Chapter Text
Grian sighed as the tool slipped out of his hand once more, falling on the concrete with a loud clanking of metal.
It wasn’t easy trying to tighten screws with only one hand. His forehead was beading with sweat, his free arm and his face covered in grime and dust from working outside during summer, exposed to dry winds.
His mother’s car had a few troubles, so he offered to help. He didn't regret offering help yet he wish he had prepared better for the conditions.
The neighbor’s kid was quite curious and Grian let him observe him work from a stool set not far from where he was but still at a good distance, not wanting him to interfere with whatever could be going on. And the child observed quietly.
Grian leaned down to grab the tool, only to see it snatched by some other hand, making him stand up in an instant.
Jimmy was holding the wrench, with a small smile on his lips.
“Hello,” he simply said.
“Jim, didn’t expect to see you here.”
Jimmy gave him back the tool and Grian returned to his meddling.
“I wasn’t expecting to be back so soon either.”
“What brings you to my mother's house?"
Jimmy came closer and rested his elbows on the edge of the car, looking at Grian.
“Actually I'm not here to see your mother. I'm here for you. A very special case on my part, because I've recently been reached out to on the subject of a car race. They're asking for you.”
“They already forgot I’m pinned down?” Grian replied, vaguely motioning to his arm in a cast, strapped to his torso.
"I don't know if they are aware. But it's important, Grian. They want to race for Le Mans."
The kid gasped, putting both his hands over his mouth. The race was obviously famous enough to make any car race enthusiast jump at its name.
Grian’s brow twitched, though he quickly gained back his composure and went on with his task. He was almost done, and the sooner he was done the sooner his mother would feel relieved.
“Who’s they? There’s no way those fancy huge companies actually asked for me.”
“Oh, you’re not driving a super fast Ferrari if that’s what you're implying.”
“Then why are you talking of Le Mans?”
Grian, when satisfied with his fixing, placed his wrench back in the toolbox, placing his free hand on his hips and turning to Jimmy.
Jimmy, on his side, tensed up.
“Oh, you have your serious look on.”
“I'm getting irritated because you're sprinkling info all over the place and keep pausing for some kind of dramatic effect. Spit it out already.”
“Ah, right. Well, hmm. Okay. So I received a message from an agent, okay?”
“Who?”
“Someone... who works for an independent garage. That company was given a sponsor by Michelin.”
“The tire company?”
“Yeah! The one that sponsors also a big part of the Le Mans race track too!”
“And so that mysterious company need pilots, is that it?”
“I… I guess?”
Grian pressed his lips together. Le Mans was one of the very few races that made several categories of car run at the same time, and the GTE was the slowest category, made with cheaper cars, more accessible to anyone with a lot of money, and a good group of engineers. And from Jimmy's words, there were no chances that it was going to be about anything other than that category.
The other two categories were LMP2, faster than GTE but probably the least popular of the categories, and hypercars.
One could guess it, if it didn't have an acronym, it was because the name needed no explanation. Every race pilot imagined themselves at least once driving one of those cars. The fastest cars, prototypes made by the best companies in the world, jewels of technology and progress. Something Grian could never aspire to reach.
“I don’t do big races like that, Jimmy. I did Formula 2, okay? Something easier, something with less pression. And I still failed. I don’t care how fancy Le Mans is. I don’t do that.”
Jimmy smiled.
“It's the oldest known car race in the world. Known for its history, its thrilling challenges, its ability to prove the efficiency of new car technologies, it’s a monument of racing itself and you’re saying you won’t even take a look at it?”
“If you want to buy two tickets to go look at it from the bleachers then fine, we can do that. But I don’t even know when it’s going to happen-”
“Early summer next year,” interrupted Jimmy.
“-But I’m still in a cast and I need to recover first, then there’s going to be the whole “re-education” bit…”
Jimmy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Can you at least promise me to come with me to consider it? No, not even consider it, just look at the cars, talk with the people, and listen to what they have to say.”
Grian sighed.
Looked at the car he was working on, then turned to the kid who had wide and hopeful eyes.
Turned to stare at the empty driveway.
