Part 4

"Here," said Worm. "Sign this. It means that if you get hit or get hurt, you can't sue the race track or anybody." He put a mimeographed form before Woody. "Randy's other pit man didn't turn up," said Worm, "and I can no handle everything meself. We've got forty minutes tae get the Black Tiger ready, and because it's a new car, the officials are letting ye join the pit crew. Hurry, mon. Did they never teach ye tae sign yere name in thot silly school ye went tae?"

Woody scrawled his signature in indelible pencil on the bottom of the form, and the two sprinted over to the pit area where Randy stood, looking worried, beside the Black Tiger.

"Awfully glad you were able to come," he said. "Tape up my headlights for me, like a good lad." He threw Woody a roll of adhesive tape.

Woody glanced at the headlights of the Jag in the adjoining pit. They were covered completely with strips of adhesive tape. He guessed the reason was to prevent them being pitted by gravel flung up by the rear wheels of cars ahead in the race. He taped the Black Tiger's headlights in a similar way.

"Get the fenders now," said Worm, and Woody put overlapping strips of adhesive over the fore part of the Tiger's fenders.

"Can you help adjust these rear-vision mirrors?" said Randy when he was finished. "Just move them the way I tell you." The Black Tiger had three rear-vision mirrors, one on each front fender and one on the dashboard in front of the driver. They had to be adjusted so that by looking into them Randy could see the area around his two rear fenders and behind him.

By this time the first race for cars under fifteen hundred cc.'s had started. But Woody was so busy with the Black Tiger that he saw very little of it. Eventually all was done and only just in time.

"Cars for event number two, report to the starting grid," the loud-speaker instructed.

"That's us," said Randy. "Coming?"

Worm pushed Woody into the seat beside Randy and climbed up on the deck behind the cockpit. From all around there rose a series of roars as Jags, Ferraris, Maseratis, Allards, and Thunderbirds eased out of their pits and slid slowly toward the starting area. The noise was deafening and exciting beyond expression. The cars seemed to be challenging each other, showing their strength like gladiators about to meet in a Roman arena.

In this mass of automobiles, some snorting, some purring, some roaring as drivers sought to keep spark plugs from fouling, the Black Tiger slid forward through the pits out to the paved court that formed the starting area. Positions for the start of the race had already been allocated. Only three cars could be placed abreast on the actual starting line. The others were lined up three abreast behind them. The Black Tiger's position was in the fourth row of cars, with a cloud of Jags and Ferraris ahead of her.

Randy, when he had the Tiger in position, buckled the strap of his crash helmet under his chin and pulled on a pair of pigskin gloves. The noise around was deafening. Woody was surprised to find himself trembling slightly with excitement. But Randy seemed completely calm. Worm walked around the Tiger making a last-minute inspection of the tires.

He nodded his head, finding them satisfactory. Woody was watching Randy, who had taken a casual look around at the cars behind and the cars ahead. Randy now cramped his front wheels hard over to the right, but did it without attracting attention. He caught Worm's eye, and Worm gave him a quick wink.

"Good luck," said Worm. Randy waved, and Worm signaled to Woody to leave the starting area and get themselves a position by the racing pits, which were right opposite the starting line.

"Why did he cramp his front wheels around?" Woody asked.

"Just as soon as they drop the starting flag," Worm replied, "he'll be around that Jag in front of him and have only six cars ahead instead of nine. That is, if he's lucky."

Everything now became swiftly quiet. There was no more roaring from the pack of cars, whose drivers were tensely watching the starter. He, a rubber ball of a man, dressed in white pants with a multicolored shirt of violent pattern, was standing to one side with his back to the drivers. He had a flag in his hand and was casually scratching beneath his chin with the end of the stick. Suddenly he leaped into the air, his two hands above his head, and brought the flag down like a comic ballet dancer.

With a roar, almost of rage, the pack of cars leaped forward. Woody saw five of them flash by so fast that he couldn't even get a glimpse of the numbers, and then the Black Tiger sprang by screaming down to the right-angle bend a quarter of a mile away.

