Chapter forty-three Round 3 Race #2
"Yep. Didn't think you were afraid of work. This is a small team, you know."
"How small?"
"What do you think? We have a great sponsor, but we're being very careful who we work with and what we spend."
"How small?" he asked again, but at least he didn't sound annoyed.
"You and me."
"Dude? Are you sure?"
"It's just one bike." Tyler shrugged and gestured to Davey's bike. "Well, we do have a backup. I left it on the trailer. We won't unload it unless we have to."
Mickey walked over to the bike, eyeing it.
They both knew Davey was first in points and favored to win the championship this season, unless something catastrophic happened.
As far as Tyler was concerned something already happened and they overcame it quickly.
He hoped Mickey would see the resourcefulness of it.
"You want to be on the winning team, right? "
"You think? Davey's gonna take it this year, huh?" he teased.
"Fucking straight. So, you want to be that mechanic that helps get him there or do you want to keep fucking around with dicks like Cole?"
Mickey laughed and brushed his thick dark hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ears, giving Tyler a better view of his almond shaped eyes. "Cole is a dick, that's for sure."
"So, you'll do it?"
"Hold on," Mickey said, holding up a hand to stop Tyler's words. "KTM is a stable team with four riders. Andy is lead on the 450s, and there's only one other junior mechanic. I stand to grow there. Dick or no dick, Cole's on a good team."
"He's never going to win a championship."
Mickey shrugged. "Davey will win, scrappy bastard. I'm sure of that for now." He pointed toward the main track. "He's king out there. Again, for now. But, what about next year? Or the next? This sponsor helps, but they're new too."
"Yes, but we have a two year contract. After that?
I don't know. You'll be head mechanic by then or we may pick up another rider.
I don't know. Davey might or might not retire, but I'm not going to.
I don't want to. So, maybe we'll be in a position to have new riders, write our own ticket.
You and me." He pointed at Mickey and then thumbed his chest.
"Hmm. I like you, Ty. You know that, bro."
"Yeah? So?"
Mickey looked at his feet and shook his head. "I'll think about it."
"Think it will cause a lot of shit with KTM?"
"No. My employment is at-will with them, no contracts. By the way, I do like the new paint on the RV. But that yellow?" He shook his head and laughed.
Tyler reached over and fake punched him in the chest. "Don't knock my man's colors, dude."
Mickey reached around and hugged him. "I will think about it, Tyler. It means a lot that you thought of me."
"Yep. I know you got skills, bro."
They thumped each other's backs and then Mickey left with a short wave. Tyler thought it went well and hoped Mickey would get on board because he didn't have another plan. He couldn't think of anyone else he'd trust Davey's bikes to. Not even Shorty was welcome in his pit.
Tyler picked through his tools, inspecting them and getting ready to tweak out Davey's bike. He quickly lost himself in his task and was surprised when Davey showed up to get the bike for practice.
"Come with me," Davey asked.
"Sure."
They walked the bike to the practice track. They still had a few minutes before Davey could get on the track. "Tyler," he asked as they waited. "After I do my required laps, I want you to do a lap. Then, we can talk about what the bike's doing."
"Something wrong with it?" Tyler asked in a panic.
"No. No, I won't know till I ride it either. I want us to be on the same page with it. That's all."
Tyler nodded. "Okay. I like that." He liked being on the same page as Davey in everything.
"It's been performing well. I like this bike a lot. I don't want to replace it, but this is its second year on the track. You know? Hard wear and tear sometimes."
"I get that. Shorty's done a real good job with her though."
"Yeah?" Davey laughed. "Her?"
Tyler rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
"God, Tyler. We've come so far, so fast. Can you even believe it?" They bumped shoulders.
Davey leaned the bike into Tyler's hands as he pulled on his helmet and goggles. "We still have a long way to go if people are spray painting our rig and saying mean things about us."
"That's a small percentage, baby."
Tyler smiled. "Damn. I love it when you call me that."
"Baby, baby, baby. Now move. I'm up."
Tyler swatted Davey on the ass before he started up his bike and rode it to the top of the track.
