Part 3-FINAL PRACTICE
The sun was already a sultry white ball in the sky beating down on the Raytona Speed Oval at 9:45 in the morning, promising a hot and sticky day. The Oval was teeming with activity, drivers, cars, pit crews and other personnel were busy making preparations for the final practice run of the Raytona Road Rally course. Each team was concentrated in their allotted pit area, tuning and tweaking engines, adjusting track bars, and briefing drivers as they got ready to tackle the course. Fuel supplies were made at the ready, as gasmen measured each gallon to figure out how to get the best fuel mileage, jackmen and tire changers checked the inflation pressure of each tire to make sure that the tire life would be at its best.
Up in the booth the International Racing Commission went over lists of entrants and checked the field carefully to ensure the cars were at the ready for each individual team. Down in the pits, commission reps were going over each vehicle to make sure that they met regulations and that no car had an unfair or illegal advantage.
In the Go Team pit, the IRC rep had just given the Mach 5 a thorough going over and the vehicle passed with flying colors, but the rep approached Speed with a reminder.
"Speed, I know I don't have to tell you this, but all the special functions of the Mach 5 are not to be used to advance you in the race unless you find yourself in peril. That means a life or death situation so I expect you to follow the rules." The IRC rep leaned over into the cockpit of the sleek, aerodynamic racing machine.
Speed flipped his helmet's visor up to meet the gaze of the rep with his own steady blue one. "Sir, I can assure you that I will do nothing that will be in violation of the rally or IRC rules."
The rep nodded, satisfied. "Fair enough. Your number for the practice run is 14 and I wish you the best for the race." The rep turned and vanished into the sea of race team members in the pit areas.
Sparky approached the side and leaned in to address his best friend. "So what's the verdict?"
"Everything checks out okay. He just reminded me to refrain from using the special functions in an unfair or illegal manner. And I'm number 14 for the run." Speed recounted as he replaced his visor and made a quick check of his dash gauges.
"Great. That means that you'll be in the second group." Sparky said.
Due to the fact that the rally course consisted of two main routes in and through Raytona, the city officials had the IRC split the practice runs for the big rally into two sessions for two consecutive days before the race with the field split into groups of ten cars going out in staggered increments. The course of the race was diversified and made up of several locations around the Raytona city limits. The race begins first in the Raytona Speed Oval with 10 warm-up laps then the rally takes the cars through the town and to the south and through the Neverglades wetlands- terrain is quite a challenge as most of the area is swampland with hidden pockets of quicksand. Then the course takes the racers through the String of Pearls-a group of small-uninhabited islets a mile off the coast that are connected by just the National Route 4 highway that snakes through the islets and then comes up the coastline of the mainland. The drivers follow the coast for ten miles then the course goes through the Billy Hills, a cluster of hills that are to the southwest of Raytona and then curves up and through the Sycamore National Forest and to the Flatlands, the area to the north that consists of winds and twists. The major landmark that signifies the turn back point for the racers, an intersecting section that lay just before Lake Tepidspring, is a copse of dogwood trees where a IRC check tent will be set up for the drivers to check in. They then will head back to the Speed Oval and the finish line.
Speed scanned his fuel, oil, water, battery gauges and satisfied turned to Sparky who had just emerged from beneath the raised hood of the Mach 5. "Well, Spark, how's she look?"
Sparky came up and firmly closed the hood. "She doesn't get any better, pal. You're good to go." He made an okay gesture with his index finger and thumb.
"Good," Speed said with a nod. Before he got into position, he wanted to check on one other thing. He reached over and picked up his microphone for the radio on the dash. "Mach 5 to Bluebird. Mach 5 to Bluebird. Come in, Bluebird."
The radio came to life with Trixie's husky dulcet voice. "Bluebird here. What's up, Mach 5?"
"Just checking in. I'm number 14 in the second group. Is everything all set from your side?"
"Everything's just about good to go. I'm making a last minute check but everything looks to be a go. How about you?" Trixie asked.
"We're all set. Just waiting now. I'll let you know when I'm on my way," Speed replied.
"Okay. Be careful, Speed," Trixie cautioned.
Speed grinned at the concern in her sweet comment. "I will, Trix. You be careful too."
"Will do. I'll see you after practice, okay?"
"It's a date. Take care, sweetheart."
"You too. Over and out."
Speed replaced the mike and settled in as he watched the first group pull up to the start line. He recognized drivers from some of the most competitive racing teams on the Formula 1 circuit. Pedro Zapatos with the Garbanzo Racing Club, Sven Fjiordsen representing Gunnar/Laars Racing, Jean Claude LeMans of the DuBois Brothers racing team just to name a few.
He was still watching the first group get ready for the green flag when a shadow fell over him and a snide accented voice purred, "Well, Racer, Ia see you made eet to practice. Especially after last night."
Speed's head shot up and he glared at the tall smirking form of Phil Pistone. "What do you want, Pistone? Shouldn't you be at your rod getting ready for your practice run instead of here busting my chops."
Pistone threw his head back and laughed. "I justa come to weesh you good luck. We in the same group, numero duo." He held up to fingers.
Speed grunted as he turned his head to dismiss Pistone. The Italian racer looked around and asked casually, "So where's your bellissima spotter?"
Speed snapped his head around and regarded Pistone through narrowed eyes shielded by his visor. "Pistone, if I haven't told you before I'm tellin' you now, stay away from Trixie. Or I'll pick up where we left off last night and knock your block off!"
Pistone's amber eyes narrowed as well. "Anytime, my friend." He opened his mouth to say more but an IRC rep came to him and informed him it was time for his pre-race inspection. He grinned nastily at Speed and left with a parting shot, "Have a good time on the course and watcha you back." He strode away chuckling while Speed gripped his steering wheel tight in rage.
