Author's note: Since the veteran racers have been retired/replaced, I always imagined Cal would spend time relaxing in the Weathers' home backyard with sunglasses on, drinking chocolate milk with oil mixed in. Then some fans photograph him, and it makes headlines: Cal Weathers' retired and enjoying milk from the comfort of his backyard undisturbed. And Bobby and Strip Weathers' tease him about it.

Chapter 23: It's All In The Job

"Mister Wheelhouse! Mister Wheelhouse!" the chanting of three cars caught the attention of the Transberry race car, and he turned, smiling wide as he faced them. "Hey guys, want a picture?"

Their headlights seemed to shine brighter as one of them bounced on his axles, "YES!"

The racers were enjoying their last night off, keeping their RPM's low as they conversed and enjoyed the company of fans and family outside the Los Angeles speedway. The evening was quiet and relaxing before the departure to BnL Raceway soon.

H.J Hollis glanced from his quieter patio parking spot to see Shannon Spokes, swaying her cab left and right with a warm grin as the jazz band played on. Hollis wouldn't pry, but he was certain she was just a little tipsy tonight. Some cars just needed to burn off extra rubber when work was a common place to be. Hollis found himself stretching his axles as he still felt sore from the power training he had this morning. Four-hundred and fifty laps on the open arena and over 199mph for the entire stretch. Sometimes, he genuinely wondered how some of the other guys managed to lock their speeds and take each turn. The track always sported a fresh set of skid marks, and he had to smile at the thought that some of them were totally from him.

Casual revving with 'Oohs and Ahs' resonated around the scene every passing minute. As a race car, he was used to it— had to be, it was all he heard round the track. When the distinct electric rev in a distance caught Hollis' attention, he turned to see a small group of cars jump back, and soon huddle back around the bored-looking livery-black race car, Jackson Storm.

"That's so cool, man!" one coupe said gleefully as the others laughed at the surprise. Storm looked tired, uninterested even, but seemingly, trying to be interested in what they had to say, raising his lid ever so often.

Hollis took a long gulp of his drink, ignoring the taste of mostly melted ice. He could hear N20 Cola right now, "pleasure to have H.J but even greater to make some sales, win us a Cup!". They must've thought this racing life was easy going all the time. He closed his lids, exhaling as he tapped a tire to the jazz beat.

The confident and eminent tone of Storm grazed over his talkative fans, "huddle in, let's get some pictures, one for each of them," he scanned the cars as they lined up with cheeky grins. "Today's their lucky day."

Hollis watched as Storm flashed his friendly smile to the cameras. He seemed like a natural surrounded by his admirers. That was challenged when a young adult male fan, an obvious outcast, creeped his way to the racer. He had a Lightning McQueen stuffed toy clutched in his tread.

Jackson paid little attention as his fans galloped away, leaving him to his desired solitary. The peace was interrupted in moments as the young man invaded Storm's space, looking like he was about to cry a surge.

"For DAYS, I have cried, man you don't KNOW!" the red car said, his 'Number 95' decals and stickers clearly showing his pride. Storm stared back, a lid raised as he reversed merely an inch to avoid the tears and fluids of his meltdown.

"Please," he whined, "for both of us!"

Hollis was uncertain for a moment as he peered in on the dramatic display. Was he referring to the toy? He soon found himself conflicted between wanting to cringe or stare in sympathy as Jackson huddled closer to the boy and his stuffed McQueen, ignoring his further waterworks as he smiled for the photo.

"Thanks... man!" he jittered as his tears streamed down his hood. He sped off in a cacophony of cries as Storm stared on in confusion. Hollis didn't blame him.

Soon enough, Hollis could hear the arrogant thrills of Chick Hicks as he made his way past the patio, eyeballing the next-gens as he scanned the gathering for a car in particular. The camera crew tagged alongside him, as if his life was some sort of reality show. Storm took little time waiting for the retired racer to acknowledge him solely, and promptly reverse his way out of the scene with an un-phased expression. It didn't take long for some other next-generation racers to begin side-eying the green race car, he always loved to be in the spotlight, even if it meant invading a Piston Cup racer's personal space.

