Aside from the Dinoco 400, the Florida 500 was arguably the most exciting race of the season. The race hadn't even started and the speedway was already packed full of cars raring to get the new season started. Florida International Speedway always promised them action and thrilling finishes, and this year was unlikely to be different.
Strip exited his trailer and silently passed through the mob of reporters that greeted him, offering them nothing but a smile for the pictures. He drove away from the garages over to the flashy Dinoco tent where his team awaited him anxiously.
"Not a single interview?" Luke asked as the crew surrounded Strip to swap out his tires. "You're just gonna leave them hangin'? You still ain't announced your – "
"Shut it, Luke," Tex approached them. "Don't wanna be spreadin' rumors, now, do you?"
"It's not a rumor!" Luke protested, pulling Strip's front right tire off and slapping a new one on in its place. "And we all want to know what's gonna happen afterward."
"They'll know before the end of the day, Luke," Strip told him. "Don't worry about it. Y'ain't gonna lose your job when I leave, you know that, right?"
"My resume has a single line on it – seven words!" the forklift ranted sarcastically as they finished up. "'Thirty years' experience changing Strip Weathers' tires.' That's it. That's my only marketable talent."
The other pit crewmembers snickered at Luke's exaggeration. Tex smiled as Luke threw his forks up in exasperation.
"We'll find another racer, boy. You guys ain't goin' anywhere," Tex assured him. "Pit crew's arguably the most important part of racin', no?"
Luke mumbled something under his breath and puttered over in the direction of the pits. The others followed him to go get things set up.
"They're gonna miss you, y'know," Tex chuckled quietly.
"It ain't like I'm gonna disappear. Y'all're gettin' too caught up in this," Strip responded. "I swear if one more car gets all touchy about it, I'm gonna – "
"Shh, here come the cameras," Tex cut him off. "I'd head to the pits if I were you. Race is gonna start here soon."
As Strip cruised down pit row to Dinoco's box, he observed his competition. Most of the racers from the last couple of seasons were still there, ready and eager to get back on the track. As he passed, he could feel their gazes on him. Not a one of them said a word to him until he reached the top ten.
"Great day to kick off the season, hey King?" the younger red racer called to him.
"Sure is, Junior," he responded, slowing down slightly as he passed the son of his late friend. "I'll see you at the finish line, kid."
Junior was one of only three or four racers that didn't hesitate to talk to him. A couple of the racers from the eighties or early nineties would still occasionally drop by and say a few words, but his prominence in the sport and the constant attention from the media and his fans kept many away. To the eyes of the common beholder, he seemed untouchable, and though he could never admit it, that's not what he wanted.
Strip passed the Hostile Takeover Bank crew's box as he settled into his own. Chick and his team sounded like they were having the time of their lives behind him.
"This is my year boys," Chick proclaimed, his team responding with various affirmations. "We're gonna beat the old man and take that trophy home, I can feel it."
Strip watched as Luke cast an angry glare at the team behind them. The taunting had ceased bothering Strip years ago, as it lacked any form of credibility. While the Buick had turned out to be a decent racer, violent tactics and all, he never posed much of a threat to Team Dinoco. Every year they'd managed to outrace him, and this year looked to be no different.
"Let's get out there and show these guys how it's done," Strip's crew chief said as the pace car came into view.
One more time, Strip thought to himself as he pulled into the pole position and followed the pace car onto the track.
Florida International didn't disappoint. Strip held his lead for the better part of the race until a mild crash brought out the yellow flag. The undamaged racers cruised into pit row.
"Come on, guys, let's get him back out there in front," Luke ordered as Strip came to a halt in front of them. "We've got this race in the bag."
The crew moved with unparalleled speed and precision as they refueled their racer and refreshed his tires. Strip stayed silent and let them do their job, keeping his focus. The moment all four tires touched the pavement again, he took off, rocketing out of pit row and rejoining the field in sixth.
Several laps later, he finally passed the car in the lead. Settling into the lower groove, Strip focused on putting as much space between him and the rest of the field as he could. The speedway at Daytona was a track built for speed. If he maintained a good lead, the slower cars wouldn't stand a chance at catching up to him.
"Twenty laps left, but watch out. That new kid's got a run on you."
Strip glanced up at the monitors as he crossed the finish line signaling the beginning of the hundred and eightieth lap. It was true. He could see McQueen inching closer and closer toward him, with Chick drafting right on the kid's tail, hitching a ride into the top three.
"Hm." Strip had no other response. That rookie had started out in the rear of the field, and to end his first race at the top? It was objectively impressive.
In the last lap, McQueen pulled up alongside Strip as they rounded the last two turns. They were close enough Strip could hear the kid's crew chief barking orders.