Sparky, having seen the fury in Speed came over and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Take it easy, pal. You need to calm down before the practice run, for that terrain you need a cool head."
"That snake had the nerve to ask where Trixie was. If he thinks that she's gonna be another notch on his bedpost, he's got another thing coming. I'll kick his ass so hard he won't have one," Speed snarled.
Sparky nodded silently as he saw his buddy take some deep breaths to calm himself. Speed had taken and mastered several martial arts throughout his boyhood and pre-teens and was now trying to center his ki and focus, finding serenity so he could concentrate on the road. He then released the wheel to loosen his arms, which had been tense and taking another deep cleansing breath, put his hands back on the wheel.
"You okay now?"
Speed nodded, "Uh-huh. I'm fine, Spark."
"Good."
The first group got the green flag and with a roar, took off down the track and headed out on the first leg of the rally. The PA system announced for all drivers in the second group to line up according to number order so Speed turned the key and revved the Mach 5 to get into position. As he got into his assigned place on the field, he was dismayed then disgusted to see that Pistone was placed right beside him. He gritted his teeth in aggravation and kept his head straight ahead, refocusing on the waiting course. He had achieved his previous state of calm again when the radio signal startled him.
"Bluebird to Mach 5. Bluebird to Mach 5. Come in, Speed."
Speed picked up the mike and answered, "Mach 5 here. What's up, Trix?"
"I was about to ask you. I didn't hear from you and a couple of other spotters have already taken off. Are you in position?"
"Uh- yeah. I'm sorry, I forgot to call and tell you."
"You okay?" Trixie asked, concerned.
"Yeah, I'm fine! Geez, what do I have to do to prove it, sign an affidavit, for crying out loud?" Speed snapped, irritated.
Trixie bristled, "Well, excuse me! Sorry I bothered."
Speed sighed, "I'm sorry, Trix. I'm just uptight about the race."
"It's just a practice run, Speed. I'll be radioing you about potential hazards so it'll be fine, you'll see," she reassured calmly.
"I know. Thanks, babe. You'd better get a move on," Speed said.
"Your wish is my command, sire," Trixie answered archly. "Anything you want."
"Don't tempt me. 'Cause after practice I'll take you up on that," Speed promised.
"You have a dirty mind, Speed."
"Yeah, but you love it," Speed pointed out.
Trixie sniffed, "Okay, before this conversation gets X rated I'm splitting. Have a good run, over and out." The radio went dead and grinning, Speed replaced the mike just as the PA blared:
"ALL DRIVERS PLEASE GET INTO POSITION FOR THE GREEN FLAG!"
Speed revved the engine of the Mach 5 as he pressed on the clutch to get ready to shift into first. He felt the powerful machine rock back and forth like a thoroughbred straining at the bit and then felt the familiar thrill of exhilaration that filled him just before every race. It was a feeling like no other, a feeling of having tremendous power at his fingertips and he got the customary rush of adrenaline that he knew would sustain him to the very end. Racing was his life and there was nothing else on God's green earth that he was happier doing or wanted to do more. Well, maybe there was one other thing Speed thought salaciously, his mind dwelling briefly on Trixie.
The flagman raised the green flag and at the count the starter lights flashed and he dropped the flag. Ten cars roared toward the exit of the track and out onto the course. The cluster of cars barreled out onto the Southern Route 62 that headed out of Raytona and toward the Neverglades wetlands, the route's four lanes closed to regular traffic so the racers could practice. The cars screamed down the route and headed into the marsh area that heralded the area known as the Neverglades.
Speed had started out in the second row and had passed the two cars in the first row with hardly any effort, the Mach 5's powerful engine making short work of the other racers. He began to pick up a comfortable lead when he hit the portion of the route that brought him into the low-lying land of the Neverglades. He took note of the swamp and marsh that was becoming closer and closer to the road from the outlying scenery. He picked up the mike for some info.
"Mach 5 to Bluebird. Mach 5 to Bluebird. Come in, Bluebird."
The radio crackled to life with Trixie's voice. "Bluebird here."
"I'm heading into the Neverglades. How does the road look ahead?" Now that the practice run had commenced, as driver to spotter it was all business between Speed and Trixie, no flirting or sexual innuendo in the conversation.
"Looks good as far as I can see. The trip through the next ten miles will be a challenge though."
"How so?"
"There's some sections of the road that have the water right up to the surface, it looks a bit treacherous. Think you can manage it?"
"No sweat. How do things look behind me?"
"Okay, your closest competitor is car number 18 then 34 then 9," she told him.
"Number 9? That's Racer X! Groovy!" Speed crowed his excitement doubling. He loved racing against Racer X and his youthful exuberance was showing.
"Just cool it and keep your mind on the road ahead, Speed. The rains they had down here last week brought some pockets of swamp mud onto some of the route too. I just spotted it," Trixie warned, to get him back in focus.
"Will do. Talk to you again soon."
"Roger. Over and out."
Speed replaced the mike and saw he was heading into the thicker swamp area of the Neverglades. As he sped by, weeping willows, sassafras, and full thorny brush seemed to get closer and closer to the road, getting to be obstacles to driving. Speed pressed the Control C button on his steering column and the rotary saws extracted and began slicing through the stubborn shrubbery like so much soft spaghetti. He kept the saws going as he cruised along and cleared the road not only for himself but also for the competitors hot on his trail. But that was one of the drawbacks of leading the race and although this was just a practice run, his fiercely competitive nature pushed Speed to still want to post the fastest time.
