This chapter is rated T for mention of drugs, misuse of alcohol, and blackmail, all in the context of the risks associated with a night out in Vegas.

Strip Weathers was rudely jerked out of his sleep by the ringing of his cell phone. The veteran racer groaned and rolled over on the bed, fumbling around for the bed lamp. He turned it on and reached for the device that persistently waited to be answered. It was his emergency back-up phone - the one not kept on silent for the night. He squinted in the light and frowned as he didn't recognize the number. Only a few people knew about the existence of this line. His brother, Lynda, Tex, and Cal.

As if having one phone isn't trouble enough, he thought to himself, annoyed.

On the third ring he answered.

"Hello?"

"Uncle Strip?" Cal's voice came through.

"Cal?" Strip sat up, suddenly awake. "Where are you? Why aren't you back at the hotel?"

"We... um... well, got into some trouble."

"What?" Dread settled in Strip's stomach. "Are you at the police station?"

"No... No!" Cal quickly defended and Strip let his head rest against the headboard, relieved that he

wouldn't have to post bail money. "Nothing like that... We just... Um..."

Strip waited, patience running thin.

"Go on, Cal," That was Junior behind him. "Tell him what happened."

"I'm trying," Cal muttered back. By now Strip was wide awake.

"Cal, where are you?" he said sternly.

"We're on the South Las Vegas Boulevard," Cal admitted. Strip stayed quiet, irritation building up inside of him.

"... Outside the Surrender Nightclub." Cal finished.

Strip was out of bed in a flash and threw his suitcase open as Cal started rambling.

"We only wanted to see what's it like inside so we took a cab from the restaurant after we finished eating because some people recommended it to us but we forgot our wallets in the car and I don't think they'll let us in without ID and..."

"Cal," Strip cut him off sharply as he shrugged on his jacket. "Stay exactly where you are. Stay in a group, stay inconspicuous and don't talk to anyone. I'm coming to get you."

The cars and pit crews were already at the track in Los Angeles, California. The drivers were also supposed to be there as well, but some chemical component had caused part of the track to crumble, causing qualifiers and practice laps to be delayed by at least 2 days. Not wanting to hang around a city they already knew, Cal, Lightning, Bobby and Junior all begged their crew chiefs to be able to go to Vegas for a day.

"It's not far," Junior had said.

"And we'll be right back to practice after the night," Lightning had added in.

Their sponsors didn't care much and their crew chiefs let them go under the condition that a responsible adult go with them. Turns out Strip was the only adult who met that criteria and rather reluctantly agreed to act as chaperone. They spent the whole day touring the city and by the time evening came, Strip had been ready to call it a night. The 'boys', however, wanted to eat out. Against his better judgement, Strip told them to go ahead, but set a curfew at 11 and told them they needed to be well rested for the flight back the next day.

It was 2 in the morning and Strip found himself weaving through the heavy traffic. Even for a summer weeknight, the roads were a nightmare. But he wasn't a seven time Piston Cup champion for nothing and skillfully managed to not clip anyone, or be clipped by anyone, even by the aggressive taxis.

He finally reached the Surrender Nightclub and stopped the rental Nissan Altima at the curb in the parking lot. Even from a good distance away he could hear the loud music from inside the building blaring away, the heavy bass enough to give him a headache. A group of four young men could be seen huddled in a corner, glancing at the road. Strip rolled down the passenger side window as the group made their way towards him.

"Cal... front," he ordered, as he saw Bobby reaching the for passenger seat door.

Bobby looked at Cal apologetically and Strip watched his nephew reach slowly for the passenger seat door, as if it were a test he knew he'd done badly on. The other three got in the back, Lightning in the middle with Junior on his left and Bobby on his right.

Strip made sure everyone had their seat belts on and turned back into the traffic.

The veteran racer drove in silence to the next traffic light where he could finally turn around to go back the way he'd come. He was absolutely livid and couldn't bring himself to say a word. Cal was glancing out of the window, trying to focus on the bright lights and advertisements instead of his Uncle's wrath. The others did the same, watching the night life around them. The moment didn't last long as a tasteless advertisement on their left caused Bobby to glance at the car's roof and Cal to look down at his feet, embarrassed.

Strip didn't miss any of this and silently berated himself. He should have known better than to let them go out like this. None of them were exactly streetwise and all of them just a little bit naive.

The silence in the car was so powerful that Strip could hear every little sound. Lightning drummed his fingers on the seat belt clasp. Bobby shifted every now and again, crossing his right arm over his left, then his left arm over his right. Junior's hands rested on his knees, gripping his trousers. Cal glanced down towards his shoes, fidgeting with his feet.

"Uncle Strip..." He started after a few minutes, not being able to bear the silence.

"Yes, Cal?" Strip's voice was quiet but it held an underlying edge of fury.

