"Alright kid, that's enough for today."
Doc slowed and pulled off the track. Lightning followed suit, smirking as the dust settled.
"Too much for you?" the rookie asked. "Don't tell me you're starting to feel that old age."
"Lesson of the day," Doc said, casting him a flinty stare, "learn to quit while you're ahead. You'll never tire yourself out."
"Mm-hm, sure," Lightning responded sarcastically. Doc didn't need to know that he was going to go write that down once they got back to town. He didn't need to know about the list of recorded advice Lightning kept hidden.
The two of them cruised back to town, silently aware of the bustling road in the distance. It hadn't been but the day after the tiebreaker race when business returned to Radiator Springs as quickly as it had vanished. Lightning remembered finding Sally in near tears the night he came home – tears of joy. He smiled at the thought of her.
Lightning, oblivious to the world around him, had plans to shoot straight through town to the Cozy Cone Motel to pay her a visit. First, that was where he hid his journal of hastily given advice. Second, he had some questions that had been burning through his mind for a couple of days. He thought she was his girlfriend, and he felt certain she would agree. However, they hadn't ever actually said so, and the miniscule fraction of his mind that doubted how she felt plagued him. He was going to get answers.
McQueen worked out how to phrase the question as he and Doc rolled past Flo and Ramone's house. His train of thought was abruptly interrupted at the sound of the old car's scoff.
"Who the heck invited that guy?"
Lightning followed Doc's gaze to Flo's station and felt the wind go out of his sails. Parked across the bay was the stickered-up battering ram of a competitor he though he'd left in California. Chick saw Lightning at the same time Lightning noticed him. A scheming glint crossed the Buick's eyes as he moved out of his spot toward the rookie.
Lightning frowned. He'd seen the interviews. Heck, he'd been there for some of them. He remembered seeing the footage of Chick being booed out of Victory Lane. They'd attended a press conference together after the King had been airlifted from the track to who knows where. Chick did nothing but brag about his fearless techniques and bash the older racer, as though he wasn't getting up there in age himself. Lightning knew how the majority of the racing world had turned against him. Something in the back of his mind told him Hicks held him accountable for that. McQueen had been as polite as possible at the time, but no one was going to bring that sort of trash into his town - not if he had anything to say about it.
"Hey, McQueen," Chick greeted him as if they were best friends. "This is the place you ended up in? Gotta tell you, kid, if you're into dusty antiques, you've hit the jackpot here."
"What are you doing here, Chick?" Lightning didn't bother to disguise his annoyance.
"What, can't I just come hang out?" Chick retorted lightheartedly. "Life of a Piston Cup champion can be kinda lonely, you know. The girls, the attention – it all gets old pretty fast."
"Gets old pretty fast, huh?" Lightning mocked, his usual filter gone. "I guess you'd know all about that."
Chick frowned at the remark and opened his mouth to strike back, but Doc cut him off.
"Listen, there ain't gonna be any troublemakers in this town under my watch," Doc informed him gruffly. "If you're here to stir up racetrack politics, you might as well leave."
"Wow, not a very welcoming bunch, eh?" Chick mused, struggling to reign in his agitation.
"We're not lookin' for trouble," Doc responded. "If you're here to enjoy the town, then have at it. Just know that we've got no tolerance for -"
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it," Chick stole the conversation back from the legend. "I'm just passin' through. Thought I'd check out the sort of place that holds famous racers hostage is all."
Doc glared at Chick, but didn't say anything. Lightning sighed, rolling his eyes.
"Anyhow," Chick said after a moment of awkward silence, "I'm gonna go check some stuff out, see what you all have to offer. I expect great things, McQueen."
Hicks sharply turned and drove through the intersection, cutting a few tourists off and ignoring the caution light. Lightning and Doc sat in silence while they listened to his engine rev obnoxiously as he exited the town.
"Well, I didn't expect that," Lightning mumbled.
"I don't trust him," Doc said. "I don't know why he's here, but somethin' doesn't feel right."
"It's just Chick," Lightning shrugged. "He's probably just here to rub his win in some more. No big deal. We'll just tolerate him until he leaves."
Doc grunted in disapproval. Lightning rolled forward toward the intersection, trying to remember where he had been going and why.
Strip relaxed and watched from the mountainside as Chick took off out of town, putting away his weapon. Eventually, the Grand National disappeared around the range beyond Wheel Well. There was nothing but desert for miles out in that direction. Where was he going? Why would he stop, say a few words, and then leave on his own?
Huh.
Shifting his attention back to the town, Strip wondered if he should pursue Chick for no other reason than to keep an eye on him. No. It would be a waste of fuel and energy. McQueen was still in town, and that was his main priority. Still, what was Chick up to?
The day came to a close. Far below, the neon lights lit up the night as the sun sank behind the mountain range. For a few more hours, the town would be vibrant and alive before drifting off to sleep. The silent, flashing lights lulled the world around them into a hypnosis of sorts, a real-world time machine of decades past.