He continued at a rapid pace as the route twisted its way thought the murky, dark swampland. The muddy and watery areas Trixie had warned him of were a bit slick but he used Control B and got through without a hitch. As he drove along, Speed found himself glancing at the occasional sloshing of the swamp water as alligators paddled in and out, their scaly skin catching the occasional sunray that made it way through the thick vegetation or various exotic birds swooping about beneath the leafy canopy of deciduous trees. The Mach 5 just kept plowing steadily through, staying true and to the course throughout the Neverglade swamp.
Finally, Speed saw the light of day as the marshy and shadowy swamp came to an end. He glanced up and saw the familiar blue speck and faint whirring of Trixie's helicopter and felt somewhat relieved, for while he had been in the deepest area of the swamp, he had been unable to see or even hear her. He continued full throttle to the next leg of the course, the islets called String of Pearls. While approaching the first connector of the highway leading into the islets, he began to get curious as to how much of a lead he had so he picked up the mike.
"Mach 5 to Bluebird, Come in Bluebird."
"Bluebird here. What's up?" Trixie answered.
"I'm wondering how much of a lead I've got."
"Hold on and I'll let you know." Trixie peered back through her binoculars. "Looks like you've got almost a two second lead on the next two cars."
"Next two cars?" Speed asked.
"Uh-huh. Car 18 and Car 9 are neck and neck coming out of the Neverglades. Looks like quite a battle for second place."
Speed grinned in satisfaction. He relished it when the other racers were farther behind and when a battle for position was going on behind him it only boded well.
"That's groovy news. Thanks, honey."
"No problem. I'll keep you informed as they make progress on you. Who's Car 18 anyway?"
Speed thought for a moment then groaned as he realized who it was. "It's Phil Pistone," he said sullenly.
"Speed, why so glum about it?" Trixie wanted to know immediately picking up on his mood.
Speed sighed at Trixie's uncanny ability to read his moods and didn't want to tell her about Pistone asking about her so he just said brightly, "Nothing, Trix. I'll talk to you in a bit."
"Okay, over and out."
Speed's trek through the String of Pearls was uneventful and went as smoothly as he could have hoped. Although uninhabited by humans and seemingly untouched by civilization, the islets were places of sylvan beauty, filled with palm trees, lush plants, and flowers. They were also teeming with exotic birds and small animals so as he streamed along, he enjoyed the various floras and fauna that surrounded him as he flew past. Because of that, he found pleasure in the ride, even knowing that it was a practice run for the upcoming rally and found himself wishing that Trixie was beside him in the car enjoying the view instead of above him in her helicopter. He thought about bringing her here after the race just to share the beauty with her.
The practice run for Speed then headed into the Billy Hills, and the road ran up the first hill then zigzagged through the rest of the cluster of hills which due to his skills turned out to be uneventful as well. But because of the sharp curves and craggy mountain road, he had to slow down quite a bit, to maneuver the road without mishap. It was here that his lead was cut down and both Pistone and Racer X had gained considerable ground on him. He still led but not by much as he headed into the Sycamore National Forest.
Speed was winding his way through the forest when his radio beeped.
"Bluebird to Mach 5, come in Speed."
He reached for the mike and answered, "Mach 5 here. Go ahead, Trixie."
"Speed, Cars 18 and 9 are about four tenths of a second behind you."
"Yeah, I know. I had to slow down for the road that went through the Billy Hills."
"Well, that gave them the chance to catch up," she informed him.
"I had no choice, Trixie. I had to take it easy going through the hills. It was like driving the Craggy Peak Mountains back home," Speed explained.
"I know, Speed. I'm not blaming you. This is just a practice run anyway and I'd rather you take it easy and I'm sure Pops, Sparky, and the rest of the team does too. I want you back at the track in one piece."
Speed grinned and he said airily, "Don't you worry your pretty head about it. I'll get back there safe and sound. We have a date, for afterward don't we?"
"Uh-huh. So I'll be waiting for you. Over and out."
Speed replaced the mike and continued on. In a short time he was out of Sycamore National Forest and on his way into and through the Flatlands and then to the crossroad just before Lake Tepidspring. He swung around and headed down National Route 4 back toward Raytona. Behind him was Pistone and the Shooting Star, Racer X's lean mean racing machine both right on his tail. They all screamed toward the speedway and entered the racetrack.
As Speed made his way down the backstretch, Pistone had gotten right to his bumper and then, drove his car right up under and nudged, making Speed loose and sending him into the infield barrier while he roared past. Speed swung his wheel around frantically while applying a steady foot to the brake, which sent the Mach 5 careening across the infield. He finally came to a stop in a cloud of dust up against the barrier while the force of the blow sent his body hard against the side panel.
"Speed!" Pops screamed, fear for his son etched on his craggy face. He began running toward the infield with Sparky in tow.
Speed shook his head to clear the spinning and surveyed his surroundings. He removed his helmet, flexed his arms gingerly and examined his side to see if there was any damage. Satisfied there was no injury and becoming furious, he unbuckled his seatbelt and hoisted himself up and over the console to jump out and over the passenger side. He made to sprint over to the Cannoli pit stall when a strong arm detained him. Speed whirled to see Racer X standing like a platoon sergeant, taciturn and unmovable.
"Hey, what's the big idea, Racer X? You saw what that SOB did! Let me go!"
Racer X said quietly, "Just what do you plan to do, Speed?"
"You gotta be putting me on. What the hell do you think I'm gonna do? I'm gonna go over there and kick the crap outta him!" Speed bellowed as he again tried to race over but Racer X tightened his grip on his irate little brother. With his other arm he gestured over to the Cannoli pit.
"You don't have to do that. The IRC officials are taking care of things for you."
