“But how the hell are we going to get whatever-his-name-is-Brett to let us use his helicopter at this late hour?” Hammer said. “It’s impossible. ”
“Simple, ” Andy replied. “We walk into the fantasy and turn fiction into fact. ”
“Now is not the time to talk like a writer!” Hammer warned as she blew her nose.
“You can be up front with me in the left seat and pretend to be my girlfriend, ” Andy relayed his plan as it unfolded inside his head.
“And who will you be?”
“I’ll go as Donny Brett’s brother, ” Andy said. “What we’ve got to do is let Smoke and his road dogs think Macovich couldn’t make it to pick up the so-called Jolly Goodwrench pit crew and got Brett to help out. We’ll pick up the assholes, have undercover guys everywhere, and the minute we land, we’ll nail them. Now come on. We’ve got to get to the racetrack. ”
The only way that was going to be possible, in light of traffic jams that spanned virtually the entire Commonwealth as a hundred and fifty thousand NASCAR fans fought their way to the racetrack, was for Andy to overfly the gridlock in a state police helicopter. Then he and Hammer would hurry to find Donny Brett, who had always been described as an all-American boy and family man who collected police badges and guns. Brett also believed in security, and when Hammer and Andy pushed through the crowds and showed up at Brett’s luxurious trailer on the racetrack grounds, big men blocked the door and looked as if they didn’t mind hurting overly enthusiastic fans and stalkers.
“We must have a word with Mr. Brett, ” Hammer announced.
“He’s resting, so please go away, ” one of the bouncers said in an unfriendly way.
Hammer’s wallet was in the back pocket of her leather pants, attached to a chain, and she flashed her badge as she said in a low voice, “We’re state police involved in a huge undercover operation. Lives are at stake!”
Andy dug into his jeans and flashed his badge, too.
“We don’t want to disturb Mr. Brett and realize he needs peace and quiet before he gets into his car and hopefully wins the race, but we must see him, ” Andy explained.
“I sure as hell hope he wins, too, ” the second bouncer said. “He gets pretty upset when he don’t win, and he always likes to get a little shuteye and meditate before he races. But let me tell him what’s going on and we’ll see what he wants to do. ”
“You’re joking, right?” Donny Brett said moments later when the motorcycle mama and her redneck younger boyfriend were escorted inside the plush trailer. “I’m not doubting you’re cops, but you must think I’m pretty stupid to let you or anybody else just fly off in my chopper. And how would I get out of here after the race?”
“We can get you the state police four-thirty, ” Andy said to the handsome, famous driver, who looked rather sleepy and unassuming when he wasn’t wearing his colors. “As soon as the governor is safely returned to the mansion in his motorcade, an EPU trooper named Macovich will fly here and pick you up. I promise. ”
Brett considered this for a moment as he popped open a Pepsi.
“Oh yeah?” he said. “So what does the state police bird look like? What kind of paint job does it have?”
“The state police paint job, ” Hammer replied.
“So if I win the race, it will look like I’m getting a police escort out of here?” Brett rather liked the idea.
“Even if you don’t win, you will, ” Hammer said.
“But you will win, ” Andy added.
Brett sat at a table and blew out a big sigh. He suddenly looked small and uncertain and not at all like his heavily endorsed, highly exploited self.
“Truth is, I’m not so sure, ” he confessed, hanging his head in shame. “Everybody says I’m the favorite, which only puts more pressure on me, and truth is, Labonte’s taken a whole lot better advantage of the season than I have. You know, he took over the points race from Jarrett in the third race in Vegas, and that ol’ boy’s held a real strong position since. See, my problem is, I like trophies. Like ’em way too much. And that means I don’t rely on consistency like Labonte does. And if I’m honest about it, Richmond’s not my favorite track. Hell, I finished eighteenth in the Pontiac Excitement Four Hundred last spring, can you believe it?