PRELUDE TO MAYHEM V: THE DEATH OF DREAMS
2.11.2010
GARAGE AREA OF TEXAS MOTOR SPEEDWAY
FORT WORTH, TEXAS
8:37 AM CENTRAL TIME
Terrence Thompson patted his stomach in content as he walked through the garage area. The omlette he had made from the egg he had taken from the Egg Bandits the previous evening had hit the spot.
He thought back to the Defiance show, and surpressed a chuckle as he remembered the expression of utter disbelief on the Egg Bandits faces. He didn't have any beef with the bandits, but Pollaski had griped half the way to Houston about how this great interregional war had devolved into something of a prank off between the two factions. That conversation had inevitably turned into a discussion of the stunts Terrence and Dan had used to pull during their run (and Terrence had nearly ran the car off the road as he was laughing so hard at Pollaski's dead on imitations of Brittany Fox's shrieks as her poor dog got shaved)
One of Terrence's favorite things to do had been to rev up his derby car and total the vehicle of whoever he cared to voice his displeasure with. It may not have been the most mature (or effective) method of releiving stress, but it sure as hell had been fun.
So Dan had suggested that Terrence pull the prank with the semi to show the WWA how shit was done when the Birdz ruled the alliance. Besides, Twister didnt like Dane anymore than Dan or Wendy did, and what was Dane gonna do? Challenge a retired guy to a fight?
If Ericeldama Dane did that, Terrence wasn't certain if he'd bother showing up or not. Probably not. His contract with Holly Motorsports demanded that he not jeopardize his health during racing season, and he'd rather have faced RJ Harris with both hands tied behind his back than deal with the might of the Holly legal team.
Especially because he still probably could have beaten Harris. But Terrence had found over the years that lawyers tended to not look favorably upon suggestions that legal disputes be settled in a steel cage.
Ah well, a shame. It would have been fun making Eric Dane pay for what he had done to his wife and manager.
And plus, it would have been good to beat up someone from Saint's country. He was still bitter about four days prior, when his beloved Colts had gone down in the Super.Bowl.
Seriously... eighteen games and fifty-six minutes into the season, and THEN Manning had to fuck up?
Ah well, at least the Colts had one ring.
Still, the Super Bowl had been the only downside to what had been a really good week. It had been good to see Pollaski again, and the car trip with Daniel down to Houston had been a lot like old times.
And Wendy had even seemed to be in a better mood. Ever since she had found out her theater was to be closed, Wendy had entered a severe depression, and, at least Terence thought, had even become a bit paranoid and secretive. After last Wednesday, though, with that mystery savior agreeing to fully sponsor the theater, Wendy's mood had improved considerably, although she still seemed jumpy at times. Then again, his 31st birthday was now less than a month away. Maybe she was planning something huge!
And best of all about this week, after four months, he'd be climbing back into the #38 again. The ALMS season kicked off in three weeks at Phoenix, and the team's first of two preseason testing sessions was today.
After finishing outside the top 20 in the standings the first two years, Terrence had managed to improve to 16th last year, and had even managed a couple of top 5s (including a second at Indianapolis Raceway Park... his home track).
Terrence had long given up hopes that his career would take him into the upper-ranks of the NASCAR Sprint Cup series. But, prestige wise, the American Late Model Series was just below NASCAR's Trucks, and Terrence always felt.that if he could play his cards right, he could be on the Nationwide tour within a few years.
But if he ever wanted to hit the big time... he needed to make this season a good one. And it would all begin today.
He had arrived at his paddock.
The door was up, and Terrence looked upon the sleek Dodge that awaited him. Next to Wendy and Theresa, she was the most beautiful thing in the world.
He thought so, even though the car was just a plain white body. Sponsorship deals had not yet been finalized, and thus, the paint design still remained up in the air. Still, the paint job on the car was like putting makeup on his wife. It only accentuated the natural beauty that was already there.
He smiled. It was going to be a good year.
2.11.2010
STREETS OF INDIANAPOLIS
INDIANAPOLIA, INDIANA
9:52 AM EASTERN TIME
Despite the ominous sounds of Modest Mussorgsky's "The Hut on Fowls Legs" blaring from her Focus's stereo system, Wendy Briese-Thompson was in a good mood.
Buoyed by the sudden salvation of the theater, her cast and crew had nailed every single performance of Annie Get Your Gun. Megan had especially managed to break out of her slump, and had delivered four breathtaking performances.
And best of all, she now was spending today beginning prparations for Oklahoma!, instead of cleaning out her office.
Even the other events of the past few weeks hadn't bothered her. After receiving Victor's letter two weeks ago, and subsequently instructing Cassie that Terrence was not to know, and if Mandrake ever showed his face around her house again, Cassie was to immediately call the police, Wendy hadn't seen or heard anything from her old enemy.
He had probably gotten distracted by a newborn kitten and was off busy disembowling it, Wendy thought darkly.
