Cannonball Run 2003

Chapter Two:The Guests are Here, Let the Party Begin

AN:If you remember the original version of this story, you'll probably notice that I changed things up a bit here.

A few days before the race, the Cannonballers made their way to Connecticut.

J.J. and Victor drove in a Ford E-250 made up as an ambulance. The company was listed as "Transcon Medivac". The two were dressed as paramedics.

"The equipment is set up." said Victor as he climbed into the front passenger seat. "I think it looks convincing enough."

"Good." said J.J. "Let's hope this doctor I called is up for the journey."

"How do you know him?" asked Victor.

"He knew my dad." said J.J. solemnly. "He was the one we called in when Dad was on his deathbed."

"Oh, I didn't know that." said Victor.

"I'd like to think this is my way of bringing Dad on the journey he never got to take." said J.J.

"I'd like to meet this guy." said Victor.

Their ambulance continued down the road. Elsewhere, Blake's Porsche, Jackie's Subaru, the Drake's BMW, Mad Dog's GMC, and Terry's Chevelle also drove to the starting line.

Terry's Chevelle raced past a speedtrap and the police cruiser gave chase.

Terry looked in his rearview at his pursuer. "Uh, what's the speed limit through here?" he asked. "I thought it was fifty-five."

"I think it dropped to forty back there." said Mel.

"Ah crap." said Terry.

"You gonna pull over?" asked Mel.

"With out of state license plates and an illegal road race going on in the area?" asked Terry.

"Good point. Floor it." said Mel.


Blake and Fenderbaum pulled into the parking lot of the hotel.

"I thought I told you I wasn't so sure about this." groaned Blake.

"It's just an outfit." said Fenderbaum. "It's part of our strategy. Relax."

Blake parked and got out of the car. He was dressed as a Catholic priest. "I'm going to Hell for this. I know it." he moaned.

Blake walked up to the desk set up by the race organizers and said "Good afternoon, my son." to the official behind the desk. "I wish to enter your little race."

"Sure, father." said the official. "Just sign here." he added as he gave Blake an entry form. Blake did his duty and signed it.

"Smile!" said a woman as she pointed a camera at her son. Blake was in the background of her shot.

"I know it is quite a news story for a man of the cloth to take part in a race like this," said Blake "but could you please keep the media coverage to a minimum?"


Just down the road, Batman was rapping as Mad Dog drove. "And I slap on my jet pack/ and give it a whack/ behind the wheel/ of a big Cadillac."

"Man, that's nice." said Mad Dog. "You should record that."

"Yeah, I could make a blooper tape." joked Batman.

"You know, I was wondering." said Mad Dog. "Where'd you get a name like Batman?"

"I blame my parents." said Batman. "Family name is Bruce and they named me Wayne. Wayne Bruce. Bruce Wayne backwards."

Mad Dog laughed.

"So, I chose Batman 'cause it was less embarrassing."

Mad Dog laughed some more.

"So, where did you get a name like Mad Dog?" asked Batman.

"How well do you know me?" asked Mad Dog.

The two laughed as sirens cut the silence. Mad Dog prepared to pull over before Terry's Chevelle raced by him with the Connecticut State Trooper right behind him.

"They'll never catch him." announced Mad Dog.


"He's still on our ass!" yelled Mel. "I don't think he's above it neither."

"Just relax, alright." said Terry. "We're almost at the hotel."

"Hey, and I remember." said Mel. "There's a spot right out back where we can hide and lose this guy easily."

"Okay, how do I find it?" asked Terry.

"Okay, turn left into the hotel." said Mel. "Then go until...ah, hell. Just turn left."

Terry hung a left and entered the parking lot. Unfortunately, his hood wasn't secured and flipped open, covering the windshield. Terry ended up navigating blindly.

"I can't see shit! Can you?!" yelled Mel.

"No problem! No problem!" said Terry as he steered onto what he thought was an access road. He didn't realize it was actually a path leading to a swimming pool.

