Here's chapter 7


Doc couldn't quite believe he was doing this. Neither could Tex actually. But both cars were in their respective racers' trailers' as Mack and Gray hauled them towards the highway that connected Dallas to Georgia. Sheriff would ride with Doc later, but insisted on going ahead and providing a police escort for the first part of the drive.

The two cars could have driven themselves but it was best if they didn't. Tex liked cruising and his slow speed would have eventually irritated Doc to the point where he would drive ahead on his own. However, Doc would have tired himself out quickly that way. It was better to let two professionals take them who were good at pacing themselves.

Mack was a little worried about how long the drive was, but he was confident that with another truck to talk to he would be able to stay awake until they reached the halfway point where he could rest for an hour or two.

Inside the trailer, Doc's head was spinning but he felt surprisingly calm inside.

"What am I doing?" He asked himself quietly. He had never wanted to go back to Thomasville before. He had left that place in a blaze of anger and rejection and had built up a life for himself on the other side of the country. Now he was running back there like some little car who had been scared by a tractor. And for what?

And that's when Doc looked at his surroundings and knew.

The trailer was far too flashy for Doc's liking. Little model cars, posters, bright lights, and loud paint. All of them sporting Lightning McQueen. And that's why he was going back to Thomasville. McQueen was what made him go back to the racing world, and McQueen was now making him go back home. If he had any enemies, they would have come from there. Doc was sure of that.

Meanwhile, Tex was thinking about his own actions in Cal's trailer. It hadn't changed much from Strip since Cal had taken possession of it. A bit more flashy maybe, but that's what young uns' did.

Sometimes the billionaire surprised himself with how spontaneous he could be. There was no reason to come with Doc, no logical reason at all. But inside of his engine he had felt a tug. It was the same tug he felt before he had landed his first big deal, and the tug had served him well. Tex had just reckoned that some things couldn't be explained with logic so he didn't dwell too much on it. He hoped to goodness that they would find a lead on McQueen. Then they would hopefully find a lead on Strip.

The 'tug' as he had become accustomed to calling it over the years was also what prompted him to sign Weathers in the first place. Throughout his career, Tex still felt like that was the best decision he had ever made. Not only did it give him the best racer the brand had ever sponsored, but it gave Tex a very valuable friend. Two friends actually. While Strip was on the track, Lynda and Tex would always sit together. Sometimes she would fret and he would reassure her, sometimes he would struggle after a particularly hard day, and she would remind him that even if a deal went south, he would still be alright with cars caring for him.

Despite the long day, Tex really struggled to fall asleep, worry gnawing at his brain. He was used to solving problems, not sitting around and waiting for them to be solved. But as Mack and Gray reached a double-lane highway and Mack loaded Sheriff up into the trailer, the two trucks drove side by side into the night. The grumbling murmur of their conversation lulled Tex to sleep.

Outside, Gray and Mack didn't really know where they were going to end up. But willing to do anything for their racers, and with Mack's assurance in Doc, the two continued into the night, headlights lighting the way to what would hopefully be a trip towards answers.


Unaware of their friends breakthrough in their case, Lightning and Strip were still sitting quietly after the announcement by the head of the racing board. The almost relaxed mode from earlier was gone and the reality of their situation, as well as their cluelessness to why they were abducted was beginning to sink in.

"Well, well," one of the Raptors said as a car entered. The two prisoners looked up, vaguely interested.

"How was your flight, Deborah?" The Ford Fiesta asked.

"Very well, thank you, Rick" the voice came from a light brown Buick century Ford, who looked and sounded almost like Lizzy. "Thank you again for your assistance."

"You're not paying us," the Raptor with the bent grill turned back towards the television.

"You made it out just in time," The Fiesta, who the two prisoners now knew was called Rick, replied. "The racing board just announced them missing."

"Serves them right," Deborah nearly spat out. "I hope this season completely fails. Two more cars off that death trap!"

"Death trap!" McQueen exclaimed, going forward as far as he could before Strip could stop him. The old car rounded on him, eyes squinting.

"Yes," she seethed. "Death trap. Young cars like yourself driving at unholy speeds, putting themselves and others at risk."

