YOU COULD MAKE A KILLING
Feedback appreciated by review or by e-mail to before you go looking for pictures of the Stoker, it doesn't exist. The name came from the Thompson boiler and has no real relevance other than the plans being on my wall.
Chapter One"Yeah, didn't get the vibration that time, but still wanna drop the float a touch, she actually felt like she was running a little rich," Alan recited, not noticing the creasing of Kenny's brow.
"Alan, you're just not used to the new setup, float is perfect, trust me on that. You're just getting paranoid. We've had TD's out here for the last few weeks. Besides, we ran an analysis on the sparks and normal levels of carbon. You're not driving a road car, Granny. I'm actually thinking maybe a vacuum leak."
"Vacuum? How? We're not running a road car!"
"Alan…" The sentence did not need to be finished; the exasperation in Kenny's voice communicated his plea for Alan to be open minded and was clearly understood. The truth was, they almost were running a road car. The Stoker had only just been allowed into the class due to a recent regulation overhaul and it had already been a lot of work to bring it up to racing standards.
Alan put down the water bottle he had been gulping from and ran a hand through his hair. It had been plastered to his head by the heat under his helmet and had started to give him a familiar itch. The action caused to stick up on end in all directions, but he didn't bother to tidy it. After his seconds thought he nodded quietly in agreement. "OK, so we check the hoses, but I want a sensor on the exhaust. I'm sure we're still a little rich and I'm sure it's because of the float."
"Twenty dollars sure?" Kenny smirked.
"Of course," Alan replied, instantly wondering if he actually did have a twenty lying around in his wallet. He was only the handler of their baby; it was Kenny who had engaged in a full blown love affair with Number 24. As much as Alan hated admitting that he was wrong, it was something he had to get used to while they had been working together.
Not that Kenny wasn't gracious about it, apart from the occasional 'I am right and you are wrong' dance around the workshop. The fact that the dance made Kenny look like an amateur break dancer suffering from oxygen deprivation meant that the action was never anywhere near as cutting as the symbolism.
The two were silent for a moment, staring at the Stoker and analysing the last run in their heads. For Kenny it was lists of data, specifications and analysis, but for Alan it was just the adrenaline winding out of his system. Alan was the first to break the repose, unzipping his overalls, finishing off the water and headed to the computer displaying the run data. Seeing this Kenny called out, "Hey Alan!"
"Yeah?" Alan asked, still staring at the computer screen.
"Good run."
"Thanks."
"When you get a chance, take a look at your 9th lap time." Kenny disappeared out into the back garage.
Alan's heartrate started to pick up again after having almost returned to normal. He had felt it was a good lap. Not wasting a second he pulled up the screen and saw a pleasing number before him - they had cut almost half a second off their best lap time from three days ago. He smiled to himself and leaned back in the chair, resting his head on his hands.
Just then Warren walked in, "Alan, good to see you hard at work."
Alan spun his chair around and wordlessly nodded at the magazine in Warren's hand.
Warren did not respond to the challenge. "Michael has misplaced an old hose. The PCV hose was acting up so we replaced it. Possible that the old one went in."
Alan's jaw would have dropped had he not just had the previous conversation with Kenny. After that he should have been expecting some freak error like that which was just described to him.
"Sorry." Warren stated without emotion.
Alan watched as Warren returned to the office. All of the team had a lot of respect for their leader - he was easily one of the brightest engineers they knew (although Alan secretly had a few exceptions). However, Warren was notorious for his short temper, lack of social graces and general analytical approach to everything, including the human condition. Of course, knowing this, nobody on the team ever took offence by his abrupt behaviour and viewed it as an endearing part of his persona.
Alan quickly browsed through the summary of the remainder of the data before getting to his feet again feeling the tiredness in his muscles far more pronounced. He stretched quickly and then navigated his way to the showers still smiling quietly to himself.
