Dead Heat

By Lisa Nowak

A battered teen. A devoted mentor. A bond that transcends the grave.

Alex is a machine whisperer. He can diagnose a broken-down car with a touch. But he’s trapped in a dead-end life, exploited by a father who’d sooner slap him upside the head than say good morning.

For two years Cole mentored Alex, providing a glimpse of kindness and hope. All that vanished with Cole’s death. It’s a broken comfort when he reappears in spirit form, but Alex is willing to take what he can get—until he learns Cole’s efforts to protect him may have doomed his soul.

Caught in a deadly spin, Alex can’t get traction until an ailing ’59 Studebaker steers Jade into his life. With a love of the paranormal and the disarming ability to see the good in Alex, she assures him Cole can reach the Other Side—if Alex escapes his father. But a previous terrifying attempt has convinced him it’s impossible. Can he drum up the courage to try, or will Cole be earthbound forever?

If you like gritty, compelling stories with true-to-life characters who make you cry and cheer, you’ll love Lisa Nowak’s Dead Heat. Perfect for fans of Laurie Halse Anderson, John Green, and Chris Crutcher.

Download a copy today for a pulse-pounding story that’ll haunt you long after you turn the last page.

2014 Finalist in The Kindle Book Review's Best Kindle Book Awards.

“Dead Heat blew me away. It’s a gritty ghost story interwoven with all-too-real subject matter that will make you cry for Alex, ache for Cole, and thank God for Jade. I was invested in these characters’ lives and you will be too.” ~ Stacey Wallace Benefiel, author of the Zellie Wells trilogy

“Dead Heat is an amazingly well written story about one young man's struggle to stay on the straight and narrow.... As an Adult education teacher and a special education teacher of 12 years, I would recommend Lisa Nowak's Dead Heat and look forward to reading her Full Throttle series.” ~ Shannon Burne, M.Ed. Londonderry H.S.

*This book is not part of the Full Throttle series. It contains darker subject matter that kids under the age of 14 may find disturbing.*

• Language: English
• Publisher: Webfoot Publishing
• Release date: Sep 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781937167172

Lisa Nowak

In addition to being a YA author, Lisa Nowak is a retired amateur stock car racer, an accomplished cat whisperer, and a professional smartass. She writes coming-of-age books about kids in hard luck situations who learn to appreciate their own value after finding mentors who love them for who they are. She enjoys dark chocolate and stout beer and constantly works toward employing wu wei in her life, all the while realizing that the struggle itself is an oxymoron.Lisa has no spare time, but if she did she’d use it to tend to her expansive perennial garden, watch medical dramas, take long walks after dark, and teach her cats to play poker. For those of you who might be wondering, she is not, and has never been, a diaper-wearing astronaut. She lives in Milwaukie, Oregon, with her husband, several feline companions, and two giant sequoias.

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Dead Heat

Published by Webfoot Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Lisa Nowak

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

All rights reserved

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away. No part of this ebook may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Book description: Alex is a machine whisperer. He can tell what’s wrong with a broken-down car with a touch. But his gift can’t save him from the brutality of his meth-addict father. For two years, Alex experienced kindness through Cole, his mentor. Now Cole’s dead, and the violence in Alex’s life is escalating.

When Cole reappears as a ghost, Alex clings to the tenuous link. Then he learns Cole might’ve sacrificed his chance to cross over. Jade, the first girl to look beyond Alex’s past, assures him Cole can reach the Other Side—if Alex escapes from his dad. But a previous terrifying attempt has convinced Alex it’s impossible. Unless he can find the courage to try, his friend may be earthbound forever.

Cover design by Steven Novak

Dedication

This one is for my husband Bob, who believes in me, and for Wee Cat, who loves me from the bottom of his fuzzy little heart.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

The First Thing You Gotta Know

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

The Second Thing You Gotta Know

Chapter 5

The Third Thing You Gotta Know

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

The Last Thing You Gotta Know

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

How it All Turned Out

Free Excerpt: The McCall Initiative

Free Excerpt: Running Wide Open

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter 1

Now . . .

He’s dead when they pull him out of the car. I know it sure as I know my old man would sooner slap me upside the head than say good morning. Oh, they throw him in the meat wagon and all. Try to make it look good for the people in the stands. But it’s too late. I know it. Everyone standing around knows it. By the end of the race an hour later, the fans know it too. The announcer’s the only one pretending he doesn’t, saying they ain’t had word back from the hospital yet.

I feel like I been dipped in Freon. So cold and rigid I could crumble in a million pieces. What am I supposed to do? I help the tow truck guys load his car on the trailer, cram all the tools and stuff in the back of his pickup, and drive to the hospital, where no one will tell me shit.

