Meet n' Greet
~Cars ©PIXAR~
A/N: Geez…finally an update after nearly…four months? Hehe…sorry :T
Special thanks to Netbug009 and everyone else who stayed with me on this story! I promise that I will try to update again soon. For now, here is an especially long chapter! :) Enjoy, and review please!
~Outside Carlton Casino, 0010 Hours~
The downtown streets were mostly empty, only a car or two traversing the dimly lit road. A large brightly lit building stood just ahead, dubbed the Carlton Casino, where the sound of music and slot machines could be heard through the thick walls and windows, comingling with echo of smashing glass and shouts resonating through the night. In a dark alley across the way, two cars hid in the shadows. One was a silvery Aston Martin; gaze keenly locked on the casino, and the other a larger tow truck, fedora dipped lowly over his windshield, shuffling his tires.
"So…I'm goin' in alone, right?" Mater queried, raising his gaze as he spoke, as if making sure. The spy car alongside him nodded in affirmation.
"I can only assume that most of the cars present will recognize me. So yes, you will be going in alone, Mater."
The tow truck raised a furtive eyelid, "is this a kind a' friendly recognizin', or the bad kind?"
"The kind in which they are more likely to shoot me on sight rather than offer me tea and biscuits."
"Ah."
"Anyway," Finn continued. "I will be waiting at the Chevrolet Hotel, five blocks down if you are in need of any assistance."
The private eye began to bob his hood in understanding before he paused, "do tha' cops know 'bout the whole 'oil conspire-acy'?"
Finn snorted, "I hate to tell you this, Mater, but the justice system in this city is sorely lacking. The bobbies here are rather incompetent."
"Not all of 'em," the private eye muttered defensively, having stopped his shuffling."McQueen's a purdy good cop. Helped me on the Big D case."
The Aston Martin shrugged absentmindedly, gaze shifting back to the bright casino, "Friendships can be rather dangerous in our line of work." Mater frowned as his companion saw through his thinly veiled defense. "Now hurry," Finn muttered, seeming to become increasingly agitated.
"Ah'm goin, Ah'm goin," the tow truck grumbled, before slipping on his more "professional" façade, and rolling towards the casino unemotionally.
The double doors pushed open easily enough, and the private eye was greeted with intense shouts, thuds and all-around noise in general. Casually driving past the faded slot machines and certifiable gangsters, Mater rolled over to the bar where a few forklifts were serving drinks behind the counter.
There was a large group of cars beside him—two lemons, a Trunkov and Gremlin, along with two darker, older model cars, a Delahaye 135, and Chrysler CL Custom Imperial. Lastly, a jet black Jaguar idled within the group, chatting, as the formers drank and laughed, cigars hanging out of most of their mouths.
Mater held back a cough once he accidentally breathed in the smoke, instead turning towards the bartender, gaze never leaving the group. "You want somethin'?" the forklift inquired, handing two others cars a bottle of bourbon to accompany their glasses.
"Yeah," the tow truck affirmed, rolling closer. "Information."
The bartender's eyes widened slightly, but after a moment of nervous glances, beckoned him closer. "You a cop?" he queried suspiciously, an eyelid raised. Mater smirked in response.
"Sorta."
The forklift sighed heavily, before jerking his roof further down the counter. Mater followed, stopping a good ten feet away from the group.
"So whadaya want ta' know?" the bartender demanded, beginning to pick up some dirty glasses and cleaning them with a rag, if only to have something to do.
"Who're those fellas?" the private eye inquired, cocking his hood in the direction of the large group of cars. The forklift shifted his nervous gaze towards the aforementioned group, the rag on his lifter scrubbing roughly against the glass.
"Those are some of the mafia family heads. J. Curby Gremlin—"he paused to glance towards the maroon colored Lemon "—head of the Gremlin family, from Detroit, then Vladimir Trunkov, of the Trunkov line. Not sure where he comes from." The teal lemon bellowed loudly, chortling boisterously along with his fellows, and the bartender's expression grew increasingly anxious, but at the tow truck's intense gaze he continued. "Both lemons have dozens of cars at their disposal. The Chrysler's Kenny Flattire and the Delahaye is Tony Windell—Flattire's from New York, and he's Big D's brother."
"Big D, ya say?" Mater queried in surprise, an eyelid raised.
