Dead and Gone Jack Patterson (ebook reader play store .txt) 📖

near the bottom on his list of reasons to sign up for such menial tasks. There was another motivation at the very top, one he never mentioned to Nancy.

The reasons Parker proffered to her centered around his desire to gain access the pits and get to know the drivers. He sold the idea well. He and Nancy decided that they would spend each week getting to know a different driver. Sometimes they would introduce themselves and end up spending thirty minutes or more engaged in a conversation with a driver. Other times, it’d be nothing more than a quick pose for a picture. Then there were the crew members, the backstage magicians who made sure the drivers had the best chance to win each week. And they got to know them too.

That’s why Parker knew something was awry the second he glanced at the No. 39 car in the garage at the Texas Motor Speedway. The garage area remained quiet until it opened at 7 o’clock the morning of the race. But someone had snuck in there and was doing something they shouldn’t have been—at least in Parker’s estimation. He only saw it all by chance when he couldn’t sleep and climbed atop his RV to watch the sun rise.

After two years of being close to the action on the circuit, he knew such activity was rare. In fact, during that time he’d never seen anybody working on a car before the garage was open. And he dismissed it as no big deal and forgot about it—until he watched Carson Tanner’s No. 39 car careen into the wall on the final lap and skid to a stop in a crumpled heap of metal. He was convinced it was no accident.

But what to do? He had no proof of what he’d seen. Investigators ruled it an accident. Everyone seemed to move on. It’s racing. Sometimes drivers crash—and sometimes they die. Maybe there wasn’t anything to do. Regardless of how the racing world moved forward so quickly, Parker wanted to linger on it. He needed to, for he saw a way to make all his problems disappear, perhaps even have a normal retirement. After all, he wasn’t sure he could fabricate another reason why they needed to continue following the circuit. The real one sickened him.

With Nancy still sound asleep, Parker scanned the radio dial for something to pass the time. He found a station broadcasting his favorite conservative talk show host. Parker chuckled as the man lampooned congress; a recent poll showed them as being only two percentage points more favorable with the U.S. public than the latest Middle Eastern terrorist group blowing up American interests overseas. The host then went to break and a news segment started.

Authorities in Nevada today are searching for Bill Goldini in connection with a brazen murder at a casino in Las Vegas on Saturday. Goldini, who has spent time in prison after a racketeering conviction along with his father Jim Goldini, is rumored to be the heir-apparent to the Goldini crime syndicate. Officials say …

Parker turned the radio off in disgust and stared out the window.

What’s this world coming to?

He preferred not to dwell on such things too long. Life was too short to spend it worrying about all the crazy people in the world.

He looked up and noticed the Arizona state border sign, signaling that their long journey would soon be over—another week safe from his demons. At least, that’s what he hoped.

Nancy twisted in her seat and squinted as she stared at her husband.

“Where are we?”

“Good afternoon, little angel. Someone got a good nap.” He pointed at her shirt, which appeared damp from drool.

She grabbed a tissue and blotted it. “Oh, cut it out, Ron.”

He snickered and turned his attention back to the road. “We just entered Arizona. Got about five more hours left until we get to Phoenix.”

“Avondale, honey, we’re going to Avondale.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. Nancy remained a stickler when it came to talking about the precise location of a track. It drove Parker nuts. Every time someone asked them where they were from, he’d answer, “Columbus, Ohio.” She’d punch his arm and say, “We don’t live in Columbus. We live in Powell.” Unless the person was from the Columbus area, Parker saw nothing but blank stares until he’d clarify. “Powell is a suburb of Columbus,” he’d say, which would be met by a knowing head bob. He used to tell her to stop that practice, but he quit trying after twenty years of marriage. Nancy didn’t have that many faults, and he decided it was best to let it go and just explain where Powell was.

Parker’s phone buzzed and Nancy snatched it off the console.

“Hey,” Parker said. “Gimme that.”

“Who’s calling you? I wonder.” She punched in the code for his phone and didn’t see a missed call but a photo texted to him. She gasped and held it up for him to see. “What’s this all about?”

Parker stayed calm. “Oh, it’s probably just one of the guys having fun.”

“Having fun? Pointing a gun at the camera, taking a picture, and then sending you a message that says, ‘Time’s up.’ That’s having fun?”

“You know how Larry is,” Parker said as he reached for the phone.

“Honey, that wasn’t from Larry.”

“Oh?” he said as he scrolled to his texts.

She playfully hit his hand. “Stop texting and driving.”

He put the phone down. “Then who was it from?”

“Some guy named Butch. Now, I don’t know much, but when a guy named Butch takes a picture of himself brandishing a gun and adds, ‘Time’s up,’ I take that seriously.”

Parker laughed. “I don’t know anybody named Butch. Someone must have typed in my number by mistake. No worries.”

He waited until she was looking out of her window before he grabbed his phone again. He deleted the photo and slid the phone back onto the console.

“Some psycho killer would accidentally start texting you, wouldn’t he?” she added as she turned her gaze back toward