"Alright, bucko, listen up," Said Chick Hicks, pointing to a poster of Lightning Mcqueen, "This here is yer target,"
The other car, an orange mustang named Stinger, nodded, "Hm. I'll remember that mug. Looks like he's stoned,"
Chick snorted "Ha! Probably is. Ol' Hudson must've knocked some joints in his tank just to shut 'im up!"
The two snickered at that.
"Right then," said Stinger, "What's the plan?"
"Well. If he's gotten the letter by now, I'd expect the kid's to arrive here within the next couple days. I really don't care when it happens, since I'm here on vacation anyways…."
"You pick a bad place to have a vacation," Stinger grinned, as if that was some sort of joke, "but go on…."
"…When Mcqueen shows up, that's when we'll set up the race. The kid's addicted to speed. He'll be eager to do it."
"But, you're racing the target. Are you not?" Stinger asked,
"Shut up!" Chick barked, "That's just a formality! I'm the bait, y'see…The worm in the water…"
Stinger smiled, "You sure you want to do this in the city streets? It'll be in broad moonlight,"
"Yeah. But this is a city notorious for crime. During the night, anyone who could stop us will be asleep, or busy with other crimes."
"Are you sure of that garuntee?"
Chick's eyes bulged in sudden anger.
"Stop asking questions before I lose my temper," he slammed a tire on the ground, "I'm trying to explain the plan!"
"…Well, I can go ahead and neutralize any cameras ahead of time,"
"Just listen to me!" Chick snapped,
"Ok," Stinger smiled creepily, and grew silent.
The green car took a breath, trying to cool his heated engine.
"Alright. So the race'll start, and we'll go around the course as planned earlier,"
Chick turned to a chart of the track, which was a simple loop encompassing the outer banks of the city. He didn't put much thought into the track design, which meant it was a literal square. He pointed a tire up at a part of the chart that was marked with a red circle.
"That bit there's an underground tunnel. When we race through the tunnel, that's where you come in."
Stinger frowned, "Hold on. Let me get this straight…"
Chick opened his mouth to protest the interruption, but let the silence carry.
Stinger shook his head, or whatever counted as the car equivalent of such, "You want me to fire a sniper rifle point blank at a machine going at least 200 miles per hour….from within a dimly lit tunnel…
….Do you honestly expect me to MAKE THE SHOT?!"
Chick blinked, "Uh Yeah….I mean, hello? You could spot that bright red paint a mile away. He's practically a moving target just asking to be shot... Isn't that your job?"
Stinger grit his teeth, "Yes, but not with cars this fast!"
Hicks growled, "Ok, genius! You do the math then! What's your bright idea?"
"I say we take him into an alleyway. Slow, deserted, concealed. No exits. You guide him to the impact sight. And when he's close and in range…..POW!"
The orange mustang spread his tires apart, mimicking an explosion.
Chick pondered the idea, "Yeah… I like it….but Mcqueen came on the promise of a RACE….this is just too on the nose for me,"
Stinger humphed, "Well, fine. I'll do your plan then. Since you're paying me anyway. But I hope you realize just how hard it'll be to get this right,"
Chick grinned, "It'll be lighting in a bottle. But I'm willing to take the risk. After all, who would suspect a thing?"
"Lightning in a bottle? More like, in a grave,"
"….You must not be fun at parties,"
"I usually crash them," Stinger smiled, "It's one of my specialities,"
Chick winced slightly. the mustachioed racer wondered if perhaps he was going too far with this plan.
But then again, Mcqueen was exceptionally annoying and popular. A thorn in Chick's tires that wouldn't go away. Things would be much better if only the idiot just… disappeared somewhere and never came back.
If the plan was a success, the payout would be well worth the risk.
