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Strip looked at him in the eyes, waiting for an answer. His fingers drummed gently on the table, setting the time. It wasn’t a clock counting down how much time he was willing to wait for an answer, because the look the friend was wearing was telling enough of his decision, yet it felt like it. He watched him silently taking a sip of his beer, a long one, stalling for time under his gaze.

“Strip, this is ridiculous.” Chick commented, now having emptied his glass. Still, he looked as awake as ever, when he kept going with a huff. “I can’t, come on. I’m sure you have better people for this.”

“I might have, but time is runnin’ out.” Strip explained, putting his own glass down. “I’m not asking you to become our new permanent spotter, Chick. I-I just need a stand-in for this time. Then I’ll find somebody, I swear.” He clasped his hands in front of his chest, trying to give an encouraging smile, or at least sell his idea better. Their usual spotter had revealed he wouldn’t work for them anymore. Yesterday. The race was approaching and Strip felt less and less secure without someone he would trust to look out for Cal. “Please?”

“Can Dinoco seriously not find anybody else?” The other groaned, putting a hand on his face. “I’m sure you have a queue of people just waiting for a chance!” An almost embarrassed laugh followed, but it lasted no more than a second.

“Yes that’s true, but I don’t know any of ‘em. And I don’t have time to make all those interviews, the race’s in two days. Actually, one now.” Strip said, glancing at the clock indicating that it was slowly becoming midnight. They had met around ten, as usual. The night had been peaceful and the company great, they were spending more and more time catching up with what they had done once they both left the track. There was more to it than just ‘crew chief’ and ‘TV conductor’, they revealed. With the time they had spent together, Strip had felt himself slowly leaning into trusting him again, he hoped that was being conveyed with his words. “And you are really good at noticin’ stuff.”

Chick huffed. Looked up at the ceiling, as if asking help from above. But Strip saw right through that facade. The friend was wearing the shadow of a smile, enjoying their back and forth more than actually giving the straight answer he had already decided.

Eventually he leaned back on the chair, tapping on his glass, expression unreadable, yet a flash of playfulness coated it.

“You won’t accept a ‘no’, now will ya?” He asked. Strip did shrug, trying to get a more nonchalant position. Still, anyone could see his body was tense, and Chick first of all. He wasn’t even truly ashamed of it: he wouldn’t send Cal on the track without a spotter who knew what to do. He was close to getting one, but close did not mean there.

“I’ll have to use my ‘you owe me a favor’ card if necessary.” He confessed, watching the other scoff in small retaliation. “But really, Chick. You know as well as I do how important spotters are. I won’t feel safe lettin’ Cal out there race without one.”

“I know that, it’s surreal how you’re willing to give that much responsibility to me! You know what I did back in those tracks!” He could feel a bit of pent-up regret in his voice. A small drop, among the sea of other tones he had learned to master for his current job.

“I know, but I can see you’ve changed during these years.” Strip coaxed again. He had already won him over, he knew that, but he needed the confirmation to feel at ease. “I can’t think of anybody else better for this right now. Just this once, and I won’t bother you again about it, okay?”

Chick’s eyes rolled. Twice, and he let out a gigantic huff once he leaned back on the table, as one would do after eating an enormous meal. Except he had basically eaten nothing, and all the fries he had ordered were eaten by Strip when he wasn’t looking. His voice turned more akin to a whine, even if his expressions were clearly exaggerated to prove his point.

“I’ll have to stand all the time.”

“Well, yeah.”

“They say it’ll be windy, very windy, you know that?”

“I can bring you a coat.”

“And those headsets hurt after a while.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I won’t even be able to eat anything!”

“Pack a couple of quick snacks?”

Chick craned his head to the side. In his eyes, he contemplated the idea of ordering one more beer, but ultimately decided against it. He was past those times. Instead he brought his gaze back on Strip, again.

“I’ll do it. But just because it’s you.”

The other tried to tone his celebration down to a minimum, but his body and alcohol never truly were on speaking terms, and he was much louder than intended. He was about to grab another beer but Chick stopped the waiter from fulfilling such request. Instead, he asked for another plate of fries, which Strip was sure to get his hands on.

“Thank you, Chick. You won’t regret it.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I will. By the end of the day, my skin will be turned into crepe paper by the wind.” He replied, with the shadow of a smile on his lips, though. “But you can count on me.”

Strip raised his beer, now almost finished, towards him. Even if it was empty, Chick grabbed his own glass and they cheered. There was just one more detail they needed to discuss.

“Just, I’ll have to go away as soon as possible. You know, I do have a job and need to be back in the RSN studio by seven, I still have a program to conduct.”

“Your show, right right. How is that part goin’?”

…

“Number 57 is having problems with his grip. Go on the inside.” Chick said, from his point of view. The blue number 42 got the gist and in less than a second followed the instructions to climb yet another position.

Strip smiled as he observed the newfound friend on the tower. Despite how much he had whined earlier, he looked like he was laser focused, possibly even having fun. His eyes never left the Dinoco vehicle and he was getting very invested in the race. Not to even mention, his recommendations and pieces of advice were on the spot. Nothing on the field evaded his eyes, and he was very quick to find a way to get the kid out of trouble.

“Good one, Cal. Now onward to the others.” Strip said in his own mic, and got a good hum of approval from the other side of the communication. They had also been juggling the mic quite well, which wasn’t usual in newly formed teams. They had yet to speak at the same time or interrupt each other. Chick knew when something was to be said from the crew chief, and yet for the rest, spoke as soon as he witnessed something unusual. He never stuttered in his words.

“Trouble on turn two. The middle is safer.” His voice came concise again. Strip had not even seen it yet, another car losing control and going against the outside barrier, hitting another. But the thing was so quick the yellow flag wasn’t even outside. With such a precise maneuver, Cal overcame that one too and found himself closer and closer to the leaders.

Not bad, not bad at all he thought to himself. Their usual spotter would have been a bit later on communicating such information, and might have made Cal miss the opportunity he could instead get.

“Okay, Cal. You’re in fourth now. Fifty laps to go, let’s win this.” He said again, piping the driver up. Cal gave some more gas, but his tires were almost to the limit. He made a gesture to the crew, telling them to be ready as soon as he needed a pit stop. It would be the last one, and it had to be fast. It could make a difference between winning and losing.

