An ambulance, its siren screaming, sped down the track in the direction of Butcher Bend. It was back in a few minutes, drove through the pit area and out onto the main road. Then the announcer said over the loud-speaker, "We regret to say there has been an accident at turn number two. The Black Tiger, driven by Captain Randolph, went out of control, and Captain Randolph has been taken to the hospital. It is not thought that he is badly hurt. We'll let you know his condition as soon as we get a report—"
Woody didn't wait to hear any more.
"Let's go," he said to Worm and jumped into the Dodge.
In all its life, Worm's venerable Dodge had never done more than thirty-five miles an hour, but on the trip to the San Diego General Hospital, it made forty-five, protesting at every revolution of its engine.
When they got there, Woody had some difficulty convincing the receptionist they should be allowed to see Randy. "I can't do anything without the surgeon's permission," she said quietly though not without sympathy.
"Surgeon," cried Woody, "is it that bad?"
The receptionist gave a ghost of a smile. "Surgeons treat cuts as well as fractures and broken heads," she said. "You'll have to wait."
They waited an agonizing hour without any news at all. Then a young doctor came through, and the receptionist left her desk and spoke to him. The doctor came over to them.
"Are you relatives of Captain Randolph?" he asked.
"Not relatives. Friends," said Woody.
"We're his pit crew," said Worm. "We service his car when he's racing."
"I see," said the surgeon. "Well, he says he has a daughter at this address. He'd like to see her. She's in San Diego apparently. Can one of you go and get her?"
"I'll go," said Woody. "How is he, doc? Is he badly hurt?"
"Well," said the doctor, "he's a lucky man. It's lucky for instance that he has an artificial foot. That was crushed. Had it been his real foot, the bone would have been splintered so badly we might have had to amputate at the knee. As it is, he has a leg fracture, a dislocated shoulder, and bad burns on the torso and thighs. He's a remarkable man. He should be suffering from shock and in need of sedatives. But his main concern is his car. Otherwise he's quite calm, and his mind is clear."
"Gee," said Woody. "I'm sure glad to hear it isn't too serious."
The doctor laughed. "If it happened to me, I'd call it very serious and give up racing for the rest of my life. Here's the address. He's anxious to see his daughter so she doesn't get any false reports on his condition."
Woody took the slip of paper, which had the address of an apartment house on Front Street in San Diego. Without asking Worm, he got into the Dodge and drove over there. On the way over, he kept thinking about the best way to break the news. When he arrived, he still had not reached a formula. He pressed the bell and when the door opened it is probable that even if Woody had memorized what to say, he would have forgotten it.
The girl who opened the door was about his age. She had red hair that looked like burnished copper. It was cut in a page boy and came down to her shoulders. She wore a black turtle-neck sweater and a skirt of a dark green material that spread out like a ballerina's from a tiny waist. Her skin was milk white, and her eyes had a trace of a teasing look in them.
"Yes," she said politely when she opened the door.
"Are you Miss Randolph?" Woody asked.
"Yes."
"I'm Woody Hartford. I was working in the pit with your father at the races today."
"Oh," she said. Now Woody was stuck. He could find no appropriate words that would not alarm her. He decided to plunge on.
"He's not badly hurt, but he's been in an accident," Woody said. "The Black Tiger turned over and he's at the hospital and—"
"Wait until I get my coat," the girl interrupted. She dashed into the apartment and was back in a second, struggling into a white lamb's-wool half coat. She pushed past him and down the stairs with Woody in pursuit.
"There's my car," he said pointing to the Dodge.
The girl gave it a brief glance. "We'll take mine," she said and ran to a red MG parked by the curb. Woody had just time to get in before she had started it and was speeding down the streets. Woody was surprised at the MG's acceleration and cornering ability. On the way to the hospital he told the girl all he knew of Randy's injuries. Sitting next to her, he realized that she was even prettier than he had thought at first glance. And she drove like a wizard, snaking surely through the traffic without a second's indecision.
At the hospital she was quickly admitted to the ward. Woody followed her to the door with Worm. He hadn't been invited but realized this was a good chance to find out how Randy really was and talk to him.
