Chapter 8
88
88
And I know you're lonely for words that I ain't spoken
Tonight we'll be free, all the promises will be broken
~Bruce Springsteen, Thunder Road
88
88
Lightning's engine thrummed with the unmistakable effects of gasohol.
He slurped on what he guessed might have been his fourth, maybe fifth can, and listened to the road car opposite him with what he hoped was an interested face.
The road car was army green and apparently called Ricket. And flanked at his sides were a dirty brown road car, and a burnt reddish orange one. These were Lightning's saviours. And despite any previous misgivings Lightning might have had about them, he was currently deciding that they might be his Best Friends Ever.
"See," Ricket hiccuped, his eyes were lazy and clearly infused with drink. "We had to do a bunch of rewiring. Seems like that truck really messed about with you, there."
"Yeah, lucky there were spare parts lurking about the station," the reddish orange car said, who happened to be called something like Brick...Bricks...Something like that. Lightning couldn't really remember.
"So you had to fit me with a new engine?" Lightning had already been over this fact a couple of times now with the road cars, and at first he'd been quite horrified. His engine was his heart, more or less. Or at least his key to speed. His tool for racing, and winning the Piston Cup, which seemed something of a strange faded memory considering all the drama he'd recently been through.
"That's right," Ricket grinned. He had a friendly, easy-going face, and it sort of reminded Lightning of Mac.
Still, Lightning wasn't going to take any chances when it came to his own weariness; "and everything's okay now? I mean, my engine's good as new, right?"
"Yeah, he's already told you a million times, McQueen." Another, more exasperated voice, and Lightning turned in the café booth to observe Chick, who'd also drank more than his fair amount of gasohol and was currently indulging in another.
Right now, in a state vaguely effected by drink, Lightning wasn't really sure what to make of Chick Hicks. Sure, the wayward green car had helped him, probably saved his life couple of times in the last day or two, but on the other hand, Chick was still an awful jerk who liked to point things out which were way beyond Lightning's control.
"You're a lightweight, McQueen, I knew it," Chick smirked. Or more pointed out. And he rolled a little more into the booth, and joined in with the road cars laughter.
Lightning blinked at him; "Excuse me for not thinking it clever to get wasted when we're on the run from psychotic bikers."
Chick snorted. "I'm not wasted."
"And anyway," Lightning pressed on, "I just had surgery. Major surgery. I'm delicate and need to rest."
Chick rolled his eyes; "it wasn't half so major as you're making it out to be. You just had a new engine fitted. It happens to the best of us every few years or so."
"So," Lightning wasn't going to be deterred. "I also happened to have my insides gutted. Gutted. Can you imagine all the trauma I'm going to have cos of that?"
"Cry me a river. Get me a mini violin while you're at it,"
Lightning bit his lip. He felt rather indignant. And now, when he caught the road cars all casting him snickering expressions, he wasn't sure he considered them his Best Friends Ever anymore.
More like Drunken Strangers In The Middle Of Nowhere.
"What's the deal with you guys, anyway?" he directed to Ricket, "When we were kidnapped, back with the truck, he sounded like he knew who you lot were,"
At this, the road cars sniggering slipped into silence. Ricket's face was rearranged into something solemn, and it really didn't suit him.
"We pretty much live in these rundown stations," he explained, "We're supposed to help out passing strangers, like yourselves," he nodded between Lightning and Chick, "but man. This place is so far out. It's pretty rare we get anybody at all. That's why you're lucky we managed to help you out,"
"And you're even luckier to have escaped from him," the orange-brown car, Brick, spoke in a soft voice.
Lightning was quick to notice that everything had become eerily quiet in the café, and all the road cars' faces had resolved into seriousness. Lightning turned a questioning gaze to Chick, who merely looked uncomfortable.
Lightning turned back to Ricket; "What do you mean? The truck? The bikers?"
Ricket nodded, looking grim. "His names Dolpha," he spoke the name with a sour face. "He's been into the illegal trading for a pretty long time now, never been caught at it yet though. He's sly."
