TWO
"I hope they put our stuff in alphabetical order," Elwood asided to Rocky as they entered the prison's storage area. Boxes were stacked everywhere.
"No need to worry Elwood," Rocky held up a large box labeled ELWOOD J. D. BLUES and tossed it at his cellmate. "Good work," Elwood told him. He tore open the box and pulled out a small control capsule. He pressed the large red button on top. From outside in the impound yard, the sound of an engine starting burst the silence. Elwood started turning the small silvery wheel on the capsule.
"So what are you doing now?" Rocky asked him, hefting his own box.
"Summoning the Bluesmobile," Elwood told him, "Open the window."
"Right," Rocky strolled over to the window and kicked it open. "Here it comes!" he exclaimed as the much-renowned Bluesmobile slowly inched its way into view below.
"Hold it right there you two!" came the voice of Warden Suntzman. The two men turned to find themselves face to face with at least a dozen guards, their rifles aimed at the convicts. Suntzman stepped forward out of them. "All right you two," he began smugly, "Come along quietly and we won't....."
Just then, Suntzman was toppled to the floor. Serpico had knocked him down. The dog then placed himself between his master and the prisoners and barked loudly, enough to send most of the guards running for the exit.
"Serpico, get the hell out of my way!" Suntzman shouted, swiping at his dog. Serpico responded by biting him hard on the hand. Suntzman howled in pain and hopped backwards.
"I think that's our cue to get goin'," Elwood said to Rocky. His cellmate nodded, and the two of them jumped out the window, boxes in hand. Serpico watched them go and jumped out the window after them.
"So you're comin' too?" Elwood asked the dog once he'd realized it had followed him. He thought over the pros and cons of having a dog with him, then nodded and said, "Sure, why not, after what he put you through in there." He pulled a trigger on his console that opened all of the Bluesmobile's doors.
"Blues, Topton, get back here with my dog!" Suntzman shouted after them. Marvin ran up to the window and starting firing away with his rifle at the infamous car as the two cons jumped in it and sped out. "Save your ammo, Marvin," Suntzman told him, pushing the rifle down.
"So what do we do now, sir?" Marvin asked him.
"Call Burt and tell him that I need his help on this ASAP," Suntzman said.
"But he's in the middle of the........" Marvin began.
"Just call him!" Suntzman snapped.
"Right away sir," Marvin ran off. Suntzman glanced up the road after the Bluesmobile. "Don't think you can get away from me, Blues, because I don't give up easy," he said toward it.
"For the past four years, George Haroldson has raised tariffs and taxes, making life hard for decent, hardworking people like yourselves," Burton Mercer announced to the dockworkers assembled before him in the Weiss Ballroom, "Well, put me in power, and I'll see to it that none of that happens to you. No way I'm going to make any hikes, or anything like that."
In the audience, one of the dockworkers sniggered to another, "Who's he kidding? Haroldson hasn't done any of the things he's accused him of. This guy's campaign's a joke."
"I know," the other dockworker said, "When he going to wake up and smell the coffee that he's an idiot?"
"And I'll see to it," Mercer continued, thumping his fist on the pulpit he was standing behind, oblivious to the nay saying in the audience, "That Illinois becomes the best state in the whole union, with better security, better job rates, and a better lifestyle as a whole."
Behind Mercer, his consorts, Illinois Highway Patrol Captains Steve Daniel and Charles Mount, exchanged hesitant glances. Their boss had shot himself in the foot so many times already in the campaign that it wasn't funny anymore, and now he was doing it yet again.
"Repeat after me, Haroldson out, Mercer in!" Mercer said in one final burst of energy. The applause was sporadic. Mercer, however, soaked it all up. "Thank you, God bless Illinois!" he shouted as he bowed to the crows and shuffled offstage.
"Very nice Mr. Mercer, well done," Mount said sarcastically as they headed for the dressing rooms.