That is, until he drove into the pool.

As the Chevelle sank to the bottom, the police car drove around the parking lot and searched in vain for the muscle car. Terry and Mel swam to the surface and laughed.

"That was..." said Mel before lapsing back into laughter. "That was perfect. That was even better than the place I had picked out."

"Yeah." laughed Terry. "But the only problem now is...we have to go and retune it."


Not far away, a meeting of a very different kind was taking place. This meeting was held by an environmentalist group. Behind the announcer's podium, a picture window separated the meeting from Jill and Marcie fine-tuning their Toyota.

While the key note speaker was discussing recycling efforts in the area, a man turned to the young woman next to him.

"You know, this is a terrific turnout for this meeting." he told her. "There must be ecologists from all over New England here."

"I know." said the woman. "I come from Vermont myself. My name's Pamela by the way."

"Mr. Foyt." he replied. "So, what brings you here?"

"I'm mostly into trees." said Pamela. "That's what brings me to these meetings."

"Really?" asked Mr. Foyt.

"Oh, yes." said Pamela. "I like sitting under them on a summer's day. You can feel the cool breeze and just relax in the shade."

The speaker then said "I would like to introduce our guest speaker for this day, Mr. Arthur J. Foyt."

Mr. Foyt stood up as the crowd applauded and made his way to the podium. Outside, Jill and Marcie continued their work.

"You know, the only problem with doing it yourself" said Marcie "is doing it yourself."

"Are we almost done?" asked Jill.

"Just about." said Marcie. "We made a great start before we left L.A. That's how we took on that CHiPpie. Now, we can take on the world."

"Great, you ready to tune the ECU?" asked Jill.

"All set." said Marcie. She climbed into the passenger seat and opened her laptop. She connected it to the ECU and started to work. "That's weird." she said. "I seem to be getting some kind of interferance."

Inside, Mr. Foyt made his speech. "We in Washington have received your messages." he said as his microphone whined with feedback. "We do not agree with your requests to ban the use of colored toilet paper due to irritation of the rectum." Once again, a shrill blast of feedback greeted him and amplified the word "rectum".

"What is wrong with this thing?" asked Marcie as she still tried to calibrate the ECU.

"Keep trying." said Jill. "Maybe it's a glitch or something."

In the conference room, the environmentalist group held their ears as feedback filled the room.

"And now, I'd like to turn the subject to an old and familiar enemy of ours: the automobile." said Foyt as he pulled the cover off a picture of a Lamborghini. "It reminds me of a poem that I once wrote. The automobile, the automobile..."

One person ran up, reached into the podium, and fiddled around. A couple of seconds later, the feedback stopped.

"Thank you very much." said Foyt. "You may now proceed to the buffet."

"Okay, that did it." said Marcie. "The ECU is fully calibrated. The performance tuning is done. I think maybe we should add a few cosmetic touches. Ground effects, racing seats, rims, interior."

"I still think we should paint it black." said Jill.

"If we do that, we should probably add nitrous." said Marcie.


J.J. entered the parking lot next and found a spot to park. Next to his chosen spot was a silver Qvale Mangusta with a man and woman standing near it. The man was wearing a blue polo shirt with tan slacks and his brown hair was nicely styled. The woman wore a red blouse with black slacks and her black hair was also nicely styled. The car itself had Florida plates.

"Well, look who's here." said J.J.

He pulled into the spot and cut the engine. He climbed out, approached the man, and said "Hey, aren't you a little young to be from Florida?"

The man looked up at him surprised. "J.J. McClure?" he asked with a New Zealand accent.

"How are you doing, Danny?" asked J.J.

"Doing fine." said Danny as he joined J.J. in a handshake. "What's with the ambulance?"

"Some guy came down with a kidney infection." said J.J.

"How's that?" asked Danny.

"Just kidding." said J.J. "It's a disguise."

