After grabbing what was available in the garage, Mitch a wrench and Jimmy a screw driver, they hurried back toward the corral area. About halfway to where the Airstream camper was parked, Mitch pulled Jimmy aside between a camper and a truck with a tag-a-long.

"Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back." Jimmy nodded and Mitch headed toward the back side of the campers and disappeared around the end of the tag-a-long. Mitch moved up past the line of campers and trailers and paused at the rear of the Winnebago that was parked next to the Airstream. He peered around the corner and saw what he'd expected; Donnie and Monty were now both posted as guard for Buz. He slipped back from the Winnebago and headed back to where he'd left Jimmy.

"Ok," Mitch said. "There's two there now, the guy with the knife and Donnie, who's packing a gun."

Jimmy looked at his screw driver. "I love a good even fight."

"I think we can even it up some more. Here's what I'm thinking…."

On the track, the Bel Air continued to lead the charge with the three front running cars now having pulled away from the rest of the field. With nine laps remaining, Tod was about three car lengths ahead of the second place car and the Plymouth in third. The Plymouth rode close to the back of the second place car, drafting it for a lap before cutting suddenly to the inside and roaring up alongside it. Like a sling shot, the Plymouth blew past and took second place.

The crowd in the stands on the back stretch were on their feet and cheering as the race leaders went gusting by. The Plymouth was firmly in second place, leaving the other car behind and racing to gain on the Chevy that was in first place.

Vern put a quick message on the pit board and held it up as Tod zoomed down the front stretch: 68 2nd

Tod glanced in his mirrors. The Plymouth was still back a couple of lengths but that didn't mean much. He stayed on the throttle, glancing quickly at his speed and RMPs. That's when he noticed the needle on the temperature gauge was pushing past the halfway mark.

Tod wasn't surprised. The Chevy had taken a beating, literally, in the race. The fact the car had lasted this long had been a miracle. Whether the miracle would hold and get him to the finish line in the next seven laps remained to be seen, but he would push it as far as it would go.

Vern put the pit board down and looked at his watch. He then looked toward the garage area and the direction of the corral, wondering how Mitch and Jimmy were doing.

Mitch and Jimmy watched Donnie and Monty from the backside of the Winnebago. Mitch was trying to figure a plan to get the drop on the two but Donnie's gun was giving him pause with each idea.

After a couple of minutes, and the race coming down to four laps to go, Monty stood up from the steps and paced toward the corral path, listening to the announcer on the PA. He paused looking around the path.

"Just four laps to go ladies and gentlemen and Tod Stiles is hangin' on to that lead…!"

Mitch figured this was their best chance with the two separated. He turned to Jimmy and whispered a quick plan of action and Jimmy nodded. Jimmy ducked back the other way around the Winnebago and moved toward the front of it.

Between the Winnebago and the truck that was pulling it, Jimmy could see Monty looking the other way in the direction of turn one. The Plymouth and the Chevy were running door to door. Tod held on to his piece of the asphalt and ran through the turn, the Plymouth close enough that Tod could have put his hand out the window and shook the other driver's hand. Not that the driver of the Plymouth would have accepted such a gesture anyway.

As Monty watched the cars through the turn, Jimmy crept low around the front of the truck and then sprung out at Monty with sudden attack. Monty had just enough time to turn to his enemy but no time to go for his switchblade. The two men tangled and fell to the dirt wrestling.

Donnie sprung up at the fight and dropped the newspaper, readying his gun. From behind the Winnebago, Mitch raised up the wrench he held and pitched it at Donnie, hitting him in the arm that held the gun and spoiling his attempt to use it. Mitch chased after his wrench and tackled Donnie, knocking gun away.

Inside the Airstream, Buz heard the commotion and realized what was happening. He yanked harder on the ropes, trying desperately to get himself free.

The fight soon spilled out into the corral path and dust kicked up from the combatants. The scuffle didn't go unnoticed and several people soon started to gather around, some not sure which fight they wanted to see, the one in the corral or the one that was starting to unfold on the track.

"Three laps to go and we have quite the battle now going on for the lead here between the number 44 Chevrolet of Tod Stiles and the number 68 Plymouth of Joe Smith and – well, it looks like we have a battle going on in the infield as well!"

Mitch and Jimmy were each holding their own against their opponents. The small crowd that had gathered were hooting and hollering, a couple throwing half empty beer cans at the combatants.