Lightning screwed up his eyes; "Illegal trading?"
Chick whistled an impatient sigh, "Car parts, McQueen. You know, like engines, and stuff."
"Oh." It dawned on Lightning, and he was too busy considering the implications of it all to feel too embarrassed about it. "But, why? Why has no one caught him at it?"
"There's no proof, simple as." Ricket said. "What he does, I mean, with the bodies," his voice cracked a bit, "None of us know what he does with the bodies. And when cars come to the garage, inspecting and stuff, it all looks like any old garage. Nothing extraordinary about it."
"That's not true," Lightning clearly recalled the glittering and horrific sights of motors dangling above he and Chick, back at the garage. "We saw a load-"
"He claims to be an ex-mechanic," Ricket quickly interrupted. "That's his reason for having all those car parts. Course, nobody dare venture too far that way anyway. Cos of all the rumours."
"But they're not rumours, are they?" Lightning felt rather furious. "I mean, if he's getting away with this...kidnapping, murdering..." he felt sick, not sure how to finish up on his disgust. And fear.
He turned a wide eyed look to Chick. Chick, who was still slurping unenthusiastically on his gasohol and looked anything but perturbed by the grimness that had just come to light.
"like something out of a Texas Chainsaw Massacre, eh McQueen?" he said, like he was talking about anything but that.
"Chick! What're we doing? Why are we just sitting here getting wasted?"
Chick snorted; "I'm not wasted."
"Speak for yourself," Lightning frowned at him harshly, "Chick, we need to get out of here, now." he reversed out of the booth. "Those bikers, that truck...they'll be back at any moment..."
Chick's sigh was heavy; "McQueen, in case you didn't notice, we've been in this station for at least a day. And so far we've not seen any of those weirdos. We're safe for now."
Ricket nodded; "yeah, they won't try anything while you're here, with us. They're outnumbered, and they know we could outrace them."
Lightning's mind wasn't put at ease, instead, inexplicably, he was just getting more and more annoyed at Chick. Who seemed annoyingly complacent to their entire terrible situation. He turned on him with a scowl;
"So we just sit here and wait around? Drinking until we can't even drive in a straight line? Is that the plan? Wow. Ingenious. I wish I had half so many brains as you."
For a moment Chick's eyes widened; clearly he was insulted; but then his mouth set into a tight sneer.
"That's the plan for now, McQueen," he took another drink of his gasohol. "And anyway, we gotta wait till night time. Safer to travel in the dark, when the storm's passed. Take it or leave it."
Lightning was almost tempted to yell out an enraged leave it! And he was also quite tempted to deliver a clunking blow into Chick's side. But he staved himself off, and instead offered Chick a cool look.
"Okay. Fine."
Chick sort of grinned. "Fine." then he turned and nudged another can of gasohol in Lightening's direction.
"Drink up, rookie. It's gonna be a long day,"
Lightning took it, and bleakly wondered why he bothered arguing with Chick anyway.
888
McQueen was drunk, there was no doubt about that.
And Chick thought it all very amusing, despite recent revelations.
It was quite irresponsible, Chick would admit, that his only real plan up to this point was to dull harsh realities of possible death with the dangerous tonic which was gasohol. In the short term it was probably a masterful plan; because who cared much about anything when they were hammered out of their hood?
And since when had the word responsible ever been applied to one Chick Hicks?
In the long term, this plan was pretty pathetic. And it would only add a nasty hangover to their mounting problems.
But still. McQueen was very amusing when he was drunk. It was almost like he had ceased being that holier-than-thou flashy rookie, and had somehow become a bit more down to earth. A bit more fun.
There was no acknowledgment of their racing rivalry, and conversation seemed much simpler. Easier.
"When I first went into the business, racing I mean, my mom nearly had a fit. And I was all like; no way, mom. I'm doing this, I don't care what you say,"
Lightning was speaking in quick determined tones, high on the laughter and general awe he was gathering around him, from the road cars.
Chick humoured him too, and not just because he felt obliged to, either. Maybe because he himself was quite drunk now.
