Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [45]
I headed down to Sharee’s booth but she wasn’t in. There were a few new posters pasted to the message board; I noticed the advert for the furniture was still there.
Checking I had my phone, I moseyed over to the pits.
This time Team Bennett’s roller door was open and the cover was off the blue and red Yamaha inside. I couldn’t see a mechanic, but a guy in clean jeans and a dark blue tee-shirt was crouched down examining the tyres.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘I’m Tara from the food van. Do you want to put in a food order for lunch?’
The guy stood up and it was clear immediately that he was the rider. They tended to be the same build – lightweight but strong, and small to medium in height. There was usually something intense going on with them too. With Lu Red it was the fist-clenching. With this guy it was his brilliant green cat’s eyes.
‘Tara-from-the-food-van. Is that like Jenny-from-the-block?’ he joked.
‘Sure. I guess.’ I sashayed a few steps in my best J-Lo imitation.
‘I like big girls. Especially big girls who make me sandwiches.’
I let my expression become stony. ‘And I like tall guys who can look after themselves.’
He looked crestfallen briefly then laughed. ‘Guess I deserved that.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Will you forgive me if I order some food?’
‘Sure.’ I pulled my phone from my pocket. ‘Shoot.’
‘Meatballs and tomato with mayo on a white roll. And a 7 Up.’
Uggh. I’d learnt a lot about people’s tastes, or lack thereof, in the last few days. ‘Got it. You riding in the race on Sunday?’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
‘You gonna win?’
His effervescent blue aura contracted as if someone had pinched it. ‘Maybe. Depends, I guess.’
‘On what?’
‘You know. The usual. Who rides well. Who rides smart.’
‘There’s a difference?’
‘Yup.’
‘You look like you’re smart,’ I said.
‘Every dog has his day,’ he shot back.
‘Okay. Well, good luck . . . err . . . can I have your name?’ I added, waving my phone. ‘For the order.’
‘Frank Farina.’ He seemed disappointed that I’d had to ask.
‘What time would you like to pick it up?’
‘Midday,’ he said. ‘Practice starts at 2 pm. I need time to digest.’
‘I’ll see you soon then.’
That comment seemed to brighten his ego and his aura flooded back to its full sparkling-blue strength. Men!
I walked on past the Chesley garage. A bike revved inside and a pall of blue smoke blew out the door. Inside, people were shouting over the noise. Didn’t seem like the right time to pay a visit, so I moved on to Riley’s.
Neither Riley Senior nor Junior was there, so I grabbed the opportunity to talk to the mechanic. I cleared my throat and he looked up, wiped his hands on a rag and strolled over.
‘You want a lunch order?’ I asked.
‘Didn’t you come around here the other day?’ he said.
‘Yeah. Got chewed out by your boss.’
‘Old Man Riley can be a bit of a wanker. Sorry about that. I’m Dave.’
‘Tara,’ I said. ‘No sweat. Pretty tense time leading up to a race, I guess.’
‘Particularly this one.’
Dave seemed almost to be talking to himself. His aura churned with dark, unhappy, brownish colours with some purple flecks. I’d learnt from Hoshi that purple indicated passion, but whatever good things this guy had going on were currently being swamped by the negative browns. I felt a sudden desire to touch his aura to encourage the purple to expand. I hooked my hands behind my back so as not to do something freaky.
‘I’ve heard your rider’s pretty good,’ I said.
‘It’s not all about the rider,’ he said abruptly, then gave me his order. ‘I’ve got to get back to work.’
So much for squeezing information out of him. I keyed his name into my phone and moved on to Moto-Sane.
Lu Red was half dressed in his racing leathers – the bottom half – revealing a lean and lightly muscled torso. He was staring at the shelves cluttered with cans of oil and containers of nuts and washers, while Clem, Bolo’s mechanic, drained oil from one container into another. Red’s girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.
‘Orders?’ I sang out.
Red nodded, then gave me his – exactly the same as last time.
‘You want something?’ I asked Clem.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Two sausage