"Watch it, McQueen," the voice said. "These guys know what they're doing. You're not going to be able to pass high, you'll need to – "
The voice fell silent as Lightning switched off the radio. Despite his surprise at the utter neglect of good advice on the kid's behalf, Strip zeroed his concentration in on the finish line ahead and strained for more speed. Slowly, he felt himself pull away as his engine strained at its limits. Somewhere in the near vicinity, he heard Chick growl out of frustration.
The three crossed the finish line in a mere instant, with the rest of the field following soon after. Strip let off the gas as the crowd erupted into a roar and the cameras all focused on him. He'd won. He felt himself smile.
"Yeah! That's how you do it!" He heard Luke's voice over his radio, strangely enough. As he passed in front of the pits, he saw that the pitty had seized the crew chief's headset and held it hostage, cheering into the mouthpiece.
He took a victory lap for the fans.
As he pulled into pit row, he aimed for his ecstatic team waiting down at the end for him. However, before he got far, he passed McQueen's team. The crew chief, an angry red pickup truck was chewing the kid out for not listening.
"You would've won had you listened to me!" the truck exclaimed.
"I know how to race," McQueen retorted. "I did exactly what I wanted, no thanks to you."
"Boy, you better watch your tone."
Strip drove on, a little alarmed at the verbal hostility. He'd seen some stubborn, overconfident rookies in his day, but none that blatantly refused to listen to their crew chief like that. Even Hicks got along well with his. But no matter, Strip filed the scene away in his mind to come back to later. He had a trophy to collect and a team to celebrate with.
"There's our defending champion! Get over here, man," Roger waved his racer over as he backed off the crew chief's stand.
The pitties surrounded Strip as he approached, whooping and hollering their signature "Go go Dinoco!"
"One more for the books, hey guys?" he said as he came to a halt among them.
"Come on, let's go get that trophy."
The podium finish at the Florida 500 predicted the leaders for the season, according to tradition. Strip proudly took his position on the top platform and smiled for the cameras while the other two racers joined him, Lightning on the second place pedestal, and Chick on the third.
Strip glanced down at the rookie and saw a look of pure excitement. Taking second at Daytona Beach's Florida International for a first ever professional race? The kid had every right to be so delighted. Chick, on the contrary, looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. He wasn't shy about expressing his distaste for the situation. Third place wasn't anything to be ashamed of, and many cars coveted the position, but Chick wasn't going to settle for anything less than first.
A couple race officials emerged from the sides of the stage the podiums sat on and presented the three with their trophies. The confetti canons fired the little shreds of paper into the air, catching the flashes from the cameras as the media converged around the racers. The RSN gang shoved their way to the front of the horde and took center stage as interviewers.
"Kori Turbowitz here in Victory Lane, coming to you live!" the small teal car announced to the camera her coworker followed her around with. "We saw quite the finish today here at Florida International Speedway, starting with an impressive finish from the series' newest racer! Lightning McQueen, how does it feel to take second in your very first race?"
"It's been phenomenal, Kori. This is what I've always wanted to do – get out there and race," McQueen answered emphatically. "Just me and track, you know? I don't need anyone else. It's a great start to what I plan on making an even greater career."
Kori looked back at the camera. "There you have it, this season's rookie, Lightning McQueen, off to a fantastic start."
There was a brief pause as the reporter decided whom to inquire next. She glanced at Chick, but thought otherwise at his disgruntled frown. She knew from experience it was better to save the angry racers for last.
"This next question is for the King," she turned toward the top podium. "First, great win today. You've had the longest career in Piston Cup history, and you're still winning. Truly impressive. As defending champion, what's your outlook on this season, having just won the 500?"
"Thank you, ma'am," he expressed his gratitude for the compliment before moving on to her more pressing question, steeling himself for the inevitable reaction. "Well, I guess if anythin's to be said about today's win, it's a great way to start off a final season."
A gasp arose from the reporters and the frequency of the camera flashes increased dramatically. Strip felt a wave of relief wash over him as he addressed his retirement publicly. He set his mouth in a soft smile as he looked down on the surprised crowd, now shouting questions at him.
"Weathers," Kori assertively grabbed his attention before another interviewer could distract him, "a final season? Will you be retiring from the Piston Cup?"
"Yeah," he answered simply, nodding. "I've had the best career a racer could ask for, but there're some other things I still wanna do. I'm ready to slow down a little and spend more time with friends and family, y'know? But that bein' said, I think I still have another season in me. I'll race for the championship this year, but I'm done after that."
The questions continued.
Later, back at the Dinoco tent, Tex greeted his racer with as much enthusiasm as ever when Strip presented the trophy to him.
"If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times – Dinoco's lucky to have you, boy," Tex told him as he took a closer look at the gleaming first place trophy. "Heck of a win out there today."