Hollis was relieved as Bubba took over, keeping Hicks at bay. The crew seemed delighted to speak with Mr. Wheelhouse.

"I would have preferred a streak winning champion, but you'll do, Wheelhouse," Chick said, his joke running flat as his crew did little but smile at the comment as Bubba eased the air with his friendly smile to the cars at home.

"You know, we're all here, just trying to ease up, enjoy the day off and night," Bubba said, cutting the air. "Things are cool, it's cool." Hicks seemed ready to interject with another comment of his own.

"Tell the folks, would you rather a lifetime supply of Transberry Juice, or a day at the old cars home rubbing medicated bumper ointment on their rears for the good of the Manufacturer?"

Bubba was stumped, almost ready to laugh as he listened to the question. True to his morale, shook his cab and answered, "For the good of the old folks, I'll give 'em Transberry Juice, how's that?"

Chick stared back, his lid raised as if he heard wrong. Wheelhouse shrugged his tires as Hicks guided his camera crew away. He must've saved the 'important' questions for Jackson Storm. Knowing his greedy pride was out of sight, Hollis turned his attention back to his exhaustion, and closed his lids in relaxation. Today was a long day, and it still wasn't over yet.

Winning was nice, it had it's perks, like being able to ignore cars without heavy judgement. Who needs to socialize when they could be out training to win some more races? The thought of having another stinky and dramatic fan next to him put the mood to a deflated state of annoyance and revolt.

Ray watched Jackson approach him in the lounge room. He could see the visible pleasure as his grey eyes noted the empty room.

"It's 8PM. I'm here like you said, what is it?" Storm asked.

Ray raised his lids impressed, it was just nearly 8PM. Jackson had improved exponentially since his training days months prior. Ray was proud of his time management skills twining properly as a professional racer should have.

"What's new?" Ray replied, showing Storm the printed email in front of his tire, "IGNTR needs you in the spotlight for their televised commercial."

"When and where?" Storm asked, taking his eyes from the notes to his crew chief.

"Tomorrow morning. Early, 5AM sharp." Ray answered, noting Jackson's lip curling to a pursed expression. He wasn't sure if it was bitterness or some sort of absent action.

"Gale programmed the route into her GPS, so you can just relax until then. Even get some rest."

Ray could see Jackson thinking it through, his grey eyes studying the names of the advertising crew on the notes. Soon enough, he glanced to Ray, "Thanks, Ray."

"No problem," the pick-up truck answered, "and the guys are a junior team with IGNTR: Liquid Adrenaline, they've got some new guys to show the ropes to, and figured this would be their big break."

"Yeah, yeah, let's just hope they aren't carrying around McQueen dolls," Jackson replied, turning and cruising around the lounge. The hums of his engine echoed faintly in the room as he scanned the paintings on the walls with little interest.

"This place is nice without loud chatty cars," Storm said, viewing the space Ray seemed to always flock to. "Must be easy to get work done in the quiet."

Ray tided up the letters, watching the IGNTR: Liquid Adrenaline logo catch a glint of artificial light and shimmer a flash similar to Storm on the track in the afternoon sunlight.

"Some cars hang around in here, but they're all quiet too, makes for a peaceful atmosphere. But maybe not so much for a racing champion" Ray said.

"Good thing I have my trailer," Jackson smiled.

The following morning Ray didn't bother to stir his sleep. He trusted Jackson, and knew he had his hood on straight if he knew what was best for his career. Still, as a diligent crew chief, he peered from his suite to see the intricate black trailer in the lot distance. Storm and Gale conversing words he couldn't make out from his distance as the red hot dawn rose.

"Quincy, Leon and the rest of your pitties have the day off," Gale said, backing herself to latch the trailer, "So I'll be your guard dog today." Her bright smile glittered in.

