Race Wars — Episode 104
NASCAR second-year driver Dickie Gillette is angling to take the throne of racing legend Hank King, by any means necessary.
Episode 104 – The Lovechild
(Kenny Gillette hangs up his cellphone and enters Mama Gillette’s trailer in Shady View Trailer Park in East Daytona Beach. Dickie Gillette and the town doctor, Doc Nixon, are hovering over Dickie and Kenny’s ailing mother…)
Kenny: Boy, Mr. Lord is none too pleased with you.
Dickie: Aw, screw him. Don’t he know I got a dying mama over here?
(Doc shakes his head and Mama glances up from the fold-out couch, bleary-eyed…)
Mama: What’d you say, child?
Dickie: Nothin’, Mama. Kenny and I are just talkin’ ’bout race cars.
Mama: Now I don’t want you skippin’ no races all because of little old me. I’ll be fine, baby. I got Doc here. And your daddy.
Dickie: Where is Harvey?
Mama: He went out for smokes.
Kenny: (eyes narrow) That’s just like him.
(A knock at the door and Dickie goes to answer…)
Dickie: That must be Harvey now. Harvey, did you get lites or did you get real cigare–oh.
Agnes: Hey there, Dickie.
Dickie: (annoyed) Hey there, Cousin Agnes. Look everyone, it’s Cousin Agnes. All the way from Ocala. What a treat.
(A young redhead in a Hank King t-shirt stretching over her pregnant belly saunters into Mama Gillette’s trailer and leans down to hug Mama…)
Mama: Oh, Agnes. Child, I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.
Kenny: Mama, you’re not s’posed to say stuff like that.
Agnes: (cross) She can say whatever she wants. She’s your mama!
Dickie: Shut up, Agnes.
Mama: Dickie, be nice to your cousin.
Agnes: Yeah, Dickie. Be nice to me. (pats belly) Especially now in my delicate condition.
Mama: How far along are ya, child?
Agnes: Six months, Mama.
Dickie: (smirks) Who’s the unlucky daddy?
(Kenny and Doc snicker as Agnes pushes Dickie into the adjoining kitchen and whispers in his ear…)
Dickie: (gulps) (drops Gator beer bottle on toe)
(The next day, the Gillette Racing Team is prepping Dickie’s #7 Prince Diapers car for qualifying for Sunday’s Coalburgville 250 in rural Coalburgville, Pennsylvania. Dickie is taking a warmup lap around the track, talking on the radio with his crew chief and brother, Kenny…)
Kenny: What do you mean you knocked up Cousin Agnes?
Dickie: Not so loud, Kenny! You never know who could be listenin’ in on this thing.
Kenny: Ain’t nobody listenin’. You mean to tell me you had sex with your own cousin? Without protection?
Dickie: I don’t know! Six months ago was the last race of the season. Remember, we had that big party at Señor Tacos? I got shitfaced. I don’t remember a damn thing. But I do faintly recall there being some family in attendance.
Kenny: Dickie, incest is precisely the kind of thing us Floridians are trying to distance ourselves from in the news media. If this gets out, you could lose your sponsorships.
Dickie: Oh no. Whatever shall I do without my precious diaper sponsorship? They’re callin’ me ‘Baby Dickie’ out here!
Kenny: Well it’s worth a couple yokels callin’ you ‘Baby Dickie’ if it means being able to provide for a Baby Dickie of your own in the future.
Dickie: I ain’t callin’ that cousin-baby ‘Dickie’.
Kenny: Hey I’ve been thinkin’, Dickie. Could Mama gettin’ sick have anything to do with that case of illegal black market North Korean nuclear plutonium we hid under her trailer?
Dickie: One thing at a time, Kenny. I got a cousin-baby to worry about.
Head Mechanic Earl Salisbury: Y’all know we can hear you on the radio, right?
Dickie: Great, now Earl knows!
