Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Clermont, Florida
Shannon Parker walked into the short, squat cinder block building.
It had been painted a horrible blue that stood out against all the brown dirt, but wasn’t nearly as bad as the trailers lined up closer to the track.
The offices of Florida Sharkpark Motocross had been designed for utility, not luxury, and every bit of that showed.
How many racers had drug dirt in on their boots over the years?
Hundreds? More? Shannon’s own boots had brought in plenty.
Evidence of it stained the linoleum in the front office area where two old metal desks and a couple of folding chairs stood in as a reception area.
Shannon would never use the word fancy to describe this place.
He snorted at his own musings and crossed his arms over his chest, hooking his fingers under his chest armor.
A moment later, Mr. Desani came stomping down the hallway.
“Good, Parker, you’re here. Come on back.
I have a room set up for you.” He ran the park, kept it moving, kept the schedules running, kept the bulldozers working the dirt, and he did his job well.
Shannon could respect that, but the man wasn’t good for much else.
“Thanks.” He followed Desani down the hall.
He opened a door and gestured for Shannon to go in. He swallowed down the butterflies trying to escape his stomach by flying up his throat. Bastards could drown in the acid first. Fuck being nervous!
The room had been cleared of everything except a long folding table with a few chairs around it. Sunlight streamed into the room through a tiny window with a cement sill underneath the glass, making it look sturdier.
Two suits sat behind the table, one had wide spread legs and leaned back with an expression of interest, but no concern on his face. He held his arms loose at his sides, waiting comfortably for the entertainment to start. He had dark hair, a mustache and a firm jaw.
The other guy had his hands folded together resting on top of the table in front of him.
He had plain brown hair, slicked back and plain brown eyes.
Nothing interesting about the guy, except the tense wrinkles on his forehead and the scowl taking up the rest of his face.
Shannon knew that guy...Gavin Peri. He used to represent the Honda factory team, but he’d been lured away to the newest start up BikeMax Toyota Team.
Shannon expected him, but he didn’t know who the casual suit was or why he was there at his sponsor meeting.
“Come on in, son.” Gavin Peri motioned him forward.
“Who’s this?” Cutting straight to the point was Shannon’s style. Fuck ‘em if they couldn’t take blunt.
Peri blew out a loud and dramatic exhale.
“Right. This is Jack Wolfe. He’s interested in sponsoring a racer and since we haven’t finalized your deal.
..” Peri waved his hand in the air. “So, he’s here to meet you.
” He put his hand in front of him on the table again, his face went back to his natural scowl, but his eyes asked if Shannon had a problem with that.
Nope. No problem. Shannon stepped forward and reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Wolfe leaned forward and shook his hand, then went right back to his casual sprawl. This guy reeked confidence.
Shannon smirked right back at him. He’d be surprised to find out that Shannon didn’t give a fuck about his confidence. “So what are you offering?” He turned back to Peri.
“Nothing. Why should we offer you anything? You're trouble and you bring trouble. You're too aggressive on the track and we don't think you can win.”
Shannon pulled out another chair and plopped down.
He stretched out his legs and propped his racing boot up on the table and folded his hands behind his head.
“Who else do you have? No one. You're wrong about winning.
I'm a winner. I can be up there in the top five every race, but I have issues…with certain faggot racers. That a problem for you?”
Peri stood up and put his hands on his hips. "I don’t care what your problem is.” He leaned forward, his scowl deepening. “You win or you don't. What do you want?”
“I want cash up front. Fifteen grand for the first two races. Plus all the normal expenses you'd have anyway. That's all.” He rolled a hand in the air, gesturing for Peri to get on with it. This was his show.
“Why should I give you a damn dime? You haven't proven yourself—proven anything. Tell you what…you place in the top five, no, top ten in the first race and I'll give you your money. Place top five in the first five races just once and I'll give you double again. But if you don't…”
“What? If I don't finish well, you'll break my knees?”
“Nope. I'll kick you to the curb. This is a trial basis, Mr. Parker. Trial. If you fuck up, you're out. Plain and simple, that's it, the end. Got it?”
“I won't fuck up.”
“I don't care one way or the other… Now, get out.”
Shannon stood up. That hadn’t gone exactly how he wanted.
He wasn’t leaving with a big fat check, but the promise of more cash than he’d asked for and maybe even double it?
He could wait. “I did pretty good at the X-TS. I’m gonna wipe that McAllister faggot off the track.
” He pointed at Peri. The man knew it, or he wouldn’t be offering him anything.
“We’ll see.”
“I still have to train. Practice.” Shannon held his hand up to indicate the track. “This place costs dough.”
Wolfe stood up and snorted. He buttoned his jacket, tucking in his silky tie.
He looked like he was made from money. He hadn’t broken a sweat in the Florida heat, even with his fancy suit on.
“Wolfe Real Estate will pay for your track time. If you can win, I’ll buy you a fucking track.
But, let’s get one thing clear right here. ”
Shannon held his hands up.
Wolfe stepped around the table and slid his hands into his pants pocket.
“I don’t care for your attitude. I don’t care for your issues.
And I don’t want Wolfe Real Estate’s good name wrapped up in a public media shit storm.
So, you better just make sure you’re one hundred percent positive.
If the camera is on you...you better be Mr. Loving-Everybody-Ball-of-Sunshine. Got it?”
Shannon let Wolfe’s words wiggle around a bit in his head.
He knew the guy was probably talking about the problems with McAllister last season.
He’d come off looking like a villain or something.
Hell, he hadn’t done a damn thing that a million others would have done too, if they had the balls.
Hell, if Cole Lindt had the balls and hadn’t backed off, running away from it like a scared baby, he would have been the hero.
Well, fuck him and fuck Davey McAllister and the rest of his sissy-crew.
What he planned wouldn’t ever make headlines and wouldn’t ever be traced to him, but he needed the money to do it.
He even had a 250 racer, Ethan Bowers, ready to do all kinds of shit for the right price.
A real southern boy, that one. Shannon could make it work without getting his hands dirty at all.
“Yes sir, Mr. Wolfe.” He held out his hand.
He could be charming too. He could play their game.
Wolfe didn’t shake his hand. He turned and looked at Gavin Peri. The look on his face said he’d hold Peri accountable if Shannon screwed up and that gaze was fierce. He wouldn’t want to be on the bad end of that. He had a feeling Mr. Wolfe wouldn’t hesitate to kick someone’s ass.
Peri nodded and Wolfe turned back to Shannon. He smiled coldly. “Don’t make me regret this. I don’t deal with regret very well.”
Shannon put his hand down and smiled. He didn’t give a shit what cocky Mr. Wolfe could deal with as long as he paid the bills and kept him racing.
He kept smiling to himself like a crazy loon as the two men walked out the door.
He watched them go, only half pleased with the turnout, but the contracts would come as soon as the first race started and so would the money.
What he needed to focus on now was training.
He followed after to search for Desani to set up some extra track time, now that he knew it’d be paid for.