There were two other events before the Black Tiger was due to race at Santa Barbara. In the first, for cars under fifteen hundred cc.'s, Rocky raced the MG, and drove better than Woody had ever seen her drive before. She came up from seventh at the starting line to second when the race was over, and if the race had gone another lap she would have been first.
"This is our day, Randy," she told her father when she got back to the pit. "You're bound to win in the Black Tiger now. I just feel it."
"If I drove like you, I'd feel it myself," said Randy.
The second race was for old-style racing cars and more of a novelty than a sporting event. Woody saw little of it, being busy with last-minute details on the Black Tiger. The car was in tiptop shape. It was still the magnet of attention among the other drivers and mechanics in the pit area. They came over in twos and threes to look over the engine and comment on the streamlining. Tom Wisdom and Kurt Kreuger, old rivals of Randy's who were to race against him again, were there. They were obviously delighted to know that Randy's leg was in good enough shape for him to race again.
Woody overheard Tom say to Kreuger, "If it was a matter of guts alone, Randy would be sure to win. Boy, he's got more guts than all of us put together."
"You can say that again," said Kurt. He looked back at the Black Tiger and shook his big head solemnly. "Hate to say it," he said, "but that car just bothers me. Too new. Too many unknown bugs in it."
Tom nodded his head solemnly, and the two drifted off.
Randy made different pit-crew arrangements for the race than those at Torrey Pines. "Rocky and Worm stay here at the racing pit in case I develop some trouble," he said. "Woody, I'd like you to go out to bend number five and pick a spot by the fence where I can see you as I come out of the bend. Take along that blackboard and a piece of chalk. When I come out of the bend, hold the blackboard well up so I can see it, and chalk on it the number of the lap and my position. If I'm more than sixth or seventh don't bother giving me the position. But if I'm among the first five or so, let me know. Understand?"
"Yes," said Woody. "I'll put the lap number at the top of the board, and your position down below it."
"Swell," said Randy. "The race is for thirty minutes. Toward the end, you can forget about the lap number and just let me know the number of minutes left. O.K.?" Woody nodded and went off to pick a good spot near bend number five.
The Santa Barbara track is laid out roughly in the shape of a horseshoe. The cars travel around the inside of the shoe and then around the outside to complete one lap. But it is a horseshoe that has been badly bent, so that instead of just two hairpins at the feet and a long slow curve at the top, there are a number of near right-angle bends as well.
Woody found a good place behind the snow fence and waited, nerves tingling, for the race to start. Over the loud-speaker he could hear the commentator briefing the crowd on what was going to take place.
"This race," he said, "will commence with a Le Mans start. The cars are parked on one side of the track and their drivers opposite them on the other. When the starter brings down his flag, the drivers will sprint to their cars, jump in, fasten their safety belts, switch on their engines, and get going. The start, then, is a critical moment. A driver who can get under way quickly can get ahead of three or four cars he might not have a chance of passing on the track.
"Well, there they are, all sitting down waiting for the starting flag. There are three veteran Le Mans drivers in this event—Kurt Kreuger in Jag number eight, Tom Wisdom in a red Ferrari, number ten, and Jimmy Randolph in his new Italian job, the Black Tiger, number two. Randy has raced this car only once before and was doing well when he broke a steering knuckle and turned over. He's a great guy to be racing today. But he has every confidence in his car. Here it is. They're off—"
The rest of what the announcer said was drowned in a roar of engines. Woody strained over the snow fence, his eyes on bend number five about a hundred yards down the track. It was a particularly savage bend with buildings on either side and a house dead in front when the driver was halfway around. The house was protected with hay bales. Any car that didn't get around would run straight into them. A further hazard consisted of a thick telephone pole at the end of the bend, where most cars would be swinging wide after making the turn. There were hay bales around that also.
Suddenly there was a roar, and the first car appeared around number five. It was a red Ferrari, number twelve. Then came two more and then a Jag. Then three in a huddle, the one on the outside just missing the telephone pole. Woody began to wonder where Randy was. Suddenly the Black Tiger flashed by in eighth place. Randy, with his newly mended leg, had not been able to sprint over to his car as fast as the other drivers. It was typical of the man that he had made no mention of this additional handicap before the start.
