Chapter 3: Burlington

Over a little hole-in-the-wall hotel in Salem, the sun was setting in the late afternoon sky. Eleven mismatched cars were parked in a line to one side of the building, and their drivers were just around the corner, around the pool behind the hotel. The only sound in the air

was the sound of the water lapping, and the racers' conversation.

Several large pizzas, sprinkled with every topping known to pizza, and certainly some that weren't, lay on a large rectangular table that had been set out for just the occasion. Luke and Pat stood at the end of the table, admiring the spread and selecting some slices. Luke was in shock by all the effort that had been made to prepare for the arrival of him and the other racers here as well as in Caribou. He had never seen so much food in one place as he had in the last twelve hours.

"Barn mah house n' steal mah car. Thar's enough thar fo' all mah kinfolks."

"Hungry, Luke?"

"You dang skippy! Jus' look a' all them pizza!"

"There is a lot there," Pat agreed. "You can find out how big they are. Just use ¹r2. That will give you area."

Wrinkles formed on Luke's forehead as he tried to digest what Pat had just told him. Once he had run it through his head backwards and forwards, he spoke. "Pie are squayer? T'ain't rite. Pie are round; cornbread are squayer. An' pie don' give you no ar-ya. Pie give ya full belly."

Now it was Pat's turn to be confused. When he finally made sense of Luke's answer, he couldn't help but chuckle at it. The two had been friends years earlier, and that had not changed at all. The fact that they had absolutely nothing in common seemed to be what made them such good companions for each other.

Everyone else was doing more or less the same, catching up with friends they had had before they left the races. The brunch in Caribou wasn't sufficient for that - the tension about the race's beginning overcame much of their desire to be social. Here, the pressure was off, at least for a little while. Luke wasn't much for being social any time; he was happy enough by himself, or around Blubber.

Since animals weren't allowed in the hotel, Blubber was resting on the Chug-a-bug's rocking chair, which was good enough for him. Without Blubber around, Luke accepted that Pat was good enough company, and sat next to him. Rufus and Sawtooth handled their separation just as well; Sawtooth was curled up in the Buzz Wagon, and Rufus had joined Sarge and Meekly.

As for Dick Dastardly and Muttley, it was not as willingly accepted. Just as in Caribou, Muttley was with the car, scowling miserably. It was such a situation that made Muttley wonder if he was just part of the car. Not that Dick was having a particularly wonderful time, either. He stood apart from the others as the lone wolf that he was. During the course of the day, he had been greeted, or rather, acknowledged, by the others, and as he was not a part of any of their circles of friends, he faded into the background. It wasn't as if it was the fact that he wanted to stay out of their small-scale society; Dick was sure he would not know what to do if he did become a part of it.

Tired of being on the edge of the group, Dick went into the hotel to his room. Even there he couldn't escape the sight of the others, enjoying their stay here; his window gave him a perfect view of the pool and one end of the parking lot. He laid back on the bed and stared at the chipping paint on the ceiling, just thinking about anything that came to him. Still, he couldn't help but look out the window every now and again to see what was going on. "Just like always, I'm on the outside looking in. Well, this time I'm on the inside looking out."

Outside, the Ant Hill Mob was swarming around one of the pizzas, looking very much like what their namesake implied. Willy and Danny were having a tug of war trying to separate their slices of pizza, which were connected by a long strand of cheese. Kurby watched the string increase in length as the tug of warriors got farther apart. "Just like the pizza at home!" Willy and Danny tried harder to snap the cheese string when they noticed the motion of some of the others toward it.

Mac produced a Swiss army knife from the folds of his jacket, and with one swish, the string of cheese was split in half. Willy and Danny fell in opposite directions, each holding their slice of pizza, with half the cheese string dangling from the slices. Ring-a-Ding was hysterical; he had never seen anything quite like that before. The rest of the mob joined Ring-a-Ding in his laughter, and even Clyde had to admit that it was mildly amusing.

The mob was like a family on its own, and they got along well with the Slag brothers and the Gruesome Twosome. Big and Little Gruesome felt out of place without all their mystical creatures accompanying them, but they had the Slags. Rock and Gravel weren't mystical by any stretch of the imagination, but they were creatures.

Naturally, Penelope Pitstop was having a heart-to-heart with Peter Perfect, or rather, had been. Now, she turned her face away from him and stared off into the distance, and the sun sent little reflections bouncing off her rosy pink sunglasses. A tiny voice inside her reminded her of just how much she missed her friends and family in Tennessee, but she tried to squash it. She had other things on her mind, anyway.

Peter looked concerned; it was unlike Penelope to be so quiet. "What are you thinking about?" he asked her, hoping to find out what the problem was.

