baby, Rusty?”
“Purring like a fine woman making sweet love by the fire.” Rusty grinned. Della chuckled and climbed in the car, sitting on the door frame as she watched the other racer finish up his laps. Moments later, his time popped up on the screen: 9:35. Della nodded her head and slipped her helmet on as her name was announced over the loudspeakers. Rusty gave her the thumbs up sign as she started the engine. She saluted him and made her way to the starting line.
Her adrenaline was pumping as she revved the engine. Her hands tightened on the wheel as she awaited the signal to start her trial. She was focused, she was ready. This is what she was made for and she would not disappoint. The green flag dropped and she stomped on the gas…
…She kept her attention on the track not bothering to look at her times as she went past the time clock. She was focused on not crashing and doing the best she could in the time she was allowed. There was minimal chatter from Rusty in her headset. He knew that she could handle whatever the track tossed her way and only gave her encouragement and small pushes of when to increase her speed and when to slow back.
She was on lap 9 when she felt a rattle beneath her feet. “Rusty! I got a rattle in the undercarriage!” she announced.
“Do you need to pull in?” his voice came over the speaker a moment later.
“What lap am I on?”
“9 going into 10.”
“I think I can finish.” she stated, pressing harder on the gas. The car shot forward on the track.
“You sure? If it’s serious, it could affect you?”
“I got it, Rusty!” she stated as she moved into a turn. The rattling became more pronounced as she turned and she gritted her teeth. “Keep together, baby! We’re almost there!” she whispered.
In Pit Row, Yvonne was watching the yellow #69 car move around the track and watching Rusty become more concerned as time went by. She looked up at the clock and saw Della’s time approaching 7:30.
“Come on Del…you got this.” Yvonne urged, hands gripping tight to the railing beneath her hands.
As Della moved into the final turn, there was a wicked-sounding “ping” noise and the steering wheel began to vibrate. “Fuck!” she shouted as she pressed the gas pedal to the floor as far as it would go. “Come on baby! Almost there!”
She caught sight of the checkered flag and poured every ounce of speed she could get from her car into those final few seconds. She crossed the finish line and breathed a sigh of relief as she let off the gas. She moved to hit the brakes…and nothing happened.
“Aw shit!” she groaned.
“Della? What’s wrong? came Rusty’s voice once more.
“Brakes are gone! I think I lost a line somewhere!”
“Aim for the soft wall! It’ll stop you safely!”
“On it!” Della shouted back, turning her car to aim toward the softwall on the edge of the track. She crashed into it going better than 150 miles per hour as she turned the wheel on the astro turf to try and use them as a deterrent. It seemed to work and between the turned tires and the hay making up the wall, she drifted safely to a stop.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she climbed out of the car, seeing the tow truck and ambulance rushing her way. She waved to signal she was alright before turning her face to the time clock to see what her time was.
A moment later, her time popped up on the large screen: 7:55:15
“Well fuck!” she growled, angry at herself. She wanted to do at least a 6. She banged her helmeted head on the top of her car, disappointed.
It took some time for Della to calm down after her disappointing time trial and the near-fatal wreck. But she consoled herself with the fact that she wasn’t in the last position as that was the worst place to be.
Of course, Yvonne was angry on her behalf and was itching to tear someone a new ass.
“He should have checked everything, Della! You could have been killed!” she raged as she paced back and forth across the floor. Della was actually amused by her manager’s antics. Yvonne caught the smirk on Della’s face and glared. “I’m glad you find the thought of possibly being killed so fucking amusing.”
“Come on, Vonnie. You can’t blame the guys for this. You know they go over everything with a fine tooth comb. It was a stripped screw. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Nothing less she says! Why are you so calm about this? I’d have been pissed.”
“Because that’s the way things are in the racing world. Daddy told me that.” Della smiled. Yvonne sighed and finally stopped pacing, sitting on the couch beside her client.
“You miss him.” It was a statement.
“Every day.” Della nodded, looking down at her hands. Yvonne covered them with her own.
“You know he’d be proud of you, if he were here.”
“I know. Some days it’s just hard.”
“But his legacy lives on…in you, sweetie.” Yvonne smiled, giving Della’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Thanks, Vonnie. I needed to hear that today.” Della smiled.
“Anytime, darling.” Yvonne stated. Rufus burst into the trailer, excited about something.
