The season progressed quickly, with unparalleled rivalry unlike anything the circuit had seen in years. Lightning McQueen became a household name in a matter of weeks, claiming his first win soon after the Florida 500. The rookie rocketed to stardom as he annihilated the competition, pushing the rest of the racers to perform at their very best. Only a few of the veterans could hope to keep up with him.
The historical finish of the Dinoco 400 proved that. It wasn't often there was so close a finish that the officials couldn't definitively say who'd earned the top three places. In fact, it'd never happened before. The first two positions? Yeah, that had happened on rare occasion, but this was something to be remembered.
Strip slowly pushed his way toward the stage over in Victory Lane with Tex and Lynda on either side of him, anticipating the official results.
"Look at that, the kid thinks he's won already," Tex pointed out.
Strip turned his attention from his wife at his side, looked to the stage, and exhaled in mild annoyance. McQueen was striking poses and entertaining the press like he hadn't just potentially made the biggest mistake of his career. The kid's flashy stickers were almost as blinding as the camera flashes.
"Kid should've won," Strip muttered. "There ain't no good reason I should've been able to catch up with him."
"You say that like you hope he wins," Tex chuckled.
"Well, of our options, he's not my last pick," Strip said. "I'm gonna go talk to him. If ain't nobody else gonna set him straight, I gotta try. He's got too much talent to waste it on stupidity."
"Alright," Lynda said, amused. "We'll watch from over here. Best of luck!"
"Thanks, dear."
The reporters parted to make way for the legend as he approached the stage. Hesitating briefly as two fed up security guards escorted a couple Miatas away from Lightning's presence, he rolled up onto the ramp to face McQueen.
"Hey there, buddy. You're one gutsy racer," he complimented the sparkling red racecar.
"Oh, hey Mr. the King!" Lightning greeted him.
"You got more talent in one lugnut than a lot of cars has got in their whole body," Strip continued.
"Oh, really – "
"But you're stupid."
"Excuse me?" Lightning's face fell, offended.
"This ain't a one man deal, kid," Strip was as straight with him as he could be. "You need to wise up and get yourself a good crew chief and a good team. Y'ain't gonna win unless you got good folks behind you, and you let them do their job like they should."
Strip went on to give an example of a time he made a mistake and his crew had to make up for his lack of competence back in the day. Before he got too far into the story, he saw the rookie's gaze drift away toward the showy Dinoco exhibit. Strip knew Lightning wanted the Dinoco sponsorship after he retired, but what Lightning didn't know was that Dinoco wouldn't put up with his arrogance if he treated them like he'd treated his Rusteze pit crew.
"The key to a successful career is workin' out a good relationship between crew and racer," Strip summarized. "If you can figure that out, you're just gonna be okay."
Lightning snapped his attention back to his present company and cleared his throat. "Oh, that is spectacular advice, thank you, Mr. the King."
Kid didn't listen to a word I said. Strip thought as the loud speakers came to life around them.
"...for the first time in Piston Cup history..."
The three racers were left hanging in anticipation as the announcer paused for dramatic effect. Strip and Chick both watched on as Lightning revved his engine and burst through the paper shroud ahead of them, fully expecting to be the first rookie to win the championship.
"...we have a three way tie!"
Chick burst out laughing, and Strip had to suppress his own amusement at Lightning's mistake as they rolled forward through the ripped parchment.
An hour or so later, Team Dinoco packed up as the stadium cleared out. With all the attention resulting from the finish, it had taken Strip nearly all of that time to find his way back to his sponsor. While the other racers headed out to enjoy some time off, the season wasn't quite over yet.
"There he is!" Lynda saw him first and drove over to him.
"Looks like you ain't done yet, boy!" Tex exclaimed as his racer finally broke free from the crowd.
Strip smiled as his longtime friend came over to slap him on the fender in congratulations. Together, the trio returned to the Dinoco area for a bit of peace as the employees worked on disassembling the exhibit stage.
"I guess one more ain't gonna hurt anything," Strip said with a shrug. "Three cars on one track, what's the worst that could happen?"
"They're gonna give you the pole position right out of the gate in L.A.," Lynda told him. "As a thank you for all you've done for the sport."
"Hmm," he wasn't convinced. "Sounds more like an insult to my age."
"Oh, come on, now," Tex scolded. "It's a wide open track. You could win even if they started you in the back."
The pit crew passed them, pushing the racks of tires and empty gas cans toward the garages, excitedly chattering among themselves. They let out a collective cheer as they saw their racer and started throwing their enthusiasm his way.
"California, here we come!"
"You know what's better than seven Piston Cups? Eight!"
"Go, go Dinoco!"
"Let's go make history – again!"
Strip laughed a little as he watched them go. There wasn't a doubt in his mind he'd miss this.
"Crazy, ain't they?" Lynda commented.
He looked to her, nodding in agreement. His gaze fell and traced the chrome trim down her side. As much as he'd miss the racing scene, he knew he had other things to look forward to. They wouldn't have to be on the road for weeks at a time, never having a weekend off. They wouldn't be constantly hounded by the press any more. There wouldn't be any more long nights on the interstates sleeping in separate trailers. As much as he loved racing, he loved her more, and couldn't wait to spend the time with her she'd always deserved.
She caught him looking at her and shied away playfully, snapping him out of his train of thought.