Earl: Why don’t you bring that diaper car on into the pit here, Baby Dickie.
(NASCAR legend Hank King glances up at a giant Dickie Gillette poster hanging outside the Coalburgville Motorway and turns to his agent, Bill Pole…)
Hank: Bill, where’s my poster?
Bill: (eating a large sausage dog) You’re old news, Hank. Dickie’s the future.
Hank: The boy finished 34th in qualifying today. I got the pole.
Bill: I guess they figured what with your impending retirement and all; what’s the point, right?
Hank: So that’s how they’re gonna play it.
(At the Coalburgville Holiday Inn bar, Dickie and Kenny are approached by a familiar face…)
Agnes: Good luck in the race tomorrow, Dickie.
Dickie: Cousin Agnes, what in the hell are you doing here?
Agnes: Supporting my man. (pats belly)
Dickie: You’re still wearing that dang Hank King t-shirt.
Agnes: It’s a different one. I’ve got a ton of ’em. He’s my favorite driver.
Dickie: You’re not very good at support there, Agnes.
Kenny: Cousin Agnes, my brother’s gotta focus for his race tomorrow. You’re gonna have to leave.
Agnes: I’m leavin’, I’m leavin’. Just do well tomorrow, Dickie. Dickie Jr.’s gonna need a lotta support. Financial support.
Dickie: Yeah, yeah.
Agnes: I’m talkin’ ’bout money.
Dickie: I know what you’re talkin’ about, Agnes!
Agnes: Money from racin’.
(The next day Dickie Gillette is on lap 239 and in 22nd place, on the radio to Kenny…)
Dickie: Maybe I can pay Cousin Agnes to get an abortion.
Kenny: Can you focus on the dang race, Dickie?
Dickie: (swerves around collision into 19th place) How can I focus on car racin’ when I got a cousin-baby on the way?
Kenny: This is your job, Dickie.
Dickie: No Kenny, this is my life. I got drunk and had sex with my own damn cousin like some sort of Mississippian and now I’m gonna be payin’ the ultimate price.
Kenny: And probably a shitload in child support, too.
(Dickie is bumped and runs a car off the track, with eight laps to go…)
Dickie: Maybe I can pay somebody to kick her in the belly.
Kenny: Nah. She probably wouldn’t even feel it with that pillow under her shirt.
Dickie: (fishtails and quickly regains control) What’s this now?
Kenny: The pillow. I saw it pokin’ out the bottom of her shirt in Mama’s trailer.
Dickie: (grins) Kenny, don’t you know what this means?
Kenny: That the guy you hire is gonna have to wear a steel-toed boot for your baby murder plan to work? Looked like a pretty thick pillow.
Dickie: No, you idiot. She ain’t pregnant at all! She’s fakin’ it to bilk me outta my NASCAR money. She just shoved a pillow under her shirt, thinkin’ I’d be too dumb to notice!
Kenny: Well to be fair to Cousin Agnes, you kinda were that dumb.
Dickie: Woohoo! I didn’t have sex with my cousin!
(Dickie raises both fists and the #7 Prince Diapers car immediately veers into the wall and bursts into flames…)
(In the medical tent, Dickie and Kenny watch Hank King raise the Coalburgville 250 trophy on TV. Dickie is all bandaged up and laying on a cot with a big dumb grin on his face…)
Dickie: Gotta say Kenny, this all worked out rather nicely.
Kenny: Yeah, tailbones grow back.
Dickie: I just ain’t ready for fatherhood yet. And I certainly ain’t ready for cousin-fatherhood.
Kenny: You definitely dodged a bullet there, Dickie.
(A young brunette in a Hank King t-shirt enters the tent…)
Doris: Hey there, Dickie.
Dickie: (painfully raises himself up on his elbows) Hey there…Cousin Doris.
(Dickie glances down at her belly and gulps…)
Kenny: (cautiously pokes her belly)
Contact this asshole at firstname.lastname@example.org