Mater passed the entrance to an alley. He heard the commotion and saw some flames.
“You’re doing fine,” Holley told Mater, trying to keep him away. “Just stay focused.”
But Mater headed toward Finn and the enemy cars. He wanted to see what was happening.
“No!” Holley shouted. “Don’t go down that street!”
Mater showed up just in time to see Finn leap forward and attack Professor Z’s cars with his world-class martial arts moves.
“Wow! A karate demonstration!” Mater shouted in delight. He was so excited that he forgot he was on the radio with both Holley and Lightning!
Lightning heard Mater’s exclamation down on the track. “I’ve had enough of this, Mater. Just sign off.”
Mater didn’t even hear Lightning. He wanted to get the karate expert’s autograph. But before he knew it, the guy was gone.
“Where’d he go?” Mater asked, looking around.
Just then Holley said, “Our rendezvous has been jeopardized. Keep the device safe. We’ll be in touch.”
“Dadgum!” Mater said. “Did I miss our date?”
It was like a bad dream for Lightning McQueen. Francesco Bernoulli was on the media stage, gloating about his victory.
“Francesco!” the adoring reporters cried. “What was your strategy today?”
“Francesco’s strategy was very simple,” Francesco said as he smiled for the cameras. “Start the race. Wait for Lightning McQueen to choke. Pass him. Win. Francesco always wins. It’s boring.”
Lightning was on a side stage, doing a slow burn. Then he spotted Mater. The dented tow truck was looking around, confused.
“Oh, hey, Lightning! What happened?” he asked. “Is the race over? You won, right?”
“Mater, why were you yelling those things at me while I was racing?” Lightning sputtered.
Mater shrugged. “Yelling? Oh, you thought I was talkin’ to you? That’s funny right there. No, see that’s ’cause I saw these two fellers doing some kind of karate street performance! It was nutso. One of them even had a flamethrower!”
“A flamethrower!” Lightning exclaimed. “Mater, I don’t understand. Where were you?”
“Going to meet my date,” Mater said, still not understanding what he’d done—until he saw the look on Lightning’s face.
“I lost the race because of you!” Lightning shouted angrily at his friend. “This is exactly why I don’t bring you along to these things!”
Mater was stunned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Maybe if I—I dunno—talked to somebody and explained what happened, it could help.”
“I don’t need your help!” Lightning snapped as the media began to pull him away for interviews. “I don’t want your help!”
Mater was pushed backward as the reporters swarmed Lightning. He hovered for a few minutes while he listened to Lightning talking to them.
“I made a mistake,” Lightning said, “but I can assure you, it won’t happen again in the next race.”
Mater was sure he was the mistake Lightning was talking about. He decided there was only one thing to do. He would go back to Radiator Springs and let Lightning race his own way. He didn’t want to hurt his friend’s chances of winning the next two races.
On Lightning’s pit monitor, the postrace commentary continued.
“To recap,” Brent Mustangburger said, “Lightning McQueen loses in the last lap to Francesco Bernoulli. And three, count ’em, three cars flamed out, leading some to suggest that their fuel, Allinol, might be to blame.”
The cameras switched live to Sir Miles Axlerod. He was trying to defend his new fuel to the media.
“Allinol is safe!” he insisted.
The announcer, Darrell Cartrip, looked doubtful. “Well, the jury may still be out on whether Allinol caused these accidents, but one thing’s for sure: Lightning McQueen blew this race.”
Mater saw the postrace show from a monitor at the Tokyo airport. Sadly, he headed toward the gates, knowing he’d let his best buddy down.
Mater never noticed Grem and Acer following him. A security guard suddenly approached Mater.
“Come with me, please, sir,” the security guard said, escorting Mater around a corner. “But I’m gonna miss my plane!” Mater protested. The security guard dropped his disguise. He was Finn McMissile. “Hey, I know you!” Mater said excitedly. “You’re that fella from the karate demonstration!”
They entered a private lounge. “I never properly introduced myself,” Finn said. “Finn McMissile. British intelligence.”