Thought about what his friends might say if he was to tell them about it.
Impulse who would beg him to say yes no matter what, because any opportunity to him is to be taken.
Pearl would smile brightly, knowing how to choose the words to make Grian go through with this charade because she'd be so convinced Grian would be happy racing there.
Mumbo… Mumbo would probably be the one sharing Grian’s thoughts on how stupid and foolish it all sounded.
And Jimmy was standing there clenching both his fists like it was his life’s work they were talking about.
So, with a painful twist in his heart, Grian shrugged.
The next week, he was on a plane the the united states, with Jimmy who had insisted to come with him by his side.
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Chicago was as american as Grian remembered.
Loud, busy, like a constant commercial being played a hair’s length from your face.
He didn’t go out to see the buzzing life happening and preferred to stay in his hotel room for the whole day of rest they were given to lounge with some music, watch some videos, and brood silently while staring at the luxurious view they were given from their hotel room until Jimmy came back with loads of snacks and random things he bought out of compulsiveness, babbling about all sorts of things he checked out and stuff he wanted to buy but didn't because it wouldn't fit it inside his suitcase.
It was calm, at least, from the hotel, despite Jimmy being there. It gave some time for Grian to think about what would happen if he accepted to participate on an endurance race known to put both car and driver to the test.
The very next day, a taxi brought them from their hotel to a NASCAR race track, a very large one at that. But still, it was only a NASCAR track.
Which could've impressed the basic american race enthusiast, but the europeans tended to think that NASCAR was a diluted caricature of a race track, because the track was very, very small instead of the regular endurance race, there was no landscape, just a pit to circle around and so little space that cars would often bump into each other. Those races were so intense and lacked the sort of artistic interpretation of large races.
Grian concluded that the person who decided to meet a possible pilot here had little knowledge about car races. That... Or the company was too poor to afford a proper meeting at another track, but still wanted to meet near a racing track.
The place could be compared to a roman arena, completely surrounded by huge bleachers, with a small racetrack in the middle, and Grian had difficulty understanding how more than three cars could fit inside all of that.
Jimmy and Grian were told to go by the entrance hostess to a VIP lounge high in the bleachers, a room with a large glass panel with a view to the racetrack, with also an alcohol bar and the logos of several sponsors displayed on the walls. Grian didn't know half of those sponsors.
Jimmy sat down immediately on one of the couches placed there, in front of two other people who were already seated.
Grian rapidly checked as he sat down if there were any visible cameras like there usually were in those places.
“Hello Grian,” a low voice spoke up, smile evident in its tone, tearing Grian from his top-to-bottom inspection of the room. He whipped his head in the direction of the people there.
He blinked twice, recognizing those faces.
On the right was Joel, easily noticeable with his green streak of hair he dyed one day and never stopped since, and on the left, with a goofy grin, was Scar, holding a beer.
“Scar,” whispered Grian as if it wasn’t real.
“Hi,” he replied excitedly. “Long time no see, yeah?”
“Well, I for sure didn’t expect you to be here. What brings you?”
Jimmy waved timidly to Joel, and Joel reciprocated with the same energy.
“As a matter of fact,” answered Scar, “I am the reason you were brought here.”
Grian frowned in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“That I asked my team to bring you here.”
Grian scoffed. “Your team? You have a team?”
Grian didn’t want to sound so mocking, but he was shocked to hear that Scar, the boy who shared Grian’s high school life, had a team of people he could order around.
Grian expected him to just be a businessman and have a wife at a relatively young age, have three kids and a dog, and spend his weekends watching sports until he'd go cheat on his wife and end up alone for the rest of his days. Maybe that was going a bit far.
But Scar didn’t look promising while they were together. Grian never dared to mention it to his face when they were still in high school, firstly because he was much nicer back then, and also he would've found unjust to say that out of the blue without anything to add.
Now, though, he was a bit more confident on his judgement and was really surprised to imagine Scar leading a team.
“I do,” Scar continued like nothing, “all very talented people. As a matter of fact, I brought you here so you could join us in-”
“That won’t be necessary,” Grian interrupted.
