TWENTY-THREE
"Welcome to the world-famous Universal Studios tram tour," the guide told the group of tourists piling into the trams in front of him, "For your safety, we ask you to keep your hands inside the…"
His spiel got no further, as it was at that moment the Bluesmobile roared over the embankment, sending both him and his guests scattering. The old cop car sideswiped the tram, knocking it over, and sped down the tram's intended path, shattering the billboards of past Universal films as it went. A myriad of cop cars were right behind them, as well as the Black Diamond Riders' bikes and Tucker's Winnebago.
Deep in the bottom of the ravine, Ron Howard was walking among a large group of actors, many dressed as cops, in the middle of a set made to look like a San Francisco street flooded with water. "All right, you know what we do here," he informed them all, "When I say action, you chase the bad guys across the road here and hydroplane out of control. The wilder the better, got it? All right, places then."
The actors scrambled to their cars. "Scene 45, Take 4, marker," the assistant director said, clapping the slate in front of the camera.
"Speed," announced the cameraman.
"Action," Howard ordered. The on screen chase commenced—and was promptly overtaken by the Bluesmobile chase. Both real and fake cop cars hydroplaned out of control on the water and smashed up several buildings. "Cut, excellent!" Howard announced over his megaphone, "That was even better than I'd…guys, where'd you go?"
For his actors had joined the chase, confused as to whether it was real or not. Up front, Elwood blew his horn as he swerved around a slower tram. "They think they own the roads," he commented to everyone else.
"Are we going anywhere in particular here?" Zee was looking rather sick again.
"Collapsing bridge," Elwood noted as he zoomed over the landmark. He spun wildly toward the southwest. Several army jeeps were starting to gain on him. "Got any more tricks up your sleeve, Jake?" he asked his brother.
"I haven't begun to fight yet," Jake was trying to smile through gritted teeth; the demon wounds hurt him more than he was willing to let on. He snapped his fingers as they passed through the sleepy Mexican town. Immediately the jeeps were hit by the floodwaters, which seemed to be a lot heavier than usual, and swept them off the road.
In the middle of the pack, Mercer zipped through the floodwaters, drenching everyone inside his car completely. "It sure seems lot more real up close," he remarked.
"Too bad for us," Agent Orange groaned. His suit was now completely ruined. He and General Storrs groaned again as Ness shook himself off, further saturating them.
Back in the Bluesmobile, Elwood glanced a blow off a set of a New York street, which tipped it over and started a chain reaction of falling sets. "I hope we're going to pay for all this," Cabel cautioned.
"We'll send them a check," Elwood said quickly. His escape route was now blocked by several FBI cars, which forced him to detour through the King Kong building. Jake snapped his fingers as they passed Kong himself. The giant ape picked up the FBI cars as they passed and shook them wildly. The startled agents bailed their vehicles just before Kong started crunching away on them. A quick trip off-road led to the "river." Jake snapped his fingers, causing the waters to automatically part for them. No sooner had they crested the other bank than the river flooded back into place, inundating the leading cruisers. The chase then went through several deserted soundstages and the Earthquake ride. Several more trams were run off the road along the way. As they passed the Jaws attraction, a wave of Jake's hand caused Bruce the shark to leap halfway out of the water and bite the tire off the leading FBI car, disabling it. The cars behind it smashed it off the bridge and into the lagoon.
"Head up the hill after the Mummy Tunnel," Jake instructed Elwood as Whoville was flattened, "We can cut over into L.A. I sense they've blocked the 101 outside the park, but not the city itself."
"Probably we should hit the expressway eventually though," Mack spoke up, "That way we'll be able to go as fast as we can."
That's the idea," Elwood went off road again, smashing through the cabin from The Great Outdoors. He hit the Mummy Tunnel straight on, then made a hard left up the hill Jake had mentioned. Once at the top, they found themselves flying over the Hollywood Freeway and landing on the other side. "To the left," Jake instructed as the wail of sirens came from up the road. Nor was this their only problem; Terrell's goons soon surrounded them again. "These guys never no just when to give up," Cabel commented as gunfire raked the Bluesmobile again, "This is the third time they've broken firearms regulations in the last week."
"So we know," Elwood could see law enforcement vehicles streaming out of the park and across the freeway after them in his rearview mirror. He zoomed through the drug dealers' cordon and zipped up over the hill. Metropolitan Los Angeles loomed below them. With the downhill route, the Bluesmobile once again skirted with eighty miles an hour as it sped into town and blew through five consecutive red lights. Traffic abruptly pulled over, apparently hearing about what had happened in previous chases on the news. "There's the old Walk of Fame," Mack pointed at Hollywood Boulevard, "There were days I dreamed of getting my name on a star."
"Maybe you still will," Katrina told him encouragingly.
"If we can survive this all," for once, Zee wasn't looking terrified by the chase. "Say Elwood, do you suppose you could hang a right onto Beverly Boulevard once we get there?" he asked him.
Jake put his hand to his natural brother's head. "So that's it, huh?" he asked him, "Well, I'm going to have to break a few normal guidelines for that, but since I can tell you want it bad enough, it's worth it."
