At noon, the humidity from dawn dried the air. The Floridian tropical breeze returned with messy clouds keeping a wandering Silverado from overheating. He was visibly anxious as he made his way to the luxury Inn. He was several blocks away from his soon to be vacant motel, and the journey gave way to aggressive frustration.
He had passed six four-way stop signs, unstirred by any onlookers. In the midst of it all, the Silverado actually wished someone would push his buttons. Tony only needed a reason to hit someone. Until then, the pick-up remained stoic on his shocks, feeling stiffer than normal. Stress brought about discomfort, yet the Silverado actually sensed he was aging. His engine ran rough the past month; a low grumbling when he idled, and a mild chittering as he cruised. There was no pain, only concern that kept him heightened, then worried. He was too young for this.
Tony came to a halt as the traffic light turned red, nearly missing the point of no return on purpose. His escape was foiled by vehicles approaching in the lane beside. It would be another minute before the light turned green. Despite the short wait, frustration etched his bolts, confusion of his recent turn of events, has been pissing him off for days. But losing Grid's friendship— it wouldn't stop scratching at his paint. Quick to acknowledge the environment, Tony ignored a pair of chatting campervans in the lane beside him. Their off-road tires suggested Daytona beach was their destination.
Tony felt condensation from his recent ignition dripping off his exhaust. The dawn humidity mixed with a hot engine made him shudder in discomfort. Florida was hell, too hot and full of prissy cars, unlike his home state of Minnesota.
The pickup shoved the revolving hotel doors around with his weight, revving up his RPM's. Inside, Tony just managed to catch a disgruntled glare from the sedan receptionist. She was a witness to his rough welcoming. Fortunately, her elderly Plymouth roots kept her from confronting him directly. Instead, her stern eyes focussed tediously to the triangle sign planted beside her desk.
"Idling Indoors Prohibited At All Times"
It wasn't a big deal, nor was the mud he tracked inside. He'd be out of her lane in a second, then they could call a forklift or some other car to mop it up. That's what they paid them for, to clean up after other vehicles.
Tony's nerves kicked in as the building chimed, welcoming another guest into the lobby. He didn't have time to run, and an adjustment of his mirrors revealed an overdone Jaguar coupe. She shot him a reproachful crinkle of her grille once she had seen his mirrors focus on her, and quickly labelled Tony a creep. Swiftly, she found her destination, and headed east down a nearby hallway. Her engine idled low, but the receptionist paid the Jaguar no mind, unlike a plain Silverado. He could smell the hypocrisy all over this place, and with that, disapproval of his existence.
Tony wasn't keen of it, his temper typically kept him blank, but that was the same coupe who was with the old Bentley from the other day. She was probably younger than him, every next-gen, and Rūūnes altogether, yet the makeup on her hood, and mods on her cab made her appear fully fledged, and nubile. Coupes like her had been to every parking lot and garage on the street. No doubt, that puny Bentley was her personal ATM.
Her engine's hums faded upon her exit, and Tony's once high hopes of running into that Bentley again for a second showdown, didn't so much as linger for seconds before he felt unwell. The Silverado found his axles weak, threatening to give away under him as he recalled where his anger had gotten him. It was afternoon, ugly like the tingling nausea in his tank. In the current moment, Tony's tires turned, and he glanced about the room, eyes lingering on meaningless paintings around the hotel.
Angrily, he tapped his tire, impatient only with himself. The receptionist observed his cab perk up in plan, recalling his task. Tony just needed to find Rūūnes— if he could remember her room number. She had given it to him some days ago.
Rolling along the elegant hallway, Tony's thoughts crossed over to Grid.- He hadn't seen the guys since he was terminated. Similarly, he hadn't conversed with them since he wrecked Yarvis. Even if he gave Melise his place at the 500, what would he get from all of it? Praise for listening and leaving? A figurative slap across the hood when she was outnumbered, whilst making job look easy?
Chevy, karma was hell of a pill to swallow.
