It was oddly sunny at the mountainside graveyard that day, with a crisp breeze swaying the pines around them. The cheerful chirping birds didn't fit the bill of the occasion at all. Funerals were supposed to feel dull and depressing, but presiding weather didn't lend to either emotion.
The funeral had been short, with less than a dozen cars invited. Despite the attention from the local press, they managed to have a private ceremony. Some cars said a few kind words, others just offered their sympathies to the last remaining Dinoco. Everyone except the four cars closest to Tex had left already.
They parked, two on either side of him, staring at the heaping pile of fresh dirt. Engine failure, the coroner had said. Thirty years old and something had jammed. Maybe had someone got to him in time, they could have saved him.
"The ol' hermit liked to work alone." Tex said after a while, his voice solemn, but showing no signs of deep hurt. "That's why he built that tower in such a small town. He didn't much care for the city. We weren't really that close, y'know. Felt more like business partners than anythin' else."
"What's gonna happen now?" Wayne asked. "Are you really gonna take on the company?"
"That what he would want." Tex nodded. "I don't mind. He taught me a lot of what he knew, but I got some fresh ideas. I feel it's time for a revamp."
The Cadillac backed away from the grave and turned towards the gate. "No time like the present to start, eh?"
The others quietly followed him, unsure of his true mental state. Tex was always open and genuine. They expected him to be more torn over the situation than he seemed, but no one was brave enough to probe any deeper. Perhaps this was just how he coped. Maybe he and his father really hadn't been that close at all.
"What d'you have in mind?" Wayne tried to keep him talking.
"Expansion." Tex answered simply enough. "Dinoco's spent years throwin' cash at outfits that ain't makin' any revenue. First, I'm gonna reinvest, put that money into somethin' that'll really turn a profit. As it grows, we'll need to have a good marketin' ploy. And I think I know right where to start."
"Please tell me you're gonna do away with that stupid cartoon commercial." Aimee interjected. "That talking dinosaur thing's only hurtin' you. And my eyes."
"That'll be the first thing to go, I promise ya that." Tex chuckled, looking in his rearview mirrors at his friends. "I think I got somethin' better to be the new face of Dinoco."
He repositioned his left mirror until he could see that big blue wing among the line up behind him. Tex had always dreamed of being a sponsor at the races, but he never expected a racecar to just fall into his grasp. This was a racecar and a friend. Sure, Strip was a bit inexperienced, had no formal training, and was in dire need of a new coat of paint, but his enthusiasm and raw speed would work to his favor. Combine that with experience over time and there you have it – a perfect racer.
"Hey Strip, how 'bout a new coat of paint?" Tex called back to him as they pulled out on the road. "Cover up all that primer."
"Why, is it startin' to bother you?" Strip asked. He'd gotten his fair share ridicule over the last couple of days for it.
"Naw, I just think you'd look better in Dinoco blue. And maybe a little bit of company livery."
"Wait, what?"
"Y'ain't gonna make me go lookin' for another racer are ya?"
Strip nearly careened into the ditch.
"Well?"
Tex had a way of getting things done according to his timetables, even if that was getting the Piston Cup's approval to be a sponsor, completing the paperwork, and decorating a racecar all over the course of a month. Come next season, they'd have a qualified team and a place on the circuit with all the other big names.
Strip turned every which way, looking himself over in the wall-sized mirror. He'd just rolled out of the local paint shop after going in blind to Tex's design ideas. He had to give the businesscar credit – he had good, simple taste. The light blue wasn't quite as obnoxious as he'd anticipated, and they got his favorite number to look like how he'd specified it. 43 – the general number of racers in a given race, and a nice, prime, indivisible number.
"It's great." Strip answered.
'Great' was an understatement. Words couldn't describe how ecstatic he was about an authentic opportunity to race for the Piston Cup and to support his close friend's company. He looked at the different sponsor stickers plastered to his side. That was a real Piston Cup sticker. A real one!
"It suits you."
They drove down Main Street together toward the Dinoco building, collecting the stares of the townsfolk as they went. The whispers sounded more like the winds of change than casual conversation.
"How's it feel?" Tex asked as they passed a group of gossipy women. "Looks like you're the center of attention."
"Uh, it's different." Strip admitted. He was all about the actual racing part of racing, but the celebrity bit, now that wasn't going to be so easy.
"You'll get used to it."
They entered into the lobby of the town's only major business and drove to the elevator. The receptionists stared as the two crossed the spotless floor. In the month since Tex officially took ownership of the company, the company stocks had shot through the roof. Everyone regarded the young entrepreneur as if he were some sort of god. Tex didn't act as if he noticed.
They rode the elevator in silence to the executive level. Strip stared at the logo emblazoned on his hood, and his reflection in the spotless golden elevator doors. He didn't look like himself, and found it oddly comforting. To think, just a few weeks earlier he'd had nothing.