"We're sorry?" Cal's voice sounded like a question.

"You better be sorry!" Strip couldn't help but explode. "What did I tell you about nightclubs?"

"That they're bad..." Cal replied.

"And?"

"That I shouldn't go to them..." Cal looked down red faced and embarrassed.

"Then why would you decide to go to one?" Which was really what Strip wanted to know.

"Some people at the restaurant," Bobby spoke up from behind Cal, not willing to let his friend take the tongue-lashing alone, "said they were going, and that it was a good time to go because it's a weeknight."

"Let me tell you something, Bobby," Strip glanced at him in the rear view mirror. "NONE of you can ever afford to go clubbing. Weeknight or otherwise."

"But why not?" Lightning spoke up.

"We just wanted to see what it's like," Junior added.

"It's loud, chaotic, and a complete waste of time," Strip explained. "The people are either drunk, rude, or looking to rob you."

Cal looked at him questioningly, wondering how he knew all this.

"Did you ever go into one, Mr. the King?" Of course Lightning would have the guts to ask.

"Once," Strip bit out. "And if I hadn't been found and dragged out of there I more than likely wouldn't be here today."

"Who dragged you out?" Cal wanted to know.

"None of your business." It had been Tex but they didn't need to know that. "I don't think you boys can even begin to understand the risks associated with places like that."

"We do, Uncle," Cal tried to assure him.

"Name one," Strip challenged him. There was a moment of silence as the boys thought.

"Spiked drinks?" Lightning ventured.

"What kind of spiking?" Strip countered. "Extra alcohol, or drugs? And if drugs, tell me what the most common effects are."

He was met with silence, as expected.

"Once drugged, any number of things can happen," he continued. "If you are lucky, you'll only get robbed. But considering your high profiles, your identities will more than likely be stolen, you'll get kidnapped, or wake up in a situation so bad, you'll be blackmailed with your reputation at stake."

"But Chick Hicks went out all the time and never got robbed," Bobby said quietly. Strip's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"Chick Hicks," his voice, although restrained, held a biting edge to it. "Is, for all his faults, streetwise. He also had no reputation to begin with, and his sponsors did not care. Your sponsors do care about your reputation, and it is in their right to do so."

"Would they fire us?" Bobby asked, more quietly than before.

"I don't know," Strip answered. "Point is, if I ever find you near a club again, Cal, your parents will be the first to know."

Cal paled drastically and immediately stuttered out another apology. Lightning snicked.

"Not a word, Lightning," Strip glanced at him with the rear view mirror. "I'm sure your crew chief would have a word or two for you as well if I told him what you tried tonight."

It was Lighting's turn to pale.

"It will never happen again," he assured the veteran racer.

"And you two," Strip addressed Junior and Bobby. "I know your crew chief," he looked at Bobby, "and I'm sure you have someone who wouldn't be pleased by your behaviour."

"He has a brother..." Junior volunteered.

"Shut up," Bobby glared at his friend.

Satisfied that he had scared them enough to not try to experience city night life again, Strip stopped his lecture, allowing the boys to imagine what horrors would await them if their crew chiefs, parents or guardians ever found out what had occurred. By the time he drove into the hotel parking lot and shut off the ignition he'd cooled down enough to address them again.

"I know you think it's fun to experience nightclubs," he said, turning so that he could look at all four of them. "But it isn't just all dancing and laughing. All four of you are decent, polite young men who would make excellent targets for all sorts of crimes and I'd hate to see any of you get hurt. You understand?"

"Yes, Sir," the three in the back answered, nodding.

"Yes, Uncle," Cal looked down, ashamed. Strip softened just slightly. Cal came from the same small town in Utah where he'd come from, and Junior hailed from a small town in Montana. The big city was extremely overwhelming to them. While they came, from bigger cities, Vegas' intoxicating effect was new to Bobby and Lightning and the two had easily been swept up in the excitement. Luckily they had dodged a bullet this time.

"Are you going to tell on us?" Lightning asked, once they were in the elevator and he'd scraped up enough courage. Bobby's arms were crossed and Cal was tracing the pattern on the floor with his foot.

"No, not this time," Strip relented. "After all, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

That got a grin out of them at least. But as they reached their floor Strip decided that they wouldn't get out of this scot-free.

"But, as your punishment," they looked at each other, worried. "You are going to hunt down your cab driver by yourselves to find your wallets."

"How are we going to do that?" Junior asked.

"Using the hotel phone," Strip nodded to the phone as they entered their room. "And you will do so quietly, and split the bill four ways in the morning."

The racers looked at each other, mentally agreeing that there were far worse punishments and so decided not to protest.

"Good night," Strip headed back to his room. "And remember, our flight leaves at 8 tomorrow."

He heard collective groans from behind him and grinned slightly. They wanted night life, and they would get it, whether they wanted to stay up or not.