From inside the Airstream, it seemed like all hell was breaking lose. Buz could hear the announcer talking about the on track fight Tod was in, and the off track fight in the infield that he could hear right outside the camper.

Tod and Joe, meanwhile, came out of turn four, still side by side. In the stands, Mr. Jepson and Maggie were on their feet along with everyone else.

"Papa, it's that car again!"

From pit road, Vern and his crew watched tensely as the two cars raced down the front stretch, the Plymouth close enough to the Chevy now to start bumping and trading paint. Both cars shimmied and swerved a little before going into turn one.

"Stay out of the wall Mistah Stiles!" Vern yelled, although he knew Tod couldn't hear him.

The Plymouth backed away in the turn but when the two cars were on the backstretch, the kid gloves came off. The Plymouth nudged against the Chevy. Tod moved away to the right which edged him closer to the wall. He hit the brakes, allowing the Plymouth to shoot past him and take the lead.

The two raced through turns three and four with Tod staying back behind the Plymouth. When they reached the line, they had two laps left to go.

Captain McGrath could see the fight in the corral from his spot on the front stretch. He signaled to another plain clothes officer and quickly left the grandstands.

The grandstands on both sides of the track were alive with hooting and hollering. Vern and his crew watched the Plymouth and the Bel Air go down into turn one and everybody was up on the pit road wall to try to see the cars as they raced through turn two and on to the backstretch.

Having figured out the Plymouth's game, Tod stayed behind the car and followed it down the back stretch. The Plymouth moved to the outside heading into turn three, leaving the inside as an open invitation for Tod to pass.

Tod declined and stood pat on his position through the turn and the two cars came out of turn four and roared on to the line where the white flag came out signaling the last lap. Tod figured if he could hold the line until the last moment maybe he could still win the race and not get killed at the same time.

That is, if the Bel Air was going to make it. The temperature gauge was pushing closer to the red zone and the oil pressure was starting to drop. When Tod glanced up from the gauges he saw out of the corner of his eye the fight going on in the corral as he approached turn one. The Plymouth was still to his right but slowed letting him pass in the turn and slipped in directly behind him as they came out of turn two and raced on to the backstretch.

Tod glanced at the Plymouth in his rearview mirror and swallowed the fear. He pushed the accelerator demanding anything and everything the Bel Air had left.

The Plymouth drafted close and then tapped the back bumper of the Chevy. The Bel Air lurched but Tod held on to it, keeping the car on the track even when the number 68 came back again and pushed the Chevy down the backstretch.

Tod had few options and as soon as he inched the wheel toward the right, he knew he'd made a mistake. The two cars went into turn three with Tod on the outside and the Plymouth on the inside, the nose of the 68 running even with the back quarter panel of the Chevy.

The crowd was going nuts, the PA announcer's play by play being drowned out. Inside the Airstream, Buz couldn't be sure he heard right – that Tod was barely hanging on to the lead.

Vern and the rest of the pit crew were spilled out over the pit wall and were standing beyond the pit box on pit road, watching the two cars come out of turn four and race down the front stretch. "C'mon…" Vern was rooting. "C'mon Mistah Stiles!"

The nose of the Plymouth was now even with the door of the Bel Air and the 68 nudged closer, the two cars briefly trading paint, forcing Tod closer to the retaining wall. The crowd in the front stretch grandstands were on their feet as the cars roared to the finish line.

The checkered flag was out waving as the Chevy hit the line first. Tod had no time to realize or enjoy his slim victory as the Plymouth pushed him harder toward the retaining wall. Sheet metal touched and there was a deafening roar, the car itself screaming as dark blue paint was stripped away and left behind on the retaining wall of the front stretch grandstands. The passenger side mirror and the Bel Air's airplane trim piece were casualties as well.

Tod pushed back against the Plymouth and the car backed away mere inches, keeping Tod trapped at the high side of the track.

In the corral, Mitch and Jimmy managed to knock down Donnie and Monty each as the race leaders were roaring past the finish line. They had only a moment to recover when they heard the chirp of tires and crunch of metal coming from the track.