-
The next morning Kenny walked in with two coffees in hand. He walked over to Alan who had just finished discussing the days strategy with Warren. He offered one coffee over to Alan. Alan took it suspiciously. "What brought this on?"
"I went out for a full breakfast on your twenty, little man. Had a few dollars left over so thought you might like a coffee, because, well here…"
Alan put the coffee down and caught what Kenny had just thrown at him. After studying for a second he said, "This is 24's-"
"I know," Kenny interrupted.
"Does that mean-"
"Yup", Kenny interrupted again, "But remember what the bet was."
Alan nodded and grinned, studying the jet in his hand.
"Yo Alan!" a voice called out from behind him.
Alan turned around, placing the jet next to the coffee. "Yeah?"
The young mechanic held up his helmet. "Ready when you are."
Alan nodded thoughtfully. He pulled on his gloves and fastened the helmet before climbing into the Stoker.
Kenny stood back to allow the technicians to take their readings and make their final calls. He smiled at the sound of the engine humming, slightly lumpy, begging to be opened up. Of course, Alan heard the same plea and roared off towards the first hairpin.
Alan wound around the track easily for the first time letting the car warm up. As he approached the finishing straight he hit the accelerator. The power under his foot kicked him back into the seat and he felt the engine grunt. Only this time he knew he did not imagine the hesitation - it was actually rather pronounced. He silently cursed Kenny as he had lead Alan to believe that the mixture had been leaned and here he was about flood the damn carburettor. Kenny was a good mechanic though - far from being one of the power hungry dogs that burned down the quarter miles in public places he understood the delicacy of the basics. He should not have made such an elementary mistake, unless…
Alan never had time to finish his lightening quick stream of thought. The flames that burst out in front of him presented a much more imminent threat than Kenny's possible malevolence.
Alan managed to hit the brakes and tried to pull the Stoker off the track, but the smoke limited his vision considerably. He switched to automatic pilot, running on his mental recall of the track layout. However his skill only got him off the track where he then entered uncharted territory and luck was against him. A heavy shudder ran through the body of the car and Alan heard the engine stall. The noxious smoke began to fill his helmet and thus became him only air supply. He knew he had to get out of the car and fumbled for the harness. His fingers were clumsy and his brain refused to work. Through the mental fog he could still anticipate Warren's angry diatribe - this would push him well over budget.
-
The distance between Kenny and Alan was not enough to notice the difference in the speeds of light and sound, but Kenny would have sworn he saw the flames before he heard the horrendous crunch and crackle of the Stoker engine. The inferno was so unexpected that he had to stare for several seconds before his eyes could really understand what they were seeing. The shouts around him jostled him into action and he started running towards the car which was parked in one of the tyre barriers.
When he got there the flames had already been extinguished and the first aid team were kneeling beside Alan. Kenny wondered who had managed to get Alan out and made a mental note to find out and later thank whomever it was. But for now he let go of the breath he had been holding and watched the medics transfer Alan onto a stretcher and into the waiting ambulance. He realised that someone would have to notify Alan's family and he probably should not let that be Warren.
-
Light, light, light. It burned through the darkness and Alan became aware of his surroundings. The light was clinical white and the silence was broken by the scraping of a chair echoing around obviously bare room.
"Alan, can you hear me?"
Alan blinked hard several times bringing his father into focus. He saw the worry lines dissipate into a smile as he nodded slowly.
"Try to stay awake, I'll just let the nurse know." Jeff disappeared from his son's view leaving Alan to inspect his surroundings. The curtain was drawn around his bed so all he could really see was an empty bedside drawer and an IV pole extending above the head of his bed. The wall had a small window facing into what appeared to be the corridor, but from his vantage point all he could see was more fluorescent lights. The soft sound of footprints alerted him to his fathers return.