Jackson listened to the trailer's distinct click as it's lock mechanism engaged, "alright then, let's go before we wake up Ray."

"Yeah, does he even sleep at night? He's the chipper-est car in the morning," she raised a lid and thought about it.

"With the work he does, he's lucky to get any sleep," Storm replied, reversing into the trailer. He breathed a deep yawn as the hatch closed.

"Let's go," he said through the intercom.

"Let's get the show on the road!" Gale sing-songed as she pulled out of the lot.

Ray breathed a sigh, and fell back into his peaceful slumber. In a few hours, he would have to prepare the team for their hefty departure. He wanted to make the most of his time for himself.

Storm was at ease, slightly distateful of IGNTR's choice of timing, but it was the life of being a race car. Free time sped by as fast as he did on the track, and he would be dishonest with himself if he said— as of lately, that it was nearly as interesting as it once was. Jackson peered at the packs of palm trees and wide scenery of Los Angeles passing by outside the tinted windows. At some point, the blue sky, crashing ocean waves, and nature was something he begrudgingly began to seemingly appreciate more than he once did. Thankfully, that distracting and creeping interest wavered. The fast lane, a winning streak, and a clear raceway while going 200mph ahead of the other guys was more rewarding than some slow life.

He could see a standard-looking studio building as Gale pulled into the lot. The colors— a blend of grey wear and tear over the natural salmon coat of the bricks. It looked like a place that hadn't been retouched for years. But it's wide panel windows with the studio sponsor and oddly cool entrance behind a large media logo said otherwise.

Gale unhooked herself and pulled around, seeing Storm on the lot watching the building suspiciously in front of his opened trailer.

"This place looks sketchy," he said. His grey eyes glared around the features of the ugly building with some contempt. "I win several Cups, and they send me here?"

Gale wasn't always sure how to respond to Storm, especially when he was visibly annoyed.

"Well... this is the place. They've filmed many ads here, even some stuff for Octane G—"

"You know what, Gale? I'm not up for this anymore," his engine revved lightly as he made a slow turn away from the building.

Gale watched him turn on his treads. This was something important, "Jackson! Hey! Wait!"

"These guys are working for IGNTR?" he asked in a tone that was likely a rhetorical question rather than a genuine idea he would ever be interested in.

"In fact, we are," a grotty voice came from the entrance. Gale and Jackson glanced to see two cars, one with a headset and camera, the other a plain grey Wrangler.

"Good to finally meet ya Storm, I'm Don, the director here, but you can call me, 'Danger Don', that's the name 'round here anyway," the Jeep continued gleefully as Jackson eyed him with an emotionless expression.

"Likewise," the racer answered in an almost gruff sounding tone as he continued to eye the cars up and down.

"And Missus... uh..." Don trailed off, as Gale glanced between him and Jackson. "Gale. My name is Gale."

"Well I'll be!" Don chuckled, his cameraman joining in on the joke, "we got us a storm and gale winds!"

Gale found herself giggling as Jackson looked the trio on with a face of little amusement and lots of cringe.

"Let's head inside, I've got the run down off IGNTR's game plan," Don said, leading them inside. Gale could see Jackson was hardly having any of it. Thankfully, he was keen enough to keep his darker thoughts at bay. She couldn't understand his growing agitation, more than he usual had, as of lately.

As they cruised through the studio house, Don attempted small talk with Storm, getting half glassed answers. Nonetheless, Jackson took little interest in 'Danger Don'. The Jeep opened twin creaking doors, revealing a large professional green screen amass several high-tech cameras. Gale could see some brief interest on Jackson's expression before the sudden voice of a dopey-sounding male cut the air.

"Chrysler! It's really THE Jackson Storm!" a hefty white minivan squeezed his way from a dressing room to the arriving quartet. His heavy lisp causing sputum to rain on occasion. Crumps covered his lips and he smelled of old soda. The van approached an unstartled Jackson.

"Uh, yeah," Storm replied, unsure of what to make of him. "just don't get too close to me."