"Yep. They've both got tons of guys workin' for 'em. Flattire got all a' his brother's men."
"And why're they all here?"
The forklift shrugged, "that I don't know. But they aren't the only ones here by far. Tons of guys are comin' to Chicago—the big guys. Al Carone himself was even here a couple hours ago."
Mater nodded grimly as the information sunk in, but his hood rose just as fast, "and 'er?" the bartender turned to see where the truck was pointing, his gaze landing on the beautiful black car.
"Uh….I'm not sure," he started, an eyelid raised as he turned back towards the private investigator. "She's been hanging 'round 'em for a while now, though."
"Okay," Mater nodded, his expression becoming rather absentminded. He bobbed his hood in thanks. "Thank ya fer yer time."
"Er, you're welcome."
The tow truck began to make his way towards the black car, swiping a drink from the counter. But before the bartender could utter a single protest, he laid eyes on the money lying in the drink's place, instead frowning as he took the offered cash.
Taking his glass to a nearby table, the private eye took a tentative sip of the scotch, a disgusted look instantly crossing his features, but he forced himself to swallow after a few moments. Sighing in exasperation, the tow truck pushed the drink away with his tire and a grimace, directing his gaze towards the group of cars once more.
Mater waited until the British car had driven off a bit from the pack, before casually cruising over to her. She had yet to notice his sudden and close proximity, and the tow truck made his presence known by asking (loud enough for the gangsters a few feet away to hear). "Eh, you ever heard of a "Holley Shiftwell"?"
The glare he received through her netted veil could have easily seared iron. The group alongside the woman regarded the private eye suspiciously, and the Jaguar shook her hood rather forcefully, "I cannot zay that I have, monsieur," she answered through slightly gritted teeth, although spoke with a noticeable French accent.
The Chrysler—Kenny Flattire—rode over then, narrowed gaze directed towards the private investigator,"hey, Lace, this guy buggin' you?"
The Jaguar, supposedly known as Lace, shook her hood, noting how the tow truck bristled upon the older model's words, "no, Tony, I am quite fine. The monsieur here waz merely asking me a zimple question."
"Yup," Mater nodded quickly. "An' Ah'll jist be goin' now."
With a sudden rev of the engine, the tow truck abruptly reversed out of the casino, doors banging shut after his abrupt departure.
Mater idled near the casino, shrouded in the same alley as previously. He observed the cars slowly driving down the street, some weakened and beaten, while others looked as if they'd (quite literally) won the lottery, and most likely had. Others were rather tipsy, and the tow truck could smell the stench of alcohol even from his position several dozen feet away, and he drove further into the shadows.
Once the cars had all driven by, the private investigator rolled forward slightly, glancing impatiently down the empty road. She should've been there already….
There was the sudden screech of tires, and the tow truck was suddenly shoved into the wall— and despite the sudden ache running through his side, Mater smirked. Just in time.
"Are you out of your blooming mind?" the Jaguar hissed, glowering through her veil. "Were you trying to blow my cover?"
The private eye's easy smirk only grew wider, still pinned against the wall, and glanced at the spy car out of the corner of his eye. "Not really. But it gotcha out here, didn't it?"
The Jaguar muttered under her breath in response, rolling back to release him. Mater appraised his new dents silently, lower lip jutting out slightly, "well tha's a keeper…."
"Who are you?" Holley inquired suspiciously, braking quietly, her French accent replaced with a far more comfortable British one.
"Mater Private Eye, ma'am," the tow truck answered, finally looking up to lock eyes with the Jaguar. And froze.
Holley's level gaze met his easily, regarding him coolly with only a few traces of the annoyance she'd displayed previously, though her eyes were partially hidden by her netted veil. Her lips were full and drawn in a thin, but soft line, and her expression reigned an amount of all-around maturity that Mater had yet to (and never would) achieve.
And she was absolutely stunning.
Mater swiftly bit back a "yer purdy" before it could make its way past his lips. This was no time for his hillbilly personality to shine through, especially after so long. "Mizz Shiftwell?" he inquired after a moment, fighting to maintain his rigid and unemotional expression.
"Holley's fine," the Jaguar quickly corrected, smirking lightly. "So, you're here because….?"
The tow truck startled,"Ah, yeah, right." Rapidly reverting to what the private eye hoped was a professional manner, he answered,"Yer partner's been lookin' fer ya."