“Be careful about number 9 behind you. He’s trying to bump you.” Chick’s voice came into his headset again and he sent a questioning glare toward the tower, even if the guy surely couldn’t see him. But he could do the other way around, and didn’t miss the frown that was on his face as he was watching the sparkly number 9 trying to round up to Cal.

It was a blink and you’ll miss it situation: the other driver was subtly accelerating and decelerating, trying to get closer to the bumper of the car in front and touching it, before falling back down to miss it once it would spin out.

Strip hadn’t even noticed that. But now that it was pointed to him, it was everything that was on his mind. It became impossible to ignore. Was that other driver… trying to crash Cal?

Normally, that would have made his heart leap out of his chest. And it did beat faster, but it was only a second. In the time he had become the kid’s crew chief, he had learned to control his emotions. Focusing on his job made it easier.

Unfortunately, such tactics weren’t unheard of. Heck, Chick Hicks had used that strategy for many more years, even if the rules had already banned that type of play. But on the field, it was so hard to understand what was on purpose or accidental, and so pilots usually managed to get away with it. Still, it made Strip’s skin crawl.

He shook his head and forced himself back in the game. He had a good spotter. Cal should be safe.

“He’s not letting out…” He heard Chick murmur, then with a louder tone. “Try to get him out of your trail. Distance him.”

“The leaders are too close, I’m stuck!” The kid replied. The leaders were so close together, and Cal basically bumper-to-bumper with them. He couldn’t really shake him off. The situation was making Strip more and more uneasy. His mind raced, trying to find a way to limit the damage.

“Try to keep on the outside.”

“No, stay like this. On turn one, he’ll be out to get you. Brake on that.”

“What?” Strip almost shouted in the mic at Hicks’ proposal. But the man, unlike him, spoke calmly.

“If you brake, he’ll have to do it too. You’ll have more grip, and hopefully make him lose some of his speed. In any case, you’ll be safe and with plenty of laps to catch up to first.” He explained.

That… that made sense, in Strip’s mind. But it still wasn’t calming him down.

“Uncle?” He heard the kid ask through the headset. He had explained to Cal that the spotter was only a stand-in, but that he should be able to do his job correctly. Still, he didn’t blame the kid not actively trusting everything he would say. He wasn’t even sure whether he had realized who was their spotter. He’d explain it later anyhow.

“Let’s try it. Trust your gut.” The kid hummed in response and got ready to approach the first turn after the starting line.

Strip held his breath. Like Chick had said, the car in fifth tried exactly that. It roared forward, trying to hit the bumper in front and take it off his line, and in that moment Cal braked ever so slightly, just enough for his lights to turn red, then gunned it again.

He was away scot-free, still pursuing the leaders, yet the car behind him…

The number 9 wasn’t expecting it. It jerked the wheel towards the outside and hit the barrier with great force, bumping back into the infield and hitting another car more on the inside of the turn. It raised into the air, kept going, hit the green and started spinning.

Twirling and twisting on itself, it left a dark mark on the ground, and a couple of other cars were involved in the crash, but not as badly.

The yellow flag was taken out, but for the moment Strip could only focus on getting his breathing steady, in being thankful that had not happened to Cal, which really might have, and on making sure through the headset that he was alright. When he received a positive response, he felt significantly better.

He kind of wanted to compliment Chick for his gimmick, but looking up at the tower he just saw him, eyes widened, staring down at the smoke coming out of a broken engine. He wanted to ask if anything was wrong, but the headset was for connection with the driver only. And the race had still to be won.

Later on, he wished he did anyway. The last part of the race wasn’t really a disaster, but it was less brilliant than before. If Cal had managed to get five positions in no more than twenty laps, now he was constantly stuck behind third, and at some point the car behind him almost took over.

Chick had become less responsive, left many more ‘dark moments’ than necessary, which were just filled with radio silence. Without his help, Cal managed to pull off one last slingshot, but Strip wasn’t really sure it would be enough.

Cal made it to third. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t very good either but he would cheer any victory he could get. He gave a couple of reassuring words to the kid, a pat on the back, before leaving him to do whatever he had to do prank-wise to McQueen, who had managed to sneak into first place, with Bobby already coming close to their pit, wearing an enormous grin.

But he wanted to do something else, before being swarmed by the press. He needed to meet somebody. So he made his way inside, where the Dinoco pit changing rooms were, only to find the singular member of the crew not celebrating.

Or, well, temporary crew member.

Chick shot the Dinoco hat down on the floor and stormed out of the room before Strip could even reach it. He was wearing an anonymous black jumpsuit, and didn’t even apologize for bumping into him. He didn’t even send him a glare, just brought his bag on his shoulder and kept walking in a straight line towards the exit.

“Hey, Chick.” Strip instead called, only half-struggling to catch up with him. The man let out a growl, as if he was a feral animal, and kept walking. Strip tried to get the situation back under control, but something already made his senses tingle and not in a pleasant way. “Hey, hey man. You did great.” His reply was a dry and unhappy singular laugh.

“Surely.”

“What? No, I’m serious. You got Cal out of many messes today. I think you were awesome.” Strip said, looking at him questioningly.

“If interrupting the crew chief and causing a crash is awesome, rethink your standards.” His voice was venomous. Strip almost saw the angry enemy he had made on the field while they were both racing rather than the friend he had started to reconnect with in the last year. He stopped in his tracks, but Chick simply kept going, his steps fueled by pent-up anger.

“What?” He muttered, before taking long strides to catch back up. “You didn’t cause that crash!”

“Oh, I didn’t?” Chick finally turned to face him. “Look me in the eyes and tell me I didn’t cause that. It was my idea to make your pilot brake. Against your own better judgment. And look what happened!” Strip’s face turned a bit concerned.

“It was his own fault for trying to get Cal! I wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for you!”

“Yet that is everything I have ever done on this tracks!” Chick shouted. The staff hallway they were in was deserted, and his voice turned into an echo. “Crashes! I have never caused anything else!”

“Chick-”

“And don’t try to tell me this isn’t right! You were in a crash I caused! You know how that feels!” Strip’s brow furrowed.

“This one wasn’t your fault!” He coaxed again, but Chick just wasn’t listening to any reasoning. He was stuck in his ideas.