"Och, he's a bonny driver," said Worm, his face glistening with excitement. "Did ye see that, mon? They had him positioned eleventh, and he lopped off three cars right at the start." Woody was hardly listening. He was watching the Tiger, which flung after the cars ahead like a hound after deer. The first eight were in a bunch when they reached the corner. There were a series of roars as they changed down to negotiate the turn, and then they were gone, screaming up to the hairpin that lay ahead.

"Yon Butcher Bend is a bad one," said Worm. "I'm hoping he'll use mair care than courage in getting roond it."

Neither could see anything of the race now, though they could hear the roaring of the engines and the squeal of tires as the pack slid around the first hairpin.

"They'll be here in a minute," said Worm. "Count the cars ahead of the Tiger."

It seemed less than a minute before the first of the cars appeared. It was Tom Wisdom, driving his big red Ferrari, with the figure 4 making a white splash on its side. After him, hardly a quarter length behind, came Kurt Kreuger in a blue Jag. Then a Thunderbird, number eleven, an Allard, another Jag, and then the Black Tiger.

"Sixth," announced Worm. "Nae! Wait a minute! Watch this!"

The Jag ahead of Randy zipped by them with the Tiger on her tail. Then the driver changed down to get ready for the right-angle bend ahead. In that second, Randy slapped his foot down hard on the accelerator. There was a cry of "Oooo" from the spectators, and the Tiger flashed past the Jag.

"He's going too fast for that corner," said Worm. "He'll roll her over."

Everybody strained forward to see what would happen. The Tiger snarled and swerved wide almost to the edge of the track. Then with a deep-throated roar, she clawed around the corner, her rear wheels skidding, and was off down the straightaway like a bolt.

"Did you see that?" someone next to Woody called excitedly. "He took the Jag and didn't change down until he was on the fifty-yard mark."

"Then he changed down twice in two seconds," said another.

"Brother, he'll strip a few gears if he keeps that up," said a third.

"Not that guy," put in another. "He's a real driver. When _he_ gets into a car, he's part of the engine."

The voice of the announcer on the loud-speaker cut in, "Captain Randolph in the new Italian car, the Black Tiger, is now fourth," he said. "Ahead are Tom Wisdom in number four, a Ferrari; Kurt Kreuger, second, in his XK140 Jag; Pete Nevins in a blue Ferrari, number thirteen; and then Randolph. Randolph passed two cars ahead of him on two bends. The first on the right-angle bend, turn number one, right after the start-finish line, and the second, Fred Manini's Thunderbird on the hairpin. He's driving beautifully and is out to win. This looks like the battle of the day. The Black Tiger corners like a cat. But the Ferraris seem to be a match for her. It's nip and tuck all the way. This is a real driver's race."

The loud-speaker cut off, and Woody heard a cheer from the far side of the track.

"The Black Tiger just took Nevin's Ferrari on the S-bends," the announcer said. "Randolph is now third, battling to get ahead of Kreuger in his XK140 Jag. This is the same car that did so well in the last Le Mans race."

"Here they come again," cried Worm.

From far down the track three black bullets hurtled toward them. Wisdom was in the lead, about a car length ahead, with Kreuger behind him and then the Black Tiger. They swept by with a roar. The Tiger's front wheels were abreast of the rear wheels of the Jag. Randy was sitting back easily in his seat, as cool as if he were out for a Sunday afternoon drive. There was a slight smile on his face and not a suggestion of tenseness anywhere about him. Suddenly Randy changed down and dropped for a second behind the Jag. Then the Black Tiger leaped forward, and the two of them went into the corner abreast. Woody saw the Jag sliding crabwise toward the Tiger and held his breath, for it looked as if it would broadside into her. But the Jag clawed off when there was nothing but the thickness of a coat of paint between them. The two disappeared around the bend in a fury of acceleration, still abreast.

Now he had to await a report on the race through the announcer over the loud-speaker. It was not long in coming.

"Randolph's still fighting to get by Kreuger's XK140," he said. "He nearly made it at the right angle after the start-finish line but got crowded over. At the hairpin he dropped half a length behind. They're shooting the S-bends now neck and neck. Ah. Here it is! Randolph took those S-bends at full bore, pulling ahead of the Jag with inches between them. He must have been doing a hundred and forty. Now he's second with only Wisdom's Ferrari ahead, and battling for the lead."