"McQueen, you talk like you've been in the business for years,"
"I've been in the business long enough," Lightning said, his voice slurred. His eyes were glittering.
"Yeah, alright. Rookie."
"I'm not a rookie!"
"Whatever you say, rookie."
McQueen gave a baleful wail, which was halfway between exasperation and amusement. Yes; McQueen was definitely drunk.
Chick smirked in his general direction, before he caught the sky outside. It was purplish, but there were rumbles of the storm still happening, and whatever else was still out there. It sobered Chick a little, clenching his innards into a tangle of nerves.
Because they couldn't stay here forever. They'd have to get moving soon. At least it'd stopped raining.
McQueen was laughing; and it was hard for Chick not to observe the other race car now, and recall recent events in the back of his fraught mind.
The road cars had fended off the bikers easily enough, and Chick had been left to wallow in feelings of shocking guilt and concern, when he'd thought McQueen was dead.
Actually dead.
In hindsight, he supposed McQueen hadn't been that badly damaged. There had been life signs; the faint vibration of an engine when Chick had tapped a tire gently against it, and then of course McQueen's nonsensical murmurs. Something about that Porsche Sally, and how he missed her...
And yet, Chick had been overcome with strange emotion for no less than a second time in that day.
It was reasonable though. Chick wasn't cold hearted enough to be glad of another car's death, he knew that.
Yet at the same time he'd never expected himself to get all upset about it either.
That was rather disturbing. Almost like he'd betrayed part of his personality.
He glanced properly at McQueen, who was guzzling on yet another gasohol can.
Chick cleared his throat, trying to make his voice heard through the riotous laughter.
"Erm, rook,"
"Yeah?" McQueen offered him a placating gaze. His eyes were bright but quite unfocused. Chick was almost startled by it, and failed to keep his train of thought. It was no good; Lightning McQueen was far too drunk anyway.
"Um. Never mind."
Lightning quirked a windshield, bemused.
Chick turned his gaze hastily to the floor. It was better like that, anyway. He shouldn't have to tell McQueen. Shouldn't have to tell him.
He was sorry, though.
Lightning laughed much too loudly; "Chick! I think you've had a little too much of the old gasohol!"
The irony was not lost on any of the road cars; they all exploded into laughter again.
It wasn't lost on Chick either, but he could muster little more than a weak smile.
Ford, he'd been so close. So close to a vague apology. No, an actual apology. And if he couldn't do it now, when McQueen was out of his hood, when could he ever do it?
He pulled a face, and McQueen noticed it;
"What's wrong? Are you...Oh Ford, you're worried about the Piston Cup, aren't you? About not getting there in time..."
Chick blinked at him.
"Um, well-"
"Seriously, Chick. You need to stop freaking out. I mean, it's just a cup," McQueen's face was arranged into amused sympathy. Chick found he couldn't be too irritated at him because of that.
"Easy for you to say," he said instead. "You're still a rookie..not like you're in desperate need of the cup just yet, is it?"
He hadn't meant to sound so bitter, but he supposed he did, since McQueen's face flashed into seriousness. Or some vague, drunken seriousness, at least.
"Aw, don't take it like that, Chick." and McQueen nudged a tire against his in some form of...affection? Chick wasn't sure. "You've got plenty of track time left. You're not old."
Chick raised his unbattered windshield, skeptical.
There was a murmur of agreement from the road cars, and Chick was somehow touched by their confidence in him, especially considering his current less than desired condition.
"Yeah man. You're hardcore. Both of you are," Ricket said. "we'll be sure to cheer you both on at the Piston Cup."
Chick looked at McQueen, and the red car was smiling at him. It was a funny and off-kilter smile, since he was still wasted, but Chick was still inexplicably warmed by it.
"Huh," he turned his eyes the ground, a little self conscious for some stupid reason. "Well. Whatever you say, I'm not getting any younger, McQueen."
The words his crew chief had said to him, just before their kidnapping, suddenly rang through with great clarity;
"There's a lot more hotshots out there these days, Chick. An' they''re gonna start wisin' up to your tricks. One of these days you're gonna be gettin' more than you bargained for. Get me?"