"Thanks, Mount," Mercer said, again not seeing the signs.
"Uh Mr. Mercer," Seymour Greensburg, Mercer's campaign manager, ran up with papers in his hand. An ultra-nerd, with horn-rimmed glasses and a checkered tuxedo, Seymour had been brought on board basically because he was the only guy in the Chicago Republican party who wanted to work with Mercer. "I've got the latest poll results," he continued, showing Mercer the papers he was holding, "I'm afraid it doesn't look good. Haroldson's starting to pull away from us."
"Well don't hit the panic button just yet, Seymour; a lot can be done in a week. Hey there Ness," Mercer entered the back dressing room and leaned down to pet his Doberman pincer, who'd been waiting for him.
"Mr. Mercer, with all due respect, we're going to need a miracle to pull this one off," Seymour admitted.
"Mr. Mercer, Jim Suntzman's on line one for you," Mercer's secretary told him.
"Thanks Debbie," Mercer picked up the nearest phone. "Hi Jim, what's shaking at Joliet?" he asked his old friend. His expression went wild. "You don't say!" he exclaimed. "Well don't worry; I'll get on it right away." He hung up the phone with vigor. "Gentlemen," he announced to everyone present, "You won't believe what just happened!"
"Marshall Fields withdrew their funding?" Daniel asked with raised eyebrows.
"Nope," Mercer told him, "We just got our big break. Elwood Blues just escaped from prison again!"
"That turkey's still alive?" Mount seemed surprised he was.
"Yep, and you all remember how bad he was the last time we faced off," Mercer said. "This is just what we needed. We can attack Haroldson by saying that under him the prisoner holding system is flawed enough to allow someone like Blues to escape. And then we track him down ourselves and make ourselves look like heroes."
"Can we do that, sir?" Seymour asked.
"Seymour, this is big league politics, anything goes," Mercer told him, "surely you know that?"
"Um, well, of course sir, but....."
"But nothing," Mercer said. "Now get in touch with the guys in publicity and tell them I want anti-Blues ads ASAP. And call the boys in the Defense Department; I think we could use there help on this one."
"Uh sir, do you really think the federal government would be needed for something like this?" Seymour asked.
"Oh yeah, Elwood J. Blues is no ordinary convict, right guys?" Mercer asked Daniel and Mount. The troopers nodded emphatically.
"Well OK, if you say so," Seymour scurried off. Mercer scratched Ness between the ears. "Well pal," he told the Doberman, "It looks like the field's setting up for a late charge by the underdog...no offense."
Elwood pulled the Bluesmobile over to the curb and dumped his and Rocky's prison uniforms into a trash receptacle. It felt good to be back in the old Blues Brother suit again.
"I never thought I'd have the honor of actually riding in this thing," Rocky commented from the passenger seat. He was dressed in the black leather biker outfit he'd been wearing when he'd been busted.
"Well it ain't the original, but it does well," Elwood told him.
There was the sound of his harmonica from the backseat. Serpico had found it inside his briefcase. "Hey don't mess with that!" Elwood warned him, "That's priceless!"
Serpico began blowing on the harmonica. Amazingly, he was playing an almost perfect rendition of "Piano Man." Elwood whistled in surprise. "Ya know somethin', Serp, you've got a knack for that," he commented.
"Hey, if we ever put the band back together, he could be front dog," Rocky chuckled.
"Maybe," Elwood shrugged. He gave the dog a lovingly pat on the bridge of his nose. "We really ought to give him a new name, to get him away from his time in the prison," he told Rocky.
"How about Steppenwolf?" Rocky suggested.
"Too long," Elwood said. "I was thinkin' something more along the lines of 'Armstrong.'"
"Why Armstrong?"
"Well, Jake and I always liked it when Curtis played his records for us when we was kids, so I figure it would be a good tribute," Elwood explained.