"Hello Alan, I'm your nurse, Margaret," the woman said. "It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
Alan considered this. Strangely, he felt fine. Everything seemed further away than usual and slightly flat, but he instantly recognised this as a mild concussion. He probably had a pounding headache, raw skin and a few bangs, but beneath the smooth layer of drugs it was all dulled and overwhelmed by the desire to sit down with the team and figure out what had happened. "OK."
"Good, do you remember what happened?" Margaret asked.
Alan nodded so Margaret continued "You're on morphine, so don't be surprised if you start to feel a few aches and pains in a few hours. If it gets too much then let me know and I might be able to top you up. Try to keep the oxygen mask on as much as you can because you inhaled a lot of smoke. You've got extensive bruising on your chest and concussion so we'll be keeping you in for at least 24 hours."
"Thanks." Alan mumbled through the oxygen mask.
She smiled. "Don't thank me, it's that darned toy of yours you have to thank for this." Alan attempted to laugh politely, but felt his ribs protest.
Turning to Jeff, Margaret said, "I'll leave you to it, let me know if you need anything."
As soon as she left Jeff immediately sat down next to Alan's bed. He looked Alan over for a minute then smiled and picked up his hand and squeezed it tight. "I'm glad you're alright."
Alan smiled. "It's not even that big a deal, you didn't really need to come."
"My son catches on fire and it's not a big deal?"
"Uh, the Stoker was designed by a Dr Taylor. So technically it's not yours."
Jeff gave Alan an exasperated look and Alan smiled. "Oh, you meant me!" he exclaimed in mock surprise.
The fact that Alan was making jokes made him a lot more assured of his well being. He had to admit that the call from Kenny had frightened him. Of course, Alan's brief comeback to motorsport had been anticipated. Prior to his holiday he had been reminiscing about his champion days and had taken his car out whenever the chance arose. Of course Jeff understood that motor racing entailed certain risks he had actually felt that Alan would be in less danger than he was in International Rescue. It was for that reason alone that the call had surprised him so much. It was certainly not the first time he had received such a call and at least this time there were no broken bones.
"Hey Father," Alan called to his father lost in thought, "I really am OK, you know."
"I know. I was just thinking that getting phone calls like that don't do my health any good."
Alan smiled; he could barely comprehend how much worry his father must go through every time he sent his sons out into a danger zone. "Who called you?"
"Kenny."
"Oh, really? Is he around?" Alan's interest in the cause of the accident resurfaced. His father put up rather poor competition for his attention when there was cars to be discussed.
"Yeah, he was here until I turned up, but went off to get some coffee."
"On my money, no doubt." Alan muttered.
"Sorry?"
"Never mind, father. Just, can you ask him to come and see me next time you see him…I want to talk to him about the crash."
"He tells me that they don't know what caused it yet. But I don't think that Warren is blaming you."
Alan laughed. "Warren will be blaming everyone." His eyebrows then knitted. "It's probably nothing, but she seemed to be running quite rich. In fact, it's felt that way for days."
Jeff patted his son on the shoulder. "Maybe you just weren't used to the car. But don't worry about that for now, just get some rest and they'll have you back in the garage paying for it in a couple of days."
Alan sighed. "I'm not going to make the race, am I?"
"Sorry boy." The reply was instinct, but Jeff wondered if he really was. It was a much more relaxing feeling having his son wrapped up in the cotton wool of drugs and nestled safely in a bed than watching him scream around the tarmac in a machine he had not personally designed. Of course it was not nearly as satisfying as watching Alan scream past the finish line several seconds before any of the other drivers.
Alan waved a hand weakly. "Ah, it's OK. I was just looking forward to being back on the track. This is supposed to be my holiday."
"Well then you'll be doing what normal people do on holiday then won't you? Lying down." As Jeff spoke Scott walked in. "Isn't that right, Scott?" Jeff asked.
"But Dad, you must know that Alan's not normal."
"Scott!" Alan protested.
"Hey Alan, how are you?"
"I'm fine."
"Glad to hear it."
"So what are you doing here?"
"I had to fly Father over."
"Father can fly for himself."