It seemed to hold more resonance than before, before all of this.
Maybe Chick really was getting too old...?
He shook his hood to himself. Clearly he was the victim of self-induced intoxicated wallowing. And when he'd sobered up none of this would matter anymore.
When he caught Lightning still smiling at him, he sort of wished that wasn't the case.
He quickly forced his face into a grin. Damned if he was going to fall victim to angst and self-pity. That was the job of misguided young race cars. Namely Lightning McQueen.
"Well, I doubt anyone would guess what age you are anyway, Chick." McQueen said lightly, "I mean, all those stickers? It's hard to tell under all of that,"
"Will you ever let that go?"
"Nope,"
Chick had suspected not. But right now he didn't much care. He was starting to understand that McQueen didn't mean anything by it. Or even if he did, it didn't really matter anymore. McQueen was many things, but he wasn't meanspirited.
And hadn't he known it all along? Since McQueen's stay at Radiator Springs, he had been so much nicer.
It had annoyed Chick before. Still annoyed him to some extent. But in another way, he sort of appreciated it now. Or had accepted it.
He wasn't really sure. He also wasn't really sure why he was dwelling on what might make Lightning McQueen so admirable in the first place.
Hell, he was still his race car rival. And when it came down to it, he was still going to act the hellish race car on the track, whether McQueen got in his way or not.
Yes. He was certain of it.
He met McQueen with a challenging stare, to rekindle the strong rivalry he'd always felt with the other car in the past.
Strange then that it should bring about another feeling. A feeling of familiarity, like he might be looking at an old friend.
McQueen? Friend?
Clearly, he'd gone way over his drinking limit.
The fuzzy, empty throbbing about his head more or less confirmed it.
888
Lightning was unconsciously sure that he was going to regret this later on. As he gulped down his fourteenth...probably fifteenth can, he thought about calling it a day. But the road cars were still laughing, and everything just seemed much too trouble free to consider anything other than the present right now.
He'd been wrecked with nerves at first, and full of paranoia, but as the drinks had begun warming up his insides, he'd started to relax.
Chick was definitely a bad influence.
And apparently Chick's insides were built like a tank, or something absurdly vast like that, because he must have been on his twentieth can, and he'd yet to begin to slur over his words, and he was also acting as weird and alien as ever.
Lightning suspected that Chick always did enjoy a drink or two, he just struck him as the type.
Lightning on the other hand, was a lightweight, as had already been pointed out by the teasing road cars and Chick himself.
"I can still drive in a straight line!" he said with great insistence to the table.
Chick looked doubtful. "Really?"
"Of course! Watch," and Lightning turned from the booth and out of the café.
The air was cool, and whipped about him, slightly sobering his senses.
"Come on then, McQueen. Let's see you drive!" Chick called, sounding amused. He was the only other to have left the cafe.
Spurred on, Lightning pressed down his accelerator, and met the growl of his new engine with relish. He'd yet to test it out properly, and now that he did it hummed and whirred beautifully. It felt incredible. He rushed round the careworn station at speed and for a moment imagined he was back on the circuit.
"C'mon, Chick...race you!"
Chick watched him with a reluctant face.
"Nah, that's okay, McQueen. It's more fun waiting for you to spin out."
"Yeah, right," Lightning streaked easily round the disused petrol stations, catching the early morning sunlight against his side with his trademark Ka-Chow, before turning an erratic circled back toward Chick. "I don't spin out, I am built for precision and speed and winning-"
"And not drinking, obviously," Chick said, watching him as thought he might be an amusing but strange object. "what was all this stuff about you being all delicate after major surgery?"
Lightning came to a juddering stop right in front of him. "yeah, well. Maybe I exaggerated. Just a bit."
"A bit?"
Lightning smirked easily at the other car. "well, anything to get on your good side, you know?"
Chick raised a windshield. "My good side?"
"Yeah," Lightning looked around. He suddenly felt kind of awkward. "I mean, I guess I just want you to like me. A little."