The next two laps the Ferrari and the Black Tiger passed by in the same position. Wisdom knew all Randy's racing tricks and could anticipate them. The spectators had forgotten the rest of the field, only a few lengths behind, to concentrate on the two lead cars. It became obvious that the Ferrari had a quicker getaway and so could make up distance lost on the corners. But at every bend in the course, the Black Tiger was on her tail, worrying her, seeking for an opening to get through and take the lead.

Suddenly there was a roar from the crowd in the direction of Butcher's Bend. Woody looking over there could see what looked like a small cloud of smoke arising. Somebody spoke hurriedly to the flagman in front of him, and he stepped out onto the course waving a yellow flag.

"What's the matter?" Woody asked, turning to Worm.

"Accident," Worm shouted. "Somebody's hurt."

7

An ambulance, its siren screaming, sped down the track in the direction of Butcher Bend. It was back in a few minutes, drove through the pit area and out onto the main road. Then the announcer said over the loud-speaker, "We regret to say there has been an accident at turn number two. The Black Tiger, driven by Captain Randolph, went out of control, and Captain Randolph has been taken to the hospital. It is not thought that he is badly hurt. We'll let you know his condition as soon as we get a report--"

Woody didn't wait to hear any more.

"Let's go," he said to Worm and jumped into the Dodge.

In all its life, Worm's venerable Dodge had never done more than thirty-five miles an hour, but on the trip to the San Diego General Hospital, it made forty-five, protesting at every revolution of its engine.

When they got there, Woody had some difficulty convincing the receptionist they should be allowed to see Randy. "I can't do anything without the surgeon's permission," she said quietly though not without sympathy.

"Surgeon," cried Woody, "is it that bad?"

The receptionist gave a ghost of a smile. "Surgeons treat cuts as well as fractures and broken heads," she said. "You'll have to wait."

They waited an agonizing hour without any news at all. Then a young doctor came through, and the receptionist left her desk and spoke to him. The doctor came over to them.

"Are you relatives of Captain Randolph?" he asked.

"Not relatives. Friends," said Woody.

"We're his pit crew," said Worm. "We service his car when he's racing."

"I see," said the surgeon. "Well, he says he has a daughter at this address. He'd like to see her. She's in San Diego apparently. Can one of you go and get her?"

"I'll go," said Woody. "How is he, doc? Is he badly hurt?"

"Well," said the doctor, "he's a lucky man. It's lucky for instance that he has an artificial foot. That was crushed. Had it been his real foot, the bone would have been splintered so badly we might have had to amputate at the knee. As it is, he has a leg fracture, a dislocated shoulder, and bad burns on the torso and thighs. He's a remarkable man. He should be suffering from shock and in need of sedatives. But his main concern is his car. Otherwise he's quite calm, and his mind is clear."

"Gee," said Woody. "I'm sure glad to hear it isn't too serious."

The doctor laughed. "If it happened to me, I'd call it very serious and give up racing for the rest of my life. Here's the address. He's anxious to see his daughter so she doesn't get any false reports on his condition."

Woody took the slip of paper, which had the address of an apartment house on Front Street in San Diego. Without asking Worm, he got into the Dodge and drove over there. On the way over, he kept thinking about the best way to break the news. When he arrived, he still had not reached a formula. He pressed the bell and when the door opened it is probable that even if Woody had memorized what to say, he would have forgotten it.

The girl who opened the door was about his age. She had red hair that looked like burnished copper. It was cut in a page boy and came down to her shoulders. She wore a black turtle-neck sweater and a skirt of a dark green material that spread out like a ballerina's from a tiny waist. Her skin was milk white, and her eyes had a trace of a teasing look in them.

"Yes," she said politely when she opened the door.

"Are you Miss Randolph?" Woody asked.

"Yes."

"I'm Woody Hartford. I was working in the pit with your father at the races today."

"Oh," she said. Now Woody was stuck. He could find no appropriate words that would not alarm her. He decided to plunge on.

