Chapter Text
“You drive blocker don’t you?” Rusty’s voice came out of his throat before he could even realize what he was saying. “Only reason you’d need a W8 in a convoy.” He couldn’t believe he had just said that – of course they ran blocker! But it’s not like the stranger would admit that!
“You figured that out on your own eh?” they stood, and it finally dawned on Rusty exactly how tall this stranger was. He had a moment of panic as they mumbled something to a member of their convoy – though he’d try to hide it as they walked over to the counter and looked down at the young prospect. “You like cars then? A fan of them?”
Rusty laughed nervously “Well sure- I mean who wouldn’t be- y’know since they’re so ingrained in the area and-” Greaseball decided to put him out of his misery.
“He’s a fan of yours truly” she lied with a smug grin, “racing fan. Which is to say I don’t think you’ll be finding a new groupie in him.”
“That’s not entirely tru-” Rusty tried to point out the yellow clad racer’s half-lie but he was cut off by the tall stranger.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” It was said with all the faux apology that one would expect. “I don’t have time for a second rate driver like yourself – I’m interested in the kid here.”
“Second rate!? Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m the best driver this county has ever seen!” Greaseball shot back.
“Until today” the stranger turned from the stranger back to Rusty. “So what’s your story kid? What’s got you here?”
Rusty paused for a moment – Momma had taught him not to spill his guts to just any old stranger – but this was a stranger with a Vector W8 and a convoy and an interest… in him? “Well – I’m a big racing fan, more of a prospective driver really. I’m planning to get a ride running and show the world what I’ve got. I’ve followed the sport closely. The art of driving as a whole if I’m honest-” Rusty grabbed a glove from his belt and began ringing it in his hands; a nervous habit from back home. “Point is I’m here to show the world what I’ve got, to prove I’m the best.” The stranger put up a hand.
“An admirable goal but the best is already here and you’re looking at them kid. The name’s Electra, and you best remember it.” Rusty’s entire thought process shattered – his hands freezing in the midst of ringing this glove. Why had he even started assuming this stranger would give him a shot? A convoy of four drivers that seemed more like employees? This Electra character somehow reeked of ego worse than Greaseball.
“I’d like to see you prove that on the track” Greaseball piped up from beside the two. It seemed she had taken issue with this bold claim. “Or are you too busy for that?”
Electra’s shades slid down their nose “I think I have enough time to make you eat my dust.” They pushed the glasses back up.
“Boss, we don’t have time for this!” One of the convoy members piped up from the table across the diner.
“You said we were ahead of schedule, we have a few days to burn – might as well burn some rubber while we’re at it” Electra smirked.
“You’re on,” Greaseball retorted.
Rusty’s vision swam as he tried to bounce back and forth between the two’s argument. Momma put a hand on his shoulder “Don’t get yourself in too deep son, these two are the prideful type.” He tried to listen to her, he really really did but without knowing what he was doing he had already started rising to his feet.
“The both of you lot won’t stand a chance against my driving.” Electra and Greaseball’s back and forth paused looking at Rusty. “All that fancy hardware and I’ll still be able to take you on” He gestured out the diner window at the obnoxiously colored hot rods. That’s what they were – obnoxious. Tributes to the ego of these two drivers. The ego of these two professionals. These two… experts. What was he doing? He didn’t even have a car! Every part of Rusty’s mind SCREAMED at him that he couldn’t do this – but his pride said he absolutely could.
“Oh please, ease off big shot,” Electra glowered. “I was willing to humor you for knowing what a blocker is but this is a bit much. I won’t be sharing the track with some rookie driver.”
Greaseball seized the opportunity “scared some nobody like him will blow your doors off? It’s one thing to lose to an all time pro like me, another to lose to some kid.”
Electra let out an audible growl “What and you want to share a track with whatever liability of a rust bucket he’ll cobble together?”
Rusty couldn’t believe what he was hearing – the heel turn these two had taken as soon as their egos had been lightly bruised. Now he knew he had to win. A voice piped up from behind the counter.
“Well what would you prove if you didn’t let him race?” It was Pearl. Rusty had completely forgotten about Pearl. He didn’t know what it was about this waitress that enamored him but there was something about her he couldn’t describe. Something that made his chest feel tight and his stomach fill with butterflies. “If he’s such a nobody than you should have no problem beating him.”
Electra’s demeanor turned “Fine! Then let’s have a race! 3 Days from today.” Greaseball snickered at the demeanor change. “You got a problem oil stain?”
Greaseball snapped back “just thinking about beating you in that race.”
Rusty pulled his hat down “Don’t count your eggs before they’ve hatched!” Greaseball slammed cash onto the counter and took her leave. Electra wasn’t far behind.
“Wrench! Parking lot! There’s work to be done!” They exited with one of the convoy members. Rusty looked back to Pearl.
“That was… BRILLIANT!! Oh Starlight, I can’t believe I did that!” He laughed, returning to ringing his worn out work glove. “And you talked them into it! Oh thank you so much!!” he fished in his pockets for some crumpled bills “a tip, for doing that for me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you!”
Pearl took the bills awkwardly “Oh! Uh… thanks. It really was nothing – I just thought they weren’t being very fair.”
“Well it was EVERYTHING to me!” He grinned widely. “I better get to work if I want to have a car ready in three days. I’ll see you around, thank you again.” He pulled his goggles down over his eyes with newfound determination and charged out to the tow truck – launching himself into the driver's seat. Momma paid for the two’s orders.
“Well now he’s all fired up. I should get after you for getting my boy into trouble but I ain’t seen a fire in his eyes like this in – well ever really. I like you Sug, as always Dinah knows how to pick ‘em.” And with that she stood, heading out to the truck.
As Momma climbed in, Rusty fired up the engine and put it in gear. “Say Momma, what were you saying in there while you were paying?”
“Oh nothing important” she reassured “just my usual goodbyes and well wishes. Now let’s get back to the yard – you’ve got work to do.”
“You got it Momma!” Rusty was surprised by Momma’s hearty support, and a little suspicious of her response. But he couldn’t dwell for too long, after all she was right: he had work to do and not enough time to do it. The gas pedal went down and the worn tires on the family tow truck spun on the pavement, leaving a trail of smoke behind as it rocketed towards the junkyard – the place where Rusty would find his all star ride.