Whatever it was, Grian couldn’t believe it. Even if Scar had a team, even if he had his own little company or he was just managing a branch of some type of other company, Grian knew that it wasn’t worth trying.
All Scar did while in high school was to lie, cheat, and trick people. He was a fun friend to have, and he was always so bubbly, Grian came to appreciate his presence, but there was no way he was actually going to work with him.
Grian had principles. He had beliefs and things he cared about. Working under Scar’s orders could only mean bad things were going to happen and he'd be forced to go along with it.
“... yes, Grian?”
Grian pressed his lips together, irritated, already loathing the idea.
“I think you’re-”
“Alright, Scar, what’s the actual proposition, yeah?” interrupted Jimmy, “I think you’re milking it.” Maybe Jimmy sensed that Grian was going to lash out.
Scar’s eyes went back and forth between Jimmy and Grian, clearly trying to figure out what was happening.
“You’re mmh… You’re probably right. So, here it is. I wanted Grian to drive for me. You could tag along, Jimmy, there’s uh… there’s no problem with that.”
Grian lifted a brow.
Scar looked very disturbed by Grian’s sudden coldness, and Grian couldn’t help but be some sort of satisfied with that fact.
Jimmy motioned for him to go on.
“Becauuuuse… You need a third driver to drive on Le Mans, right?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” added Joel.
Scar moved to the front of his seat, clasping both his hands together in prayer towards Grian, holding the beer bottle with his little finger. Which really killed the mood of trying to be genuine and professional.
“I don’t need only a pilot. I need a pilot that knows his way around the systems of the car to make it as efficient as it should be.”
Grian became even more worried, understanding that they were setting him up to overwork and be underpaid. If he was going to be paid at all, knowing Scar.
“And can’t your... team, do that for you? If you work at a garage you should have people able to make cars, no?”
“They will help you, for sure, but… But it will be so much more efficient with someone who’s both a mechanic and a pilot! Imagine how precise the adjustments would be!”
Grian crossed his arms, slumping in his seat.
Jimmy shot him anxious looks, probably since he felt responsible for Grian's actions, but Grian was having none of that.
“I think you’ll do just fine without me.”
“If that was the case, would I have asked you to fly from England to talk about it?”
Scar looked pleading. If his hands still clasped together wasn’t proof enough. It weirded Grian out to see him like this, and it didn’t reassure him at all.
“If you're trying to imply that because we paid all this money to see you we should make the most of it, no we won't.”
“What? No, I was just-”
Grian stood up, heading for the door, facing away from them.
“Good day, M. Goodtimes.”
“Grian wait!” called Jimmy.
Grian’s hand stopped on the handle, squeezing it.
“What is it, Grian?” asked Scar. “I can see you’re somewhat… angry at me, but I… I don’t understand…”
“Scar.” Grian bit his lip out of frustration. “I think I witnessed you enough times stealing money from kids to know you’re not the type of people I want to work for.”
“What are you talking about?”
Grian turned around, a scowl printed on his expression.
“We were friends, Scar. Were. There’s a reason I didn’t keep messaging you. You find it so easy to lie it’s like second nature to you. I’m sorry, but I’m not planning to work like a dog for someone who never once showed empathy for the people he manipulated to do everything for him. I’m not playing your game. You can find someone else to do your bidding.”
“Is that what you think of me?” asked Scar, his voice suddenly fragile.
But Grian wasn’t going to fall for it. Because it’s way too similar to the tone he used to make people feel sorry for him.
Anger boiled inside his ribcage as he replied.
“Whatever.”
Jimmy excused himself and Grian, pushing him out of the room and closing the door behind them.
“What was that, Grian? You said you were going to try. I don’t get it.”
Jimmy pressed his index fingers to the sides of his head in anxiousness.
“I tried. And now I'm setting my foot down.”
“That's not how you should handle things! You don’t- you don’t talk to potential recruiters like that! That’s like 101 basic human behaviour!”
“I don’t care! Okay? I know him, I spent enough time with him to know to never sign a contract with him! He might act all nice and normal and composed with negotiating, but as soon as you signed at the end of the contract he'll show you the little line in the middle of the text explaining how he owns your belongings!”