"Huh?" Speed said blankly as his eyes followed Racer X's finger pointing. They both watched as the scene unraveled before them.
True enough, several IRC officials were congregating on the Cannoli pit with Pistone as well as Bruno Riggatini, the large bearded owner of the Cannoli Team. From the look of it, the officials were in heated discussion with both Pistone and Riggatini. Then the Cannoli team driver and owner stalked off in fury.
Speed grunted, "Great, but I still would've gotten more satisfaction ramming my fist down his throat. I owe him and it's way past payback time."
Then a chestnut haired vision with a pair of shapely legs clad in cinnamon petal pushers and a pink tank top came bounding over. Trixie launched herself at an unsuspecting Speed in a fierce hug.
"Oh Speed, I saw what that creep did! I landed the helicopter and came right over. Are you all right?" Trixie cried, her eyes wide with concern.
Recovering from the energetic greeting of his girlfriend and finding her lithe form pressed tightly against him, Speed forgot about everything else as he momentarily savored Trixie's nearness, the soft scent of her perfume intoxicating him. He drew his head back to gaze deep into her worried sea green eyes.
"I'm okay, Trix. It'll take a lot more than a little tap in my rear end to get to me."
Trixie looked at him uncertainly then wrapped her arms around him again just to reassure herself that he was really all right. Speed returned the gesture holding her tightly against his chest, the heat rising in his body as the close call and everything else combined to stimulate him. They were in this entwined position until Pops and Sparky came rushing over to the infield from the Go Team pit. Pops cleared his throat loudly and the couple drew reluctantly apart.
"Ah, I think that you two need to cool down for the time being. This isn't the place for that kind of thing, you know," he pointed out, blushing furiously.
"Yeah," Sparky agreed smirking. "I thought I was gonna have to turn a hose on you guys. Besides, the tow truck's on its way. How's the Mach 5?"
Speed glared at his buddy and then responded in a clipped tone, "She appears to be okay. The barrier's energy absorbing, you know. The alignment probably needs to be adjusted is all."
"Will do," Sparky said as the tow truck rumbled up. He went over to the driver's side and conversed with the mechanic then the two of them proceeded to get the Mach 5 hooked onto the truck.
Just at that moment, two IRC officials came over to address Speed. "Speed, we just wanted you to know that we fined Pistone and the Cannoli team for that action against you. Do you want to file a formal complaint?"
Speed looked questioningly at them. "I can do that? I thought you had already fined them."
"We did but according to IRC rules you can still file a formal complaint. So do you want to?"
Speed folded his arms and pondered the offer. He was well aware of the regulations and knew that his filing a formal complaint meant that the team and driver both were subject to even heavier fines than when the Commission itself fined a driver or a team. He felt a twinge of spiteful delight as he realized that he held all the cards.
"Speed?" Trixie asked softly, not caring for the gleam in his eyes.
Speed shot a grin at her that didn't reach his eyes. "Okay, then. Yes, I do want to file a formal complaint. How do I go about doing that?"
Racer X, whose presence was quietly in the background and unnoticed until he spoke, said softly, "I think that may be a mistake."
Everybody looked at the tall, imposing masked figure. Pops glanced at the man and nodded, "I think he's right. Speed, the Commission already fined the Cannoli team and Pistone. Let sleeping dogs lie."
Speed whirled and glared at his father. "Pops, you saw what he did! He deliberately made me crash. No, I'm going ahead with it." He abruptly left the group and followed the two officials to the IRC office.
Pops, Trixie and Racer X all exchanged glances. Racer X turned to head back to his car but gave a parting comment. "Speed needs to learn to use his head more or he's going to end up in all kinds of trouble." He climbed into his car and after firing up the engine, took off.
Pops stared at the departing enigmatic racer. Something about his voice was so familiar but Pops shook his head as he took Trixie's elbow. "C'mon Trixie, let's head to the trailer."
Later, in the plush quarters of the Cannoli Racing team, Bruno Riggatini, was just finished talking on the phone. Phil Pistone sat indolently on a leather recliner, just basking in the joyful rays of the day's successful practice run. The fine he received was just a drop in the financial bucket for him, his late father, who had been a high court judge in Florence before he passed on, had left him quite well off. Money was not a problem.
Bruno hung up the phone and stepped in front of Pistone and announced, "Well, that was IRC again."
Pistone shrugged, "So what?" His cavalier attitude enraged the volatile Bruno like waving a red flag in front of a bull. He slapped the long legs of the Italian racer off the chair.
"So what!? I'll tell you so what. The IRC has put my team on probation, which means anymore incidents, and my team will be suspended from racing for the rest of the year. This team is my lifeblood and I won't let anybody and that includes you, destroy what my father built from nothing. So get out."
Pistone jumped to his feet. "You can't be serious."
"I am. I'm sorry, Phil you're a great racer but you've become a liability, a liability I can't afford to have on my team."
"B-but, I thought we were just fined," Phil pointed out in dismay.
"Well, Speed Racer has filed a formal complaint and the fines are just part of the penalty. Because this is the team's or I should say your third incident, the team is officially on probation. They were considering it on their own but Racer's complaint was the deciding factor."
"Why that snot-nosed little brat. Ima gonna fix him good," Pistone exploded. "He's just pissed because I tried to make time with his girlfriend at the party."
"That's not my concern. My team is and as of now you are no longer a part of my team," Bruno said with a shrug. "So pack your things and be out of here within the hour," he said as he left the room.
Phil Pistone stood there in a mixture of shock and fury. His eyes narrowed to amber slits as he strode to the door and wrenched it open, stepped out and slammed it full force. "That little bastardo! I'm gonna make him sorry he ever got behind the wheel of a racecar," he promised himself grimly as he headed for his trailer to clean it out.