Up in Tex's office, they parked before the glass wall that overlooked their town. It looked even smaller from so far up, but it looked happy. It was home. Strip didn't feel like he'd ever really had a place to call home before.
"Hey, Tex, listen." he broke the silence. "I don't mean to get all mushy or anythin', but I really want you to know how much all this means to me. The sponsorship, the house – everything. Especially after everythin' I told you."
Tex cast him a glance and then looked beyond to the pile of volatile materials stacked up in the corner of the room. Earlier that day they'd met before taking Strip to a shop for a few mechanical modifications – racing exhaust, suspension – the works. Realizing he couldn't be worked on, let alone race, while packing a live bomb and several types of mortars, Strip decided to come clean to his friend.
Tex hadn't been too surprised. He knew something had to have been up, what with the way Strip acted when he first came to town. It was as if he'd never seen the sun, or the moon, or the beauty of the earth before.
"Don't worry about it, man." Tex reassured him. "What you are don't define who you are. Remember that. And remember you ain't no charity case, either. You worked for this, and you're gonna keep workin' for it. I know you'll do us proud."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the building's shadow slowly fall away from the town to be replaced by the shadow of the mountains.
"You know," Tex continued, "you, Wayne, the girls… you're all the closest thing I've ever had to real family. That's worth more than any sponsorship, or any house I could ever buy you. Professionally, think of the property as a signin' bonus. Personally, consider it a thank you."
He drove behind his desk, brought out a flask of the highest quality oil Dinoco had to offer, and poured two crystal glasses.
"Here's to Team Dinoco, the future." he raised one, passing Strip the other.
"I'll drink to that." Strip smiled.
Later that evening, Strip milled around his new house, wondering what he was going to do with all the open, empty space. A few days earlier, Tex had handed him the deed to the property and told him to have fun with it. It was a lot of space to keep just a box of old videos and a stack of letters, but in time, he hoped to fill it with trophies and racing memorabilia.
Wayne had given him a couple extra furnishings he had laying around; an old TV, the kind that needed tin foil to get any reception, some glassware, a cheap wall clock, and a side table. Lynda swore up and down the first free day she had she was going to take him shopping.
"I'll decorate it myself if I have to." she'd said.
He smiled as he thought about her enthusiasm. His racing opportunity had excited her almost as much as it had him, and she wouldn't let it go. She'd even wanted to watch the old Hudson Hornet videos with him again a couple nights ago. For the first time ever, he watched those videos and found himself struggling to pay full attention to their every detail with her sitting beside him.
He glanced at the clock. He had an hour before she was supposed to come over. They'd planned a dinner date to celebrate his official employment status, and to a lesser degree, parade around town together. He couldn't wait to show her his new paint.
He flipped the television on and fiddled with the antennae until he picked up a local station, for background noise more than anything. Of course the first thing that popped onto the screen was that cringe worthy commercial Aimee always complained about. Strip felt he was going to do the world a favor whenever he got around to making a new television ad.
The commercial ended and the intro tune of the local news broadcast crackled through the static speakers.
"We return to you now with the latest news on the events in Michigan. The public is in complete disarray after another attack on the Chrysler Corporation. Coming to you live…"
Strip flinched and turned to pay attention to the screen. The footage showed more tanks, much like the ones he'd helped take out not so long ago, bearing down on the Chelsea Proving Grounds. They showed clips that had surfaced of four low flying plane-like vehicles as they rocketed over the rural outskirts of the Detroit area, and cars screaming as they flew over. Such a sight would rightly strike fear into any unsuspecting bystander.
The flyers immediately put a stop to the assault machines with an unmatched precision air strike, but not before they took out a good portion of the north end of the oval track. It was over quickly.
"It seems Ford needs to step up their game if they want to rightfully compete with Chrysler's battalion, Mark. Whatever these decoys are made of is no match for their aerial prowess."
"Indeed, Dorothy. A war, even one as unfit as this, can only be fought by real soldiers. If we want this fight to end, Ford's going to have to step up and grab the ram by the horns with real soldiers."
"Meanwhile, GM hasn't claimed to have made any progress…"
The words faded into background noise as Strip fell into thought. He felt a twinge of guilt not being there. He'd lived his whole life with the responsibility to keep attacks like this at bay, and now he was sitting on the sidelines.
They replayed the airstrike clip again, and upon closer inspection, Strip could tell the plane in the front was Izzy. Her flight patterns and look of determination differentiated her from the rest. He wondered how she was doing, and realized she hadn't tried to contact him since he left. No news is good news right?
He saw the remnants of the mobile assault drones smoldering against the ground. They were doing just fine without him. With Izzy leading them, they had a chance at winning.
"Good work, sis." he mumbled to the TV. "You know how to win."
He changed the channel.