Page 3 of Dirty Air
“I let my driving do the talking.” Fritz won’t bend over for some investment banker who doesn’t give two shits about the sport.
“Your driving isn’t saying a lot at the moment.”
So much for liking his new race engineer. “I won the Formation 2 and 3 championships.”
“And made zero points on debut.” Henry finally sets his pencil down and looks up. “This sport has a short memory. Money talks.”
They’ve only just introduced themselves, but Fritz has heard enough. “This was…” He doesn’t like to lie. “I am leaving now.”
“You’re right, we should return to the party.” Henry packs up his little satchel, much to Fritz’s frustration.
There goes his plan to find another empty office. “You should keep writing in your little book.”
“I’d like for you to introduce me to your team,” Henry says, standing up. His hands find the bag strap again and hang there.
“My team?” Every person in the entire building is either employed by or investing in VFIBR. It’s not like they have Ferraro mechanics banging on the door, desperate to break into the too-hot factory and steal their secrets.
“Your engineers, mechanics, marketing—everyone on Team 34’s side of the garage.”
“Right.”
As they descend the stairs, Fritz searches the crowd. He recognizes the odd familiar face, but it’s been months since he’s seen his team and he can’t exactly place who they are. If Fritz doesn’t remember what anyone does, he certainly doesn’t know their name.
At the bottom of the stairs, Henry turns to Fritz expectedly. “Well?”
“Money talks,” Fritz replies. “I will speak to the people with money since they are here. You give me good advice so I use it.”
“Sure.” Henry’s lip pulls up with a hint of a smirk. “I’ll schedule some office hours with you this week, so make a list of requests. Anything you like in a race engineer—feedback preferences, pronunciations, anything—and I’ll try my best to accommodate.”
“Ich möchte, dass du Deutsch sprichst.” If only more people spoke German. Life would be so much easier.
“Unfortunately for you, all radio communications must be in English. I tried to learn a littleDeutsch, but I can’t promise to pronounce anything correctly.Danke?”
Fritz corrects him. “Danke.”
“Bitte?”
“Bitte.”
“That sounds exactly the same to me… How aboutbraver Junge?”
Good boy.
On instinct, Fritz’s face flames. Obviously the Englishman has no idea what he’s saying. “There will be no reason to use that one.”
A dark look flashes across Henry’s face, something that could be mistaken as unprofessional.
“We’ll see.”
They meet again in the same room, in the same chairs, with the same notebook. The people who walk past the glass wall slow their pace just enough to confirm that yes, Fritz is purposely at headquarters during work hours, before shuffling on.
Henry still has his laptop open to the last race they reviewed together. His messy handwriting is scrawled all over the notebook page with Fritz’s feedback. Oversteer, car sensitivity, radio issues—anything Fritz can remember, he reports.
For as much as the gala night had put him off, the tension drains from Fritz’s shoulders during their meeting. Finally, he feels seen. Understood, almost, in a way he hasn’t felt at VFIBR before.
This could work.
“What are your goals?”