“We’ll see when that pilot will have recovered from the injuries. I’m telling you, he won’t come back!” He shouted back, as he began walking again. He stopped just before the door that led outside, hand grappling the handle. “This was a mistake, Strip. I’m not a spotter, and definitely not a good one. Find someone who’ll do a decent job.”

The door crashed behind him, leaving no room for any more words. Strip figured he should just let Chick boil down his anger, before trying to approach him again.

Not like he could stop him now, he figured glancing at the clock. He needed to get to the studio fast.

“By the way, who was the spotter? He did a pretty good job.” Cal asked, clearing the table. He put all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, giving plenty of time for Strip to answer, but turned around when the man had yet to.

“He shined in the beginnin’, then dimmed. But he was good, wasn’t he, King? Who was it?” Tex asked as well, looking away from the TV screen showing the latest news. He was seated at their own table and had insisted to celebrate the victory with them.

In clear Tex fashion, he had brought some real great pastries (spending too much money on them) but now Strip felt everything coming right back up to him and blocking his throat. Especially thinking about the last exchange with their so called ‘spotter’. That uneasy feeling had yet to leave him, yet he couldn’t quite pinpoint what had upset him so much.

“Uh, he…” His head finally reconnected with reality and he instead raised a brow. “Wait, none of you recognized him?”

Tex and Cal both shared a confused glare, before shrugging.

“Should I?” The younger wondered. Strip brought a hand to his head. How could they not notice him, he wasn’t even wearing a disguise. At least, it didn’t seem like it.

“Look, I’ll just show you, then you tell me if you’ve never heard his voice.” He commented, with half a smile. He could have simply told them, but the clock said it was almost half past eight, and his program would be about to end by now. Maybe seeing him would finally quite down that weird feeling.

Something still didn’t fit right with him as he grabbed the remote to change channel on the RSN. As the TV tuned into the input channel, his skin began crawling again. Instead of turning his worries down, what he saw spiked them up.

Only Natalie Certain was on the news, talking about the last race and trying to give her own personal take on what had happened, staggering a bit with her words.

Giving a personal opinion on that channel was Hicks’ job. The thing was called ‘Chick’s Picks with Chick Hicks’ for a reason.

He hoped he would see Chick come out any second now, albeit she kept talking and talking. About the last race, about the driver who had tried to crash Cal, already dismissed from the hospital with only a sprain or something.

Even when the camera panned to the rest of the studio, giving one last goodbye to the audience, it only showed her. Alone.

The uneasy feeling moved right into his heart.

“Uh… no offense, Strip, but it was a male voice?” Tex tried to say, not missing the concerned face Strip had been wearing. “Are you alright?”

“I… I really thought he would be there. He left early for it.” He simply replied, mind now racing again to find a conclusion.

If he wasn’t on the news, where he rightfully should have been, then… where was he? He didn’t look too happy, yes, but where could he have gone?

“WAIT.” Cal thrilled, but the expression he was wearing wasn’t thrilling at all. “You’re kiddin’.” He kept going, completely missing his uncle’s face and instead putting the last glasses away. “It was Chick Hicks?!” Strip replied with the most monotone voice, all of his mind put into trying to understand where the man could have disappeared to.

“Yeah, I…”

“Hicks? Really?” Tex exclaimed, leaning on the table, now looking more cross, but still worried for his friend. He… looked like he wasn’t expecting that answer at all. Strip had to focus on the people closer to him first, he figured. He owed them at least a bit of an explanation.

“Y… Yes, yes it was Hicks.” He really should have kept going, maybe let Cal in on the fact that they had become more akin to friends than simple acquaintances, but he couldn’t do anything besides grabbing his phone. He scrolled over a photo Lynda had sent from her girl night, which steeled his nerves just as much as he needed to keep going, and instead went straight over all of his conversation until he found the chat with Hicks, almost frantically pressing on the icon to see the last time he was online.

Just before five o’clock. Even earlier than the show he should have conducted, but that he had not. And if something happened?

“I really couldn’t tell. He sounded less… angry, and egocentric than on TV. I ain’t kiddin’, he sounded like an actual person and not a- oh.” Cal stopped his rambling as he saw Tex tap on Strip’s shoulder, trying to get him out of his mind space.
“Everything okay?” The tycoon asked, getting ready his own phone, just in case. Strip shook his head.

“No. No I don’t think so.” He replied, getting up from the chair. “He was supposed to be in this.” He pointed to the screen, where the program credits quickly rolled to make place for advertisement. “He’s not. And I don’t think he would miss it so easily. He wasn’t in the greatest mindset when we part ways. Actually, I think he felt guilty for that guy’s crash. I tried to reason with him, but little did you know he wouldn’t take any of my words. He was just mad, tellin’ me I know how that felt because I was in a crash caused by him.”

Tex looked up at him, a calm beacon inside the room that was growing tenser by the second. Strip paced around the chamber closer to the kitchen, getting his coat ready, Cal closely behind. If only he had followed his instincts, if only he had thought about this earlier, maybe none of this would have happened.

“What are you goin’ to do now?” The elder asked. Strip stopped a second in his tracks. He wanted to explain he was going to get out there and look for him, because that was his gut was telling him to do, but the question managed to make him brake and get his thoughts in order.

First, maybe it was all just a fluke. A false alarm. Him overthinking things.

Tex came closer and gracefully put Strip’s phone on the call screen.

“Maybe we should try to call him first, how about it?” Strip felt grounded. He breathed in and out, and tapped the warmly lit display.

The phone rang and rang, but no response was ever given. The feeling came back, stronger than ever.

“Let’s be smart about it.” Cal said, coming up to the both of them with a glint of maturity in his eyes. “There’s three of us, each of us has a car. We can go to different places. Like, I can go ask RSN if they know anything. Another can go to his house? Do we know his address?”

Both Tex and Strip exchanged a surprised look, but then the younger of the two shook his head.

“No, I don’t know where he lives.” He admitted. Tex put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t worry. I can call the organizers, or Htb, they’re sure to know it. I’ll give RSN a call just to know if they know anythin’.” The guy left him with an encouraging wink, before quickly dialing a couple of numbers on his phone.

Strip sat down on the couch. He felt like he was idling, while he could be doing things. His mind raced, just as it had before, but this time more calmly analyzing the facts.

Chick wasn’t picking up. He wasn’t at RSN either probably, in any case he wasn’t in his show. Maybe he had left earlier? But still, that gut feeling wouldn’t leave him ever since the after-race. And in all his years of life, he had learned it really was what he should trust the most.

