Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [15]
‘And you wouldn’t put any of it down to general wear and tear and a run of bad luck?’
He looked annoyed. ‘Would I be sitting here talking to you if I thought that? These are NOT coincidences.’
Lesson number one, Tara Sharp – don’t disagree with the client when they’re offering you a job.
‘Do you have any idea who might be behind it?’ I asked.
‘Yes and no. Two other teams are on the same points as us. And a third team is only a few points behind.’
‘Ouch. That’s tight.’
‘One of the three other teams has to be responsible, but I don’t know which one. I want you to find out.’
‘Surely you can eliminate the team behind you if they can’t win?’
‘Not necessarily,’ he said. ‘If we have to withdraw for some reason, they’ll move up a place.’
‘Have you had any problems before with the owners of the other teams?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘We pretty much keep to ourselves. It’s a very competitive business, Tara.’
Nick Tozzi had said as much. I got out my phone and opened my notes. ‘Can you tell me the names of the other teams so I can do some background work?’
‘Riley, Chesley and Bennett. I assume that means you’re happy to take the job?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ My mind was already racing ahead with possibilities as I keyed the names in. ‘Nick said something about your tyre orders going astray?’
‘Just another example,’ he said. ‘We buy our slicks from a supplier in Adelaide.’
‘Why there?’
‘Personal preference. So I don’t have to deal with Riley’s.’
I glanced at my list of team names. ‘Is that the same Riley?’
‘Riley’s Tyres. Team Riley. One and the same. Wouldn’t use them if they had the last rubber on earth.’ He flushed. ‘So to speak.’
So much for no previous conflict.
‘So when can I come out to the track?’ I asked.
‘Tomorrow. There’s an opportunity for you to work in the pits during practice. You’ll arouse less suspicion that way.’
Excitement squirted hotly into my stomach. Me.
The pits. Hell, yeah.
‘In what capacity?’ I asked as coolly as I could manage.
‘There’s a man with a mobile food van who sells lunch on practice days. He’s got a bad back and I said I’d find someone who could handle the van this week until he comes back.’
‘Cook?’ I croaked.
‘No, no. Just sandwiches and cans of drink. Maybe the odd bucket of hot chips. Here’s his address.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out his business card with a name and address handwritten on the back. ‘My number’s there as well. Can I ring Jim and tell him you’ll be at his place at 6 am tomorrow to pick up the van? Track opens at 8 am.’
I swallowed hard. I eat hot chips; I don’t cook them. ‘Sure.’
‘Now,’ he said, ‘what payment arrangement would you prefer? Hourly or retainer?’
Visions of myself knee-deep in chopped lettuce and shredded ham were quickly replaced with the thought of cash flow.
‘Retainer. And I’ll need . . . that is . . . my . . . errr . . . terms . . . are two days in advance when I work on retainer.’
He slipped an envelope out of his pocket and held it just out of my reach. ‘There’s one stipulation. I must find out who’s behind this ahead of the race on Sunday. No other option is acceptable.’
‘I understand.’
‘Fine.’ He handed the envelope to me. ‘This should be enough.’
I swallowed back a whoop at the sight of several crisp one-hundred-dollar notes.
‘I’ll write you a receipt now,’ I said. ‘And send through an invoice for the week.’
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘No paper trail! Your advance can serve as a kill fee if you don’t deliver the information I need in time. However, I don’t anticipate that you’ll let me down. There’ll be some expenses. Keep a handwritten tally that you can destroy afterwards. You’ll get the balance of payment plus expenses next Monday.’
It sounded fair enough.
Crack mooched back along the bar. ‘Ahem, can I get you two any drinks?’ he asked, giving me the stare.
‘I’m right, thanks, but, Bolo, I’d like you to meet my cousin, Crack. Crack’s one of your kind, been sleeping with his motorbike since he was nine years old.’
Crack leaned over the bar. ‘That your Ducati by the door?’
Bolo nodded without turning his head.