Even her guilt over Rick had subsided somewhat. She hadn't forgotten him- God forbid she ever do that again. But despite her sins, she knew that she mustn't remain depressed over it. The Rick Logan she remembered would have wanted her to carry on, to live her life.
Even Super Bowl Sunday had been enjoyable, although she still was slightly angry at Terrence after he unleashed a barrage of curse words after Manning's interception. Diving across the room to cover her daughters ears, she didn't think she had moved that fast since her ring days!
Wendy smiled as she pulled her Focus into the parking lot, but something had caught her eye. It was the large Marion County Community Theater sign that sat on the roadside.
Or at least it had been.
Now, the "Marion County" part had been removed. Curious, Wendy thought, as she resumed her drive to her parking space.
She smiled. It was going to be a good day.
2.11.2010
TEXAS MOTOR SPEEDWAY
FORT WORTH, TEXAS
9:39 AM CENTRAL TIME
With a smile, Terrence Thompson slowly lowered his foot on the gas pedal as he merged his #38 onto the backstretch.
After four months of waiting, it was time to get wild.
"Alright, Terrence" a voice over his radio broke into his thoughts. "Lets start off nice and slow. Get her up to 180, and dont push it too hard."
Terrence laughed at the voice of Eric McMahon, his new crew chief. "Anyone who calls one hundred eighty miles per hour 'nice and slow' is someone I can get behind."
He was exiting turn four, heading for the quad-oval. Once he crossed the finish line, he would be on the clock.
If he was good enough, within a few laps he'd be making the one and a half mile trip in less than twenty-four seconds.
"Just don't wreck her" Erics voice commanded. "We haven't put in all the safety mechanisms yet"
"Really" Terrence was stunned. As strict as the ALMS was about safety, he was surprised Eric would show such a blatant disregard for the rules by running an unsafe race car.
"Yeah," Eric shot back. "Theres nothing in that car to stop me from killing you if you wreck it."
Terrence laughed as he set the car up into 3. He gritted his teeth as he had to fight the car to keep it on his chosen racing line.
"She's a bit tight, Eric" Terrence complained as he zoomed back towards the quad-oval.
"She'll loosen up" Eric reassured, as the car passed the finish line. There was a short pause. "Twenty-seven forty-six" Eric announced.
Terrence relaxed as the car came to him, and within four laps he was turning laps in the low twenty-fours. The plan had been to run a twenty-five lap session, then to stop while the team reviewed data, discussed possible solutions, then ran another session. While the ALMS tended to run more on short tracks than the main NASCAR series', the schedule did include races at Kentucky, Atlanta, and Chicagoland, and the data gained here would help the team configure the setups for those races as well.
The tightness was still there as Terrence finished his thirteenth lap, but Terrence had stopped complaining During cautions, when he generally spent five minutes concentrating on not running into the back of the guy in front if him, Terrence was quite the chatter. However, while he ran hot, he was content with just the roaring of his engine, with the occasional split time or warning from his spotter the only interruptions to his solitude.
But even so, it had become awfully quiet from his crew chief.
"What was that last lap?" Terrence asked as he swung around 2 onto the backstretch. "Hello?"
Still no answer. Great, his radio must be out. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but now he wouldn't know how he was doing until he came in. Still, he knew this was lap fourteen, so just eleven to go this time around.
"Bring her in, Terrence" the voice of his crew chief suddenly came in. Obviously, the radio wasn't broken after all, but Eric didn't sound happy.
"We still got ten laps left." Terrence tried to protest. "Is something wrong?"
There was another pause, then his crew chief came on again, this time in a tone that would bear no argument.
"Just do it."
2.11.2010
COMMUNITY THEATER
INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA
10:57 AM LOCAL TIME
Humming "Oh, what a Beautiful Morning" quietly to herself, Wendy Briese looked down at the script of Oklahoma! she was rooting through. She had a lot of work to do before the next Saturday, when auditions for the play would be taking place.
She had to figure out how many parts she needed, then come up with both dialogue and song excerpts, not to mention editing the script so it would best fit her theater.
But she loved it, well, except for the auditions.
Wendy held open auditions for all of her plays, but as inclusive as she tried to be, there were only so many parts she could have. She generally offered those who missed the cut places on the crew (making scenery, helping with lights, selling tickets, etc.) so they could continue to be involved, but the fact of the matter was, when the casting lists were put up, there were generally some hurt feelings.
And she hated hurting people's feelings.
A knock at the door made Wendy look up from her script. "Come in!", the redhead called.
The door opened, and, to Wendy's surprise, there stood Simon Cassidy. The stout, bald headed rec department director rarely came to see her here at the theater. Normally, the two interacted via phone calls or emails, or, if face-to-face time was necessary, met at Cassidy's office in the Executive's building. She couldn't ever remember Simon coming to the theater, unless he was bringing his family to see one of the plays.
"Mr. Cassidy!" Wendy had finally found her voice. "I... I didn't know you were going to be here!"