The voice of a secretary emerged from Tex’s phone. He simply presented himself, asking if he could speak with Chick Hicks, if he was still there.

“Oh! Uh, Hicks? Uhm…” The voice of the secretary swayed, and for a couple of seconds it was silence as she shuffled through papers. “I’m sorry Mr. Dinoco, but Chick Hicks isn’t here. He didn’t even come to work today.”

Strip shot his gaze towards the phone. Luckily, Tex had all the social skills to handle the situation.

“Alright then, may I speak with Ms. Certain?”

“Ah, sure. I’ll dial her right now, please wait.” Her voice faded to music and soon enough, the one that had just disappeared from the screen was heard trough the phone’s speakers, sounding beat up.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Certain. I’m Tex Dinoco.” Strip could literally feel the way the woman stiffened at the mere mention of the name. It was the basic effect on everyone, except for the few that knew Tex for who he really was. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Chick Hicks? I haven’t seen him today.” Despite the clear tension, the voice of the woman didn’t waver in the slightest.

“Actually, if possible, I would like to know why he was filling in as a spotter for you, Mr. Dinoco.” Her words were fast as the one of a bullet, yet Tex didn’t even flinch. Cal widened his eyes at the query. That was certainly one way to begin a conversation.

“He was asked to, and he accepted, nothin’ more.” He replied without missing a beat, sending a reassuring look to Strip. “Could you tell us where he is now?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir.” She continued, masking a huff. “I received a text from him wishing me good luck with conducting the program by myself tonight, and I haven’t heard from him since. I tried to contact him, but he told HR he’s sick and won’t pick up.”

“So he might be at home, then.” Strip commented, but it was loud enough for it to be heard through the speaker, because he was proven wrong within seconds.

“I’m afraid not. Another colleague went to visit him, but the house was completely empty. He didn’t open the door no matter how many times he knocked or rang. He tried to call him too but no response, so I doubt he’s in there.”

“May then we ask his address, Miss?” Tex said, touching the subject as lightly as possible. “We are quite worried ourselves and would like to check.”

“According to the rules, I cannot share any personal information about colleagues, sir.” She replied as if she was a computer. She sounded almost like a robot, or a registered tape in her delivery. “However.” She kept going, her voice this time becoming more feeble and almost a whisper. “I will on one condition.”

They felt a movement of automated doors barely more audible than the voice itself. She was probably heading out on that very moment.

“What is it?” Tex questioned, sharing a glance with the other people in the room.

“Should you know anything about him, I mean the littlest of clues, I want to be informed immediately.” She explained, voice still soft, yet now more human than ever before. “I am worried. From the messages he sent me, I am sure something was wrong. I am too exhausted from today to go look for him myself, so I want to know any information that might be in your possession. I’ll be doing my part, I will call him continuously until he picks up, but I can’t do much else. I’m sure you’ll understand, Mr. Dinoco and Mr. Weathers.”

Strip flinched, but should have figured it out. That woman was incredibly logical, she was bound to find out Tex wasn’t calling alone, sooner or later, and especially after he had talked. He approached the phone.

“You have my word, Miss. I’ll tell you anythin’ worthy of note the moment I find it.” He replied. A breath of relief was heard through the speaker.

“Alright. I’ll give you his address then.”

Tex was already getting help from Cal to set up his navigator to the place, but Strip wasn’t quite convinced. He didn’t believe Chick had gone back home, even if time had passed. The feeling in his gut had yet to leave its place and was forming more and more knots inside his stomach. He stopped again on the couch, trying to think.

Where could Chick have gone, if he wasn’t home? Better yet, what would he do if he was Chick Hicks right now?

He tried to get information from his last conversation with him.

The crash, the conversation had eventually fallen on the crash. And the guy had talked about the pilot not coming back to racing. It felt more like speculation to him, especially since Natalie had just finished giving information about him being alive and well and already ready to race next week, but he forced himself to try to see the situation in his shoes.

His mind went back to one of their last conversations in the pub. They had talked about the crash in that occasion too. He had revealed to him that he used to get drunk on the nights when nightmares about the wreck plagued him. He had become good at recognizing those nights, and they soon turned sleepless and filled with beer.

His eyes shot open, as he quickly put his shoes on, under Cal and Tex’s questioning gazes.

“Uncle, where are you goin’?” He asked, seeing him bounce from one side of the house to the other.

“I have an idea of where he might be.” He opened the door almost too quickly. Tex turned to him with a raised brow.

“Do you want us to come with you?”

“No. Still get to his apartment, or whatever that is. I just want confirmation that he isn’t back until I reach the place. Actually, send me the address too, just for good measure.” He explained, patting down his pockets barely making sure he had his wallet with him.

“Wait! You didn’t answer my question, where are you goin’?!” Cal shouted, leaning on the door. Strip cast a glance behind him, choosing the fastest car he could think of. He had quite a road to drive, but hopefully he could shave off some time with it. He moved towards it with the laser-focused gaze of the King of the track.

“To a pub called the Oil Grid.”

Chick just… drowned in it. The glass in front of him seemed always empty, yet his mind more and more clouded, he had lost count of how many times he had raised his finger to get one more glass. Honestly, he was starting to like it again. He had spent a good amount of time away from beers and such, coming back to it was almost surreal. But not unfamiliar.

Although, the same could be said about what he had witnessed on the track that very day. Or was it the day just passed already? It didn’t really matter.

The car spinning out from the top of the field was a different sight from the spectacle inside one of the vehicles. Seeing it in a rear view mirror, while speeding ahead and leaving all the mess behind, was so much different than actually being able to witness it from the top. The car had crashed, badly, and by the time it had stopped spinning it got caught up in something and flipped.

He remembered how his pulse had stopped. The way his blood became completely still and as cold as the one of a corpse inside of him. He had reported crashes on the news all the time, but witnessing it, seeing it happen in first person, in real time, because of his own actions, had filled his chest with old guilt as heavy as a car.

It reminded him too much of the King’s crash during his very last race. He had ignored it on the track in that occasion as well, too keen on just getting that Piston Cup, and had only seen it afterwards, on the news, for weeks. After seeing it on the display, detached by the TV screen, he knew what to expect.

