Chapter 7: Grinding Gears
It had been an interesting race. The accident, to everyone left in Radiator Springs, had thought it had been the most exciting aspect of the race, but they were wrong. The fight with Chick had been on almost every sporting channel, even the Chess Channel. Doc at least had the sense to call the remaining citizens in town and state that nobody was seriously injured. That was why Ramone was happy. He had watched the tussle and knew almost everyone had paint scrapes. He was so going to mock all their afts and then charge them all for new paint jobs. That was why he was sitting at the entrance of town, readying himself for a good old laugh.
The desert cast its reflective mirage under the hot sun and it took a few moments until the body artist realized it was one of their teammates coming down the road before he started to smile like a wicked troll.
This did not go unnoticed by Sarge, the first to roll into town.
Grinning wickedly like a predator, he stated in a drawl, "Hey Sarge you look nice today."
"Shut your mouth, hooligan," grumbled the old jeep as he drove forward, not even bothering to stop, bright green blemishes ruining his old army paint as well as a large collection of dents.
Ramone was not offended. He knew the old trooper was just mad that he had finally lost. Ramone had been trying to get the jeep to get a new paint job for nearly a decade now. He had heard that back in the day, some cars had had lead used in their paint jobs. He didn't know if Sarge had had his paint redone since then or not, but knowing how traditional the old soldier was… it seemed unlikely. It would never be the perfect military green… not that the old soldier had much of a choice now.
A smile still firmly planted on his grill, the painter turned his gaze to his next canvas. This one he had painted recently, but it was always a pleasure to get rid of those horrible stickers from time to time with a fresh coat of paint. Doc seemed to have kept his grill to himself during the scrimmage though… not even a smudge of green as the two rolled into town. It seemed Doc had made the rookie drive the whole way home.
Naughty racers don't get nice trailers, huh?
Sinking on his rims a little in a relaxed stated, Ramone didn't even think twice as he spoke to the racer, "Lightning, when'd you get a new paint job? I don't know if green smudges are your color."
"You should see the other guy," the racer added with a cheeky grin, his lightning sticker glinting for a moment.
Doc, feeling that the drive home wasn't punishment enough, bumped the youth in the bumper for the remark since apparently, he had learned nothing. In a gruff tone, he stated to his rookie, "I wouldn't be too proud about putting a few dents in an already injured driver's skid plates, rookie, and stop eyeing him, Ramone. He's not getting a new paint job until he's the very last; some dents and horrible paint should teach the rookie some humility."
"W-what! Oh, come on. It will take days just to trick Sarge and Fillmore into getting new paint jobs. You can't do that to me," complained the red car as he tried to break and complain to the artist only to continue to be bumped forward by a clearly irritated crew chief.
"As far as I'm concerned, it's already done. Move your bumper. My word is law in this town."
Lightning seemed flabbergasted, rising to defend himself, "I demand a lawyer. Keeping paint from a citizen is unlawful! Unlawful!"
Ramone chuckled to himself as he watched Lightning reluctantly pushed forward. His gaze then met Mack's who nodded in return, grinning as he stated, "That was sure anything but a boring race, wasn't it?"
"Sure was, man, recorded the whole thing to laugh over later," the two of them chuckled at that as the semi slowly rolled forward, the artesian adding, "You enjoy watchin' that lazy rookie carry his own weight for once?"
Mack swung his cab back and forth as the chuckle became a full blown laugh, "I should ask the Hornet to punish him far more often. It was nice to have a light load."
A snicker escaped the old, blue car in front and an echoing yelp of "traitor" escaped the rookie. Ramone just enjoyed the sound of that laughing semi a few moments more before he turned his attention to the next victim… uh, customer.
Lastly, came Fillmore who was being hustled forward by the Guido and Luigi as if the van was just learning to drive, "Whoa … what happened to you, man? Forget how to drive?"
The van braked in front of the low rider, shaking his hood and complaining as Luigi frowned up at the still vehicle, "I keep telling these two I want my old tires, man, but these two are repressing my freedom. Repressing!"