All doors were locked this time around, and Tony glanced about, once again, precisely lost. He read the fancy, cursive print on each door, unsure, and growing numb. For a moment, the pickup lifted his tire, stepping it back to the ground with a loud thud. His shocks creaked, and his premium hubcap— the same prizes he purchased at the expense of Melise— fell to the floor again. Tony tried to loosen his joints, aggressively shoving the useless cap into a potted rose bush, it was garbage if it didn't do it's job. He cruised the halls, breathing heavily through his grille. Tony's thoughts were a direct explosion of a mess, lost in a sea of precariosity.
When two electric blue plumes tumbled from underneath room 206, the pickup inched his suspension down, curious. It was definitely a feather, it stood out in a deep blue, contrasting in the fancy hotel's off-white aesthetic. It was random at best, and odd. A stray plume caught the change in air, and spun softly into a nearby potted rose bush. Tony stared for seconds, soon snapping out, and glancing to the door. The cool breeze travelling through grooves in his undercarriage didn't faze him, his engine was boiling for the many days, today was no different.
Tony hadn't much less to lose, and knocked the door, the motion rough, skidding tire marks on the cream paint. He stiffened, composing himself with a stable rap of the door a second time, "It's uh, me… you know? Tony?"
It opened with a slow grace, and sweet aromas danced through his grille. The scent was too sugary and the essence was too girly. Her long lashes trailed up till her timid eyes met his. His size always intimidated cars, keeping him at the top of the food chain, and she was no exception. Firmly still on the other side, Melise gave him a half smile, "Good to see you."
There was another familiar blue feather on her hood, and the Honda closed her eyes shaking her hood lightly, letting it tumble off. She reversed in, Tony followed, noting more feathers strewn about. Her suite was messy, white gems and booklet swatches to compare shades of paint. Last time was a similar appearance, but Tony hadn't a clue why. She was probably buying expensive jewels or something with her scammed winnings.
She left the door cracked open, "I'm a little busy, so please don't mind the mess— WATCH OUT!"
Tony slammed on his brakes, lifting a tire to see an enamoured, perfectly glued together set of gems and feathers. It made a piece that reminded him of the tropics. He almost destroyed it. She sighed, relieved.
The pickup parked around the tools. He released his rear hatch, letting the wax wrapping decal fall out onto the tiled floor. The two cars studied the badge for a moment before Tony looked to Melise. The convertible's brown eyes were excited as she focussed on her memories. She really missed this, and Tony could feel the guilt pinging through his circuits again.
"You know, I never thought a job like this would be fulfilling, it's almost stupid how boring I've let my life be," Melise rested her weight on a tire, observing the detailed Piston Cup logo with digital ribbons adorning its sides. The bold print 'STAFF' plastered below the image, some minor wear and tear from previous use.
"Yeah… " the pickup replied, absent voiced. He stared off into space, dreaming about something else. Assessing the badge's size, Melise found that it's dimensions were larger than assumed. It would cover most of her side, including her rear wheel well. She could cut it just at the corner, but was that regulation permitted…
Her train of thought turned to her guest, whom she left in awkward silence. Melise gave him a glance, opening her mouth to speak, only to catch a glimpse of Tony's senile reflection in the suite terrace. She had opened it to help her crafts dry faster, despite the cloudy weather. The stratus clouds were hardly interesting, yet Tony stared right through them.
Melise pondered, inquisitive of him, and concerned, "Are you okay?"
Just then, his eyes widened as tires creaked past the room outside. Shadows only a meter apart told him was just a passing car, their tires. It wasn't an officer, but the possibility of hotel maintenance. The disturbance was nonchalant to anyone, yet Tony nearly lost his traction. Had Melise not been looking him over, he could've played it off, perhaps acted as if he had an insect on his windshield. She saw everything, and the pickup's face became grim as he continued trying to pretend he didn't nearly jump through the ceiling.
"I'm doin' fine," Tony stammered, "Just, get— uh, what am I supposed to do?"
Pausing for a moment, the convertible repeated his choppy sentence in her mind, trying to make sense of the confusion on her own.
