Chapter Eight
As tourists and most of the residents settled in for the night, Axle, Ramone, Flo, Lightning, and Mater idled in something of a circle at the V8 Cafe. "So, where's your girlfriend?" Axle asked, looking at Mater.
"She's watchin that new car for the night," Mater replied. "She's worried about him."
"Is he crazy?" Lightning asked.
"That's what Finn and Holley are worried about," Axle replied. "He's wiggin' out, and it's pretty freaky to watch."
"Does he need gas?" Flo asked.
"He's electric."
"You sure?" Mater asked.
"The guy never needed to stop for gas. Ever."
"And there's no way he could run on the stuff," Ramone added. "I dunno about Axle, but I worked on him myself."
"Just checkin'," Mater said. "Don' need another Axlerod runnin' around."
"True that," Lightning said, giving his friend a high tire.
"You hear about him?" Mater asked Axle.
"Yeah. He was on that two-hour special of Tycoons last week. He was so weird. I mean, why would you fake being electric and discredit your own creation?"
"Well, you see, we're all environmentally conscious and weanin' ourselves off gas and what-not."
"Yeah."
"When we do that, the cars that own them big oil reserves are gonna lose money."
"So sell your stock, or find something else, anything but killing racecars."
"Yeah, why did Axlerod do what he did?" Lightning asked.
Mater paused. "Dad gum. That's a good question."
For some reason, Axle's mind flashed on the image of the sleek silver blue-eyed Scion tC the British cars identified as Chief Montgomery. "What if he was working for someone?" he asked. "I mean, what if he was hired to distract from something else?" The other four cars looked at him in uncertain silence. "Torque told me that usually if you can't understand something, then you didn't look hard enough for the whole story." Axle chuckled softly and shook his hood slightly. "He told me that quite a lot, actually."
"So, Axlerod's workin' for somebody?" Mater asked, raising an eyebrow.
"That's the theory, which continues with the hypothesis that he was trying to distract us while someone behind the scenes worked on something bigger."
"Bigger?" Lightning asked.
Axle nodded. "Bigger."
Flo and Ramone looked at each other and then the other three. "So, what do we do?" Ramone asked.
Axle shrugged. "Dunno yet."
Flo looked around nervously. "I dunno about you fellas, but I gotta get to bed. Got an early day tomorrow." She drove into the cafe. Ramone fidgeted slightly and retreated to his body shop as if to avoid an awkward silence.
"Was it something we said?" Mater asked.
"Probably. Folks like them don't want to panic," Axle replied. "I probably talked a little too much."
"So, accordin' to this theory of yours, who's Axlerod supposed to be workin' for?"
"The only suspect right now is a car called Chief Montgomery. Ring any bells?" Lightning and Mater exchanged a look and shook their hoods. "Had to check, 'cause the guy's a recluse. Had to see if anyone knew anything."
"I can respect that," Mater said.
"And don't think I can't," Lightning added. He yawned. "Wow, it's later than I thought. Axle, you sleep on this, and Mater, you sleep on it, too. If you come up with anything, please tell me."
"Don't let anyone else know," Axle said. "I don't want folks around here to panic, and if those two," he gestured to the diner and body shop, "are any indication, they don't want to, either."
"My lips are sealed."
"Mine, too," Mater added.
"Great. Night, you two."
"Night."
"Night," Lightning said.
Axle watched as the race car and the tow truck drove to the Cozy Cone and his shack, respectively, and studied the overhead lights for a moment. They were the only lights in town; the businesses' neon had been switched off in preparation for the night.
A shadow flickered at the edge of his peripheral vision, and he turned toward it, switching on his brights. His eyes widened as the lights fell on a familiar form, the black Aston Martin from the confrintation earlier that day. The car shot forward, and before Axle fully understood what was going on, he was shoved back into a pillar. He felt his rear bumper buckle, but when the second the car pulled away, he shot to the side. "I thought you British cars had more class," he said.
"Class hasn't gotten me anywhere," Alan deCarteran replied, an edge of annoyance in his voice. He pushed Axle back again, into a wall. When deCarteran backed up, Axle shot forward and forced him across the street into the wall opposite.
"Tell me what you want," Axle hissed, slamming into deCarteran again.
"The location of that car you've been protecting," deCarteran replied, his strained voice betraying the fact that he felt Axle's strikes.
"Not gonna happen." Axle slammed into the Aston Martin again. "Get lost."
"Not without your friend."
"I said get lost," the muscle car hissed through gritted teeth.
deCarteran revved his engine and squirmed out of Axle's grip. Axle lurched forward slightly as deCarteran freed himself and turned to face the Aston Martin. "Tell me where he is."
"You gonna pull your guns on me again?" deCarteran did, indeed, pull and cock his guns. "You rely on those things too much." deCarteran fired shots, one grazing Axle's bumper as he dodged. "Holy Ford, how bad do you want your tires on that car?"
"Let me do my job, or you'll see how badly I want to get to that car."
"Sorry, not gonna happen. The guy thinks you're out to kill him, and I've had enough of that business to last me several battery lifetimes."
"What is going on here," Sheriff asked, pulling up and flashing his lights.
"Excuse me, Officer," deCarteran said, tucking his guns away. "I have a little business to take care of, but it seems fate is against me."
"Whatever it is, can ya take care of it in the morning? It's late, and us normal cars need sleep."
"Thank you, Officer," Axle said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll get to my cone, get some rest, and get fixed up in the morning." He drove off toward the Cozy Cone.
Wordlessly, deCarteran drove out of town, watched with narrow eyes by Sheriff, who ultimately decided to return to his post.