Scarlet Thunder by Sigmund Brouwer Read Free Book Online Page B

film.
    Ten seconds later, in the hotel room where we sat, the television screen went black. We figured out later that someone had loaded nearly dead batteries into all the equipment.

chapter twelve
    We were two weeks behind our shooting schedule.
    We had traveled to a different track for a different race. Concord, North Carolina. But it still looked the same, because all I really saw was either a hotel room or an infield track with stands in the background.
    It was the night before qualifying runs. The Scarlet Thunder crew had invited the film crew to a barbecue on the infield, in front of the motor homes. A storm hadpassed by earlier, clearing the air of heat and humidity.
    I looked around the gathered crowd. I saw Brian Nelson and Margaret Lynn, another camera person. Ken Takarura, a famous sports interviewer, sat with Uncle Mike. Mike had flown Ken in for the weekend to interview Sandy Peterson. Al Simonsen, who was in charge of audio, hovered nearby.
    Tim Becker had joined us too. Sandy had gone back to her hotel room to try to get as much rest as possible. So Tim, as public relations man, had been assigned to stay with us to answer any and all questions. He was pleased we had accepted the invitation to enjoy this family-style barbecue with the crew instead of eating at a restaurant somewhere. I was too, because I had a huge steak on the grill that smelled great.
    I was also filming with my handheld camera. People had long stopped joking about the camera as a growth on my shoulder. Now they just went about their business and left me alone. I got a few minutes of footage of the crew standing around talking andlaughing. Then I turned the camera to Uncle Mike.
    He was talking to Tim Becker about Sandy’s most recent crash during this week’s practice runs. A crash that I had caught myself with my handheld. I felt real good about the footage; the flames and smoke would look pretty dramatic on television.
    â€œWe weren’t that worried about her being hurt,” Tim said. “She slid off the wall and didn’t have any real impact. Besides, the drivers wear special fire-retardant suits. She was out of the car right away, and the fire crew had the flames smothered in about thirty seconds.”
    â€œDid Sandy say how she lost control?” Uncle Mike asked. I kept filming, moving my camera onto his face. “I mean, she’s a great driver. She can qualify in her sleep. Why would she hit the wall with no one else on the track?”
    â€œLoose rear wheel,” Tim said. “She says it wouldn’t quite hold the turn.”
    Tim turned to me. He smiled into the camera. “Remember, Trenton, even thoughyou’ve got that on film, Sandy won’t let you air it on television. Can you imagine what the press would do with it? Can you imagine the headline? Crew Fails To Check Car. That wouldn’t be good for the team. Or the sponsor. And we need to keep the sponsor happy.”
    I nodded from behind my camera.
    â€œIf you shut that off,” he said, “I’ll tell you more.”
    I lowered the camera but let it run. I angled it upward from my hip, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
    â€œYou see,” he continued, “in my business, you always have to worry about appearances. A rumor like that could really hurt the team. Besides, Sandy might have been looking for an excuse. She hit the wall pretty hard. That alone is enough to loosen any wheel.”
    â€œBut if she’s a good driver,” I said, “wouldn’t she feel when something’s wrong? She does know what she’s talking about, right?”
    â€œOf course, of course,” he said quickly. Almost like he didn’t believe it. Almost like he was a public relations person whose firstthought was always to say the right thing. “Sandy is one of the best. The whole team believes in her.”
    He said that too, like it was something he was automatically supposed to say. I remembered Sandy telling