Chapter 9. Spritle's "Sweet" Revenge

Unaware of his younger brothers' current precarious situation, Racer X arrived at the racetrack later that morning, ready for the day's work. Normally the thought of high-octane competition thrilled the man formerly known as Rex Racer, but not today. Today was somehow different. Something was already wrong, and Racer X could sense it.

He had this nagging feeling, that it had to do with his younger brother Speed's arrival at his home last night. The events of this morning didn't prove much, but it was clear something had taken place inside X's house while he was in the shower: signs of a break-in... the fact that one of his masks and Speed were both missing from the place while the Mach 5 sat in X's garage next to his Shooting Star...It didn't make much sense, unless....

...Unless the intruder or intruders were looking for me, was Racer X's thought.

He shrugged off the worrisome thought. No sense worrying about what happened now. There's a race to be run. I just hope that wherever Speed is, he's unharmed. Saying a quiet "good morning" to his mechanics, the disguised Rex strode confidently past the yellow and black Number 9 car and over to a huge white tarp. He lifted one corner of the tarp, peered under it, and smiled. Beneath the tarp stood Speed's beloved Mach 5, undamaged after the buffeting it took in the disastrous 2 AM storm-driven race between the two drivers; Racer X had the car brought here early that morning at the same time he had his own race vehicle towed to the track garage, and then afterwards had personally inspected the race car himself to make sure nothing had been tampered with.

Still, he felt uneasy. Whether it was his Interpol agent training kicking in or the concern of an older brother thought to be long gone from his family, X wasn't sure; but something was telling him, Speed's disappearance was no accident. And the answers might just be found on the racetrack—if, Racer X was lucky.

SCENE STEALER: WARNING---Racer in the Candy Shop!

"Oh, c'mon, kid, relax. Your brother's a big boy, he'll be fine as long as he behaves himself. Don't worry so much." Mr. Fixer cast a smug glance at a cross-looking Spritle Racer as they drove away from the Wiley mansion. Spritle sat in the front passenger seat, his seat belt buckled and his arms folded across his chest, looking very unhappy. His mood was such, he wouldn't even look at Fixer. "Look, another ten minutes and you can have the run of the entire candy store. OK?"

Still, Spritle wouldn't respond. He wasn't about to give this guy the satisfaction of an answer. He was still upset about what the thugs had done to Speed, and the image of his brother lying bound and gagged on the sofa was still fresh in the youngster's mind. Oh please, Speed, don't do anything dumb, ok? We need you to be all right—Pops needs you, Mom, Chim Chim and I all need you...And even Trixie and Sparky need you! was the lad's silent plea.

About fifteen minutes later, the old battered green car slowed to a stop in front of the local candy shop. It was in town, some ten or so minutes from the racetrack. Fixer stopped the car, and unbuckled his seat belt. "OK, kid. Here's the candy store. It's yours, for the askin'."

Spritle eyed him with a great deal of suspicion. "How much can I get?" he asked, slowly undoing his belt.

His chaperone laughed loudly. "Why, the boss says, as much as you want."

A shifty gleam lit up Spritle's eyes. This...was gonna be fun. "As much as I want...?" he echoed innocently. "And--and whatever I want?"

Fixer chuckled. This was surely going to be an easy assignment. Satisfy the kid with all the candy he wants, in exchange for him delivering that note to his father? Not a bad deal. Little did he know, how badly this plan would backfire. (Hint, buddy: You should never take Spritle to a candy store and tell him, he can have everything he wants!) "That's what Mr. Wiley said, kiddo. Here's the deal: you deliver that letter for him, you can have all the candy you want." He got out of the car, and nodded at Spritle. "Now, c'mon. We haven't got all day."

Spritle mischievously scampered out of the car. "Okay!"

They entered the shop. Immediately, the sights and smells caught Speed's little brother's attention. "Ahhhh!!!" Spritle oohed, his mood changing. He was definitely in candy heaven. "Let's start in the chocolate aisle!" he cried out gleefully.