McQueen was just about to throw back a fiery retort when Strip intervened.

"I'm sure Miss. Deborah here has a good reason for her notion on racing," he said slowly. "Even if the same can't be said for her actions."

"What?" Lightning looked confused. "What did she have to do with anything?"

"Cleaner's badge," Strip nodded to the old car's door. Turning to Deborah, he elaborated. "You worked for the track to steal security badges." Tex had explained the new security system with great pride to him.

"That's right," the old car said proudly, nodding her head. "And I don't regret it either. Now have you boys had something to drink?"

McQueen, ready to give the old car a piece of his mind for helping the Raptors kidnap them was stunned into silence by the sudden change in her demeanor. The old car went from fiery old-lady to doting grandmother.

"Yes... Thank you," Strip managed to reply.

"I'll get you another one," Deborah said, turning sharply towards the counter. McQueen and Weathers looked at each other surprised before shuffling closer.

"What happened to you?" The Buick asked, seeing how Strip was moving slower and more carefully than McQueen.

"Just a small accident," Strip replied.

"Bulwark over there crashed into him," McQueen elaborated, glaring and nodding towards a Raptor. Deborah rounded on the car angrily.

"Now why'd you go and do a thing like that for?" She snapped.

"Hey, 43 was giving us a hard time!" The car replied. "Nothing broken."

The security guards had taken to called the race cars by their numbers, not bothered enough to use their real names.

Rick quickly drove in front of the fuming race car.

"Now, Deborah," he said smoothly. "It was just a bit of a misunderstanding, that's all. Even Frank's grill was bent out of shape a bit. No need to be alarmed." He steered the lady over to a bar. "Go on. Have a drink. Soon the boss will be in and you can discuss the next step with him."

Deborah nodded and went over to a low table, but didn't take anything to drink. She seemed quite destitute and tired, and Lightning looked at Strip confused. The young race car was still angry that this car had aided in their capture, which might cost him the rest of the season, but he had enough sense to know that something had been eating at this car for many years. Strip knew it as well, and suspected a bitterness that was decades old judging by the old car's appearance and general demeanor.

So after Rick and the Raptors had turned back to the television and forgotten about the group, the retired racer gently asked,

"Miss Deborah... why do you want us off the race track?"

"Because it's dangerous," was the curt reply. Then, "You should know that. You almost died during your last race."

"You mean the crash?" Strip asked. At the old car's sharp looked he shrugged. "Suppose I could have. That's part of the sport."

"My son always said that," the old car said bitterly. "Until he crashed and died."

She said this with a bluntness that Strip knew had been fueling her bitterness for years.

"Your son?" McQueen asked, shifting forward. "What was his name?"

"Don't matter," Deborah muttered. "He raced against that Hudson Hornet one time. Crash almost killed him as well."

"I'm sorry," McQueen glanced down.

"Don't matter," the old car said. "All that matters is that I'm finally gunna get the racing board to shut down the sport."

"What! No!" McQueen exclaimed.

"It's for the best!" The old car retorted. "Monroe agrees with me."

"Who's Monroe?" Strip cut in, eyes narrowing somewhat.

"The one who paid for all this," Deborah waved around with her tire. "You think I could afford to do this on a cleaner's salary."

"Well, Monroe won't succeed," McQueen bit out. "You'll never shut down racing!" Panic crept into McQueen's voice at the thought of his career, his passion, his life being ripped out from under him.

"You'll find something else to do!" Deborah said venomously.

"Racing is my life!" McQueen protested.

"Like it was the Fabulous Hudson Hornet's?" The old cars green eyes narrowed. "Or my son's? Your crew chief got off lucky, not dying and being kicked off the track."

"He did not," McQueen's engine reved, and he would have raced forward if not for the clamp, holding his tire in place.

"Kid, stop it," Strip snapped, sending Lightning a look that would have rivaled Doc's any day. McQueen was quaking with anger but managed to reign his emotions in. Strip let the tension between the three cars subside before he talked again.

"Miss Deborah," he said gently. "Why did Monroe approach you?"