"I'm lucky to have a good team," Strip responded. "It was close, I'll tell you that."
"That new kid almost whooped up on you, didn't he?" Tex asked with a grin.
"Nah," Strip dismissed it. "He's fast, but he's got a lot to learn yet."
"Impressions?"
Strip looked at his sponsor and recognized the Cadillac's expression. Tex used the same look he always did when he was formulating some sort of plan. It was the same face he saw the first time he ever laid tire to a track.
"You wanna steal him away from that Rusteze company, don't you?" he asked.
Tex's grin widened. "You know me too well, King. So, what'd you think?"
"Like I said, a lot of room for improvement," Strip said, thinking back to what he'd seen on the track. "But…"
He trailed off midsentence as he remembered his chat with Rick a few days prior.
"Strip?" Tex asked, watching his friend's expression fall.
The racer looked up at him before gazing off into the distance. Beyond the Dinoco tent he caught a glimpse of Chick driving past the garages with his crew. He'd never gotten the chance to be interviewed on the podiums with the other two racers getting all the attention. It was clear he was still upset as they loaded up his trailer.
Strip realized that Chick hadn't made any move to take McQueen out during the race or openly, verbally attack him afterward. This seemed to confirm that the Buick didn't not know the rookie's part in the war. This offered Strip slight piece of mind.
He gaze drifted even further, over to where the largest mob of energy radiated from the track. McQueen was still milling around Victory Lane, giving the reporters their fill. He was striking poses, gesturing extravagantly and behaving in the most photogenic way possible. Strip furrowed his brow slightly as he considered the kid's behavior. McQueen was cocky and confident, but didn't seem like he had a bad personality as a whole. He was just a youth surrounded by sudden fame.
Surrounded by fame and unknowingly overshadowed by much higher powers in play.
"Uh," Strip looked back to Tex. "Kid needs a bit of an attitude adjustment for sure. But there's potential. Any car that can start last and finish second has talent."
Tex's eyes narrowed. "Anyone ever told you you're a terrible liar?"
Strip haphazardly glanced around. "There's somethin' I need to tell you," he said quietly.
Tex nodded after brief hesitation. The two of them cruised around to the restricted area behind the Dinoco tent. Press members weren't allowed back there, so there weren't any cameras. As they entered, Lynda appeared and joined them, rubbing up on Strip's side.
"There's my favorite winner," she greeted him warmly.
"Hey, Lyn," he returned the gesture. "Where you been?"
"Oh, just hangin' out with some of the girls. Not much," she explained.
A brief moment of silence passed between the three of them. Lynda looked over with mild concern. A win wasn't normally met with such lack of enthusiasm.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Come on," Strip told her.
She followed them further into the restricted area and looked between both of them, confused. Strip took a breath and started into his explanation.
"Tex, what I said earlier wasn't a lie," he began. "The kid's got potential, and he's probably the best target if you're lookin' to recruit talent off the track. But he's not who you think he is."
He paused, expecting Tex to say something, but the oil baron sat there silently, watching him and waiting for more.
"I got a call on the way down here the other day," he continued. "It was Rick and my sister up at the factory, givin' out intel. They told me that GM, after all these years, finally created their so-called weapon for the war. It's the kid. They've got the pictures to prove it."
"What?" Lynda looked shocked. "The kid? He looks so harmless."
"That's just the thing," Strip explained. "He is. For a weapon, they didn't give him anythin' to fight with. He's just a racer. That's it. He doesn't even know what he is. Paul up at GM has this theory that if McQueen don't know what he was built for, he can't put himself at risk, and he'll outlive the war."
"And they throw him on the same track as you and Hicks?" Tex asked, shaking himself and frowning. "That's the stupidest thing a car could do."
"That's what I thought," Strip agreed. "But somethin' else – Chrysler and GM aren't at odds anymore. Rick said they signed some sort of alliance in an attempt to stop the fightin'. That's how we got all this information. If it weren't for Stephen, the war could've ended a long time ago."
"Does Chick know about any of this?" Tex wondered.
"I don't think so," Strip answered. "Doesn't seem like it, and I want it to stay that way. That kid over there may be conceited as all-get-out, but he deserves his shot at racin' as much as the rest of us. He doesn't deserve to get caught up in this."
"We'll keep an eye on things," Tex promised. "As a businesscar, I probably shouldn't say this, but as your friend, I'm gonna commit to you that I've got your back in this. You've done too much for me, I can't sit on the sidelines if somethin' happens."
"Thanks," Strip offered a halfhearted smile that soon faded.
"In the meantime, you need to focus on racin'," Lynda reminded him gently. "Just get through this season. Do only what you need to. The rest will work itself out."
He glanced up at her with a stressed look in his eyes.
"Then why do I feel like this isn't gonna end well?" he whispered.