So I take the truck back to his place. Torey’s Prius is in the driveway. She don’t like me, but I gotta know what happened. I rap at the door.

Alex. The word is flat. She ain’t wearing her normal look that tells me to get the hell out of Cole’s life. She ain’t wearing any look at all. Her eyes are as dead as her voice.

He didn’t make it, she says. He had a traumatic aortic rupture.

Even though I’m expecting it, the words slam me hard. Whatever the hell they mean. How am I supposed to understand her stupid nurse talk?

I stand only half breathing. For once, she takes pity. The big artery that carries blood away from his heart tore loose. He died within minutes. It happens sometimes with that sort of impact.

I don’t know what to say. The Freon-numb that got me this far is fading. I brought his stuff back. I jam the keys into her hand and take off. It’s a long walk to the speedway where I left my bike, but I don’t bother with the bus. I need to move, need to feel my body working. The rain’s starting by the time I get there.

I don’t go to the parking lot, where my motorcycle’s sitting all by its lonesome. I walk around the grandstands, out onto the track.

I go to turn four, to the end of the wall, where Cole’s car hit.

Even with nothing but streetlights, I see the streak of red paint. Concrete crumbles under my fingers. The pain comes fast and hard, tearing at me from inside. It rips me open, claws its way out. I stumble away and fall to my knees. I can’t remember the last time I cried, so it takes a minute to figure out that’s what’s happening. Animal noises spill out. My throat’s like flame. I curl in a ball, the wet asphalt rough on my cheek.

Nothing my old man did—not the cigarettes he put out on me, not the times he bashed my head against a wall, not the night he pimped my 8-year-old ass out for a fix—none of it ever hurt like this.

The rain drills into me.

It’s over.

The First Thing You Gotta Know

Two Years Before . . .

How it begins is I climb the fence at the speedway. I been doing it for years, hanging out, looking at the cars and dreaming about working on ’em. There’s this one guy, Cole Carter, who I really like. He’s fearless. Best driver I ever seen. Weaves through traffic like that Moses dude parting the Red Sea. Only problem is, his car’s a piece of shit. I’ve been itching to get my hands on it for weeks, but I hang back. Ain’t none of my business, right?

Cole’s got two guys who help him. One’s a boozer who don’t know his ass from a torque wrench. The other hasn’t shown up in a long time. I heard someone say his old lady won’t let him out of the house since she popped out a kid.

Tonight, neither one of ’em shows. Cole’s on his own, which ain’t such a big deal till he gets a flat in the main. He pulls into the pits and starts climbing out the window. I’m no do-gooder, but even though Cole never finishes better than fifth, he’s okay in the points ’cause he always shows up and runs hard. It’d be a pisser for him to mess that up. So I jog over to his bright red Firebird and tell him to sit tight. I change the tire like some guy at Daytona, and off he goes. ’Course he don’t finish worth a damn since he’s four laps down, but at least he don’t come in last. A big crash near the end takes out three cars, and another guy drops out from engine trouble.

Cole pulls off the track and climbs out of the car. He’s a muscular guy, not ripped, but in good shape, and not real old—younger than my folks anyway. He shoves a hand through his shaggy blond hair and nods in my direction. Thanks. You saved my butt.

I got no idea what to say, so I shrug. Then I figure out a way to keep him from running me off. That engine’s got a helluva miss. You want me to fix it?

You can do that? Cole eyeballs me like I said I could swap the thing out in five minutes. We’ve been chasing that problem for weeks. Replaced the spark plugs, wires . . .

It’s the coil.

His face screws up, not mean, just surprised. How can you know that? You haven’t even opened the hood.

I shrug. I got no idea how I know these things. I just do.

He holds out a big, callused hand. I’m Cole Carter.

I shake it, real firm. The old man would kick my ass if I gave anyone some pussy grip. I know, I say.

He grins. "I was kind of expecting you to tell me your name."

Oh . . . uh, Alex.

Just Alex?

Something tells me that’s all I better give him, but I know he ain’t gonna let it slide, so I think quick. Alex Smith, I say.

He’s got these gray-green eyes that cut into me, like maybe he can tell I’m lying. If he can, he don’t say so.

He reaches in his ice chest and pulls out some water. I’ve seen you hanging around. Your dad race?

Nah.

Pit crew?

Uh uh.

He takes a big slug off the bottle and wipes his mouth with his arm. You just like cars?

I guess.

Well, I could use a hand with this one. The guy who was helping me got transferred to Seattle. I’ll pick up a coil and bring it next week.

I look him over good to make sure he ain’t messing with me, but I can see he’s not the type. If you don’t wanna wait, I could come by your place and fix it. The minute I say it, I’m sorry. Why would he want a loser like me hanging around his house? How’s he know I’m not some tweaker who’s looking to case the joint and rob him blind?