"Oh, that's pretty clever." said Danny's companion. She also had a New Zealand accent.

"Nice to see you too, Melanie." said Victor.

"So, who else is here?" asked J.J. as Mad Dog pulled into a spot in his pickup.

"I'm pretty sure everybody came back from last year." said Danny. "You should've seen when Terry Fletcher showed up. Mad Dog just got here."

J.J. looked over his shoulder. "I think I'll go say 'Hi.'" he said.


Inside, Mr. Foyt walked into the lobby with Pamela following him.

"Where are you going, Mister...uh..." asked Pamela.

"Foyt." he reminded.

"Thank you, I'm terrible with names." she said.

"I've got some time before the conference reconvenes." he said. "I thought I'd take some time to rest my voice."

"Do you think they'll get the sound system fixed by then?" asked Pamela.

"I would hope so." said Foyt as sat down on the couch. "Until then, I'll be right here." With that, he laid down on the couch.

Mad Dog and Batman walked into the lobby and walked over to the desk. Mad Dog rung the desk bell.

The desk clerk walked over and asked "May I help you?"

"You the one running this fleabag? asked Mad Dog.

"Excuse me?" asked the desk clerk.

"Where the hookers?" asked Mad Dog.

"What?" asked the desk clerk.

"Hookers, man!" yelled Mad Dog. "Where the hookers?"

J.J. and Victor walked in. "Hey, Mad Dog!" yelled J.J.

"Hey, J.J." said Mad Dog.

"So, what seems to be the problem here?" asked J.J.

"The guy won't give me my hookers." said Mad Dog.

"Who do you think you are? The president?" asked J.J.

"Well, in order to make one thing perfectly clear," said Mad Dog in his best George Bush Sr. voice while making a rectagle with his fingers "we feel terrible about it. Now, if they can't take a joke..." He finished his speech with an Italian Fist of Fury.

J.J. laughed and walked up to the desk clerk. "Two singles, please." he said. "J.J. McClure and Victor Prinsi."

"Your rooms are 212 and 213." said the desk clerk. "Here are your keys."

"Thank you." said J.J. "We'll be in the bar."

J.J. and Victor walked into the bar. "Hey, Chucky!" yelled Victor.

A tall, thin man with short, black hair turned to him. "Victor!" he said. The short, blonde woman standing next to him joined him.

"What's up, Chuck?" asked J.J. "How are you doing, Betty?"

"Okay now." said the blonde woman. "So, when did you guys manage to go to medical school?"

"I have a feeling we'll be getting that a lot this year." said J.J.

"Did you bring the Stealth this year?" asked Victor.

"No, the Mustang." said Chuck. "Stealth's alternator is cooked."

"We decided to get it fixed with our lottery winnings." said Betty. "But then we remembered. We don't have any."

"Well, you know the slogan of the New York Lotto." said Victor. "Hey, you never know."


Jackie drove towards the entrance to the hotel in the Subaru.

"You know, I'm not surprised that Marie caught the next flight back to Sweden." said Michael.

"Have you finished programming that sat nav yet?" asked Jackie.

"Just about." said Michael. "It's not as easy as it looks."

"Just keep in mind we're driving three thousand miles." said Jackie as he pulled into the parking lot. "If we get lost somewhere out there, that could be seriously bad."

"Don't think I don't know that." said Michael as another car pulled out in front of them. "There are several places where...LOOK OUT!"

Jackie swerved to avoid the collision. Unfortunately, he ended up steering for the entrance to the lobby. He crashed through the doors and plowed into the couch. Worse yet, Mr. Foyt was still resting on it and was knocked out.

Blake and Fenderbaum saw the whole thing. "What in the Hell was that?" asked Fenderbaum.

"Oh, that must've been the entry of the National Safety Counsel." said Blake.

Jackie climbed out of the car and said "Nobody worry! I'm okay!"

The desk clerk looked at Mr. Foyt and said "Oh God." He then ran for the bar.