Grian pressed both his palms over his eyes, trying to calm himself down.
“You don’t… I know you met him at a couple of parties or things like that when we were still somewhat friends. I didn’t think that strongly about him at the time. And I know that when you meet him, and he doesn’t have anything to gain from you, he will be a nice person. Probably the nicest person you met in a while. He knows how to be caring, he remembers the smallest details about you, he always managed to understand you right away no matter how closed up you can be and…” Grian raked his face with his fingers, “and that’s exactly those talents he has that he uses to convince you to lend you some money, to never see it again.”
Jimmy looked conflicted.
“So you don’t trust him because he was a bit of a troublemaker at high school? High school, right? The time when you would put crackers under people's seats? That high school?”
“That’s not the same! I was being dumb! He wasn’t, he was the cleverest one of them all! There’s no one that his tricks didn’t work on! The teachers, the parents, the neighbours, even people that were just passing in front of the school! He's evil!”
“Grian, people can make mistakes. You're overreacting.”
“You think I don’t know that? I forgave a lot, to a lot of people. I know everyone reacts differently in given situations, I know people can act irrationally because they feel unwell, or struggle with personal matters. That I can forgive and forget. But Scar was far beyond that. There’s no redemption after this. I bet his house’s still full of the things he stole.”
Jimmy’s expression changed, from confused and doubting to cold, with a glint of determination.
“Listen,” he spoke in a low voice.
That caught Grian’s attention. Jimmy went on.
“I work in logistics, I somehow manage to be your agent and handle your tantrums, and with it, I learned some things about cars. I love being a part of something big, and you helped me be a part of some really cool races that I will never forget. And I'm grateful.”
“I didn’t do anything, Jim, you got there with your skills.”
“That doesn’t matter. You were the one to mention my name when they needed staff. Thank you for that.”
“I sense there’s a ‘but’ you need to mention.”
Jimmy pressed his lips together, placing his hands on Grian’s shoulders. He lowered his voice as if the conversation wasn’t to be heard by anyone else.
“I… It’s Le Mans, Grian. One of the longest, biggest, oldest, and most famous tracks in the world. It’s really, really huge. It’s… It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. There’s probably no way this will ever come again. It’s a lot of people. Really good people, with skills, knowledge, with guts. It’s millions of euros spent on a common objective: to have the best car. The best technologies. And win, not only by the skills of the man behind the wheel but the precision of every little step of every little piece making the engine. It’s… It’s like one of my childhood dreams to be there. To make it happen. And I know it’s going to happen whether I was there or not, I know I don’t impact it that much, that they’ll find someone else to replace me. But I want to try. I want to be there.”
Grian could be mistaken, but he thought for a second that there were tears in Jimmy’s eyes.
“So you’re going to apply for one of their jobs? I mean, sure. I’m not going to get in your way. They’ll most likely hire you and-”
“And I want to have the man I call my brother with me, to be there.”
Grian bit his lip, and he was honest with himself, he might be tearing up a little too.
“So… You want me to work there too. You know we might end up hating working there? If that idiot doesn’t lead us straight to failure or tries to wring us dry, we’ll probably end up losing because he scammed so many people the car won’t hold up by itself.”
“Man, I… I don’t care. It’s Le Mans. It’s… No matter how bad it goes, I want to know how it feels to be in France, in one of those booths feeling the tension of all the other teams and the audience both there and at home. I need… I need to know.”
Grian gave him a sad smile.
“Then… I mean, if you’re not too attached to the job and more the overall experience, we could… we could try. Worst case scenario, I don’t get paid and it gets tricky. That or I die because the car crumbled down to pieces, I guess.”
“But you’ll be working on some part of it, you can check each thing that would go into it. And you could always refuse at the last moment, you know, even if… I don’t want to force you into anything.”
“You have dreams. I get it. I’ll be there, Jimmy. I’ll be right there.”
Jimmy nodded, this time definitely teary-eyed, and pulled Grian into a hug which Grian reciprocated.