"He's not badly hurt, but he's been in an accident," Woody said. "The Black Tiger turned over and he's at the hospital and--"

"Wait until I get my coat," the girl interrupted. She dashed into the apartment and was back in a second, struggling into a white lamb's-wool half coat. She pushed past him and down the stairs with Woody in pursuit.

"There's my car," he said pointing to the Dodge.

The girl gave it a brief glance. "We'll take mine," she said and ran to a red MG parked by the curb. Woody had just time to get in before she had started it and was speeding down the streets. Woody was surprised at the MG's acceleration and cornering ability. On the way to the hospital he told the girl all he knew of Randy's injuries. Sitting next to her, he realized that she was even prettier than he had thought at first glance. And she drove like a wizard, snaking surely through the traffic without a second's indecision.

At the hospital she was quickly admitted to the ward. Woody followed her to the door with Worm. He hadn't been invited but realized this was a good chance to find out how Randy really was and talk to him.

"Hello, Daddy," said the girl rushing through the door to her father's bed.

"Hi, Rocky," he replied. "Had a little bad luck. The Tiger went out of control and turned over on me, and I busted my leg. Got a few scratches as well but nothing much." The words were silently contradicted by the bandages that swathed the side of his head. He looked up and saw Woody and Worm standing at the door.

"There's my pit crew," he said. "Come on in. Have you met my daughter, Rocky?"

He introduced them, and Rocky explained that Woody had brought her over.

"What happened to the car?" Woody asked. "How did it get out of control?"

"Hard to say," replied Randy. "She behaved beautifully right up to the time of the accident. I'd just taken that right-angle turn right after the start-finish line and was going into the hairpin. I had an overlap on Tom in the Ferrari, and the steering went. Wheel just spun around loose in my hand. Luckily I was on the outside, otherwise I'd have hit the Ferrari. Instead I sideswiped a stack of hay bales and turned over. I hope the Tiger isn't too badly damaged. There was a small fire, but they put that out in a hurry."

Nobody said anything for a while. Then Randy said, "She handled like a dream. She's a beautiful car--the best I've ever driven. I don't see how she can fail to beat any competition that's offered her."

In all this time Worm had said nothing. Now, speaking very slowly, he said, "If ye've any sense in yere head, ye'll forget all aboot the Black Tiger and racing. This is the second time for ye. Yere luck is going tae run oot one of these days." But Randy only laughed.

A nurse came in then and shooed them all out of the room. Down in the lobby, Steve and Mary Jane were waiting. They'd come over after the accident, which had taken place within a hundred feet of where they were standing.

"Man," said Steve. "He's lucky to be alive. The Tiger rolled over on him twice and then caught fire. They had to put out the fire to get at him."

Mary Jane gave Woody a questioning look. "Oh," said Woody, "pardon me. I'd like you to meet Randy's daughter, Rocky." He made the introductions all around. It seemed to him that Mary Jane was a little cool with her "How do you do?" but Rocky didn't notice it.

She turned to Woody and said, "If you wish I'll drive you back so you can pick up your car. It was really sweet of you to come for me, and I'm very grateful."

"It was nothing," said Woody. He could feel himself blushing and was angry at his reaction.

"Well," said Rocky, "shall we go? I'm going to come back here and see whether I can talk them into letting me stay in Daddy's room. He'll need company, and maybe I can at least spend the night here."

The two went out to the MG together, and Woody felt the same sort of lowering of the temperature he had experienced when he called Mary Jane to say that he couldn't take her out because he'd spent his money on Cindy Lou.

When he got back, Mary Jane had gone to the motel with Steve, but Worm was waiting for him.

"We'll have tae go oot and get the Black Tiger," he said. "I've had a word wi' Randy aboot it, and he wants it towed to my garage. We'll take a look at it and see if it can be towed behind the Dodge."

They drove back to Torrey Pines then and found the Black Tiger had been taken to a service shed in the back of the pit area. Worm jacked her up and crawled underneath to inspect the steering linkage. He was there ten minutes, and when he came out he had a piece of shiny metal shaped like a large marble in his hand.

"Steering knuckle," he said. "Sheered clean through."

Woody stared at it. He'd never known of a steering knuckle breaking before. It might happen on an old car, but hardly on a new one.