"You gave me your badge," Melise replied gently, her eyes sympathetic as she observed him fumbling on his treads to find the same badge in his trunk. She smiled, nibbling her bottom lip, "Which you already gave to me." Her tire thumped the ground in front as the badge lay where he placed it only moments before. Tony's grille crinkled in stupor, he was a mess.
"Tony," Melise called concerned, "Are you alright?"
The Silverado shook his hood, looking about the room, "I dunno…"
Melise bit her bottom lip, observing the pickup's mood. He reversed away from the door, and soon found himself against the far wall with a thud. His brake lights shined on the cream colored paint behind, and he asserted himself, standing tall. Some blue plumes fell from the table beside, and Tony peered at the work she had be up to, a fleeting attempt to change the subject.
"What are these?"
She looked over the mess before answering, "Feathers". Melise headed towards her workstation, her tires crunched over stray plumes, and she made a uncomfortable face at the feeling, "They're for the next show I have to attend."
Tony watched her ruffle the mess, indifferent to see her reveal an adorned crown buried underneath. A repeating sequence of the ornament he nearly crushed earlier. The Honda glimpsed it over, her eyes showed pride and excitement as she admired her work. The Silverado found himself in minimal interest as he glimpsed the object over. Not entirely sure what it meant, but its imagery was still something useless to him. Opal stones fused the tiara to an arched perimeter, allowing each fragile, blue feather to float freely in a peacock formation ascending much like palm leaves. Under sunlight the crown twinkled like fresh royal blue polish.
Sheepishly, Melise placed the crown on her roof. It fitted impeccably. She blinked, looking to Tony for critique, "Ta-da," she said sweetly, exchanging a glance with the indifferent pickup, "What do you think?" She smiled shyly, her confidence bloomed slowly from headlight to headlight.
"Uh… coo— I mean, cool."
Melise had sensed it the entire time, Tony's oil pressure was sky high— in fact, the truck's entire mood was so off, she was almost unsure to make small talk. Nonetheless, the two had a plan, and objective to complete. She shook her cab slightly, letting the tiara slide off her roof, down her rear and to the floor. Tony glimpsed over as she placed it right side up, using her tire to push it out of the way with the other craft equipment.
He trembled as a thunderous breeze blew in and his suspension creaked. Tony kept a keen eye on the exit to the hallway, expecting the door to be teared down by an arch-enemy. He drove towards the terrace, looking over the banister for something, or someone. Inside, her expression held suspicion at bay, and she was eager to begin planning.
Melise had hoped small talk would allow him to admit what the problem was, but she knew Tony was a stubborn one. He kept his eyes peeled on the space below the exit door, keen on someone invading the two. The guys were probably still bullying him, and she was about to drive right into that fight again if sneaking into the 500 worked out. Melise glanced at Tony again, looking his expression over as he returned, reversing into the room. A firm frown, settled on his grille, uncertainty brimmed at its corners.
Melise drove in front of him, firmly concerned, voice almost a whisper, "Is everything okay?" He shrugged away, ignoring her.
"Tony, what is wrong?" Melise emphasized, clearly looking for a telling response this time. If there was one thing she knew about Tony, it was his ego, and it was missing this time.
The Silverado shifted uncomfortably as she invaded his personal space, silently beckoning him to explain himself. Without his space, the navy Silverado grew agitated finding some sort of explanation, "I got kicked out of my goddamn room— that's what happened."
Tony glimpsed at her, anger fuming. He was a big red target, a scapegoat for everyone's shortcomings. If it wasn't Grid's hunger for modern material aesthetics, or Preston's cowardice to follow, it was Yarvis' role to play the victim. The pickup's contempt didn't stop there, he knew Melise got off the hook from being punished— she was a girl after all, they were always innocent no matter how many scams they pulled.
Speaking of which, Tony found his eyes roaming the scene as Melise let the silence stir. She scammed money from the guys right? She was hush-hush about it, as if she needed to keep it on lockdown until she was away from cars that were unimportant, cars that weren't her. Tony gritted his teeth.
"I wanted you to know," Melise slowly spoke, "I'm glad we're able to work together."
He didn't reply, or acknowledge her voice, only watching some more stray feathers strewn about on the floor. Melise sighed quietly, unsure of his mood. She didn't like cruising over potholes.