Strip fought off his own exhaustion, knowing better than to let his guard down. He hadn't come that far and survived all that he had just to be taken by surprise now that it mattered most.
His efforts were futile. As the neon lights went out for the night, so did he.
The sky was beginning to gray with morning light when he awoke. An engine churned in the distance. Panicked, Strip looked out toward the dirt track and felt ice-cold fear splinter through him. McQueen was tearing that dirt track apart, doing some solo training - except he wasn't alone.
Strip cursed himself. How could he just fall asleep?
He spooled his engines.
Lightning always awoke first on Saturday mornings. It was the best time to go out and run laps before the heat and pressure of the day kicked in. The air was cool and fresh, and the dew had yet to evaporate. The plants all around glistened with it.
Aside from his own engine and a few lackluster birds singing in the distance, all was quiet. This was how he preferred to train when Doc wasn't around – just him, the track, and the sound of pure, unadulterated horsepower. Out here, he didn't take being a racecar for granted.
For the eighteenth time, he drifted around turns three and four with practiced precision. Even though Doc was still sound asleep in his garage, Lightning knew his mentor would be impressed. Of course, Doc never acted impressed out there. That was his domain. But Lightning could see through the old cars façade. He knew he could make Doc proud.
McQueen went around again. Coming down the backstretch, he focused in on turn three. He anticipated swinging his body into that turn and letting his momentum do the work for him. It was graceful. He felt even better about this drift than he had the last, and found himself looking toward town as though he expected Doc to be on his way to commend him.
The pair of eyes that stared back at him weren't Doc's. Lightning faltered and lost control of his drift, spinning around a couple times before grinding to a halt. Taken off guard, he scowled at his rival, sitting by the edge of the track.
"How long have you been sitting there?" he asked.
Chick shrugged and rolled out onto the track. "Not long. I heard someone making a racket out here and came to check it out. So this is it? This is how you train? Come on, McQueen. This is stuff of the past!"
"You disappeared last night and didn't come back." Lightning ignored the insult as he felt an edge creep into his voice that reflected his rising discomfort. "Thought you decided to leave. Not much in this dusty, antique town for you, is there?"
"There's really not," Chick admitted. "But, it does have what I came for."
"And that is?" Lightning asked, his voice tight.
"Yeah, well, before we get to that," Chick waved away his question and drove a little bit up the track, "I wanna ask you how you did what you did this year. Y'know, coming in out of nowhere, challenging the best of us."
Lightning thought the question was pointless, but answered anyway. "I just did what I do best. I race. I don't think about it that much."
"Is that so?"
Chick didn't phrase it as a question. It sounded more like a disappointed observation. He stopped and turned again to face Lightning, looking him over.
"What's going on, Chick?" McQueen asked somberly.
"So you just go out there, don't think about what you're doin', and you win?" Chick ignored his question again. He had questions of his own. "You don't even try and suddenly you're a rockstar? I think there's something you're not tellin' me. A little something extra under the hood maybe?"
Lightning let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, I don't know what you want from me. I'm a racecar, you're a racecar, that's all we are. Some of us just happen to be better. Out with the old, in with the new, or so you say."
Chick paused, unfazed at Lightning's indirect affront. He recalled what Stephen told him a few short weeks ago. At the time, he thought it was a trap, some false rumor leaked to lure him to his death. Now he wasn't so sure.
"You really have no clue, do you?" It was Chick's turn to be serious. Lightning hesitated at the sudden change in the Buick's voice.
"No clue about what?" McQueen couldn't handle it, and raised his voice. "I'm not playing your games, Chick. I don't know what you want. You won the race, isn't that good enough for you?"
"I did what I had to do," Chick said. "Turns out winning wasn't good enough for them, and here I am. I thought you'd understand, but it turns out the gossip's true. You really don't know who you're supposed to be."
Lightning stared at Chick incredulously. "Them? Who's 'them'? Are you on something right now? Party a little too hard maybe? You're not making any sense."
Somewhere above them, the sound of an airliner broke the otherwise peaceful backdrop. Chick flinched at the sudden sound, but forced himself to focus. This was his opportunity to fulfill a contract signed long ago, here alone in the middle of a desert. Years ago, he would have preferred something much more dramatic, but now this would have to do.
He sighed and for a split second, genuinely looked apologetic.
"Y'know, kid, you were gonna be one of the greats. Not that I wanted you to be, but you know, if it means anything," he shuffled his right front tire across the dirt. "Sorry I have to do this."
Chick's right front fender folded outward, unveiling a weapon that looked like a small rocket launcher, loaded automatically.
McQueen froze in fear as he stared straight down the barrel.
As the residents of Radiator Springs awoke, gunfire was heard for the first time anyone could remember.