"What do you say we hit the road and spend a couple days at home before headin' out west?" she asked.
"Tex?" Strip looked to his sponsor.
"You don't have to ask my permission, King," Tex reminded him with a gentle chuckle. "Just be out there by Thursday or Friday to get a couple practice laps in. I'll be waitin' for you."
The three split ways and Strip headed back to his trailer, parked near the garages. As he rounded the end of the long concrete building that housed the bays, he heard quiet chatter. One of the voices was Chick. The other sent a chill through him.
He stopped before coming into view and listened. His trailer was mere yards away, but as usual, it had been parked next to Hicks'. As bad as he wanted to go home, not interrupting the conversation around the corner was suddenly more important.
"You never come to a single race," Chick growled. "You never once reached out to me after I left. Now I'm on the verge of making history, and you track me down?"
"Shut your ugly mouth and listen, boy," the eerie, dry voice of an older Ford Business Coupe hissed in return. "You and I both know this racing thing hasn't gone the way you thought it would. I told you I'm not gonna settle for second best, in anything! And now it seems to me like you've slipped back to third. I've given you time to better yourself, and either you haven't taken the opportunity, or it's impossible. You signed a contract. You are mine to do with as I please."
"I'm not your puppet," Hicks snapped back. "I told you from the start, all I wanted was the glory – something to be remembered for. You promised me we'd win, and what happened? I fight one battle and now I've got a bent frame you either can't fix or you refuse to."
"You're straight enough to race, that's all that should matter to you," Stephen tossed Chick's concern aside. "I should have ripped you off this track years ago, but I didn't. But now something's come up and I'm giving you one last chance to redeem yourself."
"And what makes you think I'm gonna do anything for you?"
"I think we both know the answer to that."
They both fell silent for several long seconds. Strip cautiously looked around and leaned closer to the wall to listen, fighting the urge to turn around and vacate the premise. After an uncomfortable while, Stephen spoke once more.
"I have reason to believe that new rookie that's been showing you up is GM's tool," he said.
Chick laughed. "You're not serious."
"Oh, I am, trust me on this," Stephen replied with conviction. "Ol' Paul thought putting his masterpiece in the public eye was gonna keep me from going after him? Ha! No, it's played into our favor. McQueen has no defenses. You take him out and GM's done for."
"GM was never your problem," Chick pointed out. "Why should I go out of my way to pick a pawn off your chessboard?"
"Because you can make it look like an accident," Stephen began to sound excited. "You've got that race next weekend? Use that so-called talent of yours to wreck him. You can kill him and make it look like an accident! Occupational hazard, right? And the best part? Chrysler's done gone and signed an alliance with GM. Bunch of wusses don't wanna finish what we started. You kill McQueen and it'll bring those last two flying monsters of theirs out of hiding. We then finish them, and we're done. You go free."
"Hmm," Chick mulled it over for a bit.
"If you need further convincing, it'll increase your chances at winning," Stephen offered, knowing his volunteer warrior too well.
Chick didn't say anything, and without watching the interaction, Strip couldn't tell if the Buick was convinced or not. He heard him back into his trailer. Stephen offered one last threat, if one could call it that, as Chick closed the ramp.
"I'm giving you until after the race to get back in the game. If you haven't done anything by then, I'll do what I have to."
The ramp closed silently. Strip listened as the Ford's rough, loud engine puttered away in the opposite direction. He sat silent and still for a moment as a diesel engine fired up and pulled away. As Chick's hauler pulled out into view, he slowly pulled around the corner to back into his own.
"There you are," Gray greeted him. "Thought you got lost. Ready to go?"
"Yeah," Strip said, forcing himself to sound relaxed. "Let's go."
He'd never been so thankful to live so close to the Motor Speedway of the South. A short thirty minutes later, Gray backed the trailer in next to Strip's house.
"When do you want me to come pick you up?" the semi asked as Strip exited the confined space as quickly as he could manage.
"Uh," he thought about it. "When would we have to leave to get there Thursday sometime?"
Gray did some quick math. "If I'm rested up, we could probably leave early Wednesday morning and drive straight through. Might need to take a quick nap somewhere along the way, though. It's almost forty hours away."
"We can leave earlier," Strip told him. "That's a long way. I don't want you keelin' over on the interstate halfway there."
"Tuesday night?"
"Yeah, let's do that."
Strip took a moment waited until Gray was well out of sight, composing himself, before entering his house. Lynda greeted him immediately.
"I beat you here by fifteen minutes," she said. "That never happens."
He shut the door behind him and looked around as if he expected someone else to be with them in their own house. His mind was still running rampant from his encounter.
Lynda noticed and immediately dropped the lightheartedness in her tone. "I've seen that look before. What's wrong?"
"I need to call my sister." Strip made a beeline for the phone.
"That doesn't answer my question, Strip," Lynda said, concerned. "Take a minute and calm down. Tell me what happened."
He stopped as he reached the phone and took a breath, turning to look at her. She could see the fear in his eyes. He was getting better all the time about disguising how he felt, but she knew better. She could always see it.
"Stephen was at the race," he said. "He was talkin' to Chick by the trailers when I left. They know about McQueen."
"Oh, no," she whispered. "Are they goin' after him?"
Strip nodded and replayed the conversation in his mind. "That, and they wanna use him to get to us."
Lynda bit her lip, worried, but she understood. "Call Izzy. Get her down here now."