Rocky shrugged. "Okay then, Armstrong it is," he said. He gave the dog a patting of his own. The newly christened Armstrong licked his face. "So Elwood, when do you think that heavenly agent that Curtis guy was talking about'll show up?" he asked his buddy.
"Who knows?" Elwood shrugged, "God works in mysterious ways. He could wait...."
Just then there was another blinding holy flash from the Bluesmobile's back seat. Armstrong yelped in terror and jumped under the seat. Soon the light settled into its human form. "Hi Elwood," said..........
"JAKE!!!????" Elwood was overcome with joy at the sight of his brother again. He half jumped over the seat and gave him a hug, oblivious to the fact that, as with Curtis back in the jail cell, his arms went right through him. The Bluesmobile, with no one driving it, swerved up onto the sidewalk and totaled a mailbox. "Careful!" Rocky yelled, grabbing the wheel and swerving back into the street.
"Sorry," Elwood said sheepishly. "Rock, this is my brother, 'Joliet' Jake."
"Pleasure to meet you, Topton," Jake gave Rocky's hand a vigorous (sort of) shaking. He dug out a cigarette and lit up. "Well, Curtis brought me up to speed on what he told you guys, so I guess I'd better fill you in on the rest," he continued. "We've got fourteen days to find and reassemble the St. Francis de Sales Relic, take it to the Dark Pit....."
"Where is this Dark Pit, anyway?" Elwood asked him.
"They built the Sears Tower over it, so we'll have to take the relic to the very top of the structure, plant it at the lip of the pit, and say the holy incantation," Jake explained.
"And what is the holy incantation, Jake?"
"You'll find out when you start doing it, and not before," Jake told him. "Now two of the pieces of the relic are here in Chicago, and we'll pick them up tomorrow. By fate of luck, one of them happens to be in the hands of our old friend Reverend Cleophus James, and we'll get that one first. It has a cybertelegenic impulse in it that will help me track down the next piece, and that will lead me to the next, and so on."
"Wait a minute, cybertele-what?" Elwood asked.
"It's a holy imprinting; only angels can sense it," Jake explained. "Now I know the rough estimate locations of the other pieces of the Relic. One's in the East, one's down South, and one's out West. But I'll only get a firm trace on them as we assemble the preceding pieces. And on top of that, I've got the perfect cover for our operations."
"What?" Rocky asked.
Jake leaned in very close to them. "We put the band back together for good," he said triumphantly.
"Well that would be great, Jake, but I have no clue how we're going to convince them to come back after the last fiasco," Elwood said tentatively.
"Don't worry about that, Elwood; when I get through with them, they'll be practically begging to come back," Jake said confidently. "And on top of that, I'll even take that sorry group of pretenders you recruited last time out and turn them into a lean, mean blues machine free of charge."
"Well I wouldn't call them a sorry group of pretenders,...." Elwood began, but then thought it over and conceded, "Yeah, they are, aren't they?"
"And after I do that, we're going to add the one key ingredient to the band that we haven't had before," Jake went on.
"What's that?" Elwood asked
"Zee Papageorge."
"Who?"
"My brother."
"Brother?" Elwood was confused now.
"My natural brother, that is," Jake told him. "You see, my mother Artesia Papageorge had him about two years before she had me, then left him up for adoption just before I was born. Just like you and Cabel, he has no idea that I'm related to him. At least before I tell him tomorrow. He sings a wicked cut, and I just know he'll fit in quite well. And plus, you guys were right a minute ago. Armstrong here'll make a great harmonica player," he magically produced a bone from up his sleeve and handed it to Armstrong, who gobbled it up greedily.
"How'd you do that?" Rocky was impressed.
"My holy powers are heavily invested in me," Jake said with pride. "And as long as I recharge them in a church every twenty-four hours, I can do basically anything for the cause of good that I want."
"Oh, so you're kind of like the Green Lightbulb, then?" Elwood asked.