Chick's eyes widened, and his mouth moved like it couldn't decide what it wanted to be, never mind do.
He rolled back just a fraction, as though suddenly aware that Lightning was close by.
"Nobody wants to be on my good side anymore, McQueen," his voice quivered at the end; Lightning easily noticed it. "not after what happened."
The silence that followed was like the terrible memory befalling both of the cars in that moment. Of course it needed no explanation.
The King's crash was as fresh as yesterday in McQueen's mind. He could only imagine it was just the same for his rival's.
"Why'd you do it?" Lightning wasn't sure why he was asking. Maybe it would be his only chance though.
Chick blinked at him, and Lightning was so used to his guarded answers and expressions that he was surprised when Chick faced him properly, and his tone became resigned;
"Didn't I tell you? I just got sick of being the runner up,"
"Yeah, I know that," Lightning hesitated. "But was it really that important to win?"
Chick frowned at him.
"You know what it's like out there, McQueen. I don't care if you had some moral fiber fuel drilled into you. I know you still want to win on that track. Don't tell me you don't know how important it is."
It was important; of course Chick was right. And for a second Lightning thought about the last lap, and how close the cup was, and how sweet it was...
Lightning shook his hood; gasahol was getting the better of him. Definitely not Chick...
"You know I'm not asking that," he said slowly, deliberately, trying to clear his mind. "what I'm asking is was the win really worth all that? All that...hate?"
Chick visibly flinched.
"I'm not-" his words seemed to die on his tongue, and then his sharp eyes softened into some sort of defeat. He glared at the ground as if it was his burden. "It's just...coming in last is better than coming in second all the time."
Lightning raised a windshield, not bothering to hide his confusion.
Chick sighed, as if he'd expected it; "At least in last you know you've got a long way to go, there's stuff you need to improve,"
"But Chick-"
"When you're always in second," Chick ignored the interruption. "When you're always so close but never quite there, and you can just feel the finish line within like an inch of your tires...but it's still not enough...it kinda kills you,"
Chick looked back at Lightning then, his mouth curving up faintly.
"Hell, McQueen, I could paint you a detailed picture of the King's rear end, for how often I'm looking at it. Kinda imprinted on my brain now," He sounded like he was trying to make light of it.
Lightning might have laughed. Any other time he would have. But despite his intoxicated state, he could recognize the way Chick's smirk faltered, and then how incredibly vulnerable he looked in that moment. It reminded Lightning of everything else that had already happened to them, and then that Chick was telling him these things only because he wanted to.
"Listen, Chick," McQueen edged quietly forward. "All you gotta do is apologise to him. That's it."
Chick snorted and veered away some more.
Lightning frowned after him. "what? don't tell me you're too proud?"
"It's not about that, McQueen,"
"Then what is it? you know he'd forgive you-"
"No I don't!" Chick snapped, looking Lightning straight in the face. "I don't know, and you don't know. But you know what? I sure as hell know that I wouldn't forgive me!"
He steered sharply away.
Lightning stared at his tail end with a sorry realisation.
"Chick, stop, wait!"
The green car slowed but didn't turn around. "what, McQueen?" he sounded tired.
"Look, it doesn't matter anymore. The King's okay. He knows what it's like. He'll understand,"
Chick's hood moved with a shake of his head. Lightning couldn't see his expression, but he sounded far too quiet.
"It's not that I was ever that popular anyway, McQueen. What difference would it even make?"
The words were heavy and not like Chick at all. Not for the first time, Lightning wondered if the drink was just playing tricks on him. Or maybe he just wasn't used to Chick like this.
He wheeled as close as he dared, so that he was at the other car's side.
"Of course it makes a difference," he reached out a tire, but stopped short of nudging the other car with it.
"You said it was just a cup," Chick said suddenly, seeming to know he was there.
"Huh? Oh..yeah. The cup. Yeah, I did."
"Did you mean that?" Chick turned round slowly. he looked at Lightning as if he was the strangest puzzle. "I read some of your interviews, and they-...do you really not care about winning that thing anymore?"