Uh-oh. Spritle, loose in the candy store—heaven help Mr. Fixer's wallet! Say, do you think Fixer's boss'll reimburse him for this pending disaster?...Probably not!

He raced down the aisle displaying all sorts of chocolate, much to the bumbling Fixer's dismay. Grabbing a nearby shopping basket and carrying it on his left arm via the handles, Spritle proceeded to grab items with both hands, babbling as he went along. "Let's see...OK! We'll get a few of these, a few of those...Maybe—maybe five bags of M&M's...Oooh!!! Ten Hershey bars!!...A nice box of truffles for Trixie, I know she'll like these 'cause that's what Speed gets her all the time...Oh, and look at this box. These are Mom's favorites. It might make her feel better, and not worry about Speed too much..."

He paused. Suddenly, his face lit up as he saw something else—for his beloved Chim Chim. "This box...this box has Chim Chim's favorites!" Spritle declared, reaching for a bright blue box on the counter in front of him. "I gotta get these."

Having added all that candy to his shopping basket—he actually had a panting Fixer carrying the basket now—he looked around, as if trying to find where to go next. "Now where's the aisle that has the gummy bears?---Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. I really can't forget Pops. After he sees that awful note from Mr. Wiley...He's gonna need something to chew on. And he really likes those root beer barrels," Spritle mused, wandering down the aisles, looking both to his left and to his right.

Suddenly, he stopped in mid-aisle. His saucer-like eyes widened in comic horror, as the reality of his ramblings hit home. "Yikes!! If I don't bring Pops back something, he'll kill me!" Spritle gulped. "Or, worse. He'll take all the candy, and not let ME have any!!!"

At that point, a panting, exhausted Fixer finally caught up to the youngster. "Kid!" the tall, thin man with the glasses gasped. He certainly didn't have the energy that Spritle had, and he looked it. "Hey, kid. Don'tchya think, you have enough already? We gotta go!"

Spritle looked at him oddly. Then in a tone of voice that hinted perhaps at blackmail, Speed's pint-sized, mischievous sibling replied slyly, "Do you want me to tell the police and the Trans-Country Racing Committee, what you're doing with my brother??"

Almost immediately, Fixer's face turned ash-white. "N-no!!!-" the thug cried out, horrified. "No, no no NO!!! Absolutely not! Mr. Wiley'll be very upset with me!"

Spritle stood there, nose upturned and arms folded across his chest. He was enjoying his moment in the sun. And why shouldn't he? After all, he was a Racer... "Then let me finish shopping! I haven't gotten the gummy bears or the root beer barrels yet! And trust me, you don't wanna see how upset Pops would be, if I didn't get something for him. He'll be upset enough, by your note!"

He took off yet again, this time to the aisle that had the gummy bears and various types of hard candy---including, the root beer barrels. "Now how many bags should I get for Pops, I wonder? Well, seven's supposed to be a lucky number..."

Twenty minutes or so later (and Fixer some 30 dollars lighter in the wallet), a flustered, red-faced Fixer emerged from the shop. In his hands he carried three brown paper bags filled to the brim with all sorts of candy. Spritle followed right behind, his hands in his pockets and whistling a child's tune. He looked rather pleased with himself as he got back into the car. In his own endearing and extraordinary way, the youngest member of the Racer clan had exacted his own "sweet" revenge on the men who had kidnapped both him and Speed!

Lesson to all bad guys who have their sights set on taking down Speed Racer: never let a Racer run amok in a candy shop—especially one named Spritle!

It was almost ten-fifteen in the morning when a very discouraged Trixie returned with Chim Chim back to the Racer house. Their search for Speed—and now, Spritle---had proved fruitless, as Chim Chim was unable to lead Trixie to where the boys really were. Now, Speed's girlfriend had to face a raging bull of her own—his rather overprotective father.