"Just take the badge," he grumbled, turning tail to the exit.
Melise raised a lid, "You're not going? We're supposed to do this together."
His mirrors adjusted directly on her sight, and her eyes widened, surprised. Melise found her translucent, warped and fearful reflection in Tony's ocular. He was going to say something, perhaps antagonize her, again.
The convertible's deposition rapidly changed. She was fast on her tires when she needed to be.
Tony weary expression turned to anger as the Honda blocked his exit, forcing him to brake. Melise's eyes were sharp as she stood against his size.
"You begged for my help! Don't you remember?" Melise searched the pick-up's hood for reason. Tony's lower lid twitched at her jab. He didn't want to hear this.
She sighed, "Dammit Tony…" her usual, softened eyes returned, "I don't know what the hell happened— I never know what's happening— but you can't just give up."
The Silverado's lip curled incredulously and he inched forward, "You never know what's happening because you're anti-social!"
Melise shook her hood firmly, "Far from it," she looked up in reminisce of past events before meeting his glare again and widening her treads, "If I were anti-social, you would be alone right now, because it's clear the other oil runners don't care!"
Tony shifted, stomping his tire in frustration as he looked away from her. He grumbled through his grille, inhaling heavily. Melise watched the analog wall clock behind her swing slowly to a stop as the vibration ceased.
He looked at her once more, still fuming. His attitude had simmered some, but his frustration was undeterred. She was right…
"Tony," Melise watched his glare shift around the room, "You can try to fix this…"
An aggressive shake of his hood said otherwise, and Melise began to think harder, she always wanted to find other options, even when all were futile. She was the trying type.
"No, you don't even get it."
Melise exchanged a stare with the Silverado before he tried to push past her again, bumping her quarter panel. The convertible struggled, trying to reason with him.
"Just move," Tony protested, "The receptionist saw me in the lobby, she probably called them!"
Melise shoved her tires out in defense, hardly stopping him. The pick-up prepared to knock her out of the way. If she gave him a good enough reason, he wouldn't shy away from ramming her aside either.
"What does that have to DO with anything!?" Melise demanded, her tone raising in confusion.
Tony idled, looming in frustration. He exhaled through his grille once more, reversing and twiddling on his tires. His eyes shifted aimlessly, anywhere but on her. The actions alone were too obvious for Melise to ignore.
"You were fired…" he flinched at the mention of the word, despite her voice resuming it's ambience as she pieced things together, "Did… you… what was the reason?"
No response returned. Tony tapped his tire, likely thinking. A purpose was what he needed, and she wouldn't like the answers.
Melise let her weight fall to her left tire, stiffness followed, "If you don't tell me, I have no way of helping you."
Cracking metal echoed in the Silverado's memory. A mirror or two, then there had been dizziness. Truthfully, Tony took things too far, yet some ruthless part of his mind justified it. He'd lost his friendship with Grid already. His anger betrayed him again. This time, Tony would pay for it.
"The guys wouldn't leave me alone," Tony replied, eyes aimless, "I was just defending myself, Grid got hurt… a bit."
Melise's lips parted some, her face frowned and turned numb. She hardly understood the details, but she knew Tony was a violent truck with a bad temper.
"That's why you were fired?"
He nodded rapidly, still not meeting her eyes.
"What happened!? You're saying everything but telling me nothing—"
Tony looked directly at her, "They called the police! The other guys! Now they're looking for me— I didn't do anything! I got fired for no reason! Now I have to do this!?" He gestured the map in front.
Melise looked astonished and slightly aloof. Tony frowned, "You gotta trust me!"
Anxiety filled the room as Melise found herself worried. Tony looked elsewhere once more as she gathered her thoughts. Why hide if you were innocent?
"Can we just… I don't know, not do this Florida 500 thing anymore?"
Melise found herself feeling empathetic, yet she remained suspicious. More emotions crossed her circuits, including annoyance. Despite her nature to remain neutral, she couldn't let this all go.
She blinked, trying to meet Tony's wandering eyes, "This is a chance to redeem yourself, Tony. This, or turn yourself in."