"It's Green Lantern, Elwood, but yes, that's basically how it goes," Jake said. He now pulled out a bottle of wine and took a swig. "They let you drink that stuff in heaven?" Rocky asked.
"It's non-alcoholic, so we don't do anything stupid, but other than that, we get all the beer we want, and best of all, it's free, so I don't have to worry about country and western guys chasing after me," Jake gave Elwood a wink.
"Well, I guess I'll let you two catch up with old times," Rocky said, sliding over to his seat in the passenger seat, "Wake me up when it's sunrise."
"Gotcha," Elwood told him. He looked back at Jake with great affection—affection he'd never known he'd had in a long time. Jake noticed this. "What?" he asked.
"All those nights I spent, hopin' and prayin' that maybe I'd see ya again, I can't believe they actually came true," Elwood said softly.
"Hey, don't think I wasn't aware of those prayers," Jake said. "I was hoping to show myself to you eventually, and I'm glad that time came sooner than later. And I promise you, once this is all over and we've saved the world, I am going to make the Blues Brothers into the world class act that you and I always dreamed it would be."
"You sure about that, Jake?"
"Since when have I steered you wrong, Elwood?"
"Well, there was that woman that kept stalking us during the...."
"Well, besides that," Jake said quickly. He pointed out the window. "Turn left here. I know where we can spend the night."
"There you see...," the face of Satan told Zildrohar as he watched the Blues Brothers on the central monitor, "...are your enemies. Do not let them succeed, or thy head will be staked to the gate of the 6th circle!"
"Do not worry, Master Satan, they will suffer a worse pain than they can possibly imagine before they even get close to stopping us," Zildrohar told him with resolve.
"See to it that is the case," Satan told him. "There are many people, both up there and down here, who would want nothing better than to see them rubbed out as much as we do. Use them well."
"I will, Master," Zildrohar saluted his Dark Lord as the screen went dark. He picked up his snake and stroked it. "Ophiuchus," he told it, "I think we're going to need to commit everything to cause this time."
"I hope they put our stuff in alphabetical order," Elwood asided to Rocky as they entered the prison's storage area. Boxes were stacked everywhere.
"No need to worry Elwood," Rocky held up a large box labeled ELWOOD J. D. BLUES and tossed it at his cellmate. "Good work," Elwood told him. He tore open the box and pulled out a small control capsule. He pressed the large red button on top. From outside in the impound yard, the sound of an engine starting burst the silence. Elwood started turning the small silvery wheel on the capsule.
"So what are you doing now?" Rocky asked him, hefting his own box.
"Summoning the Bluesmobile," Elwood told him, "Open the window."
"Right," Rocky strolled over to the window and kicked it open. "Here it comes!" he exclaimed as the much-renowned Bluesmobile slowly inched its way into view below.
"Hold it right there you two!" came the voice of Warden Suntzman. The two men turned to find themselves face to face with at least a dozen guards, their rifles aimed at the convicts. Suntzman stepped forward out of them. "All right you two," he began smugly, "Come along quietly and we won't....."
Just then, Suntzman was toppled to the floor. Serpico had knocked him down. The dog then placed himself between his master and the prisoners and barked loudly, enough to send most of the guards running for the exit.
"Serpico, get the hell out of my way!" Suntzman shouted, swiping at his dog. Serpico responded by biting him hard on the hand. Suntzman howled in pain and hopped backwards.
"I think that's our cue to get goin'," Elwood said to Rocky. His cellmate nodded, and the two of them jumped out the window, boxes in hand. Serpico watched them go and jumped out the window after them.
"So you're comin' too?" Elwood asked the dog once he'd realized it had followed him. He thought over the pros and cons of having a dog with him, then nodded and said, "Sure, why not, after what he put you through in there." He pulled a trigger on his console that opened all of the Bluesmobile's doors.