Pops Racer was definitely in no mood to talk racing. Ever since he'd discovered the Mach 5 missing from the Racer garage earlier that morning, he'd done nothing but pace the floor of the family's living room. At first, Pops was plain worried, especially when Mom Racer went to wake up Speed and found that his bed had been hardly slept in and his pajamas lay crumpled in a heap next to his bed. And initially, he thought nothing of it when Spritle and Chim Chim joined Trixie in searching around town for Speed. Now, he was positively livid—Spritle, too had seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. "I don't believe this!!!" the head of Pops Racer Motors bellowed, at the top of his lungs, when Trixie had finished her story. "It's bad enough, Speed's missing along with the Mach 5. You take Spritle and Chim Chim with you out to look for them, and now you lose Spritle??? What were you even thinking???" Pops was so red in the face from yelling, everyone in the room thought for sure he'd really blown a gasket this time.

Poor Trixie was near tears. Even Chim Chim cowered behind the sofa, chattering away in comic terror. No one could deal with Speed's father when he got this angry—not even Speed himself. "Well, it's not entirely my fault, Mr. Racer!" she cried out, feeling quite humiliated. "You know Spritle and his habit of climbing into car trunks. He probably got into the trunk of the car of whoever it was that took Speed! And besides, Chim Chim and I would have gotten to the boys if if hadn't been for a work crew digging around that road I was supposed to have taken---"

Pops would not be placated. "Still! That's no excuse!"

While Mount Not-So-Saintly Pops continued his very loud eruption, Speed's best friend and ace mechanic, Sparky, was on the phone to the track garage. He was checking with other pit crews and drivers, trying to see if either Speed or the Mach 5 had shown up at the race course for the morning practice laps. So far, no one had seen the young racer or his car. "...You haven't seen Speed Racer all morning, then. No sign of the Mach 5, either? ...You're sure of that? OK, thanks."

He hung up the phone. "No go at the track, folks," Sparky sadly announced to everyone in the living room. "Speed hasn't shown up for his practice laps. And there's no sign of the Mach 5..." He quickly checked his watch. "And it's just a little over two hours to race time, too."

Both Trixie and Mrs. Racer looked upset. "Oh, Speed!" Trixie moaned worriedly.

That news certainly didn't do much for Pops' already-inflamed disposition. If anything, it only served to fuel his already-erupted temper. "I KNEW he shouldn't had entered that race!!!" the former pro wrestler turned car designer yelled, his face getting even redder at the thought. He angrily shook a clenched fist high into the air. "When I get my hands on that boy, he's grounded for a month!---No. Better yet, I'll take his driver's license away, for the rest of the year!!!!! And as for Spritle--" Pops paused, and gasped for breath. Talk about Speed being a bit of a hothead at times---his father seemed to have the heart of an erupting volcano in him! "---No candy, ever again!!!"

At that, poor Chim Chim scampered behind a very worried Trixie for refuge, frightened and chattering away as he usually did whenever Pops got on the warpath. When Pops blew up, no one was safe—not even the family pet!

Despite her own worry over her missing sons, Mrs. Racer hastened to place a calming hand on her hot-headed husband's arm. "Now, dear. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all this," she said kindly.

Pops stared at her in disbelief. "Logical!!!" he exploded. "There's nothing logical, about our two youngest sons going missing! It's bad enough, we lost Rex because he and I didn't see eye to eye about his wanting to be a pro racer. Now, Speed and Spritle are missing!"

While the boys' dad continued his angry ranting, Trixie and Sparky exchanged glances. If Pops kept this up, he'd soon have a high blood pressure problem—if not an out and out heart attack! "I guess as Spritle would say. There goes Pops, blowing another gasket," Sparky whispered.

Trixie nodded her head in agreement. "Do you think he gets a discount on all those gaskets, considering how many he blows?" she responded, and Sparky managed a tired grin at the bad joke.

Pops was by no means finished with his ranting. Or, his pacing. "...I should've never let Speed get his license. He's become as difficult as his older brother Rex!" he was huffing.

