So, yeah, this took a different turn than I expected. But, here it is! Chapter seventeen. With more Brick!

On a side note, I SAW PLANES. I saw a lot of similarities between Dusty and Skipper and Lightning and Doc, but the characters took on their own identities, and I was either laughing or yelling "AWW" throughout the entire movie. The references were also quite adorable. :3

Thanks to all the wonderful readers and reviewers. You help make the story even more worthwhile to write. :D

As usual, reviews are welcome!

"Yeah. I think that's it."

"So that's what's keeping his hood out of the game?"

"I guess. She was at his cone. It's safe to assume that they're at the very least, friends."

"And who is she?"

"Weathers. Georgia Weathers."

"And you're sure that it was her that you saw?"

"No missing her with that gaudy tailfin. I really thought it was Strip the first time."

"Interesting. Get on him, Brick. He needs to win this next race."

"You got it, boss. What about the lady?"

"I'll take care of her. You just do what I've told you."

And that was that. Brick closed the call and peeked out through the blinders on the window. No sign of any of either of the Plymouth models, or the stock car, for that matter. He had to find Chick, though, and set him straight. Honestly, he liked the guy. There were a few quirks that were just turn-offs, but for the most part, Chick was sociable enough. Plus, Brick saw him as a drinking buddy, and he was going to use that in his favor.

The car exited his cone, looking around to make sure he could go about his business unseen. And satisfied that he could, he set to work. First things first: Check out Hicks' cone. For an amateur aide, busting in would be the tough part, but for him, a seasoned aide, it would be easy. Gotta love working for Malone. Paid well. The guy was scary as hell, though, he thought.

Brick drove over to the Cozy Cone office, clearing his throat a bit as he entered. "Excuse me, Miss?"

One of Sally's employees looked up from her work, reaching back to turn down the fan. "How can I help you?"

He gestured to his cone. "The garage door is jammed. I can't get it down. Could you help me...?"

The small Viper drove around the desk. "Cone number eight, right?"

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded, looking out the window. "I just can't seem to get it closed. Chrysler, it's hot today, isn't it? Phew."

"Just hang out here while I check on that. I'm sure it's an easy fix." She drove past him, leaving him to his own devices.

"Too easy," he said to himself, waiting until he was out of her line of sight to drive around behind the desk. Pulling up the computer, he was able to find the key code for the garage door to Chick's cone. Piece of cake. "Five-four-seven-two, five-four-seven-two, five-four-seven-two." He repeated the numbers to himself, shutting down the screen to move back to his place, where he waited for several seconds before exiting.

The Viper was just driving back towards the office. "It was totally an easy fix. I don't even think it was jammed. I checked it a few times to make sure."

"Thanks, I really appreciate it." Brick offered a sincere smile, waiting patiently for her to drive away before he went to Chick's cone.

And he was in, with no trouble, so he closed the door behind him and looked around. The cones were pretty small, but a light-travelling car like Chick could fit a decent amount of things in here - mostly necessities and such. Brick, however, was more interested in finding anything of question, or anything he could use against the stock car if need be. Who am I kidding? That guy was built with low-resistance... I'll just get him drunk. No sweat. And that's how he got what he wanted, especially in the past. Alcohol was such a crux for Chick.

There was nothing of interest in the cone, but at least now he had the key code. Heh. Wonder if the little Superbird has the key code? Thoughts passed in and out of his hood as he moved everything back to the right places. He made sure he left no tire marks, checked out the window, and casually left the cone, as if it was some sort of regular act.

About this time, he saw the Weathers couple making their way up to the cafe, and not ten minutes later, Georgia appeared.

"This should be good," he mumbled, driving across the road, nuzzling into the growing throng of cars. He pulled up to a pump just to the left of a little yellow beetle, who was curiously observing the veteran racer and his wife while he sipped on a hot can of oil. A reporter. Hm. Malone said he'd take care of the lady, but. Maybe I can do something to help get the message across?

Brick turned his gaze casually to the reporter. "The Weathers are a real power couple."

The beetle glanced at him. "You're telling me... I've done so many interviews with them." His eyes fell to the logo on Brick's side. "And a few with your man."

The aide chuckled in a friendly way. "You don't have to suck up to me, man. If I were a reporter, I'd stay away from Chick Hicks, too."

"Heh. Even the sponsor's lost interest?" The beetle was intrigued - exactly what Brick wanted.

"You could say that. Off the record - just between you and me? Chick's in baad with his sponsor right now."

"Gordon Malone, right? Tycoon, big man on the block."

"Oh yeah. Not a car you want to piss around with, if you know what I mean. But he's got the money."

A light bulb went on in the beetle's hood. "Really. Well, you must be paid well working for him."