He glared at her, forced and incredulous, "I'm not turning myself in for something I didn't do."
The fibreglass of Melise's frown softened despite his malace, "Then do this," she held his massive tread in two of her own. An attempt at reassuring him she wasn't an enemy, "Help me, help you."
Tony quickly shoved her away, receiving a very faint yelp from her end as she regained composure.
His shove yielded a common vehicular reflex— her cab shifted back, throwing her gear into reverse involuntarily. Melise was quick on her tires, and halted to a brake before she could crash into the wall. Her worried eyes focussed on the car she was trying to help, and he stared back eyes threatening, challenging her to surprise him again. There was little guilt in Tony's mind as he picked up a defensive role. He had to protect himself, even from her. Regardless, the Silverado had lost enough, and as much as he'd prefer conspiracy with Grid, Melise was all he had now.
Tony turned his wheel out, sitting weight on his shocks, trying to look less startled. His mind began to clear as he realised his recent actions, "J-just... keep back, no touching. So… What's the plan?"
Melise ignored her better judgement for now. A quick left and right test of her front tires didn't shoot any pain to her circuits, and for once she was thriving after a twist of events. She exhaled deeply, and forced her mood to radiate positivity despite her tank's instinct of warnings. The timing was a necessary match with the environment, as golden sunlight shined through parting clouds. The suite's big windows released a deep yellow hue, brightening the world. It definitely helped— her anyway.
The navy Silverado watched her left tire shake until a brochure was released from her wheel well. She pulled it in front of herself where she could unraveled it open. Her tires moved nervously, stiffer than she once was minutes ago. Tony's better judgement claimed he scared her with his behaviour, while his self-preservation painted the convertible as a likely informer— a snitch— if she were confronted by pursuing authorities.
Tony continued to loom over Melise's nervous form. Her eyes never met his, as she flattened the exteneded poster out. It was a map of the Florida International Super Speedway. Tony glimpsed at a legend spanning half the length of the paper, perfectly displaying how large the speedway truly was. He focussed his eyes nervously on the copper badge symbol, indicating Piston Cup security officials patrol areas of concentration. The odds aligned in his favour, as Melise had marked those areas with a bright gel pen as to avoid.
The convertible met Tony's dull eyes, "I have three different entrances marked to get inside," her tire scrolled over three unevenly sketched green boxes, "All of them will have a heavy flow of traffic," her brown eyes looked at Tony sternly, "Including security."
His tank seemed heavier as his eyes wandered blankly between her and the map, "OK… " Tony shrugged, anxiety quite clear.
Melise inhaled before continuing, "Initially, I was going to suggest you give me your badge, and I would do the rest," the Honda's eyes looked away, and she frowned some. Tony shifted his weight, focussing his glance on her. She blinked twice, eyes casted to the ground in and lips slightly parted. He wasn't sure, but she seemed to be thinking.
"If Grid is hurt," the Silverado flinched at the mention of the sedan, "That means the whole team is short two cars…"
Tony felt his tank turn, one bonehead move after another. He was wondering what she meant earlier with the strange and stupid, "Help me, help you" bit— he handed all the work to her after all. Yet he failed to remember one crucial piece of detail. Not only was he out of a job, but the oil runners were also out of two staff members. Not only was Grid suffering from a slow, hemoragging engine, but the oil runners were left without vital operation, and during the largest race of the season.
If the Silverado were alone, he would destroy this suite the very instant. No, he couldn't cause more trouble despite all the retribution aimed at him. He was a victim too, he had lost friends, money and security too. Minnesota was home, but his family was no home. He found a difference here, and screwed it up in under a year. But there was reason… maybe if he could convince his ex-supervisor… or the police… that it was self-defence...
Melise hid her inner turmoil, flattening out creases in the Piston Cup Staff decal, "I know it wasn't the original plan," she locked sight with pickup. Her glance remained neutral, "There's no one else whose as familiar with the Oil Lane as us both. So we're going in together."
He prayed the other guys didn't remember his license plate or his appearance at all. This wasn't going to be easy at all.