Mrs. Racer immediately came to her middle son's defense then. As much as she loved Pops, she wasn't afraid to speak up to her husband when necessary. "That's not true! Speed's a good boy. He's hard-working, he's responsible..." Mom paused, then let out an amused chuckle. "... A bit stubborn, perhaps. Just like his father."

Pops' face turned beet-red. His wife was tweaking him, and he knew it. "I am not THAT stubborn!!!!" he roared, then suddenly added, rather contritely, "Am I??"

Mrs. Racer gave him a small smile. "Yes, you are, dear," she replied sweetly. "And Speed's just like you."

Poor Pops! He was really flustered now. "OK, so he's just like me! But honey--" Pops winced, and grimaced, "--do you really HAVE to rub it in???"

Mom Racer smiled, and shook her head. "I'll go put some water on for tea," she said sweetly, heading for the kitchen.

Eventually, Pops Racer managed to calm himself enough, to think a little more clearly. Despite his outward ferociousness and his blustery manner, Pops loved his boys dearly, and always tried to keep them out of harm's way; although as events would have it, that wasn't always possible. "I'm telling you kids, I can't take much more of this," he murmured, drained by the tedious waiting. "I'm calling the police." Picking up the receiver, Pops proceeded to dial the operator. "Operator, this is Pops Racer. Can you connect me to Inspector Detector's office, please?...Thank you."

While Pops waited tensely to be connected to the inspector's office, Sparky tried to reassure a badly-shaken Trixie. "Look, Trixie. I know none of this is your fault," he began softly. "You tried to look for Speed, and Spritle was up to his usual tricks. Pops'll cool down, you'll see." Sparky patted Trixie's shoulder affectionately.

A worried Trixie sniffled back her tears. "I hope so! I don't deserve to be yelled at like that--"

Sparky grinned. "Of course you don't!" he agreed cheerfully. "Pops is just worried. He's always worrying, when it comes to Speed."

Suddenly, Pops' booming voice rang out. He had heard Sparky's comments, and he was quick to bellow in comic indignation, "You're darn right, I'm worried!!! And I'll personally clothesline any goon who even tries to lay a finger on either one of those boys---Ooh!!! Inspector, I—I hadn't realized, you were on the line...Am I ever glad to get you!" Pops' facial expression suddenly softened, as he realized he had his party on the phone. "I want to file a missing persons report...Yes, that's right, a missing persons report. On my two sons---Speed, and Spritle!"

Ho, hum. Just another day in the harried life of Pops Racer...

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I really wasn't lying when I told my little brother Spritle , I was a little scared about being kidnapped. I was scared, all right—but now I'm absolutely petrified! Talk about your bonehead mistakes—I really made a monster one when I took the Mach 5 out in the pouring rain last night and crashed, and now Pops is going to have to pay for my recklessness! All his hard work in racing design—gone, and all because I felt that I had to prove myself to him that I was ready to go pro.---I should have never taken the Mach 5 out into that storm. I should have never challenged Racer X, either. Above all---I should have left his mask alone!!!

--Speed Racer, on the events leading to his abduction---

A drowsy Speed slowly opened his eyes. Sunlight streamed into the parlor through a large window behind him, bathing the room with its golden warmth. Nothing had changed for him, though; he was still a prisoner of the Alpha Team. Lying on the sofa, the captive teenager had drifted fitfully in and out of sleep for a good part of the morning, under heavy guard. What time is it? Speed wondered.

He tried to move onto his side, but the simplest of body movements was just too painful. His entire body ached from head to foot, thanks to the tight ropes with which he was bound. And he most certainly didn't appreciate the taste of his own racing scarf being jammed into his mouth, either. Well, this certainly isn't a dream. It's a nightmare! And unfortunately I can't wake up from this one, Speed told himself, wincing at the thought.

His eyes, now a little more focused, strayed to the oak grandfather's clock standing in the corner by the fireplace. Eleven AM. Only two hours until race time, Speed thought worriedly, feeling a bit desperate. It'll take a miracle, to get me to the starting line now.---Oh Spritle, please hurry! I've got to get out of here and make that race, before anybody else gets hurt!