The sun was already a sultry white ball in the sky beating down on the Raytona Speed Oval at 9:45 in the morning, promising a hot and sticky day. The Oval was teeming with activity, drivers, cars, pit crews and other personnel were busy making preparations for the final practice run of the Raytona Road Rally course. Each team was concentrated in their allotted pit area, tuning and tweaking engines, adjusting track bars, and briefing drivers as they got ready to tackle the course. Fuel supplies were made at the ready, as gasmen measured each gallon to figure out how to get the best fuel mileage, jackmen and tire changers checked the inflation pressure of each tire to make sure that the tire life would be at its best.
Up in the booth the International Racing Commission went over lists of entrants and checked the field carefully to ensure the cars were at the ready for each individual team. Down in the pits, commission reps were going over each vehicle to make sure that they met regulations and that no car had an unfair or illegal advantage.
In the Go Team pit, the IRC rep had just given the Mach 5 a thorough going over and the vehicle passed with flying colors, but the rep approached Speed with a reminder.
"Speed, I know I don't have to tell you this, but all the special functions of the Mach 5 are not to be used to advance you in the race unless you find yourself in peril. That means a life or death situation so I expect you to follow the rules." The IRC rep leaned over into the cockpit of the sleek, aerodynamic racing machine.
Speed flipped his helmet's visor up to meet the gaze of the rep with his own steady blue one. "Sir, I can assure you that I will do nothing that will be in violation of the rally or IRC rules."
The rep nodded, satisfied. "Fair enough. Your number for the practice run is 14 and I wish you the best for the race." The rep turned and vanished into the sea of race team members in the pit areas.
Sparky approached the side and leaned in to address his best friend. "So what's the verdict?"
"Everything checks out okay. He just reminded me to refrain from using the special functions in an unfair or illegal manner. And I'm number 14 for the run." Speed recounted as he replaced his visor and made a quick check of his dash gauges.
"Great. That means that you'll be in the second group." Sparky said.
Due to the fact that the rally course consisted of two main routes in and through Raytona, the city officials had the IRC split the practice runs for the big rally into two sessions for two consecutive days before the race with the field split into groups of ten cars going out in staggered increments. The course of the race was diversified and made up of several locations around the Raytona city limits. The race begins first in the Raytona Speed Oval with 10 warm-up laps then the rally takes the cars through the town and to the south and through the Neverglades wetlands- terrain is quite a challenge as most of the area is swampland with hidden pockets of quicksand. Then the course takes the racers through the String of Pearls-a group of small-uninhabited islets a mile off the coast that are connected by just the National Route 4 highway that snakes through the islets and then comes up the coastline of the mainland. The drivers follow the coast for ten miles then the course goes through the Billy Hills, a cluster of hills that are to the southwest of Raytona and then curves up and through the Sycamore National Forest and to the Flatlands, the area to the north that consists of winds and twists. The major landmark that signifies the turn back point for the racers, an intersecting section that lay just before Lake Tepidspring, is a copse of dogwood trees where a IRC check tent will be set up for the drivers to check in. They then will head back to the Speed Oval and the finish line.
Speed scanned his fuel, oil, water, battery gauges and satisfied turned to Sparky who had just emerged from beneath the raised hood of the Mach 5. "Well, Spark, how's she look?"
Sparky came up and firmly closed the hood. "She doesn't get any better, pal. You're good to go." He made an okay gesture with his index finger and thumb.
"Good," Speed said with a nod. Before he got into position, he wanted to check on one other thing. He reached over and picked up his microphone for the radio on the dash. "Mach 5 to Bluebird. Mach 5 to Bluebird. Come in, Bluebird."
The radio came to life with Trixie's husky dulcet voice. "Bluebird here. What's up, Mach 5?"
"Just checking in. I'm number 14 in the second group. Is everything all set from your side?"
"Everything's just about good to go. I'm making a last minute check but everything looks to be a go. How about you?" Trixie asked.
"We're all set. Just waiting now. I'll let you know when I'm on my way," Speed replied.
"Okay. Be careful, Speed," Trixie cautioned.
Speed grinned at the concern in her sweet comment. "I will, Trix. You be careful too."
"Will do. I'll see you after practice, okay?"
"It's a date. Take care, sweetheart."
"You too. Over and out."
Speed replaced the mike and settled in as he watched the first group pull up to the start line. He recognized drivers from some of the most competitive racing teams on the Formula 1 circuit. Pedro Zapatos with the Garbanzo Racing Club, Sven Fjiordsen representing Gunnar/Laars Racing, Jean Claude LeMans of the DuBois Brothers racing team just to name a few.
He was still watching the first group get ready for the green flag when a shadow fell over him and a snide accented voice purred, "Well, Racer, Ia see you made eet to practice. Especially after last night."
Speed's head shot up and he glared at the tall smirking form of Phil Pistone. "What do you want, Pistone? Shouldn't you be at your rod getting ready for your practice run instead of here busting my chops."
Pistone threw his head back and laughed. "I justa come to weesh you good luck. We in the same group, numero duo." He held up to fingers.
Speed grunted as he turned his head to dismiss Pistone. The Italian racer looked around and asked casually, "So where's your bellissima spotter?"
Speed snapped his head around and regarded Pistone through narrowed eyes shielded by his visor. "Pistone, if I haven't told you before I'm tellin' you now, stay away from Trixie. Or I'll pick up where we left off last night and knock your block off!"
Pistone's amber eyes narrowed as well. "Anytime, my friend." He opened his mouth to say more but an IRC rep came to him and informed him it was time for his pre-race inspection. He grinned nastily at Speed and left with a parting shot, "Have a good time on the course and watcha you back." He strode away chuckling while Speed gripped his steering wheel tight in rage.