Seeing yet another thing like that directly in front of his eyes had struck him right in the heart with a painful handful of needles.

He didn’t mean to. For the love of God, he didn’t mean to!

Those were the first words his mind tried to tell his body. That he hadn’t done that on purpose. Yet another part of him had actually wondered if he had not planned that from the beginning, whether he had ever pulled off something like that in his days and just copied it. Maybe, even against the King, and now he had put his nephew in a dangerous position.

Was it jealousy, creeping back into his brain? Was it hatred toward the new Dinoco racer that had usurped his spot? He felt… weird, again not being able to put a finger on anything, yet feeling the blame slowly but surely falling on his shoulders like molten metal ready to stick him into the statue of a tyrant.

Had the guy even managed to come out from his car? Hell if he knew. Everything his clouded mind could focus on was the fact that, yup, he had caused yet another crash where a racer could have lost his life, maybe did. And this time, he had probably managed to force the blame on somebody else too who had no fault, the actual driver. What a great spotter.

And all because Strip had asked him. All because Strip had told him he would do great in that position, all because he had given him so much responsibility in the blink of an eye, yet now his reasoning seemed to be blinded.

The King gave that role to him. The guy who crashed him.

Strip should have seen it coming.

He barely needed to catch the gaze of a waiter, just to see another lazy nod in the evening and a filled glass of beer in front of him. He was still thinking too much. He should get more clouded, until his brain was mushed into an internal mess of thoughts and he’d finally be able to ignore them. Maybe focus on the chattering of the people in the bar.

He gulped some more of the beer down. His mind kept circling around like the car waiting to wreck, and swirled inside the bar like it had once it was in the green. Why couldn’t his mind crash yet? Just completely disappear drowned beneath the bubbles and leaving him to unrestful, yet hopefully dreamless and nightmare-less, sleep.

Maybe he should get back to his house and simply crash on the couch, but he’d rather have a sleepless night by this point. Strip’s last wreck was sure to haunt him during his sleep if his convoluted thoughts suggested him anything, and he didn’t really want to know what else his brain had in mind for him regarding the fresh incident, even if he could already feel his gut inside out just thinking about it.

At least he didn’t really have someone waiting for him at home, or anywhere else really. Natalie was sure to do a great job at RSN tonight despite the short notice. Actually, her program should have ended a bit ago.

He lazily got out his phone and was greeted by two things that made him frown: first, seeing that it was actually later, much later, than he believed it to be, and second, a million missed calls from work partners: Natalie first of all, a bunch of other names he had registered with the suffix ‘RSN’ and… Strip Weathers, of all people. A couple of calls were from him, before more from Natalie.

He’d have to apologize to him, maybe because of how he stormed off. That was a problem for a future self, however. Because now the nightmares of his crash were sure to welcome him first thing once his eyes inevitably shut.

He erased all the calls with the tap of a button. They would give up eventually, figure he’d gone home, and well, he would – at some point. Right now, the beer in front of him and the promise of nightmarish thoughts flying away like the bubbles inside of it was plenty more inviting.

He got another sip.

The glass was empty. And taken away from him a second later.

He looked up, getting ready to spit words through the foam that was nestled in his mustache, only to find a figure he was almost too familiar with sitting in front of him, brow just a little furrowed.

“I think you’ve had enough for one night.” He said, sitting in front of him. Chick’s empty face turned into the best mock of a frown he could manage. Strip Weathers looked at him, an embarrassed smile on his lips. “Hello, Chick.”

“Get the fuck out.” He replied, tongue made even quicker yet still slurry by his lack of brakes. He tried to get the attention of another waiter, but just as one was walking in his direction, Strip drove them off. And it made him even madder.

“Listen here, youse not my fucking wife.” He stuttered through the words, but he hoped it didn’t stop from getting that message across. “Leave.”

“Won’t do.” The other replied, getting a bit more comfortable. Out of anything that could happen to him, probably witnessing the man that populated his soon-to-be nightmares in the flesh was one of the worst. Unless he wasn’t sleeping already, and this was just the beginning of what he’d experience.

“If I came here to have company, I wouldave called sombody.” He staggered, elbow on the table. A bit of silence passed, and he hoped he was still sober enough to get out and walk to another table, but he kind of doubted it with how much the world was spinning.

He tried to appear tough, maybe impossible to break, as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He didn’t expect it when Strip talked again.

“Are you okay?” Chick’s eyes almost shot open, as he wiped his mustache, trying to do anything but look at him.

“What does it look like?” He instead replied. He just wished asking him questions would make him go away, that he would leave him to his woes.

“Not… not great.” Strip replied, his fake smile from earlier turning concerned. The conversation turned into silence again. Chick really needed another beer, but the glass was on the other side of the table now. Maybe if he leaned forward he might just…

“It wasn’t your fault.” He barely heard it. While he was leaning on the table, grabby hand trying to make a run for the glass, kind of surely out of his reach unfortunately, he looked up at Strip.

“What?”

“The crash.” He repeated, shifting his own hand over his arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

It kind of struck him right in the heart. It left him staggering even more for words, confused and frazzled, wondering how he could have guessed what was troubling him. He fought with himself to remain calm.

“I ain’t thinking about that.” He replied in a way that he thought was nimble, but if Strip’s gaze was to go of off anything, it really didn’t work. He retrieved his hand. “Okay. Maybe I was. But I ain’t now. ‘Cuz I’m getting drunk.” His face turned into a satisfied smile as his flawless plan unfolded. He could see Strip do the thing where he pinched the bridge of his nose whenever Cal partook in a stupid prank, or was the unfortunate victim of one. He figured he must have received a text from the kid, no way that look was sent to him.

He leaned forward finally snatching the beer glass again, tried to gulp it down but it was all for nothing as the thing was still empty. He turned all around on himself with the excuse of finding another waiter, but mostly to avoid the gaze Strip was sending his way. Almost chilling.

When he turned around he spied a waiter getting away from his table, having just talked to Strip. His gaze staggered to the person leaving, but only her back was turned to him.

“Ya want… a beer too?” He agitated the empty glass still in his hands, and Strip simply put it back down on the table, to the side, before explaining.

“No, I got some food. You need it.” Chick’s face turned into even more of a frown.

“Party pooper.” He commented, leaning away from the table now. “So, whu’re you here?”

“I’m here to know why you’re here.” Strip replied after a sigh.