"That's because I never told you I was coming," Cassidy simply replied. "Do you have a moment?"
"Of course!" Wendy replied, looking around her office. It was not a bg room, just large enough for her desk and some small shelves and cabinets. She didn't even have a visitor's chair. "I need to make photocopies of the audition excerpts, though." It was more an excuse to get out of her office than anything, but she grabbed her excerpts and stood up.
Cassidy nodded, then stepped out of the room, waiting for Wendy to follow. The two began walking through the hallway towards the backstage area.
"I went to Annie Get Your Gun with my wife Saturday night. Very impressive show."
"Thanks," Wendy replied. "After you saved us at the commissioners meeting, my kids had their spark back. We wanted to make it special for everyone who was willing to give us a chance."
"Well, I didn't save anything," Simon said. "You can thank your sponsor. Speaking of which, when does the next show run?"
Wendy thought for just a second. "The last weekend of March. Why?"
"I wanted to hold a banquet in his honor." Cassidy said. "If you wouldn't mind saying a few words, I'd appreciate it."
"Of course," Wendy smiled. "After what he did, you could name the theater after him."
"I'm glad you feel that way, because that is exactly what I intend to do."
"So that's why the sign was down." Wendy mused, thinking back to the unusual scene driving in
Cassidy merely nodded, then flashed Wendy a rare smile. "We'll hold the banquet the night before the first performance. The Victor Mandrake Community Theater presents Oklahoma! It has a nice ring to it."
Cassidy stopped as he heard the sound of papers hitting the floor. He turned around, and saw Wendy standing, frozen, all the color drained from her face.
"What did you say?" she finally whispered.
Cassidy looked at her quizzically. "The Victor Mandrake Community Threater."
"Victor.... Mandrake... is the... donor?" Wendy had trouble even saying the words.
Cassidy nodded. "Uh... yes. Do you know him?"
Wendy said nothing, a sick feeling in her stomach beginning to overwhelm her. This could NOT be happening.
"Charming man," Cassidy went on, oblivious to the woman's sudden distress. "And good to his word, too. His check came today. I got it right he-"
"NO!!!" Wendy shrieked, grabbing the check away from Simon, and ripping it in half. "Victor... Mandrake... will... have... nothing... to... do... with... MY... theater!" She accentuated each word with another rip of the check, until all she held in her hands was a pile of confetti.
Cassidy stared at Wendy in shock. Normally the woman was so passive and demure. He had found it hard to believe Wendy had been a professional wrestler before she had come here, but now, seeing the manic glint in her eye, he was beginning to believe it.
"Wendy, what-"
"I'm sorry, Simon," Wendy interrupted. "But if Victor Mandrake is donating to the theater, then he's doing it as part of some sick scheme he's designed. And I am NOT going to be a part of it!"
Cassidy continued to stare at the suddenly insane redhead. "You do realize that this man is the only hope of saving the -"
"He's not saving anything. If Victor Mandrake pays attention to something, its because he wants to kill it, maim it, or corrupt it. And I won't put my cast and crew in jeopardy."
Simon was getting more and more confused. "Why would your kids be in jeopardy?"
"Because Mandrake loves to hurt someone by making them watch their loved ones suffer. I know this," Wendy continued, forestalling any objections from Cassidy. "Because he abused me for two weeks, just to hurt a friend of mine."
Cassidy could do aught but shake his head in disbelief. Everything Wendy had said seemed just too damned farfetched. "You speak of this man like he's the devil, himself."
Wendy nodded. "He's called Diablo for a reason."
Cassidy sighed. To him, none of it made a damned bit of sense. "Look, Wendy, I don't know what you are playing.at, but I haven't understood a word of it. All I know is you spent one week begging me for a savior to your theater. And I just gave you one, and now you're upset because you don't like him?"
Wendy stared at Simon in shock. "Don't you get it... Simon?"
"The only thing I get is you just tore up the most generous and selfless contribution to the rec department I have ever seen, based on a stupid old grud-"
"STUPID?" Wendy's voice had shot up more than a few decibels and at least an octave. Simon took a step back... she seemed to be on the verge of hysterics. "THE MAN *LOCKED* ME IN A DUNGEON, SIMON!"
Simon was clearly nonplussed. In the fifteen years he had spent managing the Marion County Department of Parks and Recreation, he had NEVER been screamed at by an employee.
He found he didn't like it very much.
"You are out of line, Ms. Thompson," Cassidy said, his eyes narrowing. "You ripped up department money, and now you have thrown a tantrum at me. I would advise you plan your next course of action carefully... my dear."
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"
*POW!*
Before she knew what had happened, she was standing over Simon, who had crumpled into a heap amongst her dropped script excerpts, holding his jaw, blood slowly oozing from between his fingertips. She felt a slight stinging sensation in her right hand.
What have I done?
Simon slowly climbed to his feet, groaning all the while. Spitting out a bloody tooth, he looked around for his attacker.
But Wendy Briese-Thompson had already fled the building.
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