In the bar, J.J. and Victor sat with Chuck and Betty.

"So, what's new from the office?" asked J.J.

"Got me." said Chuck. "But let me tell you how things are in the mail room. We just..."

The desk clerk ran in and yelled "I'm so glad you're here! We've just had a terrible accident!"

J.J. and Victor looked to each other and got up.

The desk clerk led them into the lobby and pointed to the unconcious Mr. Foyt. "He seems unconcious! I think he might be dead!"

"Then, maybe you should call the coroner." said Victor as he looked over the man. "J.J, he don't look too good."

"I'd like to help you, but this is our day off." said J.J.

"Well, can't you do something?" demanded the desk clerk. "This man's life is hanging by a thread!"

"Okay, I'll see what I can do." said J.J.

He walked over and looked over Mr. Foyt, picked up his leg, dropped it, then walked back to the desk clerk.

"I think he's just had his bell rung. Victor!" he said as he snapped his fingers and pointed to a seltzer bottle on a nearby cart. Victor picked up the bottle and tossed it to J.J.

"Now, you're going to have to be very scientific about this." said J.J. "If my aim's off, it could go up the nostrils, plug up the sinuses."

J.J. adjusted his aim with Victor's help and let loose a blast of seltzer into Mr. Foyt's face. The unconcious man squirmed back to conciousness. Just then, J.J. lowered the bottle and gave Foyt another blast in the crotch.

J.J. was greeted with applause from the crowd and set the bottle down on a nearby table. "Okay, he should be fine." he told the desk clerk. "Just give him a couple of enemas and call me in the morning. I'm going back to the bar. I always like a couple of drinks right after surgery."


The Drake was next to show up. He raced into the parking lot and screeched to a halt at the curb. He and Susan climbed out calmly while Ron jumped out of the back seat, ran to the rear of the car, and leaned behind it.

"I wonder why that guy parked his car in the lobby." said Susan.

"Only in America." said the Drake as he took out a check and handed it to her. "Go to the check-in desk and get twelve suites." Susan started for the entrance when the Drake stopped her. "Better yet, get the entire floor."

She walked back to the entrance and the Drake followed her. Along the way, he passed Ron who was throwing up behind the BMW. "Ah, too many cheeseburgers." said the Drake.


The following night, the Cannonballers threw a party to celebrate the race starting the night after the party. Mr. Foyt and Pamela attended without really knowing what was going on.

"I heard about what happened yesterday." said Pamela. "Are you alright?"

"No lasting effects." he told her. "Although I sure as H would like to get my hands on the Hell's Angels who were driving that car."

"There's a party going on here." said Pamela. "Maybe we should attend."

"Well, if you think..." Foyt said before noticing Jackie and Michael. "Oh no. It's them."

"Who?" asked Pamela.

"Those Hell's Angels." said Foyt.

"They could be part of a terrorist group." said Pamela.

"There's something going on here." said Foyt. "Something suspicious. I'm going to check it out." He then left Pamela at a table while he looked around for someone to look into.

He then noticed Blake and Fenderbaum sitting at their own table. He walked up behind their seat, pulled out his keys, and dropped them. He then dropped to the floor and listened in on their conversation.

"I did a little asking around." said Fenderbaum. "We've got this race all sewn up. Over there, that's Seymour Drake Jr. He's a street racer in Chicago and a noted playboy. And from what I've heard, he's got more money than common sense, brains, and driving ability combined."

"Just the way I like it." said Blake.

"See that guy?" asked Fenderbaum as he pointed out Jackie. "That's the guy who drove his car into the lobby."

"He's no problem." said Blake.

"That's Dennis 'Mad Dog' Menesini over there." said Fenderbaum as he pointed out Mad Dog. "He can be rather crazy sometimes."

"Crazy enough to get himself killed?" asked Blake.

"Yep." said Fenderbaum as he looked toward Jill and Marcie. "Then we have those two street racer girls. They came all the way from L.A. to take part in the Cannonball and they spent a lot of money on their car to get some kind of advantage. They could be trouble."