“To get drunk, ‘bviously.”

“And why is that?” Chick lingered for a second. Then he wore an intelligent smile.

“Not because of the crash.”

“Then why?”

And he stopped at that. He hadn’t thought that much ahead. The finger he had pointed to Strip fell down on the table, tapping an uneven rhythm on it.

Strip leaned even more forward, elbows on the table, trying to meet him halfway. A plate of freshly fried french fries was put between them. He munched on one, seemingly choosing his next words.

“Chick, I’m here because I was worried. Nobody knew where you were for the last so hours. And I find you here now still getting drinks. Everyone at RSN was worried too.” He said, trying to coax him to open up. Chick’s mind went back to the multitude of calls he had simply ignored, looking almost surprised. Then his brow furrowed once again as he pushed even more away from the table, this time sending the plate of fries towards Strip. Anger bubbled inside of him, like the beer in his… hey, his glass was still empty!

… What were they talking about? Ah, right, people worrying. About him.

“They shouldn’t.” Strip shoved the fries in his direction again, inviting him to have a taste while they were still hot.

“It doesn’t work that way. Those are people you work with daily. Some of them are your friends.”

“Surely they aren’t after what I’ve done.” He tried to spit, but water just wasn’t coming to his mouth. Strip looked set on digging deeper. He wore the same look he used to have during races, and as usual Chick couldn’t do anything other than lose.

It kind of made him mad, yet still reminded him of his position. Never first, always behind him. Even the time he had won, he had done so paying an enormous price. A price he was still paying, in the form of people still never sparing him a glance. In the form of people who could have been friends ignoring him.

And as much as he hated it it was rightful retribution for what he had done. For everything he had ever done on that track, never thinking about the others, only about himself.

“I can’t speak for them, but I am your friend. And I was-”

“You my friend? Now that’s rich!” Chick finally leaned forward, only to weakly slam a fist on the table. Almost all of his energy went into that motion, and he slowly felt any other brake he had, and energy, slowly leaving. “After what I’ve done. To you. To that new guy now. It doesn’t make any sense!” He shouted.

He saw a flash in the other’s eyes. His thoughts inevitably went back to the crash, and his must have too. He didn’t mean to intimidate him, but if it worked to get his point across so be it. “I hurt you for life! I hurt so many more people and you asked me to be your spotter. The one for safety. I don’t understand. This is ridiculous!” His voice almost turned into a squeak as he felt tears prick in his eyes, his fist begin to shake uncontrollably just like the rest of his body. The lack of brakes caused by alcohol was now working against him. “And now you’re here telling me this isn’t my fault. I. Don’t. Understand. Why did I even agree to do this in the first place!” A hand went to his head. But it was to hide the tears he felt almost getting to the point of no return.

He barely missed the sound of a chair moving, and shuffling closer to his side. Then a hand went on his shoulder, and soon enough Strip was sitting there close to him, grounding him back to reality. He spoke softly.

“It’s so easy I’m surprised how you missed it in the first place. It’s because, despite what you might think of yourself, you are a good friend. Don’t you stay regularly overtime to help your co-conductor double check all her data?” Chick’s response was wet with tears.

“Yeah, but…”

“Didn’t you agree to help me, despite clearly not wantin’ to stay in the wind and sun for hours?” He cooed again. Chick’s tremble slowly turned into more controlled sobs, as he finally let the tears begin to stream down. Strip’s voice got even softer.

“Didn’t you do everythin’ you could, to make sure Cal wouldn’t get hurt during the race?”

“L… Look how that ended up.” Chick wanted to retort something more, but Strip’s voice was quicker.

“It wasn’t your fault. The guy jerked the wheel. He wasn’t expecting it.”

“S...Still. Now he’s probably in a hospital room and-”

“Actually, he got released today.” Chick’s eyes fluttered up, until they met his friend’s.

“Really?” He whispered. Strip nodded.

“Exactly. Didn’t even have anything broken, just somethin’ sprained. He’ll be ready for next week, and I think he won’t try somethin’ like that ever again. Seems like you taught him a lesson.” He finished with a small wink.

Chick didn’t have any more words to say. He simply didn’t know how to reply, so he didn’t say anything. He merely stood there, releasing his emotions through warm tears and eventually grasping Strip’s arm for stability.

He didn’t need any more beers after that one.

He paid the tab with his card, didn’t even look at the bill to get worried in the morning (or at this point later that day, when he would actually wake up for good). He approached his car just outside, but Strip adamantly stood right in front of the driver seat of the Green Buick, shaking his head.

“No, sir, I don’t think you’ll be drivin’ like that.” He explained, coaxing him instead towards another blue car, one of the very few in the now empty parking lot. Chick felt his arms fall as he followed the other ex-racer’s gaze.

“The number 43? Don’t you have like a bajillion other cars?” He asked, but was forced with a bit of pulling from Strip to move towards it.

“I do. But I fixed it, might as well show it off. And I needed to get here as quickly as possible.” Was his reply, as the car was unlocked and Chick eyed the passenger seat. He took a deep breath, the cold of the outside giving his mind a bit of clarity.

“I’ll have to get my car out of here eventually, you know that?”

“I’m sure you can get it towed to your house.” Strip affirmed, opening his door and gesturing for him to get in. “Welcome aboard.”

Years ago, he would have paid to get inside of that car. Too see how it worked, to admire the details, and despite his mind still wanting to do that, the laziness of the car ride eventually won over his exhausted body. He fell in deep slumber in the next ten or so minutes and didn’t even remember waking up to get on the steps of his porch, let alone thanking Strip and waving him goodbye once the keys finally entered the lock.

When he woke up, his head was heavy and everything still felt in slow motion. He had fallen asleep in his clothes, some of those even still smelled like beer he could only now notice, and he was left to deal with the aftermath.

Luckily, he had always had an iron stomach, and didn’t really feel anything wrong despite how much he had drunk that night. For the sake of it, he decided to avoid looking at the enormous transaction that must have been on his bank account, instead opting for some nicer and warmer tea to wake up. He’d rather avoid coffee for a while.

Only then did he actually dare to glance at his phone. He had erased all those missed calls but they were still registered on it. Natalie had called him a grand total of sixteen times in the span of four hours, once every fifteen minutes, just skipping the time of the show. Also a couple of other colleagues had tried to reach him once or twice. Strip had made an attempt a couple of times, before probably going off to look for him himself.