"V'ell that will be imposable. Luigi says that they are gone, lost and sold on the eBay as if they were as memorabilia. Besides, Luigi would not have touched such disgusting tires. They are not suitable for the junk pile much less to be driven with," said Luigi as he bumped against the van softly so he would keep moving and not drive into the ditch.
Ramone nodded and was about to follow after and see who would be his first prey when the body artist stalled and asked, "Yo where's Sheriff?"
Luigi, who had stalled, turned around quickly and added, "Ve'll he stayed behind with the rest of the road block, they didn't want some mad racer in high pursuit getting through."
Getting high on his tires, he excitedly asked, "Mad racer? You mean Lightning? He was kind of mad to pick a fight with Chick after the race," chuckled the low-rider.
"Not that mad racer… another v'one. It should be on the evenin' news. Now… Luigi has to teach this van how to drive," stated the little vehicle as he zoomed on past… leaving Ramone intrigued.
It wasn't more than a moment or two before he was racing after the group, crying, "Wait up. What channel is that on? I want to make fun of Sheriff if he pops up on the news."
A few hours later, Lightning came into Flo's covered in dust.
"What's everyone watchin'," gurgled the racer he came to a slow halt out by Flo's ready to grab a quick snack before bed. Doc had driven him hard, abandoning the youth half way through when Sheriff had returned, undoubtedly to pester him about that check up he needed.
Peeking around Mater to get a better look, he was sorely disappointed. It was just the news… and it wasn't even about him and his fight with Chick. He'd never admit it, but he sometimes was a bit of an egocentric.
Shifting on his tires, Flo brought him some oil knowing that he had had a hard day.
Thanking Ramone's wife, he peeked at the television screen. It just looked like it was the news. Apparently, some hot rod had been in a high-speed pursuit. Nothing really worth his attention. He was the real speed demon here.
"What's so important? It's just the news. It's not even anything interesting," he grumbled, sinking onto his tires, trying to ignore the green paint smudges on his form.
Flo chuckled and stated in a motherly tone, "Everything's not about you, sugar. Sheriff's is just excited. Spent all night with some old police academy friend, Chief I believe, putting up road blocks and looking for a dangerous vehicle. Right now we are watching the big chase reruns."
"His driving is better than yours, rookie," stated Doc, turning with a grin from his conversation with Sheriff, adding, "That's why you should be watching the news as well. This mad car could give you some pointers, kid."
Lightning's voice gave a little squeak as he rose to defend his honor as a racer, getting closer to the two older vehicles and the television screen to do so, "Look at him swerve madly, and his form's covered in dirt. He's just some mad hobo-car. He doesn't even have headlights."
At that, Doc and Sheriff both raised a brow, knowing a different tale of an idiot driver with no head lights quite well… a living reminder in front of them. Both squinted at the screen, seeing if the helicopter could ever get a spotlight on the vehicle. Were those stickers or just mud? The car had been driving over dirt, smashing through low water-ways and what not else to try and get away. One could just barely make out that there were no license plates… and were those racing tires?
Sheriff whistled, stating in a low tone, "Well, I'll be darn, old Chief has a good eye. I thought he was kidding about the race car bit last night, but that's a racer, isn't it, Doc?"
"Yeah, a racer that should know better," grumbled Doc as he stared at the screen, wondering who would be dumb enough to pull such a stunt.
…
At the same time, a state or two over when he had gotten home as well, the King had parked with Lynda to confess his sins and the betrayed look in Chick's eyes. She had forgiven him and told him he could have handled that better but it was still handled well. Chick's grandkids would thank the old racer. The two had then cuddled and turned on the television to watch the evening news before he headed for bed, her hubby still tired from last night. It wasn't fairly surprising what was on the news: political scandals, new models, rising gas prices, and the fight between Chick and Lightning.
It was already being voted as the best fight of the season.