They spun to look and saw the Plymouth come back to shove hard against the Chevy again pushing the Bel Air into the guard rail near turn one. The force of the blow, combined with the over 120 mile per hour speed of the Chevy, created just the right amount of push to cause the car to lurch upward, skate a tire along the guardrail, and send the entire length of the Bel Air airborne. The flat finned tail end swung around as the car leapt over the guardrail and disappeared outside of the track and down the embankment.

The same force sent the Plymouth careening down onto the apron of the track and skidding across the infield toward the retaining wall, sending a shower of dirt flying up ten feet into the air.

"Papa!" Maggie cried out, putting her hands over her mouth. Mr. Jepson grabbed hold of his daughter and strained to listen to the PA announcer over the sudden chatter and noise of the crowd.

Vern and his pit crew watched in horror as the Bel Air went airborne then each man started running down pit road heading toward turn one.

In the Airstream, Buz heard enough to know Tod had won the race – and then crashed but he didn't hear that the car had gone up and over the guard rail. He finally pulled a hand lose from the ropes, the skin around his wrist looking like raw hamburger.

On the corral road, Mitch spun to Jimmy. "Go get Vern! Go get the others!" Jimmy nodded and took off back to pit road. Mitch ran to the Airstream just as uniformed police officers were coming into the corral.

Mitch pulled open the door of the Airstream and found Buz on the floor, the gag off, pulling at the ropes around his feet, seeing his wrists red and raw. Buz looked up. "Mitch…"

Mitch kneeled down and picked at one of the other knots.

"I heard the announcer," Buz said. "He said Tod won, then crashed?"

"Yeah, just after he crossed the finish line." The ropes unraveled and were pulled away. Mitch put a hand out to Buz and helped pull him up off the floor. "The sixty-eight pushed him over the guard rail," Mitch said grimly.

"Over?!" Buz stared at Mitch for a beat and then bolted out of the Airstream. He ignored the cops, along with Donnie and Monty who were now handcuffed and sitting in the dirt, and ran through the corral park heading toward turn one. He slowed when he saw the plume of smoke rising up from the other side of the embankment from somewhere outside the track.

The grim possibility that Tod had perished nearly knocked the wind out Buz. There was yelling coming from behind him, he even heard his name but he ignored it. He broke into a sprint down the corral road and cut between two parked campers, climbing over the low retaining wall at the end of the infield. The banged up Plymouth still sat in the dirt, the driver out of the car and a tow truck pulling up to it. Buz kept running, out onto the track and up the embankment. He got to the guard rail and looked.

The Chevy was about fifty yards away down the grass and dirt embankment, on its roof, the underside of the car all aflame. There was a trail of torn up sod from where the car had flipped several times on its way to where it now sat.

"Tod!" Buz climbed over the guard rail and hurried down the embankment, half-running, half-sliding along the way. "Tod!" He moved as close to the car as he could, raising his hands to shield himself from the flames blowing hot and fiercely from the undercarriage. He kneeled down to try to look into the car to see if Tod was in there, if he was trapped and trying to get out.

The heat was intense and the flames and smoke hindered the view inside the car. Still, Buz tried to get closer. "Tod!"

Behind him, somebody grabbed his arm. Buz turned to see it was Mitch who hauled Buz back to his feet, pulling him away from the car.

"No!" Buz protested. "I think he's in there!"

"It's no use Buz, it's no use!"

Buz twisted and turned from Mitch's hold. "No! Tod!" He took another step toward the car only to be forcefully grabbed back by Mitch and pulled further away from the car.

Track emergency vehicles and personnel were now coming upon the scene from the parking lot. Buz shoved Mitch away and walked away from the car, his hands over his face. The thought of Tod in that burning car now sickened him and his grief began to swell. His body hitched with a sob and he took his hands away from his face, clenching them into fists.

Fire extinguishers were turned toward the car and the flames began to die away under the foam making the thick dark smoke that had been rising up turn a wispy grey. The area around the car was a cloud of smoke blocking the view, the sun and everything.

Buz hardly comprehended the hollering and commotion going on behind him as the crews worked to extinguish the fire. He felt angry and sick.

"…here! We found him, he's over here!"

Buz didn't hear anything. He saw nothing. The light on the dark side of him was gone…

"Buz!" Mitch grabbed him. "They found 'em! He's over here."