“That means no ill-speaking of mister Scar for a while, okay?”
“I can keep my thoughts to myself. Though that doesn’t mean I won’t believe them.”
Jimmy snorted.
After a few moments of pulling themselves together, Grian opened the door again, lifting his chin.
“I’ll do it if Jimmy gets a job out of it.”
Joel smiled, standing up.
“That won’t be a problem, Jimmy is like family. There will always be a spot for him. We were even a little bit short on staff at the moment.”
Grian shot a glance at Scar, who looked very disturbed and confused.
“Well- Very well, then!”
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Grian wasn’t too keen on the current hot weather, because summer in England meant feeling a bit hot, but in america summer felt like Earth was getting a bit too close to the sun.
A few days after arriving in the USA, when some of the bigger parts of the administration were done and Grian signed that dreaded contract after only reading its entirety once, they were taken from their hotel to the garage where the magic would happen, taking with them their belongings since they were relocating.
The garage was very large, probably large enough to fit planes inside. The huge gate was open, displaying completely some cars missing bodywork and with their insides taken apart on tables, and the single car still covered by a red and black cover immediately grabbed Grian’s attention.
Scar leaned on his cane, standing next to where the hood of the car would be.
“We didn’t get much of a say in the actual choice of the car, Michelin bought it for us. I would’ve loved a classy Aston Martin or an aggressive Ferrari, but…” He grabbed the cover and pulled a little, making it slip right off. “But I guess we’ll settle for this.”
Grian didn’t recognize the model of the car right away, since he wasn’t used to this kind of category, yet he opened his mind to every little detail. The sleek design. The chrome color of an unpainted bodywork. The visible aerodynamic. The rear spoiler.
At least it looked like a proper racing car. And it wasn’t unfamiliar.
“Chevrolet Corvette C8.R. A nice catch. Reliable, precise, and still quite fast. And our sponsor added that it was that model that made the last known speed record around the Le Mans circuit in its category.”
Grian kept quiet, let himself circle around the car, and observed what he could. The space inside the car could be improved or revamped. It was a possibility that there was very little room for improvement, yet Grian itched at the idea of getting elbow-deep in the hood to look for any way of improvement. If he actually knew how to do any of that.
Grian tried not to pay attention to the way Scar would stare at his every move like a predator stalking a prey. But that was expected from someone who was just yelled at for being a fraud and then being told that the deal was still taken.
Scar even opened the hood to let Grian peek inside and maybe he got a thrill of excitement down his spine.
As Grian was leaning down to stare at the deeper parts, Scar leaned a little closer to him, talking lower than usual.
“There might be a little catch.”
Grian bit the inside of his cheek, bracing for the worst, as he pulled back and turned to Scar.
“Yes?”
Scar had a little mischievous smile, but Grian didn’t feel threatened by it. The smile he would usually get when he had a bad idea was far more exaggerated. So it was normal that-
“I don’t want to land first of the LMGTE Category.”
Grian was a little taken aback.
“What do you mean…? Are you not competing to win…?”
“Oh, yes, we are going to win.”
Cocky. Grian didn’t like that very much.
Scar explained himself.
“I mean, I want more. I want the car to land in the middle of the LMP2 Category.”
Grian blinked twice.
“I’m sorry I must be jet-lagged. what did you say?”
“I want our car to land with the LMP2 cars. I want to go further than just first place in our category. I promised something spectacular, and I want to create a moment that will be written down in automobile history books!”
Grian opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.
“So… Let me reiterate so we can make sure we’re talking about the same thing here. You. Want to go to a French race track of endurance, made to test both cars, pilots, and crew through harsh conditions, make the car hold up for 24 hours of driving, and somehow find through the guts of the engine to make it work even more to make a muscular civilian’s car land with the race car simply made for speed and speed only? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
Scar had now way too large of a grin spread on his face.
“I know, right? It’s so exciting.”
So there it was. Grian didn’t have to get so worried about Scar, he wasn’t going to be forced to lie to people to have them work forgoing any kind of work ethics. No.
Scar was just going to get Grian killed live on TV in front of the whole French racing community.
Fantastic.