The amount of missed calls was second only to the amount of texts he had yet to read. Many from Natalie, who sounded almost worried in all of them up until ten or something, others from that many other people, a worried one from Strip, from his boss, from his screenwriter… good lord, next time he’ll just tell them where he would be going. It was kind of surreal how nobody had called the police yet.

Or maybe they had but even the police had failed to find him. It made his skin crawl.

He spent a good chunk of his breakfast, still having to take out of the cupboard anything to eat, replying to a bunch of those messages. He still kept the actual info vague enough in order not to terrorize anyone knowing what he had done but also letting them know he had been alright and wasn’t in any kind of dangerous situation.

He closed the message with an apology for making them worry and a thanks for doing so. It still felt wrong in his guts, but he let it slide for this time.

Before he could even wonder whether to have actually eat something or wait for lunch, his phone buzzed. This time he at least noticed it, yet still considered not picking up. He groaned, before tapping the green button and actually putting the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Well, good morning sleeping beauty.” The voice was calm and kind, if not obviously sarcastic. Somehow, it relieved his spirits. The analytical tone was never more welcome.

“Hi, Nat.” He replied, with a huff.

“Slept well?” She asked again, now less teasing.

“Actually yes, yes I did.”

“Considering you slept at least eight hours, which is an ever high ever since I started working with you, I’d at least hoped so. Since I had no news of you, at all.” She was a bit more stern now, showing off just a thin veil of the… anger? Disappointment? Maybe worry? She was feeling. He sighed.

“Sorry about that. I… I wasn’t myself.”

“Figured that much boss, telling me to conduct ‘Chick’s Picks with Chick Hicks’ without Chick Hicks. With two hours of notice. I think that’s borderline on the contract.” Natalie was more on the passive-aggressive side now, and he definitely felt the jab straight to his chest this time. He decided to simply ditch breakfast, and wait half an hour or less to have some lunch.

“Sorry about that too.” He almost forced the apology out. But since he had been working so closely with Natalie for so much time, it was easier. “Although I’m sure you did great without my smug grin around.”

She was the one to huff on the other side of the phone, then. Almost sounding beat up.

“We had half our usual audience. 48,71 % less, in fact. Many of them left in the first half an hour when they realized you weren’t going to join.” She affirmed, voice a bit turned down. Chick bit the inside of his lip in something akin to regret.

“Yeah, I…”

“I guess the program was too dull with just me, heh.” She tried to lift her own spirits, but it really didn’t work. She didn’t do great with emotions, or involving the audience. That was his job. Also no guests were scheduled for that night, which made her job just harder.

“…That falls on my shoulders as well, doesn’t it.” He murmured, almost to himself. What came out next sounded like the most heartfelt apology of them all, this time he truly meant it. “I’m truly sorry about that, Nat. Just… things happened and…” He turned his voice even lower. “I really didn’t want to come yesterday. Still, all of that work ended up on you with no warning. I’m sorry about that.”

She seemed to accept that apology with a hum, and her voice piped up again.

“But something interesting happened yesterday night.”

“Really? What was it?” Chick asked, with more of a smile. Finally, something that might not be connected to that night.

“Someone important called. Guess who it was.” Natalie was not one for playing games, but he humored her, there had to be a first time for everything after all.

“Nat, it’s impossible to know unless you at least give me a hint.”

“Oh, considering who you were with yesterday, I’d say you have a pretty good change of guessing it. Around 34%. Also, that’s your clue.”

Chick huffed a bit. He didn’t wake up with the idea of a guessing game, but he would play along with it, for a while at least. He focused his brain on the clue he was given. ‘Who you were with yesterday’… his brow frowned the moment he realized it would all still lead back to the previous night’s escapade.

“Was it Strip Weathers?”

“Close. He was with him, but no.” He pondered on that. Who could have been with the King?

“Then… Cal Weathers?”

“Wrong again. But you are close.” He leaned on the bed, giving up.

“I… I really don’t know, Nat.”

“The CEO of Dinoco himself.”

This time, Chick almost sprang straight up on his feet, eyes widened.

“Tex Dinoco? THE Tex Dinoco?”

“Yes.” She explained, her voice turning a bit lower. She was showing more emotion, even if it was still a bit hard deciphering it. “Asking me where you were.”

The tone was not venomous, but it did lean more on the unfriendly side, even if not completely against him. Still retribution, he figured.

“Ah, Nat…”

“Do you know how I felt in that moment, knowing you had been missing and ignoring all our calls for nearly six hours? After six hours, people could very well be dead. Anything could have happened, and you just didn’t tell anyone.” The tone was stern, metallic, yet hid what Chick could read after so much time spent with her.

Fear.

He forcibly swallowed a lump in his throat. He was deserving all of that, and he knew it. He just hadn’t considered the consequences of disappearing like that. He brought a hand to his front, keeping his head up.

“I’m… I’m really sorry, Nat. I… I really don’t know what else to add, I have no excuses. Sorry, again. Next time…” There shouldn’t be a next time, he thought to himself, biting his tongue. “I’ll… I’ll try and talk it through first, I guess? Maybe… maybe with you, if I’d be okay.” He was using his hands to form a fist now, crushing it so hard his knuckles were turning white.

No words came from the phone, making him believe she had maybe just hag up on him and it was all for nothing. Then a low sniffle made its way through the speakers, before she muted her own microphone.

It… it surprised him. Strip did say others were worried about him. Nat had a very cynical way of worrying. She looked like a woman of steel the first time she had come on set, and even after all those years she still appeared like that at times. Never had he heard her…

“I’ll… alright, let me get there and lunch’s on me, how about that?” He hoped it would be enough. There were a few seconds of silence on the other side of the conversation, and he patiently waited to hear Natalie get back to her own self. To calm herself down. He didn’t push her, simply awaited. Until, eventually, the microphone was unmuted.

“You’d better take me to a nice place, then.” There the normal tone was. He took a small breath of relief and a real smile was planted on his face.

“How about the little restaurant down the road? If I get going now I might be there for lunch.”

“Now? But you’re not that far.”