"Nothing. Just a lil' girl's dream."

"What would that be?" Secretly, he hoped he would figure into this dream somewhere, but he was also quite sure that he wouldn't.

"Yall laugh," she warned him, grinning. "I want to see my name in lights."

"Why would I laugh? I can imagine you on stage in movies"

"Can you?"

"Oh sure. Coming back to racing may just be the break you need." Penelope smiled at him and struck a dramatic pose. She was convinced that he was right, and had been ever since she heard that this race would take place. That moment was when she assured herself that she would prove him right — she would become famous. Of course, getting any amount of notice would require her to win races, but to her, that was just a technicality. Winning would come in time.

What she really wanted was not so much yet another man, even if it was Peter, buttering her up with compliments. While she did harbor deep feelings for him, she was stubbornly positive that he was just saying what he said to win her over. All she wanted was another girl to be her companion for a change. A real friend.

Nonetheless, Peter would do, she told herself. The two were essentially "friends with privileges," and that was the best of both worlds. The structure of friendships and alliances had been reborn. Peter and Penelope of course, were on and off lovers. This made Peter the envy of every male on the racing circuit, and he was secretly proud of it. The Ant Hill Mob, the Slag Brothers, and the Gruesome Twosome got along well, as they were so out of the ordinary. Luke and Pat were complete opposites, but went together like a yin-yang.

Then there were Rufus, Sarge, and Meekly. These three made up the trio of "real men," and they knew and took great pride in this. They sat by side, swapping tales and jokes of war, women, and anything else that came to mind. Rufus was almost glad of the fact that Sawtooth was not with him; he felt more at home with his two long-time comrades. Conspicuous by his absence from this group was the Red Max.

Max was sitting next to Meekly, most likely out of a desire to not be alone. No one knew much about him, apart from the fact that he was a German pilot. That was what made it seem as if Max would pair off with Dick Dastardly; no one else truly understood either of them, so wouldn't they be able to identify with each other? Whether that had occurred to them or not, it did not seem as though it had.

Even more than that, Max wanted to be a part of Rufus, Sarge, and Meekly's crowd. He wanted to say something, to bring himself into the secret circle. The events of the morning were fresh in his mind, and his greatest fear was how Sarge would react. For such a squat man, Sarge had the presence of a man one hundred times his size, certainly an intimidating thought.

Silently, Max sipped from his glass of beer. He never drank heavily, but the taste reminded him of home, and that was comforting. Even though he was trying to get back into the swing of things here, his mind was elsewhere. It was then he felt the sensation of eyes on him, someone watching him. His heart sped up, but when he looked over, it was only Meekly. Sarge and Rufus were ensnarled in some back and forth conversation that Meekly was no longer a part of, and Max was very much alone.

"We made it through the first race," Meekly remarked, offhandedly.

Max shyly grinned back at Meekly. "You do vell."

It looked to Meekly as though he might be able to bring Max out of his shell. Sarge had always frowned on it, for some reason that was nothing more than a vague notion to Meekly, who wanted to become acquainted with the mysterious airman. "Hey, you crossed the finish line, too."

"In fifz place or so."

"Better than being Dastardly. Last as usual."

"He has never von?"

"Nope. No wins, no placings, zip." Neither of them had given Dastardly much thought after saying a brief hello to him earlier. Both of them were left wondering what it meant to have gone all that time without winning just once.

Something in that reminded Max of the incident that morning. "Sergeant Blast ees angry by zis morning, no?"

Meekly thought about it, first digesting the question, then preparing a response. "Naw. He's always like that. Don't take it personally."

"I am, am I?" At the sound of the voice behind him, Meekly's face flushed red, and he turned sheepishly to Sarge. "And you just let it go when you almost get your head knocked clean off?"

Now it was Max's turn to feel a twinge of guilt and fear. He quickly downed the last few sips of beer, and sat motionless. "Come on, Sarge, he didn't mean it."

Sarge's suspicious glare chilled Max to the bone. Rising from the table, he caught Meekly's eye. "I vill go back to mein room. Goot nacht, Meekly."

"Good night, Max." Meekly was somewhat surprised at Max's abrupt departure. Max had disappeared around the side of the hotel, and was certainly inside. Meekly turned to Sarge. "What did you have to say that for? You know he's sorry."

"We don't know. Accident or not, I know the type." Sarge was the oldest racer on the circuit, and he was quite proud of that. In his 51 years, he had seen the depression, rebellion, and three wars. His stony eyes stared straight ahead, filled with cynicism. He was in no longer in a joking mood.