"Blues, Topton, get back here with my dog!" Suntzman shouted after them. Marvin ran up to the window and starting firing away with his rifle at the infamous car as the two cons jumped in it and sped out. "Save your ammo, Marvin," Suntzman told him, pushing the rifle down.
"So what do we do now, sir?" Marvin asked him.
"Call Burt and tell him that I need his help on this ASAP," Suntzman said.
"But he's in the middle of the........" Marvin began.
"Just call him!" Suntzman snapped.
"Right away sir," Marvin ran off. Suntzman glanced up the road after the Bluesmobile. "Don't think you can get away from me, Blues, because I don't give up easy," he said toward it.
"For the past four years, George Haroldson has raised tariffs and taxes, making life hard for decent, hardworking people like yourselves," Burton Mercer announced to the dockworkers assembled before him in the Weiss Ballroom, "Well, put me in power, and I'll see to it that none of that happens to you. No way I'm going to make any hikes, or anything like that."
In the audience, one of the dockworkers sniggered to another, "Who's he kidding? Haroldson hasn't done any of the things he's accused him of. This guy's campaign's a joke."
"I know," the other dockworker said, "When he going to wake up and smell the coffee that he's an idiot?"
"And I'll see to it," Mercer continued, thumping his fist on the pulpit he was standing behind, oblivious to the nay saying in the audience, "That Illinois becomes the best state in the whole union, with better security, better job rates, and a better lifestyle as a whole."
Behind Mercer, his consorts, Illinois Highway Patrol Captains Steve Daniel and Charles Mount, exchanged hesitant glances. Their boss had shot himself in the foot so many times already in the campaign that it wasn't funny anymore, and now he was doing it yet again.
"Repeat after me, Haroldson out, Mercer in!" Mercer said in one final burst of energy. The applause was sporadic. Mercer, however, soaked it all up. "Thank you, God bless Illinois!" he shouted as he bowed to the crows and shuffled offstage.
"Very nice Mr. Mercer, well done," Mount said sarcastically as they headed for the dressing rooms.
"Thanks, Mount," Mercer said, again not seeing the signs.
"Uh Mr. Mercer," Seymour Greensburg, Mercer's campaign manager, ran up with papers in his hand. An ultra-nerd, with horn-rimmed glasses and a checkered tuxedo, Seymour had been brought on board basically because he was the only guy in the Chicago Republican party who wanted to work with Mercer. "I've got the latest poll results," he continued, showing Mercer the papers he was holding, "I'm afraid it doesn't look good. Haroldson's starting to pull away from us."
"Well don't hit the panic button just yet, Seymour; a lot can be done in a week. Hey there Ness," Mercer entered the back dressing room and leaned down to pet his Doberman pincer, who'd been waiting for him.
"Mr. Mercer, with all due respect, we're going to need a miracle to pull this one off," Seymour admitted.
"Mr. Mercer, Jim Suntzman's on line one for you," Mercer's secretary told him.
"Thanks Debbie," Mercer picked up the nearest phone. "Hi Jim, what's shaking at Joliet?" he asked his old friend. His expression went wild. "You don't say!" he exclaimed. "Well don't worry; I'll get on it right away." He hung up the phone with vigor. "Gentlemen," he announced to everyone present, "You won't believe what just happened!"
"Marshall Fields withdrew their funding?" Daniel asked with raised eyebrows.
"Nope," Mercer told him, "We just got our big break. Elwood Blues just escaped from prison again!"
"That turkey's still alive?" Mount seemed surprised he was.
"Yep, and you all remember how bad he was the last time we faced off," Mercer said. "This is just what we needed. We can attack Haroldson by saying that under him the prisoner holding system is flawed enough to allow someone like Blues to escape. And then we track him down ourselves and make ourselves look like heroes."
"Can we do that, sir?" Seymour asked.
"Seymour, this is big league politics, anything goes," Mercer told him, "surely you know that?"
"Um, well, of course sir, but....."
