Race Wars — Episode 103
NASCAR second-year driver Dickie Gillette is angling to take the throne of racing legend Hank King, by any means necessary.
Episode 103 – The Dump
(Dickie Gillette is in a dive bar in Cleveland, Ohio two days before the first race of the season, meeting with sassy private investigator Perry Tyler…)
Dickie: (swigging beer) Whatcha got for me, Perry?
Perry: (hands Dickie a file folder) Child, I have found him. He is in Strongsville, Ohio; an ugly little town on the outskirts of this city.
Dickie: And you’re sure it’s him?
Perry: Does an aubergine pocket square match a lavender dress shirt?
Dickie: I don’t know what those words mean.
Perry: It means I’m sure.
Dickie: Then just say that, then. What’s he doin’ in Strongsville?
Perry: He is involved in the industry of waste management.
Dickie: (snorts) He’s a trash man? Well, I’ll be.
Perry: (holds out hand) My fee?
Dickie: Yeah, about that. I’m kinda strapped for cash right now. Can I hit you up after I win this race on Sunday?
Perry: (dramatically picks up scarf and fedora) Dickie Gillette, you are a rascal, a wastrel and a vagabond.
Dickie: Again with the words.
(Dickie’s brother and crew chief, Kenny, joins him at the bar…)
Kenny: What the heck was all that about?
Dickie: I found daddy.
(Saturday afternoon near the garages of the Cleveland Motor Speedway, Lord Racing president Cliff Lord is on the dais with the Gillette racing team and assorted media documenting the event…)
Kenny: (whispering) I’m not goin’.
Dickie: You gotta go, Kenny. It’s daddy!
Kenny: He abandoned us when we was boys. Why would I wanna see him?
Dickie: He didn’t abandon us. He went to prison.
Kenny: Yeah. For eleven months, for stabbing a mall Santa.
Dickie: That Santa was an asshole and you know it.
Kenny: And then he got out and we never saw him again. I don’t want nothin’ to do with him.
Cliff: (to media) We see Dickie Gillette as the future of Lord Racing and the future of NASCAR…
Dickie: You know what you are, Kenny? You’re a bad son.
Kenny: I’m not a bad son. You’re a bad son. You’re the one always gettin’ into mischief. Like bad father, like bad son.
Dickie: Can’t hear you, Kenny. I got Bad Son Deafness. My ears don’t pick up the frequencies of Bad Son Voice Waves.
Cliff: After the unfortunate theft of Dickie’s Prince Toilet Paper #7 car last week…
(Dickie and Kenny exchange a nervous glance…)
Cliff: …we’re here today in beautiful Cleveland, Ohio before tomorrow’s season opening Cleveland 450 to unveil the new Dickie Gillette car.
Dickie: At least I won’t be sponsored by toilet paper anymore.
(A curtain drops to reveal the new #7 Prince Diapers stock car…)
Dickie: (jaw drops) Diapers?! That’s worse than toilet paper!
Kenny: (chortles) Diapers are like toilet paper pants.
(That evening, Dickie Gillette is driving a rental car through Strongsville, Ohio, a long, stretching hole of a town. He arrives outside The Fiery Barrel, a dive bar P.I. Perry Tyler claimed Dickie’s father was known to frequent…)
Dickie: (sidling up at the rowdy bar, laying his wallet in front of him) Whiskey, barkeep. And have you ever heard of a Harvey Zerg?
(The bartender glances nervously at a grizzled man in his seventies ambling towards the driver…)
Harvey: I’m Harvey Zerg. Who wants to know?
Dickie: (turning) Harvey, my name’s–
(Harvey sucker-punches Dickie Gillette in the face, knocking him over his stool and igniting a raucous brawl. Dickie watches the violence erupt all around him as everything fades to black…)
(Dickie Gillette is awoken by the piercing aroma of garbage. The moonlight glints off a shattered mirror and Harvey Zerg hands him a beer can…)
Dickie: (rubbing his throbbing temples, swigging warm beer) Where the heck am I?
Harvey: You are in the Strongsville Town Landfill. My home.
Dickie: You live in a dump?
Harvey: Well, I don’t sleep in a pile of garbage, if that’s what you mean. I live in that trailer over there.
(Harvey points to a trailer nestled in a large pile of garbage…)
Dickie: Harvey, do you know who I am?
Harvey: (nods, swigs beer) You’re the Gillette kid. The driver. The one who refused to take his father’s name.
Dickie: Okay well, first of all, your name is ‘Zerg’. Sounds like a space alien emperor.
Harvey: The Zerg name has served me well lo these many years.
Dickie: You live in a dump. And second of all, you left me, Kenny and Mama when I was a boy.
Harvey: I went to prison for you, son.
Dickie: How’s that now?
Harvey: That mall Santa promised you’d get a go-kart, knowing full well I couldn’t afford that.
Dickie: So you stabbed him.
Harvey: Santa lied to you, boy!
Dickie: Okay, so there’s a basic misunderstanding of some core concepts there. Regardless, why didn’t you come back after you got out.
Harvey: Well, that’s around the time I got the job offer to come here. And how exactly was I s’posed to turn all this down?
(A raccoon bursts out of a nearby trash pile, wrestles Harvey’s beer can away from him and disappears into another trash pile…)
Harvey: Damn ‘coon.
Dickie: Yeah, quite an Eden you’ve made for yourself here.
Harvey: Look kid, I wasn’t much cut out for fathering. Your Mama did a better job than I ever would’ve done.
Dickie: That’s the main reason I’m here, Harvey. Mama’s not doin’ so well. She might not have much time left. It’ll be awful nice of you to come down to Florida one last time and see her off.
Harvey: I’ll make a deal with you, son. You get good and drunk with your old man tonight and I’ll take a trip down to the armpit of America.
Dickie: Again, you live in a dump.
Harvey: (hands Dickie another can) We got a deal?
Dickie: I do have that race tomorrow. But…I do like beer…
(The next morning at Cleveland Motor Speedway, Kenny Gillette’s leaving another voice mail for his brother while Cliff Lord looks on sternly…)
Kenny: (glancing nervously at his employer) Hehe, he’s probably just meditating.
(Back in Daytona at DBPD HQ, a lab technician reads Sheriff George Knotts his findings…)
Tech: The canister from the car engine appeared to have some Korean characters on it.
Sheriff: Would Korean characters look anything like Egyptian hieroglyphics?
Tech: Um…no, sir.
Sheriff: Hmm, the plot thickens.
Tech: Sir, shouldn’t we be warning the community of possible nuclear contamination?
Sheriff: (shakes head) Wind’s blowing east. Let Ocala deal with the fallout. Ha! Get it? Because of the nuclear explosion?
Tech: Yes, sir. I get it.
Contact this asshole at firstname.lastname@example.org