<h2>Chapter 7</h2>


    Washington Park Arena, Denver


    The launch event seemed like it would never end for Dillon. There were cameras everywhere, and reporters swam through the crowd like sharks looking for their next meal. He kept to the edges of the event, a plate of food in one hand and a beer in the other and tried to avoid eye contact. He''d already seen Basher do three interviews with Kayla alongside him.


    That''s good enough. The media should eat up that father-daughter storyline. The two of them can handle this.


    He’d also got a look at some of the other crews while they mingled and did their interviews. Five of the other eight crews were of varying quality, with the only qualification that they were sponsored by an AADA-approved organization. The other three were the top contenders in the Mountain West Autoduel circuit, all running Division Six or higher.


    Flammo consisted of a pair of drop-dead gorgeous female redheads, who wore coveralls that looked like flames were bathing their legs and midsection. They easily drew a crowd, and both of them fed on the energy like some kind of social vampires. They just made him feel even more out of place.


    Another team, Quikshred, consisted of a tall, older, gray-haired man and a woman so short she didn’t even come to his shoulder. Their coveralls were covered in Vulcan machinegun blueprints, aligned so that the sleeves were the barrels. Belts of ammunition trailed down their legs. They didn’t seek the attention that Flammo did, and the interviews they did give were delivered with confidence. The driver, Jesse Flynn was someone Dillon was at least familiar with. He’s been on the circuit since Basher’s days, but he’d never broken into the big times. Still, he was well known in the Autoduel circuit as a steady, competent competitor.


    The crowd near him parted slightly, permitting the short man in racing coveralls to walk unmolested from its depths. His path was aimed straight at Dillon. He held neither food nor beverage in his hands, only a slightly predatory smile on his face. His coveralls were all white, with feathery wings imprinted on the arms, and a massive hammer crossing the chest.


    Carefully placing the plate and beer on the planter next to him, Dillon straightened. If one of his fellow ''teammates'' wanted to talk some smack before it started, he would be ready. The other man stopped a few feet from him and looked up and down. His coveralls sported the Martin Graumann Industries logo, a company most autoduellist in the Mountain West were familiar with. The name tag read ''Gabriel''.


    "So, you''re Dillon Hodges. Famous driver and racer extraordinaire." Even though the tone was pleasant, the words were just too precisely pronounced to be friendly.


    Given that his name tag clearly stated his identity, Dillon only nodded, noticing that the other man called him a ''racer'' and not an ''autoduellist''. "That''s me. Not sure where you got those other ideas, but yeah, I''m pretty good behind the wheel. My arena record proves that."


    "Yeah, I''ve seen your record. I wasn''t aware Division 2 was considered a competitive league. I mean, just about anyone can field a car there. You seem to know your way around a track, I''ll give you that."


    Holding his temper in check, Dillon said, "It''s Division 3, actually. Thanks so much for the compliment. I wasn''t aware I needed anything from you, though."


    The small man laughed. "Oh, you simpleton. You don''t know who I am, do you?" He tapped his name tag and made an explosion with his fingers, a huge smile on his face.


    Dillon nodded and mimicked the other’s man explosion gesture, although he let his end in a raspberry. "You''re Gabriel Santos, one of the Angels of Boom. Yeah, I''ve watched you fight. I''m always surprised there''s an arena left standing when it''s over. You realize the point is to cross the finish line, not to destroy everything in sight?"


    The smile remained, and it even reached the other man’s eyes. Clearly, he found the whole confrontation amusing. "Hey, if anything gets in my way, it''s gone. Smashed. Junk. I don''t let anything, or anyone stop me from winning."


    "You do know that for this thing, we''re all on the same team, right? You lose points for shooting at your teammates. That''s going to keep you from winning if you go into the negative."


    "I don’t need to shoot you. It’d be a waste of ammunition. I’ll let the crazies out there in the wilds take care of that. Now, I''ve made things clear to most of the other crews, and Jesse doesn’t have the fire needed to go for first anymore. Only one crew is going to win this whole thing, kid. And that''s going to be us. I thought I''d give you the option of pulling out now, so as not to embarrass yourself on national television. I mean, any more than you already do around here."


    Dillon''s temper flared, and he stepped forward, fists balled. His opponent kept smiling and lifted his chin, offering a clear target. Before he''d taken more than a couple of steps, a hand closed over the younger man''s shoulder. The grip was iron, and looking up in surprise, saw Eric frowning down at him.