"Yes, Father can," Jeff interrupted, "But Dad thought that Scott might want to come too."
Alan grinned at Scott. "Caught out, you care about me. You really care about me!" he squeaked in a high pitch, melodramatic voice.
"Hey! Gordon and Virgil wanted to come too." Scott whined defensively. "But yeah, glad you're alright."
"You guys act like I've never crashed before."
"Well, on TV it looked pretty dramatic."
"It was on TV?"
"Yeah, 6 o'clock news."
"Wow! Gee…I haven't made the news since I won my Grand Prix."
"Uh…Alan?" Scott ventured, thinking of all the news flashes that he and his brothers had starred in as International Rescue.
Alan understood Scott's implication. "Bah, that doesn't count. Nobody knows who it is."
"You mean, Tracey doesn't know who it is?" Scott asked, alluding to a young mechanic who had caught Alan's eye in the last week. Fortunately he had not acted on the attraction yet and so nobody had started making the inevitable Tracy Tracey jokes.
"Alright boys, lets remember that your father is here." Jeff interjected.
"Oh come on Dad, it's not like you don't know more about our love lives than we do."
Jeff just smiled knowingly.
"Anyway, Alan, I've just had a talk to Malone. They've recovered your heap of bolts and are going to run a full analysis. Wilson is just about jumping out of his chair to talk to you and get your side of the story. You ready to have a chat to him?"
Alan turned to his father, "Would you mind?"
Jeff shook his head. His son's devotion to the team reminded Jeff of himself in his earlier days. That devotion was of course focussed on other things, but the single mindedness was the same.
"Thanks." Alan acknowledged. Then he turned to Scott; "Do you want to get Warren?"
"Uh, not really, but I will." Scott replied, pulling back the curtain just about to leave when Kenny just about walked into him. "What is this, Central Station?" Scott cried.
"Sorry man." Kenny said. Then to Alan: "Hey Al, how are ya feeling?" His flippant tone hid well the terror that he had experienced while watching the flames wrap around the Stoker.
"For the fourth time, I'm fine." Alan replied, wondering idly if he should put up a sign.
"Actually, he has bruised ribs, a concussion and second-degree burns." Scott put in, having talked to Margaret earlier. Alan glared at him. "But other than that…" he finished. Alan continued to glare. "I'm going to go and get Wilson." He pointed over his shoulder and seeing that Alan had not changed his expression ducked past the curtain.
"Ouch, Alan, remind me never to make fun of your failures." Kenny said after Scott had left.
"I do. All the time. And you still do it. All the time."
Kenny laughed. "You're right. So, you reckon you're ready for Warren?"
"To be honest, I can't wait. What exactly happened, Ken?"
Kenny shook his head. "We don't know. Data collection failed several seconds before the fire burst out and most of the readings seemed fine."
Alan's eyebrows knitted tightly. "It doesn't make any sense." He thought about it for a minute, waiting for Warren's arrival.
When Warren came in he did not waste any words. He pulled up the other chair that everyone else had been politely ignoring and sat down next to Alan. "So Alan, can you explain this to me?"
"I was kind of hoping that you could." Alan replied. "I've been getting a strange response from her ever since I hit the tarmac. It feels just like some petrol head set her up, running way rich." He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. "I remember when I put my foot down, there was hesitation, very pronounced. Engine sounded fine though."
Warren looked at Alan a little suspiciously. "How hard did you hit your head?"
"I know, it sounds like nothing. But other than that she's responding beautifully. Absolutely amazing for a road car really."
Warren considered it for a moment, then turned to Kenny. "We've talked about this before. Is there any chance that there's still something happening in the carb?"
Kenny shook his head. "There shouldn't be. Ever since Alan brought it up we've been looking into it. Other than the hose incident everything seems to be in perfect running order. With such a violent reaction I'd probably say that the Stoker has some fundamental difficulty with an IDA, possibly even carbs. Like an engineering freak of nature. I'd have to go back to the Stoker's original designs to see if there is something I missed."