Although even Rufus wasn't entirely sure himself all Sarge had against Max, he wanted to get Sarge back into the jocular mood he had been in. "Goot nachhht?" He chortled, exaggerating the words for emphasis. Sarge had to laugh at Rufus's mimicry, as he reproduced Max's voice syllable by syllable. Meekly didn't see the same humor in it, but he was sure Sarge and Rufus would get over it.

~*~

By now, the sun had long since set, and darkness was setting in. A few at a time, the racers were retreating out of the nightfall and into their rooms. Just a few blocks away, another hotel was alive with activity. The Black Hills Pioneer journalists were gathered in Bonnie's room, mostly listening to her prattling on.

"You know what we need," she announced, looking more than a little frazzled.

"More coffee."

"Jack Harris, I should" when Jack's eyes widened, she stopped, not entirely sure what she planned to tell him. Regaining her composure, Bonnie tried to ignore him. "We need to do some interviews. Just documenting the races is not enough, we need to"

By now, Laurel was tuning Bonnie out. She rarely got past the first sentence of Bonnie's dictation anyway, so this was not bad for her. Jack was absent-minded, as was his nature, and Julia paid attention for a lack of much else to think about. Ashleigh was watching intently from off to the side because she knew it was expected of her.

Colette's eyes had glazed over, but not out of boredom. She was thinking about something "Colette!" Laurel stage-whispered as she poked Colette in the arm to get her attention.

"Mmmm?"

"I know who you should interview!" Laurel giggled mischievously.

Although she wasn't truly angry, Colette did look annoyed. "Here you go again. You feel a need to remind me of that constantly, don't you?"

"Hey, it's kinda cracked up when you think about it."

"Yeah." Colette stared out the window. There were no lights visible except for the occasional passing car. Bonnie had since stopped bantering and left the others to themselves, and Colette was left to her thoughts.

"Thinking about it?" Laurel had to ask. "I'm sorry, seriously," she apologized for herself hurriedly. "I know you don't like it when I talk about it, but you know me." Laurel pouted her lip, looking like a pleading five-year-old.

"It's alright. I do think about it, even though I don't really want to remember. I always do it, even though I hate it," Colette herself had to laugh at the words.

"And you love it."

"But I hate it," Laurel finished their back-and-forth conversation, then became serious again. "But really, you can't let that ruin your life. Ya gotta move on, meet people. Guys, Colette!"

Colette smacked Laurel with a pillow. "I will when you do!"

~*~

Muttley's ears pricked up at the sound of a voice that rang all too familiar. He had been lying beside the Mean Machine semi-conscious, and was not in the mood to get up. Unwillingly, he forced himself up, and followed the voice up to the wall of the hotel, where he followed the path made by the lit rooms. Only a few windows down, he found his master.

At the window, Dick watched for Muttley, who almost passed him by. Dick didn't look himself; in place of the usual grimace, there was a softer expression crossing his face. There was not a sign of anger, just an old apathy. He was kneeling by the window, with his arms crossed on the windowsill, holding him up.

Like always, even though Dick rarely spoke a word to anyone, he did save breath enough to speak to Muttley. The dog served as the friend he never had; Muttley knew this, but couldn't help the *occasional* trick at his master's expense. It was his nature. But this was different. There was something about the somber face of his master that told him that this was not the time for such things.

"I didn't want to believe it, but I think it's time I tried to. You remember, how I would win if I just drove." Muttley whimpered, disappointed by Dick's idea. What good would it be for him to be there without his master's drive to win by doing everything but driving? Another thought that struck him was that the races would not be at all the same without the fervent efforts Dick put into every one.

Muttley half expected a bash over the head for his balky look, but Dick wasn't paying attention. It wasn't that he wanted to tell Muttley anything in the least, not right then. All he wanted was to get the words off his chest, and feel as if they were going somewhere. "I don't even know why I couldn't have just made myself do that from the start. But it's something I just can't quit; it's like a cigarette," he continued, more to himself than Muttley, who still listened closely, dumbfounded.

This was not like his master at all. What had caused the sudden change of heart? They had come prepared to pick up where they left off, and now that was over. Dick was still off in his own world. "That was the last thing she said to me. Maybe" He never finished the thought; he only stared straight ahead. Shaking his head, Muttley shuffled back to the car. He was sure in the morning, everything would be back to normal, or what qualified as normal in their case.

~*~

Morning came quickly, and the hotel came alive again. The eleven of them darted around, gathering their belongings, and grabbing a bite to eat. Rufus was irritable; he dragged his feet, still tired. "How are these rest stops' if we don't actually get to rest?"

"We will," Meekly told him. "After every fourth race we get to stay in the city a few days. At least that's what I heard."