Lightning considered it. In his mind he thought it was easy; of course he could believe he didn't care, but that didn't make it completely true. In all honesty, Lightning knew that he was as competitive as Chick on the track. He had to be; they all had to be. It was part of being a racer. Even Doc had confided that to him.
He smiled at the green car; "hey, of course I care about winning it. But I guess I don't mind so much when I don't win anymore, you know?"
Chick nodded at the ground.
"Yeah,"
When he looked back up his mouth had turned into an easy smirk, and Lightning found he enjoyed it for once. Maybe it was a nice relief.
"Nice to see you still got a bit of fight left in you, McQueen. I was afraid Radiator St-er, Springs might have turned you into a complete sap."
"Well," Lightning laughed. "meeting all my friends there...made me feel confiden0t, more than anything."
"Hm," Chick snorted, but it wasn't entirely dismissive. "do you miss them?"
"Well, yeah, of course. I miss everyone. Mater, Mac, Sally, Doc..." he sighed, recalling the Porsche with sad want. "Yeah. I really miss them."
Chick shifted awkwardly on his axles, and in that moment Lightning thought the other car looked very lonely.
"Hey Chick-"
Another voice interrupted him at the same moment;
"Hey, you guys! Better get inside soon. Sun's coming up. Crazy bikers are about." It was Ricket, the road car.
Lightning exchanged a weary look with Chick, thoughts of the bikers sobering him up some more.
Not quite enough to prevent his innards from feeling queasy as he started toward the cafe. A dizziness swam to the front of his head, and he staggered on his tires and groaned. Maybe racing about a few minutes ago hadn't been the greatest idea.
"McQueen, I think you might be drunk." Chick was looking at him with some amusement.
"Definitely not," Lightning said, but the ground was spinning around a little too fast now.
"Keep still, you lunatic," Chick sounded close.
Lightning vaguely realised the other car was stopping him from teetering about, keeping close to his side. "You throw up on me McQueen and you're paying for the new paintwork-"
"Hah, what paintwork? All I see are stickers..."
"I swear, McQueen..."
Lightning laughed and steadied himself as best he could, then noticed the way Chick was grinning at him, as if he was a stupid, hopeless case. That look was far warmer than usual.
For a clear moment Lightning recalled everything that had happened in the past few hours, like a mad flash of events all bungled together, and how little sense they made until he put them all together like that...It was hard to imagine Chick doing anything he had done in those few hours, and yet he had.
Lightning was thankful.
He looked at Chick wholly. "Um. Hey. Thanks."
"For what? Pushing your drunk ass?"
"No-no..I mean, well...yeah. That too...but also for pushing me here in the first place. I know you didn't have to...I know it must've been difficult. So thank you."
Chick looked stilled by the words; almost stunned. Lightning thought it was funny.
"You don't..." he started to stammer, then shook his hood. He looked at the brightening sky as if it was his nemesis. "Yeah well. You're right. It was damn difficult, McQueen. I'm not being funny, but I think you might consider dieting. Just what kinda fuel they got you on in the Rust-Eze camp, anyway-"
"Haha, very funny," Lightning sighed, and wasn't angry at all. And anyway his head was beginning to ache, and his surroundings were looking blurry, like some messed up scenic oil painting.
"I think I feel sick."
"No kidding,"
Lightning closed his eyes for a short second. "Maybe I'll just go to sleep a little while,"
"Okay, but not out here, McQueen."
Lightning felt a nudge in his side, careful and not too insistent.
"Come on. Back in the café. You can have your hangover there. Where we can all laugh at you properly."
Lightning rolled the rest of the way back into their temporary shelter, smiling, for some insane reason, at whatever Chick had just said.
The day had been a blur; thoughts of a truck named Dolpha, and his lackey bikers, and their illegal and deadly trading; they all seemed so far away. Far enough not to worry about them anyway.
The only thing Lightning could think to worry about in that moment was the impending hangover he was certainly going to have later that evening. That, and if Chick was going to mock the hell out of him for it.
888