McQueen had walked away with a second place finish that day. Chick was irritated over the fact that he had the nerve to smile as if he'd still won.
He found a little enjoyment in the look of confusion when McQueen noticed him lingering in the back of the garages, glancing sidelong in his direction while the crew started to pack it up for a long trip home. The confusion turned in to concern when the kid's crew chief passed him and then in to a glare in his own direction after whatever he'd been told, Chick wasn't close enough to hear.
"If I'm not back in five send a search party."
"Why would you go missing-..."
"I won't be the one that's missing."
Chick offered a mock salute in McQueen's direction, if only to see him get more riled up.
They stopped between two trailers, it was probably the most secluded place on a track when he really thought about it, even with the commotion in the background of pit crews loading up their gear and backing the cars up the ramps. He cut right to the chase, no point in prolonging this, especially if he was really being held to five minutes.
"So what's your angle old man?"
Doc let his Zippo lighter close roughly and returned it to his shirt pocket, his back rested against the travel trailer he stood against. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Chick was irritated by the huff of amusement that escaped the man, and who the hell would be texting him?
Doc glanced at the time displayed across the top of the screen and the text notification before returning the phone to his pocket.
"The angle kiddo-" and it wasn't the term he used for McQueen, that one word was filled with more condescension than he'd ever heard before. "At least around here is to run a winning team."
"McQueen was already doing pretty well before the side show started tagging along."
"Maybe."
"Or is this just some fallen-off-the-face-of-the-planet-Piston-Cup-celebrity trying to relive the glory days."
"Oh, you saw the Enquirer article too."
Chick wanted some kind of reaction out of McQueen's crew chief and realized he was the one getting fired up in this conversation.
He probably would have been tickled pink if he'd seen Doc's initial reaction to the tabloid's borderline slanderous article. Only a few people had been privy to that conversation, though, and Lightning would never betray the trust of his mentor that way.
"Well? Is that what this is?"
"I can't tell you what to think."
Doc raised a brow at the frustrated gesture of the #86 driver. He thought Lightning could be dramatic, he couldn't hold a candle to Chick.
"Can we stop with the cryptic answers?"
"Look." Doc finally stated seriously. "I know why I'm here, the team all knows why we're here and McQueen knows why he's here. Whatever the press, fans, other drivers or even the tender foot admins up in the press box think they know about us doesn't really matter."
What mattered was the sound of those fans even while someone else had taken their victory lap and spun out under the crow's nest, the constant checking of their weather apps as the clouds had begun to roll in during the race, the way the track had gotten louder as the sounds of the engines reverberated through the stands and was held down by that cloud cover. It was in relearning the track once it had started to cool down when the sun disappeared, or that weird shower that had only covered turn four and sent everyone back to Pit Row for ten minutes. It was in the friendly banter between the Rust-eze and Dinoco pit crews when they were side by side in the pits, which eventually turned into serious but still friendly conversations between the crew chiefs over how well Cal was doing in his second year as the Dinoco driver.
There wasn't friendly banter in Chick's world, there were taunts and boastful jeering.
"Now." Doc continued as he field dressed the cigarette and tossed the end in the trash can against the garage wall behind the trucks. "Talk about cryptic. What is it you're really here to ask."
"You left for fifty years and came back to a welcoming committee."
"That's not a question, but yes."
"How."
Doc realized that was the closest he was going to get.
Chick wasn't keen on the look he was getting, and realized at the same moment that he probably should have gone to someone else. He hadn't thought this through very well.
Well he had, a little, the first option would've been Strip Weathers, but somehow that seemed like a bad idea.
The Fabulous Hudson Hornet was the only other retired driver still in the game, at least trackside and not in front of a camera.
Well, he was the only one that would keep his mouth shut he figured, but the look he was getting told him he hadn't played the cards well, McQueen's crew chief saw right through him.
Doc took a deep breath, both brows raised even as he looked down and replied to the text he'd just gotten, asking airily. "Making a career change then?"
"Maybe."
Doc glanced up at him once while still forming a response on the phone. "It's a yes or no question."
Yeah, he'd chosen the wrong retired driver.
This wasn't something he'd even mentioned to the crew, he doubted that would be a heart wrenching separation though. He rotated through crew members the way McQueen used to go through crew chiefs. His own crew chief was the only original member of his pit crew.
He could tell his time on the track was reaching an end, and he wasn't going to nurse it along and hope that some new tires and fuel injector was going to put him back on top.
Well, top three...
He'd gotten so wrapped up in the persona of being everyone's rival that he'd forgotten why he'd even started racing Piston in the first place.
He'd gotten a glimpse of it that afternoon standing behind the pits. He hadn't even been out on the track but had enjoyed the race more than he had in a long time.
A long time.
Like, since sending his image to an early grave at a tie breaker race, long time.
Chick had dug himself so deep into that image the press had once loved that he now needed a ladder to get out, and the only ones with ladders at the ready were those he usually mocked and ridiculed.
He didn't know which would be more painful, to end his driving career or actually ask for a ladder.
Chick realized he still hadn't answered and finally decided to just go with it. "Yeah, I think I am." His tone took on the cockiness he was more comfortable using. "Want to know what else Piston has to offer, you know."
Doc only eyed him knowingly for a brief moment before turning to leave, they'd passed the five minute mark. He had things to do. "Well don't expect your competitors to hold your hand."
There was more to that comment than Chick originally realized, looking back on it, maybe even a little of the veteran racer's own past bitterness
"Maybe you could ask Weathers. He's more recently retired than I am."
Wow, and Chick thought his sarcasm could sting...