Cole smiles, like he don’t see the ripped jeans and long, tangled hair or the scar on my cheek. Like I’m not a scary-looking kid. Sure, sounds great. That is if it’s okay with your folks. How old are you, anyway?

Eighteen, I say, hoping to dodge the parent deal.

Cole laughs. What—in five years?

Three. But it don’t matter. My folks won’t have no problem with it.

He raises an eyebrow, and I hope this ain’t gonna be a deal breaker, ’cause there’s no way I’m telling my old man.

All right then, Alex. How about three o’clock tomorrow?

* * *

Cole lives less than five miles from me, but it might as well be five hundred. His place is in this nice older area on the bluff above the bend in the river where the shipyards are. My neighborhood’s the one you hear about on the news whenever there’s a drive-by shooting. You can buy meth on every corner, and you gotta lock your car to run into 7-Eleven, or it’ll be gone when you come out.

The sun feels good on my face as I walk six blocks to catch the 75, which drops me off close to the address Cole gave me. I spend the whole trip thinking about his car. The coil’s just the beginning. I know when I open up that Firebird, I’m gonna find plenty to keep me busy. It’s the middle of May, still early in the season, so if I get this thing running right, Cole could win the championship. I don’t know why I care. Maybe ’cause I want to see what a driver like him could do with a good car. Or maybe it’s the ache I feel whenever I see a messed up machine and know I can fix it.

I spot Cole before I find the house number. He’s hammering pegs into the top of this Chinese-looking arch where the path to his porch meets the sidewalk.

Hey, Alex. Give me a minute to finish this up.

I rub my fingers over the polished wood. Even though it’s real smooth, it looks like it’s made of a bunch of different-colored layers. It fits right in with the rest of the yard, which is full of nice plants, a fountain, and some of them little maples with the twisted branches that look like art. The walkway’s made of big flat stones, and it curves instead of being straight like everyone else’s.

You make this? I ask, not wanting to take my fingers off the wood.

Sure did.

That what you do for a living?

In a sense. I’m a finish carpenter. He backs away from the arch and takes a look at me. What happened to your eye?

My gut twists up, same as it always does when someone notices. I don’t need a repeat of what happened in kindergarten.

You get in a fight? he asks, crouching down to pick up his tools.

Uh—yeah. I hope he ain’t gonna ask how I managed that between last night and now. Truth is, I’ve never been in a fight in my life.

Looks like it hurts.

Nah. I shrug and rub my hand over that smooth wood again. You get beat on enough, you hardly notice something like a black eye. It’s my own fault, anyway. Shoulda been quieter coming in last night.

Cole leads me across the lawn to the garage. He goes past the race car to a workbench and lays his tools on it. Before he hangs ’em on the wall, he wipes ’em down real careful.

Go ahead and pop the hood, he says, the coil’s in that bag by the door.

I open her up and look inside. Even though the engine compartment’s filthy, I feel like I won a Vegas jackpot. I’ve fixed plenty of machines, but cars are the best, and the only one I ever get to work on, ’cept in shop class, is my old man’s pickup.

I tuck my hair behind my ears and get started. The coil takes just a couple of minutes to change. I crank the engine. It’s better, but still not right, so I rest my hands on the fender, listening and thinking. Pretty soon I got it figured out. This is the one thing I don’t suck at.

You got a timing light? I ask. Cole digs one out of his toolbox and gives it to me. I tweak the timing, then when I go to set the light down, it slips out of my hand and hits the floor.

Shit! I’m sorry. I flinch, and heat rushes over me, making my heart pound. I’m such a moron. I got a couple fingers that don’t work too good ever since the old man slammed his truck hood on ’em, and sometimes they sorta cramp up. After three years, you’d think I’d learn to deal.

Cole scoops up the timing light and checks it out. No worries. You didn’t hurt it.

I’m not gonna drop nothing else—I swear. I got tools of my own, and I take good care of ’em.

Relax, Alex. I’m not mad.

When Cole claps his hand down on my shoulder, it should make me jump, but instead it cuts through the panic. I know I better get it together, so even though I still feel like an idiot, I nod and pull away.

I pick up a screwdriver and fiddle with the fuel mixture, letting the calm pour in to cover up the racket in my head. After a few more adjustments, the Firebird’s running smooth.

Sounds like a whole new car, Cole says, leaning over the fender. You’re a miracle worker.

Hearing stuff like that always makes me nervous. Nah, you coulda done this.

Cars aren’t my strength. I can drive them, but that’s about it. I guess that sounds pretty strange coming from a racer.

I shrug. From what I seen at the track, lots of guys have the same problem.

I kill the engine and start looking things over, cleaning stuff up and making sure it’s okay. Cole brings me a pile of grease rags. You know anything about handling?