“Turn on the news! You are not going to believe this!” he exclaimed.
Della took up the remote and turned on the television. She turned to the channel that Rufus indicated and saw that there was news reporter and a crowd of rubberneckers standing on a VERY familiar street corner.
“What the hell?!” Della exclaimed.
“Isn’t that your street?” Yvonne asked. Della shushed her and turned up the volume.
“Good afternoon, I’m Samantha King and we are coming to you live from Pine Acres Trailer Park., where police have just discovered one of the biggest illegal drug smuggling operations in the state. With me now is Chief Richard Inquest to shed some light on this interesting case…Chief Inquest, can you tell us what happened?”
A rather portly man in a cop uniform (who bore a strong resemblance to Larry the Cable Guy) moved in next to the reporter as she pointed the microphone at him.
“Afternoon, Ms King. As to what happened here, we were tipped off some months ago to a possible illegal drug and alcohol ring being conducted by someone in this area. So with the co-operation of local Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms agents, we had this place under constant 24-hour surveillance.”
“And what was discovered?”
“Oh all sorts of things. Drugs, including Meth and Exstacy. Marijuana out back as well as an illegal distillery. Tons of guns hidden in various locations. Biggest bust of my career.” he grinned.
“It’s my understanding there were two individuals involved?”
“Yes, ma’am. Come to find out it was the park manager and his buddy. Hairiest mother[-BEEP-] I’ve ever seen in my life. Puts those gorillas at the zoo ta shame.”
“Is there a possibility that any of the residents living here may have known or been involved as well?”
“Not ta my knowledge. As I said…constant 24-hour surveillance. Only thing that put a blip on the radar was some blonde hoochie shooting a flame thrower at some backwoods nancyboy.”
“Thank you, Chief Inquest for your…candid comments.”
“Welcome. Say…wanna get a cup of coffee with me?”
“Um…no thanks.” she quickly exclaimed, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Your loss.” he shrugged, waddling away. Sam looked back at the camera.
“Yes…well…arrested were park manager, 32 year-old Billy-Bob Furman and his companion, 33 year-old Larry Chambers. Federal and State ATF officials have stated that the list of charges, ranging from drug trafficking to stolen property, will guarantee these two men will be facing at most 50 years in a federal prison. I’m Samantha King, for Atlanta 5 News.”
Della and Yvonne were both staring at the tv, mouths dropped open in shock. “Did you know about that?” Yvonne mumbled, dazed. Della shook her head.
“No…but I knew there was something fishy about that guy. You just never know some people.” Della stated, looking at Yvonne, who nodded in agreement.
Due to Watcher leaving the RP, and to continue the advancement of the storylines, we have decided to simply have his character arrested and sent to prison. If Watcher does happen to return, he is more than welcome to have his character back, but for now, Billy-Bob is no longer part of the story.
It was like something out of those fancy action movie shoots, when the horizon was filled with choppers, a big, big rig covered in logos, a fleet of pilot cars, police escorts, and of course a flash sports car driven by none other than our very own Bobby Williams. Yes, after escaping the madness of his hotel, and getting an absolute dressing down by his manager; Cynthia – Bobby was up bright as a button the next morning and preparing to blitz the field when it came to his time trial. There was much anticipation in the media that Bobby might actually gain poll position since his expertise with Formula one was well known in racing circles. All it meant was for him to have a clear mind, and no trace of drug or alcohol abuse.
Coffee. Lots and lots of coffee was administered to Bobby after he got stoned with fellow driver and competitor; Christian McQueen. God knows how he fared that morning, since when we last left him, he was busy studying water droplets into the sink of Life.
Naturally there was a place all prepared for Team Williams, and the truck was soon being parked into position, as the police cars and pilot escorts were no longer needed. Behind a specially constructed fence, Bobby’s fans and sponsors were already lined up. Some girls were ripping up their T’shirts already flashing their jugs in anticipation of an autograph from yours truly. Bobby sat in the car stunned at first to see this.
“I thought they do that when I am flying round the track.” Bobby gasped, as Cynthia used her pinky to shut his fly trap.
“Those girls be sitting on your face if you were to lay down for a nap, so I be careful when you are in your trailer. For god sake lock it.”
“Ooo.”
NASCAR sure was a hell of a lot different to formula one. Those girls wear bras.