"Finn?"
Mater felt himself flinch internally and his engine clench at Holley's surprised—yet obviously elated—expression upon this revelation. After a second of self-pity, Mater continued,"Yep. He said that he lost contact wit' ya over three weeks ago."
The Jaguar snorted, shaking her hood lightly, "Only Finn would worry if I went MIA for three blooming weeks. I was undercover"—the spy car paused to cast the private eye an annoyed look—"as you could plainly see." Holley scoffed again, "Finn's just a paranoid old git—he considers it his job to look out for me."
Shaking his hood, the tow truck attempted to clear his mind, purposely glancing towards the city street beyond the alley's entrance, and away from Holley, before speaking again, "So what's the dirt on this whole oil scandal a' yers?"
"Finn told you about that?" the Jaguar startled, and Mater turned towards her to answer, immediately regretting the action once he became hot under the hood once more.
"Yup. Ah'm 'parently on board wit' ya."
"Lovely."
The tow truck heard her mutter something about "having to work with foolish tow trucks" and smirked. He was long used to criticism.
"So, "Lace", eh?" the private eye inquired coyly, raising an eyelid impishly. Holley frowned.
"It was a nom de guerre ," the Jaguar remarked snippily, before quickly diverting her attention to the street, as to assure that their conversation hadn't come to anyone's direct attention, turning back towards the tow truck soon after. "So what do you know?"
Mater only smirked once more,"Ah believe that Ah jist asked ya the same thing." Holley sighed irritably before answering.
"I can't say now. Our position could be compromised."
The private investigator raised a curious eye ridge, "So….?"
Another sigh. "So we need to find somewhere more private."
"Where'd ya have in mind?" a slightly amused smile adorned the tow truck's grill, and he rolled forward slightly, Holley only rolling her eyes.
"I'm assuming that Finn stayed in a hotel somewhere, so I suppose that we'll go there," the Jaguar rode out of the alley then, stopping a few feet away under a dimly lit streetlamp, casting a glow over her dark paint as a perplexed look crossed her features. To Mater's utmost amusement, she turned back to him with a trace of a blush tainting her cheeks.
"Er….I just realized that I don't know where to go…"
Mater grinned widely, nearly springing out of the alley before landing on the cobblestone road, "well don'tchu worry!" the tow truck assured, surprising even himself at his sudden (and rather uncharacteristic) behavior. "No one knows the Windy City better 'n Tow Mater!"
~Ouskirts of downtown Chicago, 0145 Hours~
Humming a French tune to himself, Finn McMissile strolled casually down the dismal Chicago street, puddles of water littering the ground in waylaid patterns from a recent rainfall. A heavy fog hung in the air, though it did little to quell the British car's rather upbeat persona. The buildings on either side seemed to be leering over him almost forebodingly, colored a bleak grey by the moon's reflection.
His hood tinted bright silver by the soft moonlight, the Aston Martin continued on his way, humming slowly diminishing as the sound of voices reached him, echoing through the empty street. The spy car's initial response was to pause, gears tensing, as if trying to place the voices. When his mind came up blank, Finn instantly reversed into the nearest alleyway, facing the street and shrouded by darkness.
Two cars drove out of the gloom, their models almost indistinguishable by the darkness. Both were male, and by the smooth purring of one of their engines, and the rather awful sputtering of the other, Finn could deduce the one was of higher authority and model then the other. The pair paused, idling beneath the light of a streetlamp, finally giving the spy car a better vantage point.
One was indeed a lemon, Gremlin to be exact, while the other was a much older model, but still in prime condition. The latter of the two spoke.
"So the plan is still on schedule?"
The Gremlin—painted a dusty brownish orange—nodded in response, "Yes, sir. There was a little…hiccup, earlier this week with a British agent, but he's been….taken care of."
"Good, good," the older model, now determined to be an Auburn Speedster 851, nodded, pausing to glance around the shadowy road for an instant before returning to the conversation, and turning back towards the dusty orange lemon. "And what of the other spy? Finn McMissile?"
The spy car in question tensed, firearms already popped out of his fenders, faltering when his name was mentioned. The Gremlin raised an eye ridge, "What of him, sir?"
"These spies never come alone. With McMissile still on the loose, he'll be able to recruit others to assist him."