    "He''s baiting you. You’re officially signed up, and that means no fighting with the other team. Hit him before the rally starts, and you get a penalty."


    Gabe laughed, this time a harsh, grating thing. "Your nursemaid just saved you a whole bunch of trouble, boy. Too bad you can''t have him on the road with you."


    Without looking, Eric said, "Santos, just like your weapons, you run your mouth too damn much. Why do you go find some puppies to kick? That’s more your speed."


    Gabe’s face went red, and he opened his mouth, and nothing came out. Fury rolled through his eyes, and his hands curled into fists. Eric turned to face him, and after a brief pause, turned his head to present his left cheek. "Go ahead. You know you want to. You won’t even be penalized for it, since I’m not a competitor. Come on, Boom Boy. Show me what you got."


    The Angel was almost visibly vibrating with rage. With a massive effort, he got his emotions under control, and he stalked away, indignant fury making his movements almost comical.


    Dillon sighed and said, "Thanks for keeping me out of trouble."


    "Oh, I''m about to take you from the frying pan and into the fire. Time for your interview."


    His stomach sank towards his feet, watching his opponent disappearing into the crowd. "Can''t I just go another round with him?"


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    Smiling wryly, Eric guided him towards the center of the room, where the cameras were. "Just remember what we taught you. You''re thrilled to be competing in the Dead Man''s Run, you''re looking forward to being part of the ATSS team, and you have every confidence in your gunner and vehicle to get you to the finish line. Keep repeating those lines or variations of them, and you''ll do fine."


    Dillon whispered the instructions under his breath while they closed the distance to the bright lights. Kayla stood to one side, sipping on a glass of champagne. When she saw him, she gave him a thumbs up and mouthed, you got this.


    Looking back at her, he asked, "Why isn''t Kayla in this interview?"


    "They''ve already talked with her. Unsurprisingly, they wanted her take as the ATSS design lead, not the gunner. That, and her and Nico talking about this rally being a family affair. Believe it or not, you''re a small fry in this game right now."


    He felt a little relieved. All too often, being the event winner meant they wanted his input, and he was the first one interviewed. Maybe this would be easier.


    ***


    Rebekah was in her element here. The lights, the cameras, and the opportunity to be seen and heard on camera made most people want to talk about themselves. The flow of liquor helped, too. She limited herself to wine spritzers, however, and only a couple of those. It helped to have a glass in hand outside the interviews, when people let their guards down and revealed just a little too much about their personal feelings. Those comments she committed to memory. Having a digicorder here would be too obvious, and besides, the background noise would interfere with a good recording.


    She let others handle the ATSS team and especially Dillon. While the opportunity to befuddle him in front of the camera was tempting, she was after bigger things. That’s why she’d made sure to secure the interview with the Angels crew.


    Gabe and Rafe stood side by side, white coveralls seeming to absorb the camera lights. It made the darkened hammer on the front stand out even more.


    "Gabriel, Rafael, thank you for stopping by to chat with me." Rebekah smiled easily, inviting the viewer to welcome the two arena stars with her.


    "Oh, our pleasure, Rebekah. You’ve always been a friend to the Angels, and we appreciate the support from your viewers." Gabe’s voice dripped sincerity, and Rafe flashed two thumbs up at the camera.


    "What’s your assessment of this team that our great city has put together for the Dead Man’s Run? Can we secure the Grand Prize at the end?"


    He smiled at her, confidence in his eyes. "You know us, Rebekah. The Angels are ready to lead our team to victory. With us in the lead, no one else will be left standing when the dust falls at the end."


    She flashed a brilliant smile at the camera, showing the viewer she was reassured by his announcement. "And the rest of the Denver crews? Surely they’ll be helpful along the way?"


    Gabe looked straight into the camera this time, waving his hand around the room. "There’s some really good drivers and gunners out there, and I know we’ll pull together for the win. The less experienced teams, those who have only competed in the lower Divisions will need some help, and that’s what the Angels do. Put your money on us, folks. We’re going to win this thing for our great city of Denver!"


    ***


    The crowds were gone, and only a few sat at the small tables, mostly talking in low voices. The camera crews finished packing up their equipment, and the last of the displays were disappearing into their storage containers. Eric found his boss sitting in a chair in one of the side rooms, the glass of bourbon on the desk in front of him nearly untouched. The television on the wall across from his desk was still on, showing reruns of the event, whereas he''d muted the sound long ago. The words still echoed in his head anyway.