"Oh, of course." Brick smiled wryly as Mia brought him a strong drink. "He's got the goods, I'm telling you. And you become untouchable."

The beetle's eyes narrowed. "Interesting. And you are?"

"This is off the record, yes? All of this."

"Absolutely."

"Brick Stamose. And you?"

"Elliot Trace. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stamose." The two cars shook tires.

"So, Mr. Trace. You're a writer for...?"

"Fast and Hot. The magazine."

Brick nodded. "I don't think Malone has any writers in that magazine." Granted, Brick was lying through his teeth, but Elliot was eating it up.

"That's interesting... If he needs any, I'm open. And I know a lot about the Weathers, if that's any consolation."

"That's actually what I'd like to speak with you about. Mr. Malone could certainly use your services in this case. It seems that the little lady-" he gestured to Georgia "-is becoming a bit of a distraction for our racer. I'd like you to help us set her straight."

Elliot's brow rose. Slander the Weathers name? Well, he'd never done that before. "The daughter or all three?"

Brick thought for a moment. "Just the daughter, for now. Let's let the public hold onto their idols for a while longer."

"And am I looking at a decent paycheck?"

"Double your salary now, as soon as I run it by Mr. Malone."

No hesitation. "All right. When do I start?"

"Now." Brick smiled again. "Hear them talking? You be there whenever you can. But keep Chick out of it. Keep his name clean."

"Easy." The two cars shook tires again, and Brick split to leave the reporter to perform his task.

"...and I have this cute little scrap book from all of the races."

"I always wanted kids."

Georgia, fruitless in her search around the outskirts of town, drove up beside her father. "Please tell me she's not getting out the scrap book again."

Strip chuckled. "Can't make any promises." He watched as Mia drove up, but Georgia hardly noticed her; she was exchanging a glance with the htB driver, shrugging her tires loosely. Mia waited several seconds until the Plymouth noticed her, although, to Strip's surprise, Georgia turned the waitress away without ordering anything. "You? Turn down food?" His tone was joking, and a light laugh penetrated his speech. "Everythin' all right?"

"Yeah. I just get the feelin' that somethin' is wrong."

"With what?" He nudged her tire gently.

Georgia paused, looking over at him with a low-set brow. It was silly, she thought, for her to worry, but the htB aide gave her the creeps, so to speak. And how odd was it that they couldn't find Chick right when Stamose arrived? Of course, it could have easily been a coincidence. She wrestled with herself, that there was no sense in dwelling on things - and cars, for that matter - that she had no control over, though all that did was cause her to wonder why she felt the way that she did. It was just Chick Hicks. Just isn't exactly the right word there.

"JR," Strip started, leveling his gaze with hers.

She jumped slightly. "What? Oh, with what, right. Chick, I guess." She glanced up and away, before her eyes came back to meet Strip's as he chuckled. She felt rather seriously about this. "Am I crazy?" And on top of that, she was beginning to feel sure about the stock car, but that scared her. Her defenses came up and she covered her assurance of feeling with denial.

"No, darlin'." Strip shook his hood. "Why would you be crazy?"

"I don't know. It's a novel thing, to think that he would be the one car I saw myself in."

One surprise after another from The King today. "That's how it was for me."

"With what? With Chick?"

"No, no." He waved a tire. "You missed my point. With your mother." Across the way, they heard someone spit out their oil and say, "What?"

Georgia's reaction was about the same. "Whoa, slow down there-"

"Now you know I've never been good at that." He received a pointed look, so he sighed and gestured to Lynda. "All I'm sayin' is that whatever time I spent off the track was used worrying over her, which taught me a lot about myself. But for you - well, you just got to focus on what's in front of you, not what's behind or far ahead." Georgia practically sank on her tires, remembering how good Strip had been at reading her. "Whatever's meant to be, will be."

Whatever's meant to be, will be. And that was that, she supposed. "I know you're right, but-"

"But it doesn't do much for me to tell you, I know."

Georgia looked at him apologetically, half-smiling. "Thanks."

The older car shook his hood. "You know I'm here." About that time, Lynda drove over.

"And I'm here, too, for whatever you need... Except for right now. C'mon, Strip. We have to meet the Perkins couple for brunch."

He glanced at Georgia, putting on a smile. "Oh. Right."

She rolled her eyes, pulling on his tire. "Please, let's not be late, like last time."

"All right, all right," he sighed, turning to follow his wife. He gave Georgia another little look, saying, "Oh, and JR. I'm sure you'll figure everythin' out."

"Thanks, Dad." I sure hope so. With that, she herself turned to drive - well, she didn't know where, really. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a yellow beetle slipping out of the cafe lot, a small black object in his possession. That's all she managed to see, and she paid it no attention, deciding instead that she would waste time and head back to the house.