Strip was feeling a bit of an internal struggle in all honesty. He didn't like shouting at McQueen but the rookie was loosing his temper and it was causing Deborah to flare back with words she knew would hurt the racer. He needed Deborah in a reasonable frame of mind. Strip's compassionate side wanted to talk to the old car and help her through her bitterness, but he knew he had to prioritize. And right now his top priority was to find out why an ex-race car and a rookie had been abducted.

"He heard of me protesting the track," Deborah stated. "He approached me one night and said if we managed to shake the board up enough, maybe they would listen."

"Is that why you took the King?" Lightning asked a little flippantly, but with a bit of interest. Although tired from the track, Strip Weathers was still a prominent figure on the circuit.

Strip knew this and was secretly wishing that he wasn't so normal. Normalcy was to stick around the track after retiring from racing. Maybe he and Lynda should have taken a leaflet out of Hudson's book and just found a small town to live in.

"Yeah," the old car said. "He said if we took a racer and a veteran, we would really get people's attention. You weren't supposed to get hurt though," the old car looked a little apologetic. "It was for your own safety." She looked specifically at McQueen.

"Thanks," McQueen said mildly, not really touched by the old car's words.

Strip decided to try a new tactic. It was clear the old car believed she was doing the right thing and that trying to convince her otherwise wouldn't work.

"Is there any way you can let us make a phone call?" He asked.

At the car's suspicious look he quickly continued.

"It's just that we have family that we know are worried. Kid's got a girlfriend and a best friend, and I got a wife and nephew."

The old car looked down, a conflicted look on her face.

"No," she suddenly said, shaking her head. "Monroe told me that that Dinoco fellow would be able to trace calls or somethin'."

Tex Strip thought with a jolt. Thankfully Deborah didn't see it.

"Please," Lightning asked. "Sally's probably worried sick."

"I said no!" The old car cried out. With a sharp twist she turned her wheels and stormed out of the room.

The two race cars looked after her before Lightning muttered,

"Wow. She took her son's death real hard."

Strip nodded.

"Wait... Did you hear what she said about Tex?" Lightning whispered quietly.

"I did," Strip replied. "I guess we know why I'm here then."

Lightning shuddered.

"What about me though?" He asked.

Strip didn't have an answer for him.


The race cars, both tired from a day full of stress eventually started dozing soon after Deborah left. Strip feel into a deeper sleep than McQueen, as the rookie's nerves were more high strung and worry over his racing career and friends gnawed at him. He didn't hear as another car rolled into the room, but he heard him speak.

"Everything in order?" He asked Rick.

"Yes, boss," Rick replied. "No trouble from any side whatsoever. What about with our contributor?"

"He's most pleased at our efficiency," Monroe stated. At least, McQueen thought it was Monroe. He was the boss, right?

"His little sidekick was in here earlier," the Raptor McQueen had nicknamed Bulwark spoke up. "Acted like he was running the place."

"Well, just remember where your paycheck comes from."

McQueen cracked his eyes open just a fraction. A dull red Nissan Sentra was talking to the raptors, his back turned to the two race cars. At least they had a description now.

"When will he be here for the red one?" Rick asked.

The red one? McQueen almost jumped.

"Sometime tomorrow," Monroe said in a smooth voice. "Once he's gone, we'll haul the blue one to Dallas if Dinoco doesn't show up yet."

McQueen was on the verge of having a panic attack but forced himself to close his eyes completely and act like he was sleeping. He couldn't give away that he was awake, he needed to find out what he could.

"Sure thing, boss," Rick replied, and McQueen could almost hear the Raptors roll their eyes. They were clearly only here for the paycheck.

"That'll teach Dinoco to steal from me," Monroe said with satisfaction, before turning and driving out of the room.

McQueen's thoughts were left racing and it took all of his willpower to breath slowly. Who was the contributor? And what was going to happen to him? This was clearly not about racing. That old car who they met earlier had been duped, that was for sure!

Little did Lightning know, the old car was beginning to figure that out.


Deborah is the mother of the race car that Doc flipped over in Cars 3 flashback. Thanks to someone's review, I found out his name is Leroy Hemming. This would make Deborah, Deborah Hemming.