Novac's Run

Prologue

America, prior to 1934

Jack Novac got his start racing on the dirt tracks of Southern California fresh out of high school. From his first race, Jack was fast: he won races, but he was hard on equipment. Always running to win, he was merciless; nothing was going to get in his way. If the car stayed together, Jack usually won.

The best race shop in America was located in Southern California, Jack’s backyard. Harry Miller’s shop had the best of everything. Miller liked the kid when Jack started hanging around his shop. The men of the shop could give the kid any job, from sweeping up metal shavings to cleaning the bathroom and Jack worked hard; he wanted to learn from the best.

After proving to Harry that he was reliable, Miller let Jack help in the engine room. He learned from the experiments Miller did on his dynamometer. Miller found that Jack had a real feel for improving engine performance. When Jack graduated to the big championship cars, he built his own engines at Miller’s and used the dyno there to develop more power. By the end of the 91.5 cubic-inch era, Jack’s engines made more power than anyone thought possible.

Harry Miller helped Jack get his first Champ car ride. A Mr. E. Lenore came to Miller wanting to buy the latest race car. The man came to Southern California from New York. Lenore was in the business of hauling refuse; he owned a fleet of trucks in LA and Long Beach, and business was very good.

Call me Mr. E; no one can get the name right, so just Mr. E is good. When asked how business was, he liked to say with a chuckle, he was cleaning up.

Mr. E’s race car had to be the best made, and Millers were the best. Mr. E asked Harry Miller who would be a good driver for his car. Miller told him that Jack Novac, a new up-and-coming man, would win races for him, but that he would also tear up equipment doing it. Mr. E grinned, I like ‘em rough and tumble, shows spirit. But can he fix what he breaks?

Miller told Mr. E that Jack was a great engine man but he would need a full time mechanic to do the big races. Jack’s old friend Carl Sanders came on board with the deal. Carl, a wiry, sandy-haired man with an upbeat outlook on life, was in his early teens when he progressed from racing bicycles to racing motorcycles. A bad crash, at the start of a race when Carl tangled with another rider, saw the bike tumbling high in the air, then landing on him. The impact broke his leg and injured his hip, thus ending his racing career and leaving him with a limp from the badly set broken leg.

As chief mechanic, Carl did a masterful job keeping the cars in superb running order. His record keeping of every practice and race filled hundreds of notebooks that he kept in a file box. He filed the notebooks by year and car so that he could refer to them when looking for race track setups or previous problem fixes.

Carl was also the nervous foil to Jack’s practical jokes. The troubles Carl endured with Jack on the racing circuit were usually due to some prank that backfired. Like the one in the Pennsylvania hills.

On an evening in Altoona, Pennsylvania, Jack decided that the man who won the pole, starting slot for the big race, needed a distraction. It could have been just because Jack was bored, or just miffed that Roscoe Gentler beat Jack’s best time. Anyway, as Carl tells the story, after they left the race track and had dinner, Jack said he wanted to give Roscoe something special for winning the pole.

Carl just rolled his eyes, Uh boss, it’s been a hard day. I think I’ll just take a pass on this one and get some shut eye.

Jack steered Carl toward the door. Come on pard. You got the carb cleaned out, she’s runnin’ good. We don’t run again until tomorrow afternoon. This’ll be fun.

Carl continues. "So now we’re drivin’ out of town and Jack says we’re gonna pick up a little pig an’ put it in Roscoe’s car. See Roscoe’s a big eater an’ Jack’s always givin’ him grief about being too fat to go fast. Roscoe ribs Jack all the time about him bein’ too pretty, says he don’t look tough enough to be fast. He says Jack’s givin’ race drivers a bad name ‘cause he looks like some kinda’ vaudeville bozo.

"Anyways, we go to a couple a farms but the farmers won’t part with their pigs. We drive farther outta town an’ find a farm that’s lookin’ like its seen better days. It’s got some cows an’ chickens an’ a little pig pen by a barn that’s lookin’ like its leanin’ over on a tree.

We drive past the place an’ park down the road a piece behind a little hill. ‘I’ll just wait here in the car,’ I says. Oh no, Jack’s got the plan. He’s gonna corner the pig an’ I’m gonna grab it an’ run. Jack says we’ll bring the pig back after the race. So while we’re creepin’ up on the pig pen, I’m wonderin’ where farmer Joe is.

"Shush up Carl, the farmer’s probably out plowin’ the north forty, or something. Come on pard, we gotta be like commandos. You know like silent warriors sneakin’ up on the enemy. Jack’s hunched over doin’ his best creep. That’s just before he tripped over a root an’ fell flat on his face.

"I’m tellin’ Jack that swearin’ like a sailor ain’t doin’ much for sneakin’ up. Well, we get in the pig pen an’ chase this little pig all over the place. We’re slippin’ in the mud, Jack’s gettin’ mad, an’ the pigs are squealin’. Jack finally dives on the pig an’ traps it in his arms; he’s muddier than the pig by then. He’s havin’ trouble holdin’ on to the little stinker, it’s kickin’ an’ screamin’. About that time, we hear a screen door slam an’ someone say, ‘Get my shotgun Mary’.