"Hello, Daddy," said the girl rushing through the door to her father's bed.
"Hi, Rocky," he replied. "Had a little bad luck. The Tiger went out of control and turned over on me, and I busted my leg. Got a few scratches as well but nothing much." The words were silently contradicted by the bandages that swathed the side of his head. He looked up and saw Woody and Worm standing at the door.
"There's my pit crew," he said. "Come on in. Have you met my daughter, Rocky?"
He introduced them, and Rocky explained that Woody had brought her over.
"What happened to the car?" Woody asked. "How did it get out of control?"
"Hard to say," replied Randy. "She behaved beautifully right up to the time of the accident. I'd just taken that right-angle turn right after the start-finish line and was going into the hairpin. I had an overlap on Tom in the Ferrari, and the steering went. Wheel just spun around loose in my hand. Luckily I was on the outside, otherwise I'd have hit the Ferrari. Instead I sideswiped a stack of hay bales and turned over. I hope the Tiger isn't too badly damaged. There was a small fire, but they put that out in a hurry."
Nobody said anything for a while. Then Randy said, "She handled like a dream. She's a beautiful car—the best I've ever driven. I don't see how she can fail to beat any competition that's offered her."
In all this time Worm had said nothing. Now, speaking very slowly, he said, "If ye've any sense in yere head, ye'll forget all aboot the Black Tiger and racing. This is the second time for ye. Yere luck is going tae run oot one of these days." But Randy only laughed.
A nurse came in then and shooed them all out of the room. Down in the lobby, Steve and Mary Jane were waiting. They'd come over after the accident, which had taken place within a hundred feet of where they were standing.
"Man," said Steve. "He's lucky to be alive. The Tiger rolled over on him twice and then caught fire. They had to put out the fire to get at him."
Mary Jane gave Woody a questioning look. "Oh," said Woody, "pardon me. I'd like you to meet Randy's daughter, Rocky." He made the introductions all around. It seemed to him that Mary Jane was a little cool with her "How do you do?" but Rocky didn't notice it.
She turned to Woody and said, "If you wish I'll drive you back so you can pick up your car. It was really sweet of you to come for me, and I'm very grateful."
"It was nothing," said Woody. He could feel himself blushing and was angry at his reaction.
"Well," said Rocky, "shall we go? I'm going to come back here and see whether I can talk them into letting me stay in Daddy's room. He'll need company, and maybe I can at least spend the night here."
The two went out to the MG together, and Woody felt the same sort of lowering of the temperature he had experienced when he called Mary Jane to say that he couldn't take her out because he'd spent his money on Cindy Lou.
When he got back, Mary Jane had gone to the motel with Steve, but Worm was waiting for him.
"We'll have tae go oot and get the Black Tiger," he said. "I've had a word wi' Randy aboot it, and he wants it towed to my garage. We'll take a look at it and see if it can be towed behind the Dodge."
They drove back to Torrey Pines then and found the Black Tiger had been taken to a service shed in the back of the pit area. Worm jacked her up and crawled underneath to inspect the steering linkage. He was there ten minutes, and when he came out he had a piece of shiny metal shaped like a large marble in his hand.
"Steering knuckle," he said. "Sheered clean through."
Woody stared at it. He'd never known of a steering knuckle breaking before. It might happen on an old car, but hardly on a new one.
"How could that have happened?" he asked.
Worm shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Car may have been dropped in shipping and yon knuckle slightly fractured. But there's some cars, laddie, that are just not built tae drive. They're man-killers. And it comes tae me noo that this is one of them."
Woody recalled the time he'd seen the Black Tiger in Worm's garage under the electric lights. There had been something menacing about it then.
"Horseradish," he said. "A car's a car. They haven't any feelings of their own."
"Maybe not," said Worm. "Yet I've known cars in my day that were never driven but they hurt or killed somebody." He looked almost with malevolence at the Black Tiger. "I'm wishing Randy had wrecked ye all together," he said with surprising feeling.