Chapter Seven
At twilight, Boost, DJ, Wingo, and Snot Rod drove back toward Radiator Springs after an afternoon spent practicing their technique on the dirt track around Willie's Butte. They were laughing over their minor mistakes and jokes they'd pulled on people in the past that their laps had somehow reminded them of. Then Boost heard the sound of a jet rushing by overhead, the second one of the day. The silhouette of the jet seemed to descend into the desert, and Boost said, "Looks like our unmarked jet's back, for good this time."
"Still wanna chase it?" Wingo asked.
"Never stopped. If you wanna go, I'm in."
With that, the four tuners sped off after the jet. A few minutes later, they gathered behind the rock over a small, shallow crater in which the black unmarked jet had landed. Several cars, old makes and models that had failed, deplaned, ending with a Zundapp in a monacle. The tuners tensed immediately upon sight of the car. They rolled into a closer position in an effort to hear what was going on.
"...is the racer?" the Zundapp asked.
"We believe him to be here," another car replied. "He's under the protection of those two British spies, McMissile and Shiftwell."
"So, it seems we need to distract the spies to get to the racer."
"This is gonna be too easy," yet another car said with a snicker. They drove off and split into two groups. The Zundapp drove leisurely toward Radiator Springs, and the tuners turned away from their look-out point and gathered in a huddle.
"That was Shotgun Willie," Snot Rod breathed.
"That's it, that's how we distract him," DJ said. "Snotty, talk him up, talk to him about what he does. You're the biggest S.G. Willie fan we know, you know his career inside and out. Talk him up about it, and we'll go in and rescue this racer they're talking about, which I'm pretty sure is Francesco."
"Deej, your genius is showing," Boost replied. DJ looked around and rolled back slightly, mocking embarrassment, much to the amusement of the others. "Well, that's the only plan we've got, and I don't know how much time we or that racer have left. Let's go."
The tuners drove toward Radiator Springs, meeting Lightning and Francesco after they parked Bessie after what looked like an impressive day's work. "What's up?" Lightning asked.
"The jet's back, and I'm willing to guess it works for Shotgun Willie," Boost replied.
"Who?"
"Wilhelm Zundapp," Snot Rod said, and he was ready to say more, but Lightning immediately recognized the name, and Francesco came around a little while later.
"What do you need me to do?"
CARS
The lemons drove into Radiator Springs, only to be met by the Sheriff, Finn, and Holley. "Looking for someone?" Finn asked with a soft, suave smile.
"Whadda you care?" one of the lemons asked, sneering.
In response, Holley showed her gun. "Try us," she said.
The car laughed and drove forward. Holley shot out one of his headlights, and he jerked back. "Not in this town, you don't," the Sheriff said, rolling up to better line up with the two spies.
"You try us," another lemon hissed, rolling forward and narrowing his eyes.
"Hey," Wingo shouted, attracting the lemons' attention. "You don't wanna push your luck. These guys are friends of ours."
"Sorry, we don't recognize tuner law," a lemon replied blandly.
"You better learn quick, because I'd love to challenge you to a race right now, but I'm not sure I wanna waste that much time." Finn and Holley shared a smirk. "Time's tickin', clunker." Holley found herself having to stifle her laughter.
"They under your protection or somethin'?" another lemon asked.
"They're not, but Ford help you if you mess with that racer you're lookin' for, 'cause you've got all of us to deal with."
"Where are your friends now?"
"A signal away." With that, Wingo flashed his neon lights. DJ and Boost appeared out of the shadows, behind the Sheriff, Finn, and Holley, all of whom seemed slightly confused at the proceedings. "Told ya."
CARS
"What's going on?" Lightning asked in a whisper, watching what was going on at the edge of town.
"I think we gotta get Francesco outta here," Mater replied.
"What is a-going on?" Francesco asked.
"We need to get you to safety," Lightning replied. "C'mon, their occupied, we can get you maybe as far as the billboard without their noticing, and if we need to, we can outrun 'em just going the speed limit."
Alright, let's go. Francesco is getting antsy."
The lemons seemed to hear this and rushed forward, stopped only by the three cars confronting them. "Go," Lightning hissed, and Mater drove off toward the opposite end of town. "Go," Lightning said again, nudging Francesco, who finally sped off after Mater. The red Piston Cup racer drove abreast with his Formula counterpart.
The three drove in silence until Mater noticed a familiar Zundapp Janus with a monacle conversing with an orange muscle car dragster, who was talking animatedly. Lightning slipped behind Francesco and Mater slipped beside him in one smooth movement, as if they'd been in the witness protection business for years and encountered this type of situation all the time.
Thankfully, the two cars didn't notice the three passing by on Route Sixty-Six, at least until the muscle car stopped talking so that he could breathe and the Zundapp looked over at the passers-by. Mater was the first to notice this, and he whipped around to the front of Francesco, hooking the Italian racer's front bumper with his tow cable, and he deployed his rockets, taking off with considerable notice. "Keep going, Mater," Lightning called, turning to face the Zundapp, who drove up to meet him. "Y'know, I never did catch your name, considering you tried to kill me and all."
"Why would I tell you anything?" the Zundapp drawled, giving Lightning the impression that he was used to being highly regarded.
"I just asked for your name. You don't need to pull an act with me. We're complete strangers."
"I'm just the Professor."
"So are you following orders?"
"That's none of your business."
"Oh, okay, yeah, I get it. You have your business, I have mine. Nobody needs to know anything about anything. Makes perfect sense."
"It's nice to know we're on the same page. Now, if you'll excuse me, where's your racer friend?"
"That's my business, like I was telling you earlier. Remember that conversation?"
"The racer is my business, and it would be wise for you to tell me where he is."
"Or what?"
"Oh, that's a good question," the muscle car said, and the Zundapp turned to face him, but only for a moment before returning his attention to Lightning.
"The racer, if you would?"
"Sorry, no can do."
"Then it appears that we are at odds with each other."
"I thought we were at odds with each other when you tried to kill me at the first World Grand Prix. Maybe I was mistaken."
"You weren't. I had...hoped...you would change since the...incident."
"Dare I ask why?"
"You are a passable racer, I admit, and you've already demonstrated you'd make a good spy, if you aren't already."
"You want me to play informant?"
"At least that much. Consider it a...peace offering."
"Am I allowed to shoot myself first?"
"Heh, cute."
"So are we done here? I have to talk to my pit crew about the next season."
"At least consider my offer."
"Not on your life." Lightning turned and drove off in the direction Mater had raced off toward some time before.
CARS
Mater finally slowed down, somewhere past the Wheel Well, and Francesco caught his breath. Mater unhooked the racer and said, "That was close. Coulda been thousands a times worse. Why're they after you, anyway?"
"Antonia," Francesco rasped.
"Who's that?" But the Formula Racer didn't answer. Something about the air about the racer told Mater that it was best not to press any further.