A voice behind him groaned, "Keep that shit at home, Whitmore." Tyler turned to see Chad Regal pushing his bike away from the track. "I don't give a shit what you two get up to, but don't rub our noses in it. You don't see me smooching on my girl out here, do ya?"
Tyler felt his face blush. "Sorry," he murmured.
"Whatever." Chad turned his back and kept pushing the bike forward.
He hadn't been nice, but he hadn't had an attitude that suggested he should be suspected of anything.
Tyler wrapped his arms across his chest feeling suddenly exposed, standing there alone.
He could only bring himself to half focus on Davey's ride with his mind and his eyes scanning the area.
He didn't want anyone surprising him, walking up unannounced.
Maybe he was being overly paranoid, maybe he was just being cautious.
It didn't matter. Tyler hated feeling afraid. Yep, they still had a long way to go.
Davey burst out of the gate, hard on the throttle, heart pumping adrenaline through his system as if he had bionic hydraulics in his body instead of his bike.
The humming of engines revving screamed through his head as he approached the first turn, gunning for the holeshot.
The track in front of him was clear, the dirt just begging for Davey to tear it up.
Another bike pushed into him, someone clipped his rear tire and he fell over into the padded barrier, his bike turning at an unwanted angle.
Had he not been wearing boots, it probably would have took his foot off.
As it was, he felt throbbing pain in his ankle, high-pitched and squawking like engine of his bike ringing in his ears.
Davey didn't waste time worrying about the ankle; he let anger push more adrenaline through his system and climbed back on his bike.
He'd need to fight through the pack to get back to the front.
He knew he needed to concentrate, so he pushed the thoughts about killing Shannon to the back of his head.
That bastard had plowed into him, and Davey knew he did it on purpose.
He hated riders that played that way, making the track unsafe and bringing a bad reputation to the sport.
Davey swallowed hard, eyeing the rhythm section ahead of him, and pushing any other thought out of his head.
The dirt on this track felt great under his bike, tasted like home in his mouth, and smelled like something he knew lived inside him along with the blood in his veins.
Davey embraced the dirt, the jumps, the turns, and he dug into the ruts throttling hard.
He clawed his way up the track, passing other riders in the air and around tight curves.
He liked racing from the front of the pack, but knew how to scramble his way through the pack, too.
A few laps in, and he glanced at the tower.
Tyler was there giving him signals, letting him know he was gaining on the leaders.
He pushed harder, taking a triple jump with massive air, probably over 70 feet.
His bike screamed through the next turn, banked and rutted, he cut it tight, passing another rider.
He thought it was Tate, but he wasn't sure and he sure as hell wasn't looking back to find out.
He took the left side of the whoop section, and noticed the black number 13 on the back of a red and white jersey. Cole Lindt.
Davey knew Cole had a fast bike. The KTM factory machines put damage on the track and Cole had been racing smarter so far this season, but he'd never be as good as Davey.
He bit down hard, grinding his teeth, as he passed his rival, having a hard time not feeling the glee and wanting Cole to eat his dirt.
What the bastard did to Tyler sucked ass.
Davey had never been a revengeful or overly emotional person, but Tyler changed everything, his whole life, and he'd do whatever it took to keep him from hurting.
Riding into the final lap, Davey had four riders ahead of him.
He hadn't missed a transfer to the Main Event in a heat race since his first season in the 450s, and he wasn't about to start now.
He had enough time to pass at least one or two other riders.
He could guess who was in front of him. Regal for sure, but other solid riders as well.
With him, Cole, Tate, and Shannon behind this heat, those other riders would be chomping at the bit for placement.
Everyone hated having to fight it out in the semi rounds.
Ahead of him, the new Princeton rider that jumped up from the 250s, wearing orange and yellow gear, took a jump over a table top with ease, but Davey passed him with little effort, attacking the track, ready for the next bike.
Davey didn't often wish for a longer track, but he feared running out of time, coming from the back.
He saw the checkered flag waving and knew he wasn't going to finish where he wanted, even though it would be good enough to transfer to the Main Event.