"But nothing," Mercer said. "Now get in touch with the guys in publicity and tell them I want anti-Blues ads ASAP. And call the boys in the Defense Department; I think we could use there help on this one."
"Uh sir, do you really think the federal government would be needed for something like this?" Seymour asked.
"Oh yeah, Elwood J. Blues is no ordinary convict, right guys?" Mercer asked Daniel and Mount. The troopers nodded emphatically.
"Well OK, if you say so," Seymour scurried off. Mercer scratched Ness between the ears. "Well pal," he told the Doberman, "It looks like the field's setting up for a late charge by the underdog...no offense."
Elwood pulled the Bluesmobile over to the curb and dumped his and Rocky's prison uniforms into a trash receptacle. It felt good to be back in the old Blues Brother suit again.
"I never thought I'd have the honor of actually riding in this thing," Rocky commented from the passenger seat. He was dressed in the black leather biker outfit he'd been wearing when he'd been busted.
"Well it ain't the original, but it does well," Elwood told him.
There was the sound of his harmonica from the backseat. Serpico had found it inside his briefcase. "Hey don't mess with that!" Elwood warned him, "That's priceless!"
Serpico began blowing on the harmonica. Amazingly, he was playing an almost perfect rendition of "Piano Man." Elwood whistled in surprise. "Ya know somethin', Serp, you've got a knack for that," he commented.
"Hey, if we ever put the band back together, he could be front dog," Rocky chuckled.
"Maybe," Elwood shrugged. He gave the dog a lovingly pat on the bridge of his nose. "We really ought to give him a new name, to get him away from his time in the prison," he told Rocky.
"How about Steppenwolf?" Rocky suggested.
"Too long," Elwood said. "I was thinkin' something more along the lines of 'Armstrong.'"
"Why Armstrong?"
"Well, Jake and I always liked it when Curtis played his records for us when we was kids, so I figure it would be a good tribute," Elwood explained.
Rocky shrugged. "Okay then, Armstrong it is," he said. He gave the dog a patting of his own. The newly christened Armstrong licked his face. "So Elwood, when do you think that heavenly agent that Curtis guy was talking about'll show up?" he asked his buddy.
"Who knows?" Elwood shrugged, "God works in mysterious ways. He could wait...."
Just then there was another blinding holy flash from the Bluesmobile's back seat. Armstrong yelped in terror and jumped under the seat. Soon the light settled into its human form. "Hi Elwood," said..........
"JAKE!!!????" Elwood was overcome with joy at the sight of his brother again. He half jumped over the seat and gave him a hug, oblivious to the fact that, as with Curtis back in the jail cell, his arms went right through him. The Bluesmobile, with no one driving it, swerved up onto the sidewalk and totaled a mailbox. "Careful!" Rocky yelled, grabbing the wheel and swerving back into the street.
"Sorry," Elwood said sheepishly. "Rock, this is my brother, 'Joliet' Jake."
"Pleasure to meet you, Topton," Jake gave Rocky's hand a vigorous (sort of) shaking. He dug out a cigarette and lit up. "Well, Curtis brought me up to speed on what he told you guys, so I guess I'd better fill you in on the rest," he continued. "We've got fourteen days to find and reassemble the St. Francis de Sales Relic, take it to the Dark Pit....."
"Where is this Dark Pit, anyway?" Elwood asked him.
"They built the Sears Tower over it, so we'll have to take the relic to the very top of the structure, plant it at the lip of the pit, and say the holy incantation," Jake explained.
"And what is the holy incantation, Jake?"
"You'll find out when you start doing it, and not before," Jake told him. "Now two of the pieces of the relic are here in Chicago, and we'll pick them up tomorrow. By fate of luck, one of them happens to be in the hands of our old friend Reverend Cleophus James, and we'll get that one first. It has a cybertelegenic impulse in it that will help me track down the next piece, and that will lead me to the next, and so on."
"Wait a minute, cybertele-what?" Elwood asked.