The lemon bobbed his hood once more, "We'll do our best, sir. The Professor is pushing us all to our hardest."
The Aston Martin, having laid in wait for any more useful information, began to slowly prep his guns. But before he could even think of pulling the trigger a voice suddenly came over the communicator.
"Ksst…eh, Finn, Ah found 'er—on route to hotel."
Far from joyous at the sudden interruption, the spy car cursed lowly under his breath as the feedback brought the two cars across from him to attention, now surveying the surrounding darkness warily.
"Ksst…Finn—"
"Alright, I'll meet you at the rally point, Mater," the Aston Martin interrupted, shutting his communicator off right after, cursing himself for having forgotten to deactivate it in the first place.
"Did you hear that?" the Auburn muttered, beginning to drive towards the alley, the Gremlin only a few feet behind him.
His location compromised, Finn released his grapples, hooking onto the roof of a nearby building, and lifting himself high above the ground. By the time the old model car had entered the alley fully, it was completely empty.
~Fifteen blocks away from the Chevrolet Hotel, 0230 Hours~
"I can't believe you've gotten us lost."
"We're not lost," Mater defended, keeping his eyes glued to the buildings and street signs. "Ah jist…misplaced the hotel address…"
"Of course," Holley snorted derisively, the tow truck sending her a defensive look.
"Hey, it's not like you know how ta' git there," he snapped, engine revving ever-so-slightly in his growing annoyance. He sent the Jaguar an aggravated glance through his rearview mirror, shifting his gaze back towards the street after a moment. He didn't know why the British car raised his ire so, and he didn't bother questioning it.
"Well, I'm not the one who asked for directions from a garbage truck."
"Eh, don't disrespect Stinky! He's a good source!"
"My my, you've just met and you're already acting like an old married couple."
The two bickering cars turned simultaneously at the sudden voice, laying eyes on the Aston Martin idling beneath the glow of a streetlamp, amused smirk adorning his grill as he surveyed the pair. "Finn," the younger spy car greeted in a rather clipped tone, staring her partner down for a moment.
The elder car bowed lightly, "I thank you for gracing us with your presence, Miss Shiftwell."
"Oh please," Holley scoffed, although good naturally. "You were worried about me this entire time, you old git."
Finn snorted, raising his hood and muttered under his breath, "Well I sorely beg to differ." Turning his attention towards the private eye, he nodded once more. "Thank you for your infallible assistance, Mater. I'm terribly sorry for roping you into this entire ordeal."
"Eh, it ain't nothin'," the tow truck shrugged nonchalantly. "But if ya don't need me for tha' rest o' the night, Ah thought Ah'd retire for tha' rest of the evenin' that Ah've got left." Mater had hardly driven forward three feet when the elder spy car stopped him.
"Actually, Mater, I was wondering if you could show Miss Shiftwell to her motel? I have some unfinished business to take care of and I would hate for something to happen to her."
The private eye winced. "Uh...sure."
"How did Finn ever get a hold of you?"
Mater groaned, not even making an attempt at hiding his displeasure. "Ah reckon he jist heard 'bout me. Ah may not be all that famous, but cars know me for the Big D case."
"And what exactly happened on that mission?" Holley inquired. The tow truck sent her a rather annoyed look out of the corner of his eye.
"What is this, twenty questions? Ah feel like Ah'm bein' interrogated…"
Holley seemed to blush, embarrassed. "My apologies. I suppose that there is such a thing as being too trained."
Mater huffed but said nothing. After a few minutes, the Jaguar sped up so that she was at the private eye's side. "I just couldn't help thinking about how an ordinary tow truck like you became mixed up in all of this." Holley winced instantly, thinking the tow truck would take offense to her blunt question. But much to her respite and surprise, he grinned. In fact, his entire demeanor seemed to brighten.
"Aw, shoot. Ah was hopin' you'd ask," he chuckled, swinging is cab like an eager child for a moment. "Ah seem to be a sorta…trouble magnet. Ah've gotten caught up in so many shady cases, that Ah can't tell 'em from real life anymore. An' Ah honestly have fun."
The British car blinked. "Well, I never would've thought—"she was abruptly shushed. Looking back at Mater, Holley saw that he had braked, engine humming, and eyes sharp. In the short time she had known him, she'd never seen him so attentive. "What is it?"She whispered, and was promptly silenced with a slicing motion by Mater's tire. He had his hood cocked, as if listening for something.