Don smiled, "yeah, we're lucky to be working with Liquid Adrenaline, son. By the way, this is my film making son, Martin."

The van bounced on his shocks, "hey, Mister Storm, can I get a picture with—"

"You said you had 'a game plan'? Let's get to it." Jackson interrupted. He accelerated in front of the three crew members waiting for their instructions.

"Alright, so the commercial is about Liquid Adrenaline. Taste great, makes you go zoom zoom. All of that," Don said as he slid several sheets of script to Jackson. "We'll have you rev that winning engine, then you say 'Wanna jet? Be on that podium? You're a champion. You're with the Liquid Adrenaline.'"

"Simple." Storm replied.

"But that ain't all," Don said, "We've got six more ads to shoot, including one with you drinking Liquid Adrenaline on Venice Beach."

Jackson sighed, "Let's get this one done then." He headed for the stage, passing Martin and ignoring his cheeky fan-boy grin completely.

Gale listened as Don gave Jackson the detailed instructions of how to look at the lens with pride, and pretend the entire world was behind it. It had to be easy enough as a champion racer.

"Storm! Pssht! Storm!" Martin called from the side,

"Cut!" Don announced, turning to his son. "Martin, we're rolling right now!"

"Sorry, I just need to meet him before it's all over." Martin muttered, reversing away as Jackson looked on in confused annoyance.

Gale could tell Jackson was giving most of his effort. His articulate tone was loud and clear as they filmed. He shone his clear smile to the camera with such ease that she was almost certain he had to be enjoying some of his flair. When he was asked to repeat the line several times in different tones and positions, his patience remained, until there was a loud crash as some boxes of extension cords fell over with Martin's back bumper as the culprit.

"Martin! We had it in the bag that time!" Don said. "You'll get your autograph soon enough. Settle down."

"Hey! Don't talk to me like I'm a little kid! It was an accident," the van said, his nasal and lisp tone harsh and upset. "You're the one who said I get to meet Jackson Storm, and that this was a good way to learn the ropes of cinematography!"

Martin's left front tire hit a support rope, and the green screen sheet came tumbling down on Jackson.

"Whoops! My bad!" Martin said, chuckling sheepishly

The racer tossed the material off his cab as he left the stage with a reproachful expression at the two crew members.

"Alright, I'm done with this," Jackson said, heading for the exit. "Let's go Gale."

"Wait! No I need a picture!" Martin whined as Don looked on in horror at his star began leaving.

"I don't deal with junkyard cars," Jackson said, exasperated, "and this place is dingy."

Don accelerated towards the exit after Storm, hoping to ease the tension.

"I know things are hectic right now, but you gotta stay. Please, come on, Jack."

Jackson gave Don a look of disdain, "You got your first ad reel. I'm out."

"Thank you," Gale said quickly as she followed Storm out of the building. The crew watched on, their frowns turning to annoyance at the director's pushy son. She could hear Don defending Martin as he argued with his father about not getting a chance to meet Jackson Storm as exquisitely as he wanted. Some fans were something else.

Gale found Jackson outside his trailer. His front had an expression of exhaustion upon its features.

He was more piqued than usual.

"Good work on the commercial in there," Gale congratulated, giving him a smile as he blinked and looked at her. She took the opportunity, "So... is everything a-OK?"

"Let's just get out of this lot," Jackson dismissed her concerns, "how long is the drive to Buy N' Large raceway?"

"It's going to be about five hours," Gale answered.

"Alright, well go get hooked up— you don't need anything do you?" he asked, reversing into his trailer.

Gale shook her hood, "I'm fine, full on both tanks."

"Good. Then let's roll."

Gale hooked herself up, still hoping Jackson would lighten up some more. Maybe all of those wins were of little treasure anymore. The substance was probably wearing thin, especially since McQueen was no longer competition.

She pulled out of the lot, following the road as she heard Storm's tunes playing through his trailer's walls. At least the request of IGNTR was said and done.