"It's a holy imprinting; only angels can sense it," Jake explained. "Now I know the rough estimate locations of the other pieces of the Relic. One's in the East, one's down South, and one's out West. But I'll only get a firm trace on them as we assemble the preceding pieces. And on top of that, I've got the perfect cover for our operations."
"What?" Rocky asked.
Jake leaned in very close to them. "We put the band back together for good," he said triumphantly.
"Well that would be great, Jake, but I have no clue how we're going to convince them to come back after the last fiasco," Elwood said tentatively.
"Don't worry about that, Elwood; when I get through with them, they'll be practically begging to come back," Jake said confidently. "And on top of that, I'll even take that sorry group of pretenders you recruited last time out and turn them into a lean, mean blues machine free of charge."
"Well I wouldn't call them a sorry group of pretenders,...." Elwood began, but then thought it over and conceded, "Yeah, they are, aren't they?"
"And after I do that, we're going to add the one key ingredient to the band that we haven't had before," Jake went on.
"What's that?" Elwood asked
"Zee Papageorge."
"Who?"
"My brother."
"Brother?" Elwood was confused now.
"My natural brother, that is," Jake told him. "You see, my mother Artesia Papageorge had him about two years before she had me, then left him up for adoption just before I was born. Just like you and Cabel, he has no idea that I'm related to him. At least before I tell him tomorrow. He sings a wicked cut, and I just know he'll fit in quite well. And plus, you guys were right a minute ago. Armstrong here'll make a great harmonica player," he magically produced a bone from up his sleeve and handed it to Armstrong, who gobbled it up greedily.
"How'd you do that?" Rocky was impressed.
"My holy powers are heavily invested in me," Jake said with pride. "And as long as I recharge them in a church every twenty-four hours, I can do basically anything for the cause of good that I want."
"Oh, so you're kind of like the Green Lightbulb, then?" Elwood asked.
"It's Green Lantern, Elwood, but yes, that's basically how it goes," Jake said. He now pulled out a bottle of wine and took a swig. "They let you drink that stuff in heaven?" Rocky asked.
"It's non-alcoholic, so we don't do anything stupid, but other than that, we get all the beer we want, and best of all, it's free, so I don't have to worry about country and western guys chasing after me," Jake gave Elwood a wink.
"Well, I guess I'll let you two catch up with old times," Rocky said, sliding over to his seat in the passenger seat, "Wake me up when it's sunrise."
"Gotcha," Elwood told him. He looked back at Jake with great affection—affection he'd never known he'd had in a long time. Jake noticed this. "What?" he asked.
"All those nights I spent, hopin' and prayin' that maybe I'd see ya again, I can't believe they actually came true," Elwood said softly.
"Hey, don't think I wasn't aware of those prayers," Jake said. "I was hoping to show myself to you eventually, and I'm glad that time came sooner than later. And I promise you, once this is all over and we've saved the world, I am going to make the Blues Brothers into the world class act that you and I always dreamed it would be."
"You sure about that, Jake?"
"Since when have I steered you wrong, Elwood?"
"Well, there was that woman that kept stalking us during the...."
"Well, besides that," Jake said quickly. He pointed out the window. "Turn left here. I know where we can spend the night."
"There you see...," the face of Satan told Zildrohar as he watched the Blues Brothers on the central monitor, "...are your enemies. Do not let them succeed, or thy head will be staked to the gate of the 6th circle!"
"Do not worry, Master Satan, they will suffer a worse pain than they can possibly imagine before they even get close to stopping us," Zildrohar told him with resolve.
"See to it that is the case," Satan told him. "There are many people, both up there and down here, who would want nothing better than to see them rubbed out as much as we do. Use them well."
"I will, Master," Zildrohar saluted his Dark Lord as the screen went dark. He picked up his snake and stroked it. "Ophiuchus," he told it, "I think we're going to need to commit everything to cause this time."