Buz spun to Mitch, his dark eyes already intense with grief. "Wha…"

Mitch shoved Buz around to the other side of the car. Twenty feet back from the car, up the embankment, near a cluster a bushes, Tod was being pulled from the brush and laid out a few feet away on his back. His clothes were stained with dirt and torn and he lay unconscious as his racing helmet was removed.

Buz wasn't sure he could take it. He dropped to his knees next to Tod, looking at his friend as a medic was checking Tod over, holding fingers to the carotid artery.

"Tell me he's alive…" Buz said.

The medic paused a few beats and then nodded. "He is..." He lifted one eye lid for a moment and saw the pupil react as did the rest of Tod who began to stir with life.

"Tod?" Buz held Tod's head as the green eyes started to flutter open. "Easy now…" Tod grimaced with discomfort and looked at Buz, recognizing his buddy with relief. There was momentary confusion, however, as Tod had no idea that at that moment he and Buz were safe. He barely remembered winning the race but for all he knew they were still going to be dispatched by Doyle.

"Buz… I'm sorry…"

"Sorry?" Buz couldn't help his smile. "What are you sorry for? You won the race, kid…"

Up in the skybox, Doyle had to struggle to maintain an appropriate expression after he and his various guests watched the Chevy leap over the turn one guard rail after winning the race. Then to see the plume of smoke rising up from beyond the embankment the chattering in the skybox was concerned.

Doyle placed his binoculars down and turned from the window. He excused himself from his guests, saying he was going to see that the driver was okay. He exited the box and headed down the stairs.

Stuart met up with him on one of the landings about half way up. "Stiles went over the guardrail," he said, turning to walk with Doyle down the stairs.

"I saw it. Spread the word, make sure it's finished. And get Murdock out of here. No more lose ends."

"Right."

At the last landing and the exit, there were two uniformed police officers and Captain McGrath waiting. Doyle and Stuart both stopped half way down the stairs and stared.

"That's right, Doyle," McGrath said. "No more lose ends."

Doyle looked smug while Stuart looked stunned. Plain clothed and uniformed officers came up the stairs to escort the two men down. At the bottom of the landing, they paused.

"I didn't know you were a race fan Captain," Doyle said. "I could have seen you got a sky box seat."

"I'm not." McGrath pulled a piece of paper from his suit jacket. "You're under arrest, Mr. Doyle."

Doyle scoffed. "For what?"

"A lot of things, the biggest of which is kidnapping and attempted murder – unless, Mr. Stiles did not survive that wreck, in which case we will be having a very different conversation."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. My attorney will turn your warrant into confetti."

"Not this time, Mr. Doyle. Not this time…"

Tod got up on his own and stood, somewhat shakily, and walked to the waiting ambulance on his own leaning on Buz for support. The attendants helped him into the back and Buz climbed in after him.

The ambulance was gone by the time Mr. Jepson and his daughter made it down from the grandstands. From the parking lot they could see the blackened remains of the Bel Air on the embankment. Not knowing if Tod had perished or not, Jepson didn't want Maggie to go further and he turned to her.

"You wait here," he said.

She nodded and brought her hands together to her lips in prayer. She watched her father go closer toward the embankment where several people were gathered. She recognized Vern and a couple of his friends in the group. Her father spoke to them for a couple of minutes and then started back in her direction.

He smiled at her as he approached. "Tod's alive," he said, "they took him to the hospital as a precaution, Buz went with him." He touched Maggie on the arm and they turned back to the parking lot to return to their car.

When the word came over the PA that Tod was alive, the crowd cheered. Although Tod was the winner it was unknown who would be presenting the checks as Doyle, Stuart, Monty and Donnie were all collected up by the police and placed in patrol cars. It was a rather unceremonious end of the Skull Cracker 125.

And it was only the beginning of the end for Silas Doyle. Captain McGrath ignored the man's bluster as they rode back to Atlanta and all threats of what Doyle's attorney would do had no effect. The confidence of the police captain, combined with the fact that this cop wasn't on his payroll, irritated Doyle. All the same though, Doyle expected this matter would be wrapped up to his satisfaction as soon as they got to Atlanta.

It wasn't. Doyle and his associates were booked and locked up on multiple charges. Doyle was indignant as he was placed in a holding cell and after the door slammed shut he demanded to see Lieutenant Fredericks.

McGrath and the officers that had escorted Doyle to the holding cell all paused in the hall way. The captain then turned back to Doyle.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Lieutenant Fredericks has been relieved of duty and placed on suspension."