Holley paused, before straining her ears – she was the spy, and she should've been the one to detect whatever Mater had. But at first all she heard was the wind, whipping through the aptly named Windy City, ghostly and foreboding. But then she listened harder – there was a train in the distance; she could hear the echo as it clacked over the track, and traffic even father off. But closer to their location, there was the thrumming of another engine.
"C'mon," Mater muttered, starting off again. Holley glanced further down the street, where the sound was coming from, and which was wholly encompassed by a thick fog. She followed a few seconds later. "We bin followed," the tow truck continued. His eyes were narrowed, shadowed by his fedora and all traces of past humor having long since faded from his features. His eyes continued to flicker down the road and back.
"Maybe it's just a random civilian?" Holley suggested slowly.
Mater rolled his eyes,"Yep. Takin' a stroll at three 'n the mornin'."
The Jaguar was silent. A moment passed, the humming mystery engine growing a fraction louder. "Call Finn," the tow truck commanded abruptly. Holley followed orders without question.
Her communicator beeped before fully activating. "Finn?" she said, trying to keep her voice from wavering.
The Aston Martin instantly heard her worry. "What's the matter, Miss Shiftwell?"
Holley smiled slightly at her partner's over-protectiveness. "We're still on our way to the motel, but Mater believes we're being followed."
"Have they shown themselves?" Finn questioned, apparently trusting the tow truck's judgment.
"Not so far, sir."
The elder car paused on the other line. "Alright, Holley." The Jaguar was stunned by the use of her first name. "I'm not sure who is tailing you, but if my hunch is correct, he will do you no harm. However, there is a very large chance that I am wrong. So, please ask Mister Tow Mater if you can stay the night with him."
Holley paled, and Mater balked, having obviously overheard. Ignoring the tow truck's incredulous sputtering, the Jaguar choked,"Um, Finn, I'm not sure that's the best idea…"
"You have no other choice, Miss Shiftwell," Finn stated simply. "I won't risk either of your lives because of petty squabbles and discomfiture. Now please, get out of that street and into a building, lest I'm proven wrong."
~Mater's downtown office, 0300 Hours~
"Erm…Mater?"
Holley poked her hood around a corner, receiving no answer yet again.
She and the tow truck had arrived at his rather decrepit abode little over half an hour ago, and once she had been led to the guest room, Mater had departed, and the British car had yet to find him since. And this was the third room she'd looked into—how many more could there be? Finally, at the end of the hall, she came across a pair of double doors, the glass yellowed, but clearly stating Mater Private Eye in peeling letters.
Gathering her remaining gumption and fighting off the intense need of sleep, the Jaguar carefully pushed the doors open.
Inside was everything she'd expected to see in a detective's office. Blinded windows, slivers of feeble light barely making their way through, every piece of furniture buried under newspapers, empty oil cans, and every piece of miscellaneous item you could think off. There was a large thumb tacked board against one wall, covered in hundreds upon hundreds of newspaper clippings and photos. Hanging from a thin string along the window, a few photographs were hung to dry.
And in corner of the room, there sat an enormous oak desk, behind which Mater sat, snoring, fedora askew. Holley bit back her laughter, noting how…vulnerable the hard-boiled private eye looked while asleep.
Chuckling, the Jaguar continued to survey the room. Her gaze flittered over the desk, when a framed photograph caught her attention, slightly tilted and buried beneath an enormous stack of newspapers. Eyes flickering to the sleeping tow truck and back to the frame, Holley carefully brought up a tire. Mater shifted in his sleep, and the spy winced. But the tow truck only moved to find a better position and continued snoring noisily. Holley released a breath, continuing to reach. The last thing she needed was he private eye catching her snooping and disliking her even more…
The spy car managed to grab the frame from under the newspapers and slowly dislodged it. Bringing it to hood-level, she was met with a faded photograph of a female car. A Chevrolet El Camino, quite pretty, with light paint and bright eyes smiled softly back at her. She turned the frame over, looking for a name, or a date. Something that could label this unknown car. But it was blank. About to place the photo back on the desk, Holley faltered. Her scanner was out before she could stop herself, inspecting the image, and downloading the photo into her memory banks.
As feeling of guilt beginning to needle its way through, Holley put the frame back, and quickly drove out Mater's private office.