Bobby William’s team happened to be hand picked by Cynthia’s racing manager Tom Boston. He had been in the game for over thirty years, and had assembled a crew that would be one of the best and most experienced on the circuit. It was amazing what money could buy. People. The back roller door of the rig started to open up, and car one was being off loaded, as Bobby got out of his sports car and gave his fans a wave. He was a bit too intimidated by all the lovelies to actually go over with a sharpie and start doodling on their ample and in some case low hanging bosoms.
Cynthia gave off her usual cheesy smile to the press photographers, as she led her star to his specially designed trailer so he could suit up in private while the car was being taken into the pits to be ready for the time trials. All around, other car teams were doing the same, some drivers had already done some blistering times on the track. How would Bobby fair against such competition?
Inside Bobby’s trailer, Cynthia was already on the job – checking the laptop for the times being posted by the other competitors. She happened to note Della’s. It was 7:55:15 . She had the misfortune of losing brakes on the last lap, so that really lowered her expected time. Cynthia grinned to see this. “That dolly bird thought she could say shit about you, Bobby and then pulls that kinda time. Ha. Well, we will show them a whole new style. The British invasion has landed.”
She had marketed him very carefully, although Bobby was a danger unto himself mostly. All he had to do, was stay focused, and do his job. Drive that car as though it could fly. Cynthia had done the rest. The car was in tip top condition and ready to do its first time trial. In the back, Bobby was getting into his racing suit. The arms and chest covered in sponsors logos. You had to admit, he made it look good.
“All that coffee makes me want to piss.”
“Then go before you get in that car!”
“I think I can hold it.”
Famous last words.
The Track
The car had been rolled out on the support jacks, the tires were still wrapped up beneath. The pit crew immediately set to work on preparing it as Tom approached Bobby, who was now walking down through the press throng, with Cynthia trying to field off questions as Bobby mentally prepared himself.
“Bobby…track is beautiful. Now listen to me, this is not like Formula one, okay? It’s just a usual NASCAR circuit, keep your eyes ahead, and work your magic. Need you to do at least 6 or at the worst a 7.15. Make us proud, Son.”Tom clapped Bobby on the back, as Bobby went to pull on his helmet. The car had now been rolled out into position for Bobby to get in, and the crew worked frantically to make sure everything was operating smoothly. The pits were ablaze with sound of other engines and crews working fast to repair the damage to Della’s car. All Bobby knew was that he wanted to beat her time. He felt a little niggle down low, and pulled on his racing suit.
“Shit….I need to hold it.”
You guessed it…he needed to pee.
Bobby’s car.
Announcer : “Alright folks, next up is car number #666 driven by Bobby Williams. Ex Formula One world champion, and first time entrant to the NASCAR series. Give him a big hand folks.”
Those that had come to watch the time trials all cheered for the international racing celebrity. Some booed, since they didn’t like the idea of foreign competitors on what was an American dominated sport. Cynthia had on her headphones and was at the communication controls with Tom, who was already hooked up with Bobby in the car.
“Do your thing, Bobby!” Cynthia shouted on the mic, as Tom looked at her oddly. “Must you shout.”
The lights counted down then suddenly flashed green as the car took off in a blaze of smoking tyres racing for the first bend. Bobby grit his teeth, doing gear changes as the car increased it’s speed. The crowd all jumped on it’s feet to see the car take to the track like a duck to water. One thing Bobby could do, was drive fast.
Lap one and the car rocketed past the pit crew, that were all hanging on the fence watching the car delivering the goods. The clock was racing as he made the first lap in 6.23.59. Already, he was on the money, and Cynthia was cheering him on.
Second, third and forth lap were just under 7. Bobby was making some odd noises into his mic and Tom had to ask.
“What’s wrong Son?”
“I need to take a piss….I don’t think I can hold it.”
“BOBBY!…I told you to go before you got in the car!”
“I thought I could hold it….arrrrggggh.”
“Son….drive that car home…and then you can go piss.”
Lap nine and the whining coming from Bobby was getting louder.
He was flying…and I mean he was going for a lap record. The crowd thought his ass was on fire. Little did they know the real reason.
Car 666 passed the checkered flag on the final lap of 6.49.23. The crowd was cheering ecstatically, as the car rolled into the pit lane. Coming finally to stop in front of his crew. Tom ran out and was flailing to see his time. 6.59.09.
“Son…now you can get out and piss!”
“Uhm…I think I already did.”
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