One thing for sure, if Chick wasn't already being 'helped' off the track, that little stunt might do it. Most would probably figure he took the time off to hide from the media than for whatever excuse his crew chief was certain to make. Shame the pickup had to lie, but if Chick took the time to heal… it would be acceptable.
Turning his attention back to the news, not wanting to think of how Chick had looked broken when he left, he watched as the newscasters grew excited. Was there some important news or was it another morning newscast about Chick and Lightning?
He almost changed the channel when the male Saturn and a female Mazda both chuckled, stating, "Good evening and welcome to the evening news, this is Sam and Maddie in the morning. So, I'm sure you are all dying to hear about the Chick and Lightning racetrack scandal…"
"But first," interrupted the Mazda, Maddie, "We have some important news to cover."
The obvious racer fan seemed to wilt, but she continued regardless, a screen in the corner showing a sky view (most likely a helicopter) of a headlight-less car swerving to try and remain out of the spot light, the light barely managing to hit its form for a second here or there.
"Late last night," she added, clearly the more professional of the two, "there was a high-speed pursuit in the tri-state area that nearly carried over two states. There have been multiple road blocks set up in the area looking for the perp who remains unidentified. The perp was reported to have hit speeds of one-hundred and thirty or higher at times. Some presume he may have been suicidal given that he did not turn his head lights on and was taking turns at high speeds. During the pursuit, three officers were injured and though they were not seriously hurt, have led to a state wide car hunt."
"Let's take a look at the footage for a moment, shall we?"
Strip watched with mild interest for a moment, disturbed. What could drive a car that far that he would consider trying to kill themselves or for that matter, anyone else, though unintentionally? He shook his hood trying to not note how well the car drove at such a high speed. It almost had a professional grace to it.
"Any information leading to the identity or location of this high-speed perp should be reported to your local police," finally added the Mazda.
"In other news," stated the car, looking at her co-host, "Here's Sam's story of the day about… Lightning McQueen and Chick Hicks…"
Strip kind of blocked out the fight, not really caring much, having seen the carnage there. He was more worried about Chick. The boxcar's reaction: or lack therefore of one such as screaming or cursing. Maybe he should call that Marv character and ask about … Chick. Lynda wasn't angry, just upset with him. It would make her happy to know that after such an ultimatum that Strip cared enough to know that he at least checked on Chick. Sighing in resignation, he was about to drive off and find Marv's number and give him a call, yet as soon as a roar escaped his engine… the fight coverage was over and he heard something that made his tank churn.
"Speaking of fight's aftermath… poor Chick should have taken the insult like a car. I heard that he's in the hospital, intensive care at the moment because of how badly damaged one of his struts were, lost a lot of oil," added the male newscaster, his lips trying to frown though it was obvious he wasn't terribly upset. "His crew chief isn't pointing tires if it was the race or Lightning, but he states –in a press release this morning- that it is unlikely that Chick will be able to race for a while due to his injuries. Huh, I wonder if that translates into: that he won't be racing for the rest of the season?"
"Really, you think it's that bad?" asked the female newscaster, surprised. "I heard he was rushed to the hospital this morning, but do you really think it's that bad?"
The old car's eyes got wide as he paused the screen, Lynda giving him an estranged look as a realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Chick had been a little wobbly, but his strut had been fine. He wasn't leaking or wincing, nothing like the picture of him being hauled into the hospital, and Weather's knew his tire injuries. Chick had been fine… it wasn't Lightning or the track accident.
He hit rewind… and then paused the screen on the high-speed pursuit.
The high-speed chase.
He knew that driving style.
Knew that frame.
Chick had been the mad driver who had nearly gotten himself and three officers killed last night, hadn't he with those speeds? Strip rarely swore, but right now it felt like the right thing.
He should have known. He should have stayed. Chick was a racer, that's what he did. When scared, he'd resort to what made him feel safe… outrunning the world. He should have stayed, the pickup didn't have the speed to keep up with Chick; he would have.
Now the racer was not only depressed, he was most likely suicidal and his career was probably half dead if he could never drive again.