The look on Doyle's face had made the last six months spent on the internal affairs investigation all worth it. Doyle said nothing and McGrath didn't need to elaborate further. He and the other officers left the holding area.

At the hospital, Tod was treated for some cuts, abrasions and heavy bruises and checked over by a doctor, who determined there were no broken bones or anything more serious and declared Tod was a very lucky young man.

Although Tod appreciated the sentiment, and was very thankful he had survived, he wasn't feeling all that lucky. At that moment neither he nor Buz knew Doyle and his men had been arrested. Tod figured he and Buz were still looking at a short future.

When the doctor left the room, Buz – along with Mr. Jepson and Maggie – were allowed back in. Buz looked at his buddy.

"Soon as they let you out of here, I say we just keep on going."

"How? We don't have a car."

"We walk. Or run. Or take a bus. Who cares? Doyle's bound to figure out where we're at and send somebody to make good on the 'deal.'"

Jepson nodded. "Buz is right, Tod. You boys should just get out of Atlanta while you can."

"We still owe you money," Tod said. "And then there's the Jag we lost."

"Don't worry about that," Jepson said. "You can make good on those things from any place in the country, just as long as you're away from here and safe to do so."

"And you can bet the cops won't be any help after what happened either," Buz said, just as the door was opening.

"I wouldn't make that bet," Captain McGrath said.

Buz turned and suddenly had hackles raised, seeing the two uniformed officers that had accompanied the Captain. Mr. Jepson put a protective arm around his daughter.

McGrath put his hands up, indicating he meant no threat. "I'm Captain David McGrath of the Atlanta police." He glanced at Tod. "Mr. Stiles and I have already met…" he then looked at Buz. "You must be Buz Murdock."

"That's right."

"And you must be Harold Jepson."

Jepson nodded.

"Well, I think you will all be happy to know that Mr. Doyle and several of his associates have been placed under arrest."

Everyone was dumbstruck. Knowing he had a captive audience, McGrath continued. "We received a tip that Mr. Murdock here was being held against his will and that you, Mr. Stiles, were going to be killed in an auto race. Certainly we are glad to see you were not."

Tod nodded and glanced at Buz. "Buz was held."

"Yes, we know. We have the two men from the corral in custody." He looked at Tod. "As glad as I am that you and your friend here are ok, I did warn you about trying to get your car back yourselves and going up against Doyle."

"Well, all things considered Captain, I didn't trust you," Tod said. "I thought you worked for Doyle, no offense."

"None taken. Sadly, there were several officers who were on Doyle's payroll. An internal investigation has been going on for the past several months. Although I'm sorry you didn't trust me, your reaction was not without basis," McGrath said.

"So now that you've got Doyle and his crew, you have Tod's car back?" Buz asked.

"Not quite. Mr. Doyle and his associates are not very chatty right now, so we're not sure where the car is at presently—"

"I know where it is," Buz said. "It's in a warehouse, along with the Jag that got stolen from Mr. Jepson here."

"Can you show us this warehouse?" McGrath asked.

"I can try."

When the line of police cars pulled into Bluff Street and up to the warehouse, the overhead service doors were wide open. The lead police car pulled to a stop and out stepped Captain McGrath and Buz along with a uniformed officer. Buz went in ahead of them and looked to the corner where the Corvette had been parked.

It was gone. The Jag was gone too. Buz looked around the warehouse as other officers were coming in and the only cars that remained were what was left of the ones that had been stripped for parts.

"It was right here," Buz said. "And the Jag was over there…" He pointed to the empty spot next to a car that was stripped.

McGrath said nothing as he paced forward through the warehouse. Buz noticed the overhead service doors at the back of the warehouse were wide open. This had not been the case when he was there earlier. He walked over.

An officer approached Captain McGrath. "There's an office across the way, looks like they left in a hurry…"

Buz paused at the doorway and looked out. Railroad tracks ran along the backside of the warehouse and the platform jutted out far enough to meet the tracks, making loading and unloading of a box car easier. He looked in both directions of the track and realized there was only one direction anything being loaded from this point could go – Inman Yard.

"I'm sorry Mr. Murdock," McGrath said coming up behind Buz. "I'm afraid your friend's car and the Jag are long gone by now. Of course, area law enforcement will have the cars on their hot sheets."

