“Why not?” Chick Grover eyed his friend Butch Slade as if he were surprised Butch could even think of such a question. “Maybe Mort’s forgotten.” “Mort never forgets,” replied Butch, turning to look through the large plate glass window of Mort’s Pit Stop. “ He’s like an elephant.” “Yeah, I know,” said Chick. “In more ways than one. Anyway, I’ll try. Maybe he won’t see me in that crowd.” He saw the usual Saturday afternoon slot car fans huddled in front of the track. Racers were zooming down the straightaways, blast ing around the S-curve and sweeper at speeds so fast his eyes swam trying to keep up with them. Chick recognized Jack Harmon. It was Jack’s fault that Chick had been booted out of Mort’s Pit Stop last Friday evening during the Semi-Main event. Chick’s Lotus Formula 1 was on its twenty-seventh lap, two behind Jack’s Lola T-70, when Jack met his bomb on the S-curve and nerfed the Lotus clear off the track.