"We take off an’ we’re slippin’ an’ a slidin’ all over tryin’ ta get over the pen’s fence. I get over, Jack hands me the pig an’ off we go. My bad leg don’t allow for real speed, but we make it to the hill an’ farmer Joe’s yellin’ for us to stop. I look over my shoulder an’ farmer Joe’s about fifty-sixty yards back with a shotgun aimed right at me. Jack runs past me doin’ about eighty an’ jumps in the car. He’s yellin’ at me to hurry up. I hear a shotgun blast an’ then hear a woman yell, ‘For God’s sake Archie, don’t hit the pig’.

"I jump in the car an’ throw the pig in the back. Jack floors it an’ we take off down the road. I look over at Jack an’ he’s laughin’ like an idiot.

"The next day we get to the track early an’ tie the little piggy in Roscoe’s car. Later on, Roscoe goes ta get in the car an’ the piggy wakes up squealin’. Roscoe’s outta the car like a jack in the box. Novac’s laughin’ his head off. Roscoe’s a pretty good sport an’ laughs too. He says he thinks he’ll tie the piggy up under the hood an’ cook him for dinner durin’ the race.

"A little before the big race, the farmer shows up with the local sheriff an’ wants me an’ Jack behind bars. Ol’ Jack’s talking a mile a minute, he don’t want to get jailed before the race. He says it’s all a big joke an’ asks the farmer how much it’s gonna cost to keep him happy. The farmer agrees to twenty bucks an’ a couple a seats in the stands for the race.

Jack asked the farmer how he knew where to look for the pig. Farmer Joe, or Archie as the little woman called him, says he thought Jack looked like one a them theater types. Archie got the sheriff, an’ looked in town for any actors. When they couldn’ find any, the sheriff figured the next best place to look for a matinee idol would be the race track. Roscoe got the last laugh that time.

The next prank, borrowing a crane late one night to put another driver’s race car atop a garage, did get them a visit to the local lockup. These little hiccups did not detour Jack from devising pranks that were more elaborate.

Don’t worry pard, I got us covered, was Jack’s standard answer to Carl’s ever-growing concerns.

After years of trying, Jack won the Indianapolis 500. He was sure that in the following year he had all the ingredients he needed to bring him the elusive Champ car championship. Instead, the height of the depression crushed his plans. His sponsor, Mr. E, had to quit. The Champ car rules committee outlawed the type of car Jack had raced to success. The new rules for the next season were for cheaper cars that Jack despised.

The fact that Jack did not want to race the next season’s so called junk formula made him think of some other way to promote himself. After talking with some of the old hands at Miller’s shop, Jack formed a plan. He wanted to barnstorm Europe with his cars.

Jack thought barnstorming Europe would further his goals. Speed record attempts at various European tracks were big news. Large crowds of Europeans flooded to the tracks to watch the daredevils try for new records. Jack intended for this to be his ticket to ride.

The money and fame would fuel his next big ambition, to build an engine manufacturing plant in America. He wanted to design and build his own engines. Jack planned to build the best engines available for racing. The aircraft and marine industries were also ripe for his type of innovative designs.

Getting to Europe would require a large investment. Jack figured he had the answer since he met many influential people during his travels in America. The Indianapolis win brought him worldwide recognition; with the fame came companies sending agents and cables clamoring for him to endorse their products.

He did meet some very influential people. The most dynamic and powerful man Jack met was T. Armstrong Sterling, a retired General of the U.S. Army. His close friends (one of whom is the President of the United States) call him Army; others outside his circle of friends know him as The General.

The General is a tall man with a ramrod-straight military bearing. Now in his late sixties, the top of his head is without hair, like polished oak. His bushy eyebrows and mustache have turned white. He is the type of man whose presence commands respect.

General Sterling was the head of a large aircraft company. He was also on the board of directors of many American corporations that wanted to expand their sales in Europe. Together he and Jack devised a plan to go to Europe to promote American businesses.

The corporations on the tour put up lavish tents at their displays, bringing in catered food and drink to entertain the European captains of industry. The intention of the shows was to bring a new sporting enthusiasm to the prospective European customers. Companies on the tour exhibited their products using the unique setting of European race tracks. Jack took his two Miller race cars to put on speed exhibitions. Having set many world speed records at American tracks, Jack’s job in Europe was to drive his super fast race cars howling around a race track to get the blood up.

Jack soon found that the General had an ulterior motive for the tour. General Sterling was a confidant of President Roosevelt. The tour of Europe included visits to many important automotive, aircraft, and shipping factories located in Britain, Germany, and Italy. Sterling asked Jack to press for details while visiting the factories. Jack declined. He was not interested in getting caught spying. Jack was going to Europe on his own mission. He wanted only to further his own ambitions.

In the ensuing months, Jack found many intrigues traveling with the General. The group sailed to England on the fabulous steam ship, the Ile de France. Jack was amazed at the sheer size and grandeur of the ship. Everything aboard her was the height of beauty and elegance. Some of the businessmen brought their wives on the tour. Jack soon understood that the tour was a social event or holiday for most of the group. Hard work for their company’s promotion was not on the cards for the elite members.