"What good's that going to do?"

"Well, if it happens to be spotted—"

"If it's visible."

"That kind of goes without saying."

Buz turned to McGrath. "What about the freight yard?"

McGrath paused. "I suppose he could have shipped them out in a box car."

"Makes sense. Tucked away in a box car, nobody would ever see it. And with the right forged papers, which Doyle seems to be very good at, nobody would ever question the shipment in or out of the freight yard."

"True. But he could have trucked the cars out on a car carrier. There's any number of ways those cars could have gone, at any particular time. For all we know they went out last night and they're not even within Atlanta anymore. They may not even been within the state of Georgia."

"Maybe. You want to go back to the hospital and tell Tod that?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"We look at Inman Yard. These bay doors weren't open when I was here yesterday. My hunch is he sent them out in a box car and it's possible if they went out today, they're still sitting in the yard waiting to hook up to a train going in whatever direction he wanted to send those cars to."

McGrath looked out and down the tracks. He nodded. "Let's go take a look."

At the freight yard, the freight master on duty confirmed a box car had come in from Silas Doyle. He then checked the classification sheets, determined it was heading for Chicago and that it had been sent to track 16 for hook up. The freight master then shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That train was hooked up and left here about 45 minutes ago."

Buz looked at the manifest for the box car. Four automobiles were listed as being in the carrier but none of them were a Corvette or a Jaguar. Of course, once a locked box car came in to the yard, it remained sealed and as long as the weight was consistent with what was being shipped nobody gave it a second glance.

McGrath figured as much too. He looked at the freight master. "Where's that train now?"

"Let me check with the dispatcher…"

After the freight master left the room, Buz looked up from the manifest to Captain McGrath. The cop was eyeing him critically. "There could be four Chevy Impalas in that box car, Mr. Murdock. If we stop that train and open that car and find that to be true..."

Buz shook his head. "It's there."

"What if it isn't?"

"It's there," Buz repeated.

"For your buddy's sake, I hope you're right. Because if it's not, you're going to give him the bad news, not me."

A couple of minutes later, the freight master returned. "That train's between Emerson and Cartersville. He's stopping in Cartersville, he'll wait for you."

McGrath nodded and he, Buz and the uniformed officer left.

About an hour later, they arrived in the small town of Cartersville, GA north of Atlanta. The first sight they saw was the long line of box cars waiting on the tracks that ran parallel with the road that lead into town, casting long shadows as the sun was setting in the west. They met up with the conductor and then found the box car back down the line.

With a nod from Captain McGrath, the conductor broke the seal on the box car. Buz stepped forward to help push open the door. He then looked anxiously into the box car and saw the Corvette tucked inside on one side, with the Jag across from it on the other side of the box car. Stacked above were two Impalas.

Buz looked at Captain McGrath with a smile. McGrath just looked at the four cars packed into the box car and shook his head wondering how the heck the four cars were loaded in in the first place – and how they were to come back out.

In the days that followed, Tod and Buz remained in Atlanta as things were sorted out and settled. The Corvette and Jaguar both were carefully extracted from the box car and the Jag was sent back to Mr. Henderson, who was pleased not only to have the car back, but to know everything had turned out okay. The Corvette was returned to Tod by the Atlanta police with Captain McGrath personally handing the keys over to Tod at the police station. Both boys gave their statements as to the various events involving Silas Doyle. Buz added what he had overheard from Donnie and Monty and what had happened to Vern's brother, Cecil.

The battered and burnt up Bel Air was sadly scrapped. Tod and Buz followed the flat bed tow truck to a salvage yard where they got $10 for Chevy. As they walked back to the Corvette, Tod couldn't help but pause a moment, looking up at the busted up coupe on the flatbed. He remembered going over the guard rail and flipping…once…twice? He couldn't recall being thrown from the car or how he'd lost consciousness but he realized just how lucky he had been. Buz's roll bar had kept the roof from crushing in and the Chevy took an enormous amount of abuse but had kept Tod relatively safe.

Buz thought of this too as he looked up at the car but he couldn't let Tod think about it too long. "Hey," he said. "A car's just a car."

Tod snorted softly and looked at his friend. "Yeah. Sometimes…"

Buz grinned and patted Tod on the shoulder. They returned to the Corvette.