I could prob’ly figure it out.

Somehow, I don’t doubt that. He gives me a smile. I bought a bunch of those Steve Smith books on car set-up. Maybe they’ll make more sense to you than they do to me. He goes to the shelf above the workbench, grabs ’em, and tries to hand them over.

I’ll get ’em greasy, I tell him, backing off. How ’bout you read ’em, and I’ll do what they say?

I hold my breath till Cole drops down on a toolbox. Sounds like a deal, he says. At least that way I’ll feel like I’m contributing.

We spend the next couple hours at it. There’s lots of background stuff to go through before we can do much. He keeps stopping and running a hand through his hair, muttering how it don’t make sense, but it seems pretty clear to me. A few times, I repeat what he said using different words, then he gets it.

He shakes his head. You figured that out from hearing it once? You’ve got to be some kind of genius.

My teachers would get a laugh out of that.

I’m laying on a creeper, lubing the suspension, when this black cat comes in and starts rubbing on me. He’s got a head bigger’n my old man’s fist. I stop to scratch him under the chin, and he drools down my arm.

That’s Bubba, Cole says, flipping a page. He used to be a stray until he bamboozled me. I inherited my last cat the same way. I must have a ‘sucker’ sign on my back that’s only visible to animals.

I rub Bubba’s ears and his motor revs to high idle. Lotsa scars on him, I say. That’s something we got in common. Good thing most of mine don’t show, ’cept when I take off my shirt. Which is never.

Yeah, before I had him fixed, he used to be quite the scrapper. Fortunately, Torey was able to stitch him up, or the vet would own my house by now.

I wipe cat slobber on my jeans. Who’s Torey?

My wife. I’d introduce you, but she had to run a few errands before work. This month she’s got the night shift. She’s an ER nurse at Emmanuel.

You guys got kids?

Wrong question. Cole’s face sets up like concrete. Not yet. We’re working on it. Maybe one of these days we’ll get lucky. He slaps the racing book shut like he’s slamming the door on the subject. You hungry? I’m about to starve. What am I saying? You’re a teenaged boy, of course you’re hungry. What do you like on your pizza?

He’s letting me work on his car and he’s gonna feed me? Don’t matter, I say.

Cole whips out his cell, jabs a number, and orders a large pizza with, everything but the little fishies. When he’s done, he says, Do you need to let your mom know you won’t be there for dinner?

I shake my head. I told her I’ll grab a burger on the way home.

Cole’s gray-green eyes bore into me, and even though it’s one of them throw away lies, I feel kinda guilty. But he’s better off not knowing the details.

He snags a couple of Cokes from the fridge at the back of the garage. Let’s go take a load off, he says. You’ve worked hard enough for one day.

I didn’t do crap, but I’m not gonna argue. He leads me into a back yard that coulda come out of a magazine. It’s got the same Asian thing going on as out front. A huge gong, a gravel path that winds all over, a couple of them squatty concrete Japanese lanterns, and a gazebo that looks like it belongs in Tokyo. There’s a patio made out of big slabs of this glittery, gold-colored rock, and along the back fence is a half-finished waterfall that’s maybe twenty feet long. It’s got lots of different levels, and it curves through the trees to dump out in this big pond. That part’s already done and full of water. From clear across the yard, I can see one of them fancy goldfish, long as my arm. There’s sweet-smelling flowers everywhere, plants with nothing but big colorful leaves, and more maples. Somehow, being in that yard makes me feel calm. Almost safe.

You do all this? I ask.

Torey helped. She takes care of the plants and I do the hardscapes. I really like working with rock. Almost got a job doing that, but our family’s been in carpentry for generations. I even have some tools that were handed down from my grandpa.

I wonder what it’s like to have that kind of family. It’s always been just me, Momma, and the old man. Her folks are in Ohio, and his live on some farm the other side of the mountains. I ain’t ever heard from any of ’em.

Bubba follows us as Cole leads me to the patio and sits down at this metal table. How about you? he asks, handing me one of the Cokes. Is your dad a mechanic? Is that how you learned to work on cars?

I almost tell him no, but it’s easier to lie. He won’t buy the truth, anyway. Who’s gonna believe no one taught me, I just get this feeling about what’s wrong with broken machines? It’s like I hear what they’d say if they could talk.

Bubba jumps in my lap, damn near turning me into a soprano.

Scratch him at the base of his tail, Cole says. When I do, Bubba turns his head and starts biting the air, making this funny little sound. Cracks me up.

The pizza comes, and it smells so good I could eat the whole thing. I don’t get pizza too much. When the old man orders it, he won’t let me have none till he’s finished—if there’s any left. I don’t want to look like a pig, and anyway it sorta spooks me to