"How could that have happened?" he asked.

Worm shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Car may have been dropped in shipping and yon knuckle slightly fractured. But there's some cars, laddie, that are just not built tae drive. They're man-killers. And it comes tae me noo that this is one of them."

Woody recalled the time he'd seen the Black Tiger in Worm's garage under the electric lights. There had been something menacing about it then.

"Horseradish," he said. "A car's a car. They haven't any feelings of their own."

"Maybe not," said Worm. "Yet I've known cars in my day that were never driven but they hurt or killed somebody." He looked almost with malevolence at the Black Tiger. "I'm wishing Randy had wrecked ye all together," he said with surprising feeling.

8

It was a month before Randy was able to get up to Hermosa Beach to see Worm and find out for himself what had been done on the Black Tiger. In that time, Woody had been down to San Diego twice to see him, and had seen quite a bit of Rocky too. In fact, he'd seen enough of her to become aware that Mary Jane, despite an elaborate unconcern, didn't approve of their meetings at all. He tried once to explain that since Rocky was Randy's daughter, he was likely to see her as well as her father when he went to San Diego, and that was all there was to it.

"You don't have to go driving around the city in that midget car of hers," Mary Jane said.

"It's a full-size MG TF," Woody said. "And if I get half a chance I'm going to race it."

"Why doesn't she race it herself?" countered Mary Jane.

"She's going to, in the women's races. But she said she'd let me drive it at Hansen Dam."

"Woody Hartford," said Mary Jane. "If you drive that car in a race, you can say good-by to me. I don't ever want to see you again."

Woody was thinking over this ultimatum when Randy came hobbling into the garage on crutches, with Rocky at his side.

"Hello," cried Randy as cheerfully as a wedding guest. "I see you're busy as usual. Where's my old friend Worm?"

"There," said Woody pointing under a big Buick. One thin foot of Worm's showed, revealing cotton socks of a pale lemon color. This foot wiggled a greeting, and Worm's voice came from underneath the automobile. "I'll be oot in a minute," he said. "When I get this bell housing back again."

"Take your time," said Randy. "Just a social call."

Woody grinned across at Rocky. "How's the MG?" he asked.

"Just super," she said smiling back. "All ready for Hansen Dam. I sent in my forms last night. How about you?"

"Well, er," said Woody. "I didn't get around to it yet."

Rocky looked at him out of her teasing, half-mocking eyes. "You'd better hurry," she said. "You've only got two more days. Unless you'd prefer not to race."

"Oh, I want to race all right," said Woody. "I just didn't get around to it, that's all."

"I had her tuned yesterday," Rocky continued. "Purrs like a sewing machine. Daddy says she's in tiptop racing form right now. If you can get off for a minute, why don't you drive her around the block a couple of times? I could come with you." The last sentence was said very casually. But there was no escaping the invitation it contained.

"Gee," said Woody, "we're right in the middle of installing a clutch here. After work, if you're still around, I'd sure like to try her out."

Worm had by now slid from under the Buick. Watching him come out it seemed as if there would never be an end to him. First came two long shins. Then two longer thighs. Then a narrow waist and torso and then a long arm which fluttered upward to grasp the running board of the car. By the time he had completely emerged, Rocky was laughing.

"Do that again, please," she said. "I've never seen so much person come out from under one car before."

"Lassie," said Worm, "the Highland Scots are all big people. It's a short man in the Highlands who doesn't top six feet two inches." He said this solemnly, without anger or humor, as if he were acquainting her with a piece of interesting information of which he was proud.

"How's the Tiger?" asked Randy.

Worm looked at him sourly. "She's fixed oop as much as she's ever likely to be," he replied.

"As much as she's ever likely to be?" repeated Randy puzzled. "Is there something wrong that can't be repaired?"

"Nae," said Worm fishing for a cigarette, for whenever he got out from under a car, he saluted his liberation by lighting one. "There's naething that can't be repaired. But there's some cars, as ye well know, that hae hidden traps and faults in them. The best mechanic in the world canna find them. And I'm thinking that yon Black Tiger is one of them."

"You mean that there's something basically wrong with her design?" asked Randy.