Sparky, having seen the fury in Speed came over and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Take it easy, pal. You need to calm down before the practice run, for that terrain you need a cool head."
"That snake had the nerve to ask where Trixie was. If he thinks that she's gonna be another notch on his bedpost, he's got another thing coming. I'll kick his ass so hard he won't have one," Speed snarled.
Sparky nodded silently as he saw his buddy take some deep breaths to calm himself. Speed had taken and mastered several martial arts throughout his boyhood and pre-teens and was now trying to center his ki and focus, finding serenity so he could concentrate on the road. He then released the wheel to loosen his arms, which had been tense and taking another deep cleansing breath, put his hands back on the wheel.
"You okay now?"
Speed nodded, "Uh-huh. I'm fine, Spark."
"Good."
The first group got the green flag and with a roar, took off down the track and headed out on the first leg of the rally. The PA system announced for all drivers in the second group to line up according to number order so Speed turned the key and revved the Mach 5 to get into position. As he got into his assigned place on the field, he was dismayed then disgusted to see that Pistone was placed right beside him. He gritted his teeth in aggravation and kept his head straight ahead, refocusing on the waiting course. He had achieved his previous state of calm again when the radio signal startled him.
"Bluebird to Mach 5. Bluebird to Mach 5. Come in, Speed."
Speed picked up the mike and answered, "Mach 5 here. What's up, Trix?"
"I was about to ask you. I didn't hear from you and a couple of other spotters have already taken off. Are you in position?"
"Uh- yeah. I'm sorry, I forgot to call and tell you."
"You okay?" Trixie asked, concerned.
"Yeah, I'm fine! Geez, what do I have to do to prove it, sign an affidavit, for crying out loud?" Speed snapped, irritated.
Trixie bristled, "Well, excuse me! Sorry I bothered."
Speed sighed, "I'm sorry, Trix. I'm just uptight about the race."
"It's just a practice run, Speed. I'll be radioing you about potential hazards so it'll be fine, you'll see," she reassured calmly.
"I know. Thanks, babe. You'd better get a move on," Speed said.
"Your wish is my command, sire," Trixie answered archly. "Anything you want."
"Don't tempt me. 'Cause after practice I'll take you up on that," Speed promised.
"You have a dirty mind, Speed."
"Yeah, but you love it," Speed pointed out.
Trixie sniffed, "Okay, before this conversation gets X rated I'm splitting. Have a good run, over and out." The radio went dead and grinning, Speed replaced the mike just as the PA blared:
"ALL DRIVERS PLEASE GET INTO POSITION FOR THE GREEN FLAG!"
Speed revved the engine of the Mach 5 as he pressed on the clutch to get ready to shift into first. He felt the powerful machine rock back and forth like a thoroughbred straining at the bit and then felt the familiar thrill of exhilaration that filled him just before every race. It was a feeling like no other, a feeling of having tremendous power at his fingertips and he got the customary rush of adrenaline that he knew would sustain him to the very end. Racing was his life and there was nothing else on God's green earth that he was happier doing or wanted to do more. Well, maybe there was one other thing Speed thought salaciously, his mind dwelling briefly on Trixie.
The flagman raised the green flag and at the count the starter lights flashed and he dropped the flag. Ten cars roared toward the exit of the track and out onto the course. The cluster of cars barreled out onto the Southern Route 62 that headed out of Raytona and toward the Neverglades wetlands, the route's four lanes closed to regular traffic so the racers could practice. The cars screamed down the route and headed into the marsh area that heralded the area known as the Neverglades.
Speed had started out in the second row and had passed the two cars in the first row with hardly any effort, the Mach 5's powerful engine making short work of the other racers. He began to pick up a comfortable lead when he hit the portion of the route that brought him into the low-lying land of the Neverglades. He took note of the swamp and marsh that was becoming closer and closer to the road from the outlying scenery. He picked up the mike for some info.
"Mach 5 to Bluebird. Mach 5 to Bluebird. Come in, Bluebird."
The radio crackled to life with Trixie's voice. "Bluebird here."
"I'm heading into the Neverglades. How does the road look ahead?" Now that the practice run had commenced, as driver to spotter it was all business between Speed and Trixie, no flirting or sexual innuendo in the conversation.
"Looks good as far as I can see. The trip through the next ten miles will be a challenge though."
"How so?"
"There's some sections of the road that have the water right up to the surface, it looks a bit treacherous. Think you can manage it?"
"No sweat. How do things look behind me?"
"Okay, your closest competitor is car number 18 then 34 then 9," she told him.
"Number 9? That's Racer X! Groovy!" Speed crowed his excitement doubling. He loved racing against Racer X and his youthful exuberance was showing.
"Just cool it and keep your mind on the road ahead, Speed. The rains they had down here last week brought some pockets of swamp mud onto some of the route too. I just spotted it," Trixie warned, to get him back in focus.
"Will do. Talk to you again soon."
"Roger. Over and out."
Speed replaced the mike and saw he was heading into the thicker swamp area of the Neverglades. As he sped by, weeping willows, sassafras, and full thorny brush seemed to get closer and closer to the road, getting to be obstacles to driving. Speed pressed the Control C button on his steering column and the rotary saws extracted and began slicing through the stubborn shrubbery like so much soft spaghetti. He kept the saws going as he cruised along and cleared the road not only for himself but also for the competitors hot on his trail. But that was one of the drawbacks of leading the race and although this was just a practice run, his fiercely competitive nature pushed Speed to still want to post the fastest time.
