Patrick
I chuckled at Rand waving a checkered flag as Garrett roared past in his go-kart. Designed and built by Rand, Garrett, and me for Garrett's seventh birthday, it was fitted with a rebuilt 50cc engine and transmission from a Honda Z50, coil-over shocks, and off-road tires. Painted a vibrant yellow and outfitted with lights, roll cage, and a single seat with a four-point harness, the go-kart was the envy of all of Garrett's friends.
"Maybe we should build those things, too," Rand chuckled as he returned to the machine shop. "Garrett's going to wear the tires out."
"Maybe. But I think we're going to have our hands full at first. Let's not bite off more than we can chew."
"I hope you're right," he said as he looked at the lathe sitting on the pallet.
He and I had spent the day putting the shop's machines onto the pallets for the move to our new facility. The moving truck would be here on Monday to take the equipment across town so we could install them in the new Tauper & O'Neill Race Engines building, or TORE as we'd taken to calling it.
"Trust me," I said. "We already have an order for five engines from Yasar Racing. Once we actually begin turning engines out, more orders will follow. People are reluctant to place an order until we prove we can deliver, and they can see for themselves that the engines meet their performance and reliability specs."
He nodded slowly. "I can understand that. You've done this before, but it's a big step for me. You can't blame me for being nervous, can you?"
"Rand," I said quietly, "you're one of the finest engine builders and machinists I've ever seen. At least as good as I was. Don't worry. This is going to work."
I smiled to myself. He and I had talked about building racing engines before, but it wasn't until recently we'd decided to move ahead with the plan. Rand had wanted to build the engines here, in the recycling yard, until we were sure we could make a go of it, but I'd talked him out of it. His reasoning was sound. Why spend the money for a new shop when we had fully equipped one right here? He'd finally given in when I pointed out nobody was going to spend a hundred thousand dollars for an engine built in a junkyard.
Over the past nine months we had a new shop built just south of Bayport on the 101, a twenty-thousand-square-foot structure, complete with a room that would eventually house our dynamometer. It was a beautiful, state of the art facility with gleaming white epoxy floors that would impress even the most jaded petrolhead. It was more building than we needed now, but it would give us room to grow our operations without having to expand the building.
I was going to continue here at the yard, and Rand was going to run TORE. The yard wasn't glamorous, but it was profitable, grossing around two million a year. My name was on the TORE building because I owned seventy-five percent of it, and because Rand insisted my name alone would help launch the business. I'd agreed to act in a consulting role, but there was no appeal for me in racing anymore. Running O'Neill Recycling suited me fine and I had no desire to change.
"I guess," he said softly.
"Don't worry! You have more important thing to worry about right now."
He smiled. "I know. It's the reason I'm doing this."
"You think I didn't know that?"
I smiled as I thought back to those long conversations he and I had as he tried to sort out his feelings for Hanna. He'd gone racing one more time, then hung up his spurs. Hanna hadn't asked him to quit, but she didn't have to. He still had his race bike, but now it was a piece of art on display in the TORE lobby. He kept his hand in racing by crewing for the rest of the Bayport Riders, but he no longer competed.
I sometimes missed having him around, and though his trailer was still here, the yard seemed... empty somehow, and not because I was relocating my shop. I was glad he'd found someone, and I reminded myself I hadn't lost a son, but had gained a daughter and a grandson.
Eight months after defeating Carl to secure the club's, and Hanna's, future, he'd purchased a small house on the beach on the north side of town. The house was only thirteen hundred square feet, but he didn't want or need more. Six months after that, Hanna and Garrett moved out of their apartment to live with him.
I'd never seen him happier than he'd been since Hanna and Garrett had moved into his house. Hanna either, for that matter. Now it was like old times, except instead of Rand stepping off the school bus, it was Garrett.
"You have everything ready?" I asked.
He nodded. "You sure you don't want to be there?"
I shook my head. "No. This is for you three, but I expect to hear all about it tomorrow."
He smiled. "Count on it." He held my gaze for a moment, then reached out and pulled me into a rib straining hug. "Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