The announcer picked up the rest of the first lap for Woody. Wisdom and Kreuger, old rivals, were battling for third place. Ahead of them was Ben Wedger in a Maserati. There was no mention yet of the Black Tiger. Woody suspected that Randy was still in eighth place. He waited, his eyes riveted on turn number five. Suddenly two cars flashed around it wheel to wheel. The outside car swerved off the shoulder of the track and looked as if it were going to hit the telephone pole. Woody could see the driver fighting to bring it back again. He succeeded but dropped to second place. Then came two more, one on the tail of the other. The first was Kreuger's Jag, number eight. Then Tom Wisdom in his red Ferrari. Then a Maserati, number eleven, and then the Black Tiger. She came around the corner like her namesake, clinging to the inside of the track and passed the Maserati, going full bore as they came abreast of Woody.
"He's fifth now," Woody yelled excitedly. He chalked a big three for the lap number on the top of the board and a big five for Randy's place in the last lap below it.
"They're going into the north hairpin now," said the announcer. "Dave Kingston is still ahead in number twelve, Kreuger and Wisdom are fighting it out wheel to wheel. They've come up to second and third respectively. Wait a minute. What's this. The Black Tiger, driven by Jimmy Randolph, just shot between Wisdom and Kreuger to take over third place. That makes it Kingston, Kreuger, and Randolph in the Black Tiger third. But it's still anybody's race with twenty minutes to go."
Woody forgot about the sign board in his excitement. He leaned as far as he could over the snow fence to see the Black Tiger come around turn number five. There was a tense silence in the crowd, above which he could hear the roar of the engines. He heard the squeal of wheels and the coughing spit of Kingston's Ferrari as he changed down for the bend. Then Kingston was around and after him. Turning the corner in the same instant was Kreuger's Jag and the Black Tiger, wheel to wheel. As they flashed by Woody caught a glimpse of Randy, sitting quite relaxed behind the wheel. There was a slight smile on his face, and then he was gone, headed for the right-angle bend half a mile down the track.
"It's Dave Kingston against Jimmy Randolph in the Black Tiger now," the loud-speaker blared. "Randolph cut in from the far side of the track on bend six to take over the second place from Kreuger. He's battling Kingston now for the lead position. As they pass the start-finish line on the sixth lap it's Kingston, Randolph, Kreuger, and Wisdom.
"Randolph had an overlap on Kingston's Ferrari twice. This is a great race—perhaps the greatest we shall see this year. Here they are going into the hairpin. Kingston is skillfully blocking all Randolph's attempts to pass. He's holding that inside position and has just a little more speed than the Black Tiger on the straightaway. Now they're entering bend number five. It looks as though Randolph is going to take it wide, relying on the cornering ability of the Tiger to take him around—"
Woody didn't have to listen to the rest. He saw it. Kingston's Ferrari hurtled around the bend on the inside with the Black Tiger on its tail. The big Ferrari skidded for a fraction of a second, picked up traction, and hurtled down the straightaway.
But something went wrong with the Black Tiger. The car took the corner wide, and Woody could see Randy fighting to get control. It looked as though he was going to hit the telephone pole, but he managed to miss it by inches. The car came roaring and fishtailing toward the crowd. People scattered like dust before a heavy gust of wind. Woody caught a glimpse of the Tiger hitting the shoulder of the road not a hundred yards from him. Then it leaped into the air, turned slowly on its side, and hit the ground upside down. It slithered bumping and screaming, sparks flying from it, and the wheels spinning, for fifty yards before it came to a standstill.
Woody was over the snow fence before anybody could stop him. Flagmen appeared is if by magic, waving the red accident flags. Woody was conscious that several cars flashed by, slowing down near him, but he had no eyes for them. He ran to the Black Tiger, which lay beside the track, its wheels still spinning in the air.
"Randy," he shouted, "Randy."
"Get back," somebody yelled at him and pulled him by the shoulder. Woody yanked himself savagely free and grabbed the side of the Black Tiger, attempting to right it. Several other men came to help. Together they got the Tiger back on its wheels. Randy was in the driver's seat, but his shape was all wrong. One hand was nothing but a red hunk of meat. It lay on his safety belt, and it was obvious that he had been fumbling with it. Blood dripped quietly from it onto his pants. He was slumped sideways beside the steering wheel but in such a way as to suggest that his back was broken. His head lay on the seat, and his face turned up toward them.
He looked at Woody and attempted a smile, but coughed instead. A little pink foam came to his lips.
"Brakes," he said and closed his eyes.
The ambulance was there in a second, and everybody hustled away to make room for the ambulance attendant. Woody stayed as near as he was allowed and saw a doctor bend over Randy. When the doctor stood up, he didn't say anything. He just shook his head and got back into the ambulance.
Then Woody knew that Randy was dead. The Black Tiger had killed him.