Mrs. Gebhardt was thrilled to have the boys back at her boarding house again, along with having the "pretty blue car" sitting in the driveway. Although she was sad to know that the boys had decided that they would leave Atlanta once things were settled, the parting would not be near as upsetting as what she gone through the morning Tod left for the race.

Until the time came, however, she carried on with fussing over them, making sure Tod was healing up from the car wreck and keeping them well fed. She had dinner all ready for them when they returned from the salvage yard.

"Ten dollars does not seem like much," she said after they were all seated at the table and they told her what they'd received for the car.

"Not when the loan balance is a thousand dollars," Tod said.

"That is lot of money," Mrs. Gebhardt said.

Tod nodded. "Plus we owe Mr. Jepson for the parts we used on the car, that's about seventy-five dollars."

"What are you boys going to do? You leave Atlanta you have no jobs. How are you going to pay for these things?"

"Tod won that race," Buz said. "He should be getting some money soon."

"How much?"

"Five thousand dollars."

"That is lot of money!" Mrs. Gebhardt exclaimed and grinned. "You get that, you boys will be set for life!"

Tod shook his head. "I doubt we'll see the money, Buz. It's been almost two weeks since the race, Doyle's in jail and the racing association probably had to forfeit the money."

"I think they should pay you regardless of whose money it is," Buz said. "You won the race."

Mrs. Gebhardt nodded. "I agree with Buz."

"I don't disagree, I just don't think we'll see it. The best we can do for now is stay in Atlanta for a little while longer to pay Mr. Jepson for the parts and then go from there."

"What about insurance?" Mrs. Gebhardt asked. "Didn't you have insurance on the car?"

Tod chuckled softly. "Yeah, but when they found out I had modified the car to be a stock car racer they denied paying the claim. Apparently that's not covered under their policy."

Mrs. Gebhardt shook her head. The doorbell rang and she put her napkin down on the table. "You boys keep eating, I'll get that." She got up and went into the living room. A moment later, she came back to the dining room with a smile. "Tod, there is someone here to see you…"

Behind her, a dark haired young man paused at the entry way to the dining room. He wore chinos and a button down shirt with a logo on it that Tod couldn't make out at first and had a box that was a little bigger than a shoebox underneath his arm. Tod stood up from the table.

"Mr. Stiles?"

Tod nodded. "Yes?"

"My name's Bill Lentz, I'm with the racing association." They shook hands and then Bill put the box down on the end of the table. "I'm sorry we didn't get to do this the day of the race in Victory Lane with the pretty girls and photographers and all. After everything that happened and then Mr. Doyle's arrest, the racing association had a lot of details to work out…"

Buz was grinning as the young man opened up the box and spread open the tissue paper, lifting out a silver trophy cup. "…but everyone was happy that you were okay after that crash and I'm honored to be able to present to you your first place trophy. Congratulations, Mr. Stiles."

Tod smiled, holding the trophy. "Thanks."

"And, of course, we can't forget this…" Bill reached into his shirt pocket and took out a folded check, opening it and handing it to Tod. "The first place winnings. Five thousand dollars."

"Oh!" Mrs. Gebhardt couldn't help her enthusiasm.

Tod laughed as he held and looked at the check. "Thank you, Mr. Lentz."

"My pleasure."

Buz stepped up by Tod to check out the trophy and then look at the check. He grinned at his friend. "You're rich again!"

After cashing the check the next day, the car loan was paid off and Tod and Buz went to see Mr. Jepson to pay what they owed him. When they pulled into the lot, they saw him with a customer near a '61 Pontiac and the two were shaking hands.

As Tod parked the Corvette, the customer with Mr. Jepson accepted the keys being handed to him and happily got behind the wheel of his new purchase. A moment later the Pontiac pulled out of the car lot, sun gleaming off the chrome fenders.

Tod and Buz walked up to Mr. Jepson who was all smiles. "That's my third car this week!" he said.

"Congratulations!" Buz said.

"Yeah! It feels good to see a customer drive away happy and mark another car off in the sold column," Jepson said. "If it weren't for you two, risking what you did…you two are due an awful lot of thanks."

"We're just glad you're back selling cars again," Tod said. "I take it Doyle's dealership down the street is closed?"

"Yeah, closed up last week. All the inventory's still on the lot though. Depending where the legalities stand I suspect the cars will be wholesale auctioned soon."