"They're girls, I can take 'em." said Blake. "What about the others?"

"None of them are up to the Cannonball." said Fenderbaum. "You know, I think I'm gonna call Ricky and add another ten thousand."

Just then, the waitress brought them their drinks. Blake scooped the stack of fruit out of his drink, said "I don't want any fruit in my drink." and dropped it behind his seat. It landed in Foyt's ear.

Mr. Foyt cleaned the fruit out of his ear and tried to help himself up. Just after he put his hand on the floor, a passerby stepped on it.


"I can't believe you still haven't found a patient for the ambulance yet." said J.J.

"I tried a local acting school." said Victor. "Most of the students there wanted some adequate compensation."

"Well, we gotta find a..." said J.J. "What kind of compensation?" he asked.

"The kind that has portraits of presidents on them." said Victor. "I had to tell them we were doing something illegal and they wanted insurance for in case they get arrested."

"Wimps." said J.J.

"I tried a few more places." said Victor. "Unfortunately, that was my best bet."

"Would've been mine too." said J.J.

"Hey, maybe one of them can be our patient." said Victor as he pointed to Jill and Marcie.

"Maybe both of them." said J.J. as he looked himself.

"Really?" asked Victor.

"Sure. I could be very patient with those patients." said J.J. "Very licka...very lackable." J.J. and Victor then got up to talk to the girls.


"Terrorists, my dimpled ass!" scoffed Mr. Foyt as he returned to Pamela. "These people make terrorists look like the Sisters of Charity. These guys are Cannonballers!"

"What is that? A bowling team?" asked Pamela.

"It's a group of people who engage in races across the country on public roads." said Foyt. "This is done without regard for public safety or the environmental impact."

"They sound dangerous." said Pamela.

"They are." said Foyt. "You know what? I'm going to do something about this. I'm going to call someone and arrange a task force to stop these guys once and for all."

He got up and left.


"Tomorrow, the paint will be dry and we can make our finishing touches." said Marcie as J.J. and Victor approached.

"Hey, look at this." said Jill.

"Hello, ladies." said J.J. "I'm J.J. McClure and this is Victor Prinsi."

"So, what seems to be the medical emergency?" asked Jill.

J.J. smirked at Jill's comment. "No, you see, we're Cannonballers." he said.

"Oh, and you're disguised as paramedics to fool the police." said Marcie. "That's brilliant."

"Thank you." said Victor.

"Now, as you may know," said J.J. "we are the favorites to win the race tomorrow and we were wondering if maybe one of you or both of you would like the honor of riding in the winning vehicle."

"Oh, that's sweet." said Jill. "But we're Cannonballers ourselves."

"They're Cannonballers?" asked Victor.

"And as for the winning vehicle, we'll see about that." said Marcie. "After all, you haven't seen this one behind the wheel of a sport compact."

"You must be those street racers from L.A. we've been hearing about." said J.J. "So, how did you find out about the race?"

"Last year, we got buzzed by Danny and the Drake on their way to the finish." said Jill. "So, we followed them there and got into a conversation with Mr. Mitchell. We then met Terry and let him tag along to a race on Mulholland Drive. After he kicked some ricer's ass, he invited us to the Cannonball."

Victor looked around the room. "Where IS Terry?" he asked.


Terry's Chevelle had been rescued from the pool and was now sitting in the parking lot. The engine had been disassembled and was now mostly reassembled.

"Can we really get this thing back in running order in time for the race?" asked Mel from the driver's seat.

"We've got about twenty-four hours." said Terry as he leaned over the engine bay. "They say you should let an engine dry out over a couple of weeks before trying to get it running, but we don't have that kind of time."

"I think the real question is 'do we have that kind of luck?'" said Mel.

"Didn't fail us last year." said Terry.