"So what are you recommending?" Warren asked, always looking for the bottom line.
"Given the time constraints, I'd say we just throw GDI in there - anything more and the weight will be a problem. But I'd consult the regulations very carefully because whether or not it's explicitly stated, putting injection back on the racetrack in a classics class could cause a bit of a stir. So I'd also consult whomever you are going to throw in the driver's seat."
"Injection!" Warren jeered.
"It's only been twenty years since fuel injection was made compulsory in cars, so technically speaking it's entirely possible for the regulations to allow it. It's not like we're going to throw in atomic power and it's not like we're in the top leagues. It's just a little backyard fun."
Kenny instantly realised he had gone too far. Warren took in a deep breath and held it for a second. Then he exhaled in a roar, "This may not be Formula One, Malone, but I can tell you that we treat it with every bit of respect that you hold your precious Amon team. I expect full commitment from my team. We solve problems with respect to conventions, not just turning the regs to our advantage." Turning to Alan he continued. "That includes you, Tracy. I expect you back in the garage by tomorrow morning and we'll figure this out!"
Jeff jumped up, and stood menacingly over Warren. He spoke in a low and dangerous voice, "My son is in hospital because of your team. And that is where he will stay until he is well enough to leave. In fact, he should be resting now, not surrendering to your ridiculous finger-pointing games!"
To his credit, Warren did not flinch. He simply stood up, gathered his coat and said, "The investigation begins tomorrow morning. Tracy, Malone." With a slight nod to each he left.
Jeff sat back down in his chair and picked up Alan's hand, rubbing it furiously. "Don't you listen to him, son, you just stay here 'til you're good and ready."
Alan pulled his hand away. "Father, I'm fine. It's just a concussion."
Margaret, having heard the noise, came bustling in. Her eyes widened at the sight of all the people surrounding her patient. "I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave, Alan needs his rest."
Kenny pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning on. He walked up to Alan and shook his hand. "Good to see you're OK, Alan. I guess I'll see you." He silently mouthed the addition 'tomorrow morning' to Alan, careful that Jeff did not see.
"Thanks for everything, Kenny. Have a good night's rest and let me know if you figure anything out." Kenny nodded, remembering the times he used to call Alan up in the middle of the night just to tell him about the ideas which woke him up.
Scott looked over at Margaret to see if Kenny leaving had appeased her. Seeing that she had not moved he thought he too would leave for a while, until her shift was over at least. Knowing that this would be in approximately half an hour he excused himself to go and let his family know that Alan was alright.
Jeff was not even surprised when Margaret did not attempt to make him leave. He was however surprised when Alan asked for his release papers. She put up the obligatory protest and went off to find a doctor.
"Alan, you can't seriously think you're going back to the garage in the morning."
"But there's nothing wrong with me. Just a concussion. And I know all the warning signs. If the headache gets worse, blurred vision, if I start throwing up, extreme confusion bla bla bla then I come back to the hospital."
"I know that Wilson is important to you, but he's just frustrated and being unreasonable. You need to look after yourself."
"Father, I'm not doing this for Warren. I'm doing it for me. This is my holiday and I wanted to spend it racing because who knows when the chance will arise again. In a weeks time I have to relieve John and after that I'll be back on rescues and I just want to enjoy this while I can. And I really want to figure out what happened. Just like you would if one of the birds failed…and don't you try to deny it, you know you wouldn't rest until you knew."
Jeff sighed. The trouble with having children that took after you was that you understood them far too well to argue with them sometimes. Lucille had always said that he and Alan were far too alike to get along. After a fight they were both too stubborn to apologise; instead, after some psychically agreed cease-fire period they just forgot about the altercation and went back to normal, ready for the next round. "Alan…"
"See, you can't even argue with me."
Jeff sighed and put an arm around Alan while they waited for the doctor.