Lynda pulled away from her husband, frowning. Strip rarely swore and when he did… something bad had happened. Yes, it was a shame that that green racer was hurt, though she would never admit out loud that she didn't like him after what he did to Strip, but why was he swearing? She knew she told him it was wrong to give the depressed car an ultimatum like that, but this accident didn't have anything to do with this, did it?
"What's wrong dear? Why are you so upset?" she asked nuzzling him, regardless that his engine made a hoarse growl.
The anger slowly dripped from his features because of her calming voice, Strip stated, "I should have been a little cautious. I should have at least driven him home. This is partially my fault."
Lynda frowned, asking, "Is this about Chick. I know you feel bad dear… but it's not your fault he got injuries from the race."
"But," he stalled. There was no point in disagreeing with Lynda… she always seemed to be right, even if she was missing some important details. There was no point in worrying her until he was sure though. Giving up on a nonexistent fight, he stated, "I still want to go and see if he's okay. I feel bad and I want to make sure he's doing alright."
She smiled, stating softly, "And that's why I love you, dear. You've always had a good heart. Let's get some rest first."
She pecked him on the cheek and turned away towards the bedroom, Weather yipping as he felt a tire slap him the bumper, his wife giggling. Oh, he did love her, and he loved retirement even more because he got to spend so much of his time with her. A love sick smile formed on his face and he followed after.
…
Darkness wasn't always a bad thing.
A little darkness could cause fear, but fear does promise protection when trying to hide a wounded heart. It also offered a haven for the soul to rest in, hiding from the lies that pushed said soul so coarsely until it wished to depart, it's innocence lost. It also offered a tight shield for the mind when it was in pain… and shivering.
Chick wanted to remain there, it was painful here in the light of the living … and the drugs must have been wearing off.
"Ugh… I need for more Vicodin," grumbled Chick as he stirred, causing a silence to fall over the room. He half expected to open his eyes and see his pit crew rushing around him, grumbling just how badly he had wrecked and lost the race.
"I just gave you some a moment ago… it should be kicking in by now."
Yet as he beadily opened his eyes at the strong voice, disturbed that he didn't see a small army of green forklifts rushing around him, but there was just a white and red trail blazer and Marv. He gave the trail blazer an estranged look before he turned his attention back to Marv, asking, "What's going on, Marv? What happened?"
"I tell you what," stated the doctor, an older model, a chiding tone in his voice, "You should have listened to your crew chief last night and had your injuries checked out immediately after the race. Had to ruin everyone's good clean fun with that fight, didn't you?"
"What crawled up your tailpipe and died?" slurred the car.
The vehicle frowned, stating in a sour tone, "I'm a Strip Weather's fan."
"Figures," grumbled Chick, still a little delirious, before promptly ignoring the doctor and turning his attention to his companion, "How'd I get here…it's a bit blurry."
"Ken brought you," almost growled his chief, anger in his undertones telling the racer that the semi had undoubtedly told the pickup how he exactly got his injuries… Or at least aggravated them to this point that he had to be in a hospital if the red crosses on the blazer were any indication.
"Oh…" still ignoring his doctor that had come to check his vitals. "So… what's the diagnosis? How long am I going to be laid up? I know it's not my season but…"
The doctor sighed, stern features slowly leaving his face. He turned his attention to Marv, asking, "Do you want to break the news, or shall I?"
Marv seemed to wilt at this and Chick's form became tight. This… was not good. If Marv seemed so downtrodden… then… then. How bad was it?
Turning his attention to his doctor, he asked, "Well?"
Not even a hint of satisfaction in his face, because no one wished such a fate on a racer, the medic stated, "Chick… depending on how well you rehabilitated. You may or may not be able to race again. That strut really... Ripped you up."
XXX
Paw07: Yep, I'm a cliffhanger junkie. Mmmmm. Regardless, we got a little Strip/Lynda time (old people love, is there anything more adorable) and I might start hinting at the second movie if I ever find anyone to go see it with. Ugg, why are all my friends too adult to want to go to a Pixar film…