"You going to buy some to sell here?" Buz asked.

"I might. No sense letting good inventory go to waste." Jepson smiled.

"Now that's what I call poetic justice," Tod said. He counted out some money and handed it to Mr. Jepson. "Here's what we owe you for the parts we used on the Bel Air."

"I already said you fellas don't have to pay any of that, after all you did-"

"Yes, we do," Tod said, putting the money in Mr. Jepson's hand. "I got the prize money from the race. We paid off the loan and since its Doyle's money anyway, I'd rather share the wealth."

Jepson counted what was in hand coming up with much more than the $75 they owed him. "Tod, this is too much."

"Keep it."

Jepson looked at Tod and Buz both. He could see in their expressions that if he insisted on giving some of the money back it would be an offense. So he simply nodded and folded the bills, putting them in his pocket. "I reckon you boys will be leaving Atlanta soon now?"

They both nodded. "We'll finish up at the freight yard at the end of the month, which is next week," Buz said. "Then we'll hit the road."

"Where to?"

Buz shrugged. "Who knows?"

"What is it you fellas are searching for anyway?"

"A place to be," Buz said. "A place to settle, plant roots. To be our own."

"Atlanta's not it?"

Buz glanced at Tod and shook his head.

"It might've been," Tod said wistfully. He then shrugged.

"Too much happened," Jepson said and nodded. "I think I can understand. But you fellas made a heck of a difference while you were here, don't ever forget that."

"Not likely we will," Buz said.

Mr. Jepson put his hand out to the boys. "I wish the best for both you," he said. "And I hope you find what you're looking for."

Tod and Buz each shook hands with him. "Thanks, Mr. Jepson," Tod said. "For everything."

Jepson nodded and he watched the boys return to their Corvette. They waved as they passed by him and returned to the road.

Mr. Jepson stood in his lot still looking reflectively toward the road after the Corvette disappeared. "Herald angels…" he said softly.

When the whistle blew on Tod and Buz's last day at the freight yard, several of the yard workers wished Buz good luck and asked for the same to be passed on to Tod. Buz promised he would do so and he looked around the yard finding it odd that Vern seemed to have disappeared.

Maybe Vern didn't like mushy goodbyes, he figured. Buz didn't linger long in the yard and the next shift was coming in anyway. He headed off toward the parking area.

Before he got there, he spotted Tod coming from the other direction and he waited. The two of them then continued on to the parking area and the Corvette.

When they got there, Vern was waiting. He was eyeing Tod in particular as they approached and Buz could see that Vern looked almost mad about something.

"I found the envelope ya left in my locker," Vern said.

"Good," Tod said.

"Mistah Stiles—"

"Vern. It's from the prize money. Now I know what you said about Buz and I going after Doyle was payment enough, but I didn't win that race all by myself. I had a good pit crew. If it weren't for you and your boys, I never would have made it to the starting line. So you split that money with Mitch and Jimmy and the others."

"Don't argue with him, Vern," Buz said. "Knowing Tod, you try to give that money back to him, he'll shove it up your nose."

Vern snorted and looked at Tod as if to size him up. "Yeah, he probably would." He then nodded. "Awright, Mistah Stiles, I'll split it with the boys. They'll appreciate it."

Tod nodded. "Good."

"I appreciate what y'all did takin' on Silas Doyle. I…got a call from the police a couple days ago, said they might have an idea who killed Cecil. I don't want to get my hopes up too high but, this is the first time since he was killed that I thought there was any chance there'd finally be some justice y'know?"

The boys nodded. "It's long overdue," Buz said.

"Yeah…" Vern said. "I ain't much on long goodbyes and all but I am sorry to see y'all go. We finally got this yard runnin' right and now I'll hafta break in a new freight master."

Buz smiled. "Ever thought of being the freight master yourself? Might be easier."

"Yeah, I'll have to think about that," Vern replied and looked at Tod. "Meantime, you ever think about racing again, you got a crew here in Atlanta that'd be ready to help ya anytime."

Tod nodded. "Thanks," he said and put his hand out to Vern. "Best of luck to you, Vern."

Vern shook hands with Tod and followed with Buz. "Best of luck to y'all. Be careful out there now." Vern stepped away from the Corvette as Tod and Buz climbed in to the roadster and he waved to the boys as they drove away.