Rufus grumbled under his breath. "Geez, three more races? Better get some espresso for the road"

Down the hall, Dick was just waking up to the sounds of movement outside his closed door. He was still by the window, but he was now leaning against the wall. Although he felt exhausted, he knew he had little time to waste, so he collected his things and ran out to the car where Muttley was waiting.

Ever since his return to the car in the night, Muttley was hoping that by morning, Dick's mood would have changed, but he could see right away that it had not.

In less than half an hour, the racers were back at the marker in Salem. Spectators lined the streets, just as they had in Caribou, waving flags and cheering. Of course, news anchors and journalists were all around as well.

The Black Hills Pioneer journalists were off to the side of the street as before, pens quickly scribbling down every last detail. A night's sleep seemed to have done Bonnie good, and she had gotten herself back together. And at that moment, she gave the other reason for her sudden, inexplicable good mood. "Wonderful news, ladies! I have"

"I'm not a lady! And neither are them two!" Jack interrupted loudly, pointing at Laurel and Colette. Laurel punched him in the arm playfully, but with enough force to let Jack know that he was on thin ice. Colette rolled her eyes and made a face. He's right, she sighed silently.

Julia, always curious, wanted to find out what this all-important news was, although she had been momentarily side tracked by Jack's interruption. "So what were you going to say, Bonnie?"

"Oh yes. Jack, I apologize, but since you so rarely listen to a word I say, I didn't think you'd mind if I didn't address you. Anyway, what I was about to say was I've set up a time for us to do some interviews! Not after this race, but the next one. Good? Great?" Clearly, Bonnie was grasping for straws, looking for praise for her fast-talking. "We have to leave for Burlington this minute, so you have the whole drive to work out who you want to interview."

The five of them filed off to Bonnie's van, and Laurel winked at Colette. "Give it up, Laurel. Not gonna happen." Ashleigh followed the two friends, looking confused, as she was left out of this secret they shared that was mentioned constantly over the last two days. I'll figure this out, I always do, she told herself.

Bonnie slowed the van to a crawl in anticipation of the start of the race. Bang! The starter gun sounded, and the cars were set in motion. Jack was sitting in the back seat, behind Bonnie. He laughed mischievously, and Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Something you'd like to share with us, Jack?"

"Heh heh heh uh can I interview that Penelope girl?"

"How about no." Bonnie answered from the front, and the others nodded in agreement.

At the time, Penelope was leading the pack, and her mind was far from interviews. Her main focus was getting where she was going, but she had Peter Perfect on the brain as well. She could see him in her rearview mirror; he was at a safe distance, but he was gaining. From behind Peter Perfect, another car could be seen approaching quickly. The Double Zero.

Both men squeaked past Penelope, who pushed a little more forcefully on the gas pedal. Not that it did her much good; the other two had gotten so far ahead of her. They fought for the lead, but seemed to be evenly matched. For several miles they went on this way, neck and neck. They continued from New Hampshire into Vermont, still side by side.

Muttley's nose was pressed up against the window, he stared out the window with a melancholy expression across his furry face. Dick was clearly becoming more than a little tired of Muttley's moping, but would not let his desire to reform go that easily. "Muttley, I don't care. You can sit like that all day if you damn well want. This is what we're doing now. Face it, we have nothing to lose! Muttley, why are you twisting like that?"

The dog was jumping up and down on the back seat, pointing out the window with his nose. Dick looked up, only to realize that Peter Perfect was now quite far ahead of them, with Penelope Pitstop and Rufus Ruffcut right behind him. Pat Pending appeared soon after, and the five of them desperately competed for the lead. The finish line was in sight, and Rufus Ruffcut pulled ahead. Peter Perfect edged his way up from behind, and the two cars were almost touching. Penelope and Dick tried to pass them on the right, and Pat Pending tried again to get past by changing the Convert-a-Car into its airplane like form and taking to the air. It was anybody's race, but just a few short feet before the finish line, Pat got the short lead he needed

He sat proudly in the winner's circle, pleased with his great start for the race across America. Pat Pending was on a roll. A second place finish in the first race, and now a first place finish! Although the Convert-a-Car was not the most attractive vehicle of the bunch, it was certainly getting the most attention. Pat cackled jubilantly. If he kept this up, he would win for sure.

The Convert-a-Car: 16

The Army Surplus Special: 11

The Turbo Terrific: 7

The Bullet-Proof Bomb: 5

The Buzz Wagon: 5

The Mean Machine: 2

The Bouldermobile: 2

The Creepy Coupe: 2

The Crimson Haybailer: 2

The Compact Pussycat: 2

The Arkansas Chug-a-bug: 2