Behind the Chevelle, Mr. Foyt entered the hotel room and picked up the phone. He then dialled a number and held up the receiver to his ear. "Hello? It's Foyt. I've got a hot one for you."


J.J. walked away from the Jill and Marcie. He saw Pamela sitting alone. He decided to give her some attention.

"Hi." he said.

"Hi." she said right back.

"Don't tell me your name. Let me guess." said J.J. "Elizabeth?"

"No." said Pamela.

"Millicent?" asked J.J.

"No." said Pamela.

"Beverly?" asked J.J.

"No." said Pamela.

"How about if I just call you 'Beauty'?" asked J.J.

"Okay." said Pamela. "Have a seat."

J.J. sat with her at the table. "So, how's your evening going?" asked J.J.

"Okay so far." said Pamela. "Are you one of those Volleyballers?"

"Cannonballers." corrected J.J. "And no."

"So, what are you doing here?" asked Pamela.

"Oh, me and my partner just ride around in an ambulance looking for accidents, see if we can help." said J.J. "I really think we're put on this planet to help people, not hurt people."

"That's noble." said Pamela. "I think it would be a better world if more people helped other people."

"That is so true." said J.J.

"I'm into trees." said Pamela.

"Really?" asked J.J.

"Have you ever heard of Joyce Kilmer?" asked Pamela.

"Oh yeah, she wrote that poem about a tree." said J.J.

"Uh, he." said Pamela.

"Hmmm?" said J.J.

"He." repeated Pamela.

"He's a she?" asked J.J.

"She's a he." said Pamela.

"Well then, HE wrote that poem about a tree." said J.J.

"I like how you can sit under them on a summer's day," said Pamela "feel the cool breeze, relax in the shade..."

"J.J!" yelled Victor as he ran up to them. "J.J, we've got a problem!"

"Not now!" snapped J.J.

"It's about the doc!" said Victor.

"It'll keep!" yelled J.J.

"Oh, it's about the doc?" said Pamela as she got up and left.

"Come on, I need to tell you!" said Victor.

"I want to talk to her!" said J.J. as he motioned to the empty seat where Pamela had been sitting.

"Who?" asked Victor.

J.J. looked and saw that Pamela had left.

"Now, do you want to hear about the doc?" asked Victor.

"No!" snapped J.J.

"It'll keep." said Victor.


Mr. Foyt was in his room talking on the phone at this time. "This is the big one!" he remarked. "This is like our Three Mile Island and Exxon Valdez rolled into one. Uh huh. We're going to crack this baby wide open and then get some real money heading our way."

Outside, Terry cranked his wrench one last time. "Okay, that should do it." he said. "Turn the key. Let's see if it worked."

Mel tried to turn the key. The starting motor whined in protest.

"Hold on." said Terry. "I think I know what's wrong."

"Tomorrow, I'm going to get some license plate numbers of the participants." said Foyt. "Those numbers will be given to police forces in key locations. They will not be escaping."

Terry finished wrenching again. "Try it again." he said.

Mel turned the key again. This time, the engine roared to life.

Foyt put a hand to his other ear as the window started to rattle from the engine noise. "Uh, somebody's getting in some early work." he said. "I think he should be priority as he is driving a car from before 1973."

Mel revved the engine again. "Yeah, hear those glasspacks!" he yelled.

"A few more revs should blow the carbon out." said Terry. Mel revved the engine again.

This time, the exhaust note was just right to shatter the window. The force of the explosion sent Foyt tumbling into the coffee table, crushing it.

Foyt picked the phone back up and said "Yes, I'm alright! Let me tell you one more thing! They picked on the wrong one this time! As the old saying goes, when the going gets tough, the tough get going!"

Terry watched him make this statement and walked back to the window of the Chevelle. Mel had shut off the engine.

"I think the engine's running perfectly." said Terry.

"Alright." said Mel as he opened the door. "Let's see if there's anything left of the party to attend."


TO BE CONTINUED

AN:One again, please review.