He continued at a rapid pace as the route twisted its way thought the murky, dark swampland. The muddy and watery areas Trixie had warned him of were a bit slick but he used Control B and got through without a hitch. As he drove along, Speed found himself glancing at the occasional sloshing of the swamp water as alligators paddled in and out, their scaly skin catching the occasional sunray that made it way through the thick vegetation or various exotic birds swooping about beneath the leafy canopy of deciduous trees. The Mach 5 just kept plowing steadily through, staying true and to the course throughout the Neverglade swamp.
Finally, Speed saw the light of day as the marshy and shadowy swamp came to an end. He glanced up and saw the familiar blue speck and faint whirring of Trixie's helicopter and felt somewhat relieved, for while he had been in the deepest area of the swamp, he had been unable to see or even hear her. He continued full throttle to the next leg of the course, the islets called String of Pearls. While approaching the first connector of the highway leading into the islets, he began to get curious as to how much of a lead he had so he picked up the mike.
"Mach 5 to Bluebird, Come in Bluebird."
"Bluebird here. What's up?" Trixie answered.
"I'm wondering how much of a lead I've got."
"Hold on and I'll let you know." Trixie peered back through her binoculars. "Looks like you've got almost a two second lead on the next two cars."
"Next two cars?" Speed asked.
"Uh-huh. Car 18 and Car 9 are neck and neck coming out of the Neverglades. Looks like quite a battle for second place."
Speed grinned in satisfaction. He relished it when the other racers were farther behind and when a battle for position was going on behind him it only boded well.
"That's groovy news. Thanks, honey."
"No problem. I'll keep you informed as they make progress on you. Who's Car 18 anyway?"
Speed thought for a moment then groaned as he realized who it was. "It's Phil Pistone," he said sullenly.
"Speed, why so glum about it?" Trixie wanted to know immediately picking up on his mood.
Speed sighed at Trixie's uncanny ability to read his moods and didn't want to tell her about Pistone asking about her so he just said brightly, "Nothing, Trix. I'll talk to you in a bit."
"Okay, over and out."
Speed's trek through the String of Pearls was uneventful and went as smoothly as he could have hoped. Although uninhabited by humans and seemingly untouched by civilization, the islets were places of sylvan beauty, filled with palm trees, lush plants, and flowers. They were also teeming with exotic birds and small animals so as he streamed along, he enjoyed the various floras and fauna that surrounded him as he flew past. Because of that, he found pleasure in the ride, even knowing that it was a practice run for the upcoming rally and found himself wishing that Trixie was beside him in the car enjoying the view instead of above him in her helicopter. He thought about bringing her here after the race just to share the beauty with her.
The practice run for Speed then headed into the Billy Hills, and the road ran up the first hill then zigzagged through the rest of the cluster of hills which due to his skills turned out to be uneventful as well. But because of the sharp curves and craggy mountain road, he had to slow down quite a bit, to maneuver the road without mishap. It was here that his lead was cut down and both Pistone and Racer X had gained considerable ground on him. He still led but not by much as he headed into the Sycamore National Forest.
Speed was winding his way through the forest when his radio beeped.
"Bluebird to Mach 5, come in Speed."
He reached for the mike and answered, "Mach 5 here. Go ahead, Trixie."
"Speed, Cars 18 and 9 are about four tenths of a second behind you."
"Yeah, I know. I had to slow down for the road that went through the Billy Hills."
"Well, that gave them the chance to catch up," she informed him.
"I had no choice, Trixie. I had to take it easy going through the hills. It was like driving the Craggy Peak Mountains back home," Speed explained.
"I know, Speed. I'm not blaming you. This is just a practice run anyway and I'd rather you take it easy and I'm sure Pops, Sparky, and the rest of the team does too. I want you back at the track in one piece."
Speed grinned and he said airily, "Don't you worry your pretty head about it. I'll get back there safe and sound. We have a date, for afterward don't we?"
"Uh-huh. So I'll be waiting for you. Over and out."
Speed replaced the mike and continued on. In a short time he was out of Sycamore National Forest and on his way into and through the Flatlands and then to the crossroad just before Lake Tepidspring. He swung around and headed down National Route 4 back toward Raytona. Behind him was Pistone and the Shooting Star, Racer X's lean mean racing machine both right on his tail. They all screamed toward the speedway and entered the racetrack.
As Speed made his way down the backstretch, Pistone had gotten right to his bumper and then, drove his car right up under and nudged, making Speed loose and sending him into the infield barrier while he roared past. Speed swung his wheel around frantically while applying a steady foot to the brake, which sent the Mach 5 careening across the infield. He finally came to a stop in a cloud of dust up against the barrier while the force of the blow sent his body hard against the side panel.
"Speed!" Pops screamed, fear for his son etched on his craggy face. He began running toward the infield with Sparky in tow.
Speed shook his head to clear the spinning and surveyed his surroundings. He removed his helmet, flexed his arms gingerly and examined his side to see if there was any damage. Satisfied there was no injury and becoming furious, he unbuckled his seatbelt and hoisted himself up and over the console to jump out and over the passenger side. He made to sprint over to the Cannoli pit stall when a strong arm detained him. Speed whirled to see Racer X standing like a platoon sergeant, taciturn and unmovable.
"Hey, what's the big idea, Racer X? You saw what that SOB did! Let me go!"
Racer X said quietly, "Just what do you plan to do, Speed?"
"You gotta be putting me on. What the hell do you think I'm gonna do? I'm gonna go over there and kick the crap outta him!" Speed bellowed as he again tried to race over but Racer X tightened his grip on his irate little brother. With his other arm he gestured over to the Cannoli pit.
"You don't have to do that. The IRC officials are taking care of things for you."
"Huh?" Speed said blankly as his eyes followed Racer X's finger pointing. They both watched as the scene unraveled before them.