    Eric lightly rapped his knuckles on the door. "I wondered where you''d got to. Why the hell are you still watching that thing? I never figured you for a glutton for punishment."


    "Dillon is really the best driver? There''s no one else?"


    Leaning against the door jamb, the tall man smiled. "You want the big bucks and the fame, you gotta fight for it. The kid''ll get better."


    "Better." Nico rubbed a hand across his forehead. "What was it he said there at the end? ''I''m thrilled to be a dead man.'' No, wait. How about ''I''m confident in my car to get across the start line.''"


    "Hey, if this were easy, anybody could do it. Think of it as a challenge, Nico. I know you love those."


    "Get. Out."


    Eric''s laughter trailed after him down the hall while Nico swore and took a large gulp of his drink.


    ***


    Loveland, Colorado


    The bar''s parking lot was nearly full, and the din of conversation and country music greeted the elderly man when he opened the door. The bouncer immediately stood up from the stool he''d been sitting at and nodded a greeting. He then turned to clear a path to the back room, past the pool tables. The old man smiled his thanks and made his way through the crowd.


    Those who weren’t too far gone in their drinks gave him a respectful nod and got out of his way. For his part, he nodded back, and in a few cases greeted a person by name and shook hands. One of the servers met him at the door to the back room, presenting him with a beer bottle on her tray.


    He took it with a smile, saying, "Thank you, darling. Just what I need to get the road dust off my tongue."


    She smiled back, a genuine smile, and opened the door for him. He nodded his thanks and went inside. The young woman carefully closed the door behind him and left, never once entering the room.


    Inside, a group of four men and three women sat around a circular table, each with their own drink. Conversation stopped when the newcomer entered, and they waited until the door was closed before one of them spoke.


    "What’s the deal, Vernon? Gotta be pretty serious for you to call us all here like this."


    Vernon Grant sat down and took a long pull from his beer before he answered. "It is, Dan. We finally have our opportunity, people. A chance to give the AADA back what they deserve for making the governments outlaw the BLUDs. We just have to reach out with both hands and seize it." He reached out with his hands, motions mirroring his words.


    The rest of the table leaned in; interest caught. Vernon smiled that easy smile and continued. "They’re in trouble, just like we thought it would happen. Their sissified rules are losing them fans by the truckload. They’re desperate to do something, anything, to get them back that they’re going to hold a rally on the open roads. And that’ll be our chance to show them they haven’t got what it takes anymore to run these roads."


    "How we gonna do that? Them cops don’t let us get together easily no more. More''n three of us on the street together and you got a pig tailing you." A dark-haired man in a yellow and black leather jacket jerked his thumb toward the window, showing the street outside. "I’m all for showing those AADA chicken hearts what asphalt tastes like, but I ain’t going to jail for it."


    Vernon smiled and raised his hands in the air, like he was receiving a blessing from on high. "Not to worry, Jake. The AADA is going to let us in. In fact, they’re practically begging for us to jump in and stir the pot. Now listen, all of you. The race is a rally, from Denver to Sturgis. It’s going to be covered live, and it’s being sold as a radically new form of autoduelling."


    Several of the others snorted or laughed, and the older man smiled. "Right? We’ve known since the beginning that open road fights are the only true form of autoduelling. Well, since they’re asking for a challenge, we’re going to give them one. And not just us. I’ve been in touch with my counterparts in Deseret, Idaho, Montana, and North Dakota. They just can’t wait for the rally to come their way."


    There were open grins now, up and down the table. The eagerness was palpable, like a hum of electric current through the room. Grant motioned to the south, towards Denver. "We’ll need to be smart about this. We can’t do it up here. The Corridor is still too tightly patrolled. No, we’re going to have to branch out. That means getting your people in position ahead of time. And I know just where to do it."


    He pointed at Jake. "You know Jeb Cannon out near Grand Junction. Why don’t you take a trip out there and let him know what’s going on. I’m sure he’d like to play too. The rest of us will spread out to help our brothers and sisters along the route. Then we show those gutless cowards what it really means to fight!"


    Glasses and cheers were raised, and fists pounded on the table. Vernon leaned back in his chair, smiling beatifically. Today would go into the history books like other famous start dates, like the Declaration of Independence or the legalization of autoduelling. Today would mark the beginning of the end for the AADA.