“Ah, I don’t have my car with me. I was- uh.” He thought of a way to juggle his words around, still trying to keep it vague. Maybe he’d tell her once they were face to face. Maybe. “Not exactly fit to drive yesterday night. The car’s still there.” The voice of the woman reached as analytical as always:

“I guess the fifty-something miles to the Oil Grid are a bit far. I’ll just come and get you.” He nodded.

“Thanks, N- Wait.” He stopped, now with a furrowed brow and his heart leaping in his chest. “How do you know about that place?”

“Oh, I didn’t give Weathers your address in exchange for nothing.” Was the almost monotone reply, hiding a clean smirk on her lips while he quietly muttered ‘you exchanged my-’“I wanted to know when he found you, and where.”

Oh. Of course she thought about that. She was a smart gal. The smartest, probably.

“Oh.” He could only bring himself to say.

“Oh, that’s right. So I know when to look for you next time.” The engine roaring of her car was loud enough to get through the speaker, yet her voice piped up more. “Get ready, I’ll be there in ten. Bye!”

He wanted to pry, but he really couldn’t since the conversation was cut completely. He eyed his clothing and completely ditched the track suit he was still wearing, for something more casual yet nice enough to wear outside.

He thought about the implications of her knowing where he was, hoping to maybe save something, but it was too late to hide anything, he realized. She definitely had made her own research. After all, it was one of the most known pubs. And what would someone do for three-plus hours alone in a pub?

Once he was done, stalling for time, he remembered he still had someone to thank.

Strip. To him he sent a simple message. The smallest of thanks, for everything that had happened that night. He would have a hard time telling it in person, but writing made things easier.

The guy’s reply was quick on his screen, telling him that he was glad everything was good, remembered him to get his car towed to his place, and a last, more ominous message:

Also, please make sure to check your mailbox whenever you have time.

It made him flinch. Every other message was more friendly and causal, but that had a stiffness to it he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It wasn’t like Strip’s other messages.

Why? What did you put in my mailbox?

He wrote down almost frantically. The answer was just as vague.

I didn’t put anything. Just do it whenever.

He replied a simple ‘okay?’ after pondering on it a bit.

But he really couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay and went outside to check it, barely noticing Natalie’s shiny maroon car turning into his street. He rarely got a letter, so it was weird to see indeed a white rectangular shape inside of the mostly unused box.

It looked quite formal. In front, there was his name and address, behind was another address, the one it should be returned to, but it didn’t really speak anything to him. In front, there was an object, which looked hand-written, but was just as vague as Strip’s message before.

Just what had the man done this time?

He opened it right as Natalie put into park close to him.

Dear Mr. Hicks,

Our attention has been brought to you by your latest appearance on the Dinoco 500 track as a temporary spotter for Team Dinoco.

We have been very happy with your performance and would offer the place to you full time.

Your name has also been reported by both the pilot and crew chief, as well as the sponsor’s spokesperson.

If you are interested in such an offer, please reply to this e-mail and we will share all the further details.

Kind regards,

Team Dinoco.

…

Blue really wasn’t his color. He hated blue, but he really couldn’t avoid it this time. Blue track pants, blue track suit, the white number 42 written all over his shoulders and on the back the very last writing he’d ever think he’d wear.

‘Dinoco’.

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, the one in the changing room. He huffed. Oh, how awfully it stood with him. With the color of his eyes, with his mustache… just his whole body and blue really didn’t go hand in hand.

“You ready?” Strip’s voice reached him from outside of the bathroom. He entered soon after, just to adjust his collar in a way that was presentable. He eyed the friend on the reflection of another mirror, with an encouraging: “You look good in blue.”

“Please, I look so much better in green.” He replied, with a huff. He took out his phone to glance at the time: they still had plenty, so he switched to the weather forecast. Not a cloud in the sky, and so many degrees. He was sure to get a sunburn, despite already having covered all of his body, face and ears included – twice, in the strongest sun cream he could find.

“Ah, almost forgot!” Strip said, piping up and exiting the bathroom for a second. Chick followed him, only to be greeted by a hat sent his way. He grabbed it with both hands. Of course, that one was blue as well, but probably thin enough to fit under the headset he’d have to wear for the whole race. He put it on his head without really thinking about it. “And before you ask, no it was not my idea, it was Cal’s. And Tex obliged.”

The other put on his head a similar cap, with the number ‘43’ written on it. Initially, Chick didn’t even mind it, and his brain took a second to catch up to the fact that it wasn’t the driver’s number. He staggered in his steps, just before exiting the makeshift changing rooms of the trailer.

“Wait.” He muttered, taking the cap away. He turned it around, only to discover yet another number on it.

86.

Double Strip’s number. His old racing number, sown on the cap in a shade of green that surprisingly didn’t clash too bad with the Dinoco baby blue of the rest of his attire. He hummed, grabbing his basic needs for the day (a backpack filled to the brim with bottles and bottles of water, hoping to keep them fresh).

“Not too bad.” He replied, opening the doors and immersing into the sea of people that was the infield of the track before a race. Everyone was buzzing around, getting their last chores finished, checking the cars, the monitors, the mics, everything that could be controlled.

“Are you already getting some information for your show tonight?” Strip bantered, walking down to the booth.

“I’ll see.” Chick shrugged. “Certainly I won’t tell it to you. You’ll have to watch it to know what I thought about the race.”

“Won’t you get overworking, with how much time you have to spend around here now?” He questioned, taking two headsets from a shelf.

“I work part time on both sides. Natalie has half the program now, and I have the other half. She has to learn to do things on her own at some point.” Chick replied, getting the headset offered to him.

The commentators were already warming the audience up, and at some point he saw himself and Strip on the big screen, probably framed by some cameras he failed to see. The other seemed to notice it too, because he gave Chick a big pat on the back, one so strong it almost made him flinch.

“Be glad I can’t do that to you!” He retorted, as he grabbed his headset but left the booth to go to the tower that would become his prison for the rest or so hours.

“Why?” Strip asked, almost confused. Chick wore the most borderline smile on his lips.

“Because you’d stagger and fall, old man!” He could feel the legend making a noise of fake indignation, but he was quick to make his leave because unlike his nephew, Strip could make a couple of great comebacks.

He climbed up on the tower and finally eyed the Dinoco pit from above. The stadium began to cheer as the drivers were called one by one. As Cal was called too, Chick and Strip both felt a smile coming up to their lips. They were so synchronized they also spoke at the same time.

“Let’s win this.”