Hard work was something Novac knew all about. He would do whatever it took to get him where he wanted to go.

Chapter 1

1934 Monza Italy

Jack Novac blinks awake shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. A brilliant shaft of sunlight splashes across his face through the hotel window. Stumbling in late from last night’s party, Jack had pulled open the room’s curtains. The flow of celebratory champagne was heavy and he had bent to its effects. He had thrown open the curtains that night to survey his kingdom. The lights of the Italian city went on for miles in every direction. Jack Novac was king of the world.

Novac is a 31-year-old man with a slim build and jet black hair combed straight back. A Clark Gable mustache gives him a cocky, roguish air. He is a man bristling with energy and dedication, perfectly suited for his chosen profession of driving race cars.

Jack spent years engineering his sleek Miller race car to be the fastest supercharged 91 cubic-inch weapon on the planet. The previous day, thousands of Italian fans watched Jack win the big match race at Monza. The Ferrari Alfas were the odds-on favorites to win the ten-lap race run on the famed Monza banked oval track.

The Alfa driver blocked Jack’s Miller on every turn. Jack waited until the last lap to put an American style slide job on the young Alfa driver. The stunned driver, a novice at oval track racing, momentarily lifted the throttle allowing Jack a narrow victory. An unimaginable amount of money came with the win. Jack collected huge bags stuffed full of lire from the race track.

The celebration after the race was in full swing when Jack received the prize he really wanted.

In the light of a new day, his eyes still smarting from the strong sunlight, he goes to a table piled high with telegrams to find the one from Mercedes. Jack reads the cable again. This is the answer to his dreams; everything he wanted from his European foray. The cable from Mercedes is an invitation to test-drive their fabulous W25 Grand Prix race car.

Splashing cold water on his face, Jack washes up ready to have some coffee and a big breakfast. Dressed in slacks and a light sweater, he reaches for the doorknob.

The door crashes in; splinters from the shattered jamb fly through the air. Jack stumbles backwards, landing on his butt looking up at three men barging into the room, two of whom have their pistols pointed at him. The third man has a mane of long white hair.

Get up Novac, Don Rosalino commands. You owe me much lire.

Jack stands up, brushing off the seat of his pants.

You do make an entrance, Don Rosalino. I can’t see how I owe you any money.

You were not supposed to win against our Alfas. I told you I had much lire bet.

Sorry, but you never said who you bet on. Winning races is what I do for a living.

You will pay half of what you won. I think that is fair. I could take it all.

No, I don’t think that’s fair at all. You made the wrong bet. The honorable thing to do is walk away and accept your loss. I thought a man of your stature would be a man of honor.

A man of my stature will not be made a fool of, Novac. It is not only money I came for. I hold you responsible for the death of my grandson. You will pay or you will not race again.

I am very sorry about your grandson. You have the man who killed the boy. I understand I was the target of the killer, but I did nothing to help him murder the boy.

The sound of shattering wood has awakened other hotel guests. Jack makes a show of looking past the Don and his men to see people gathering outside the broken door, peering in, trying to see what caused all the noise.

People are gathering in the hallway. You might want to get away before someone calls the police.

The police hold no fear for me. It is I who put fear in their bellies. If not for you, my grandson would be with me today. Where is the money?

The money is gone; I put it in a Swiss bank.

Then you will draw it out for me, or you will drive no more.

You kill me and you’ll never see that money.

Don Rosalino’s patience is at an end. I did not say we would kill you. I said you would not drive again. You sign with the right hand, no? You saw me take the hand of your German friend, now I will take yours. The Don draws his short Roman sword.

Drop your guns! Bill Robbins commands from the doorway.

One of Don Rosalino’s men raises his gun as he quickly turns to see who is behind them. Jack’s friend, Bill Robbins is a US Army intelligence officer who came to Monza to watch Jack race. He and his two assistants are staying in the room next door. The noise of the door shattering brings them on the run, guns drawn. Robbins lashes out at Don Rosalino’s man to knock the pistol down. The gun goes off with a deafening roar.

Don Rosalino’s hand flies to his throat, blood streaming out through his fingers. He wavers in stunned silence, then drops to the floor. The bullet ripped through the carotid artery in his neck. With each heartbeat, blood soaks the carpet. Rosalino’s men look on in horror. The Don’s main artery severed, he quickly bleeds out, his eyes flutter. One eyelid blinks, then stops half open.

Bill Robbins and his men quickly disarm the Italians.

Keep them covered Brody, Robbins says, picking up the gun from the floor. Winslow, call the police. Novac you’re no end of trouble, man. Isn’t this the man that saved you from the Aryan assassin? Why was he here?

Thanks Bill. The US Calvary saves the day again. The Don said he bet against me in the race. He thought he could scare me into giving him half the prize money. For a minute there, I thought he could, too. The Don loped the hand off that little German that tried to kill me easy as pie. I’ll never know whether he was really gonna do it, or was bluffing. I’m thinkin’ it’s time to get outta town.

Chapter 2

The Monza hotel buzzes with the death of Don Rosalino. A crowd