“Tell your driver to accept the fucking sponsor!”replies Barry from the back of the room, feeding his dogs strips of chicken from a paper bag and then stroking their heads.
“I’m not wearing a fucking hot sauce logo on my forehead.”
Barry waves us over, and after a brief glance between me,Archie, and Chloe, we head to the little desk at the back of the garage to join him.
“I don’t know really what a head of fucking aerodynamics does,” he says, throwing his hands in the air.I roll my eyes toward Archie like,Why the fuck does this guy even own a racing team?“I can take a guess.But I trust Chloe when she says she needs one.”
“Thanks, Barry,” Chloe says, looking surprised by the frank admission.
“See these beautiful little guys?”Barry says, stroking the head and neck of Ginger and then Roger.“You know where I found them?”
He looks at me, pointedly.
“No,” I say slowly.“Where did you find them, Barry?”
I cross my arms over my chest, ready for some grand and pointless tale about god only knows what.
“They were racing dogs.Ginger there was kept in a cage.Too timid, they never let her race.And Roger?He was lame.Front leg was septic after an injury no bastard saw to.He was about to be shot,” Barry says, wiping his hands on his trousers and looking over to me.“I snuck into the yard with my mate Reg, and we stole both of them.”
“You rescued them, Barry?”Chloe asks, looking at Ginger and smiling.I have to admit, I’m surprised by this.
“You’re fucking right I did,” he says.“My parents raced dogs.And horses.My grandparents too.But I hated it.It was a cruel sport.But I had the racing bug.So, I broke from my parents and bought a dirt bike to race instead.I couldn’t be in the business of racing animals.”
Archie and I exchange a look, both of us seemingly wondering where this is going.
“I’m not the smartest of blokes, Matt.I don’t really know how the hell your team makes a fucking multimillion-dollar road-ready spaceship.But I want to give you what you need.I want you to do well.I want you to win.”
“I’m not a dog,” I protest.
“Oh, but you are, Matt.You’re lame.And someone was going to eventually pull the trigger.And like Ginger, Chloe is afraid to put herself out there.”
“Good grief,” Chloe mutters under her breath as the analogy becomes crystal clear.
“I don’t wantrescuing.I want to race,” I counter.
“You want to race?”he says, with such ferocity I nearly jump backward.“Great.But I’ve taken all the risk here on a dog with a limp, so what are you going to do for me?”
I drop my arms and nod slowly.“The sponsor.”
“I can’t do this if you don’t,” he says, the most truthful I’ve ever seen him look.
“And if I do, can we look into bringing in a drag expert?”I say, glancing over at Chloe for the briefest of moments.
“Sure.”Barry stands up, slipping a lead around Ginger’s neck and then doing the same to Roger.“Yes, Matt.You wear the helmet, and Chloe can go find herself a head of aerodynamics.”
“That’s the one,” says Chloe, looking thrilled.
“Fine,” I say.“I’ll wear the damn logo.”
“Yes!”Chloe blurts out, standing up.“Thanks, Barry.And Matt.”
“I’m not giving you much,” Barry says.“You’ll be able to afford a fucking grad student, but it’s not nothing.”
“It’s a start,” Chloe says.“Thank you.”
“Let me know if I can help with my helmet design or anything,” I say, unable to stop my smart-ass mouth.
“I gotta go,” Barry says, then he shoots me a wry grin.“Helmet’s already done.”He kicks a large crate under his desk.