True enough, several IRC officials were congregating on the Cannoli pit with Pistone as well as Bruno Riggatini, the large bearded owner of the Cannoli Team. From the look of it, the officials were in heated discussion with both Pistone and Riggatini. Then the Cannoli team driver and owner stalked off in fury.
Speed grunted, "Great, but I still would've gotten more satisfaction ramming my fist down his throat. I owe him and it's way past payback time."
Then a chestnut haired vision with a pair of shapely legs clad in cinnamon petal pushers and a pink tank top came bounding over. Trixie launched herself at an unsuspecting Speed in a fierce hug.
"Oh Speed, I saw what that creep did! I landed the helicopter and came right over. Are you all right?" Trixie cried, her eyes wide with concern.
Recovering from the energetic greeting of his girlfriend and finding her lithe form pressed tightly against him, Speed forgot about everything else as he momentarily savored Trixie's nearness, the soft scent of her perfume intoxicating him. He drew his head back to gaze deep into her worried sea green eyes.
"I'm okay, Trix. It'll take a lot more than a little tap in my rear end to get to me."
Trixie looked at him uncertainly then wrapped her arms around him again just to reassure herself that he was really all right. Speed returned the gesture holding her tightly against his chest, the heat rising in his body as the close call and everything else combined to stimulate him. They were in this entwined position until Pops and Sparky came rushing over to the infield from the Go Team pit. Pops cleared his throat loudly and the couple drew reluctantly apart.
"Ah, I think that you two need to cool down for the time being. This isn't the place for that kind of thing, you know," he pointed out, blushing furiously.
"Yeah," Sparky agreed smirking. "I thought I was gonna have to turn a hose on you guys. Besides, the tow truck's on its way. How's the Mach 5?"
Speed glared at his buddy and then responded in a clipped tone, "She appears to be okay. The barrier's energy absorbing, you know. The alignment probably needs to be adjusted is all."
"Will do," Sparky said as the tow truck rumbled up. He went over to the driver's side and conversed with the mechanic then the two of them proceeded to get the Mach 5 hooked onto the truck.
Just at that moment, two IRC officials came over to address Speed. "Speed, we just wanted you to know that we fined Pistone and the Cannoli team for that action against you. Do you want to file a formal complaint?"
Speed looked questioningly at them. "I can do that? I thought you had already fined them."
"We did but according to IRC rules you can still file a formal complaint. So do you want to?"
Speed folded his arms and pondered the offer. He was well aware of the regulations and knew that his filing a formal complaint meant that the team and driver both were subject to even heavier fines than when the Commission itself fined a driver or a team. He felt a twinge of spiteful delight as he realized that he held all the cards.
"Speed?" Trixie asked softly, not caring for the gleam in his eyes.
Speed shot a grin at her that didn't reach his eyes. "Okay, then. Yes, I do want to file a formal complaint. How do I go about doing that?"
Racer X, whose presence was quietly in the background and unnoticed until he spoke, said softly, "I think that may be a mistake."
Everybody looked at the tall, imposing masked figure. Pops glanced at the man and nodded, "I think he's right. Speed, the Commission already fined the Cannoli team and Pistone. Let sleeping dogs lie."
Speed whirled and glared at his father. "Pops, you saw what he did! He deliberately made me crash. No, I'm going ahead with it." He abruptly left the group and followed the two officials to the IRC office.
Pops, Trixie and Racer X all exchanged glances. Racer X turned to head back to his car but gave a parting comment. "Speed needs to learn to use his head more or he's going to end up in all kinds of trouble." He climbed into his car and after firing up the engine, took off.
Pops stared at the departing enigmatic racer. Something about his voice was so familiar but Pops shook his head as he took Trixie's elbow. "C'mon Trixie, let's head to the trailer."
Later, in the plush quarters of the Cannoli Racing team, Bruno Riggatini, was just finished talking on the phone. Phil Pistone sat indolently on a leather recliner, just basking in the joyful rays of the day's successful practice run. The fine he received was just a drop in the financial bucket for him, his late father, who had been a high court judge in Florence before he passed on, had left him quite well off. Money was not a problem.
Bruno hung up the phone and stepped in front of Pistone and announced, "Well, that was IRC again."
Pistone shrugged, "So what?" His cavalier attitude enraged the volatile Bruno like waving a red flag in front of a bull. He slapped the long legs of the Italian racer off the chair.
"So what!? I'll tell you so what. The IRC has put my team on probation, which means anymore incidents, and my team will be suspended from racing for the rest of the year. This team is my lifeblood and I won't let anybody and that includes you, destroy what my father built from nothing. So get out."
Pistone jumped to his feet. "You can't be serious."
"I am. I'm sorry, Phil you're a great racer but you've become a liability, a liability I can't afford to have on my team."
"B-but, I thought we were just fined," Phil pointed out in dismay.
"Well, Speed Racer has filed a formal complaint and the fines are just part of the penalty. Because this is the team's or I should say your third incident, the team is officially on probation. They were considering it on their own but Racer's complaint was the deciding factor."
"Why that snot-nosed little brat. Ima gonna fix him good," Pistone exploded. "He's just pissed because I tried to make time with his girlfriend at the party."
"That's not my concern. My team is and as of now you are no longer a part of my team," Bruno said with a shrug. "So pack your things and be out of here within the hour," he said as he left the room.
Phil Pistone stood there in a mixture of shock and fury. His eyes narrowed to amber slits as he strode to the door and wrenched it open, stepped out and slammed it full force. "That little bastardo! I'm gonna make him sorry he ever got behind the wheel of a racecar," he promised himself grimly as he headed for his trailer to clean it out.