On the stage inside CBS Television City, Bob Barker was trying to relax the excited old woman who'd won her way up on stage. "So Edith, you've come all the way from Winnipeg to be the first contestant on The Price is Right's Million Dollar Spectacular," he told her, "Well, for one of our loyal friends and true in Canada, we've got something very special; take a look over there!"
He pointed toward the wings. "It's a new car!" Rich Fields announced as a Lincoln Town Car was rolled out—and abruptly sideswiped by the Bluesmobile, which unexpectedly roared onto the stage, sending Barker and the contestant diving for the safety of Contestant's Row. "And a police car!" Fields continued announcing as the chase entered the studio, "And another police car! And another police car! And another police car! And another police car! And another police car!"
It was just as the Bluesmobile was about to exit through Door #3 that reality suddenly froze. As Barker stared in shock at everyone around him standing stock still, Zee hopped out of the Bluesmobile and ran over toward him. "Hi Bob, let me just say it's the pleasure of my life to actually meet you face to face," he said in an excited voice.
"And who are you?" Barker asked weakly.
"Oh, uh, Zee Papageorge," Zee shook the host's hand, "They said on TV you were doing the special live tonight, and since I was in the area, I can't resist stopping by. Can I have your autograph?"
"Uh, sure, sure," Barker dug into his pocket for a pencil and paper and signed his name.
"Speed it up a little, this only last thirty seconds and all," Jake called out. Indeed, everyone was starting to move again very slowly. "May I ask what this is all about?" Barker asked, staring in amazement at what was happening.
"Nothing you'd probably understand, Bob. Thanks for the John Hancock," Zee gave his hand one final shaking and ran back to the Bluesmobile. Once he was inside, reality returned to normal, and the former police car smashed through the door and demolished the Lucky Seven board that had been set up behind it. "I always wanted to meet Bob Barker," Zee was still pumped up, "And as much as I hate these wild rides, I can't thank you enough for doing this for me."
"So do you think he's excited?" Buster remarked to Elwood semi-sarcastically.
"Hey, I'd be feelin' the same way if I'd met Muddy Waters," Elwood told his ward as he zipped backstage into the CBS prize warehouse, where he significantly lowered the actual retail price of many prizes. Crashing out the back door, he blindsided several CBS News trucks parked nearby and went through the back wall into the farmer's market next door. The Bluesmobile took out several more shops before heading back out onto the street. By now news choppers were starting to gather overhead.
In the middle of the pack, Mercer's engine was starting to sputter. "Come on baby, don't give out on me now!" the department of corrections chairman pleaded with it, pumping the gas pedal.
"I think if you'd gotten yourself a car with better mileage and traction, we wouldn't be in a mess like this, Mercer," Agent Orange chided him.
"Don't be a wet blanket, Orange, we're not dead in the water yet," Mercer retorted. His attitude was in contrast to the smoke now billowing from under the hood. When ahead of them the Bluesmobile made a flying leap over the La Brea Tar Pits, his car only managed a weak jump a quarter of the way across the tar pits before splattering into the tar. "Damn!" Mercer kicked the steering wheel in frustration. Seeing the car was now sinking into the tar pit, he and the others scrambled frantically to shore. "Daniel, stop!" Mercer waved his arms at his right hand man's cruiser, which ground to a halt in front of him. "We don't have the room, Mr. Mercer," Daniel protested as his boss squeezed his way between himself and Mount.
"It's good enough until we catch them," Mercer pulled Ness in over Daniel, "Floor it."
"You're getting mud all over the floor!" Lieutenant Eliozar protested as General Storrs sat down practically on top of her.
"Do you think we could help it the way he drives?" Storrs pointed at Mercer, who ignored his comments. "Attention all agents," Agent Orange barked over his still-working radio, "Bluesmobile now heading back toward Hollywood Freeway; set up strategic roadblocks within ten miles in each direction!"
Ahead of them, Elwood tore down the on ramp onto the 101. "Once we get on the 5 we'll be fine," he announced.
"I think every cop in L.A.'s now after us," Mack looked out the shattered back window. The line of law enforcement vehicles stretched all the way back up the hill, and the wailing of sirens was now almost deafening.
"Let them come, they're not going to catch us," Elwood told him.
"Not when we're on a mission from God, right?" Keith patted him on the shoulder.
"Roadblock," Cabel pointed out. Three FBI cars blocked the road near the start of the Pomona Freeway. Elwood simply accelerated and plowed right through it. A few miles later they merged into the Santa Ana Freeway. Interstate 5 seemed rather deserted for this time of night, Elwood thought. Which was fine by him, as it gave him more leeway to work with. He quickly accelerated back up to a hundred and twenty miles an hour. Bridges and overpasses flew by in a blur. The vehicles that were on the road quickly pulled over after seeing what was coming their way. At every interchange, more police cars roared onto the freeway to join the chase. Just above the Interstate 710 interchange, another larger roadblock with army trucks blocked the highway. This time, Elwood aimed for the weak spot between two hastily parked trucks and just managed to squeeze through with minimal damage to his car. The trucks were knocked over by the armada of cruisers.
Near the back of the line, Mad Dog McMurdo was caught up in the thrill of the chase. "YAAAAHOOOO!" this is what I live for!" the biker exclaimed, pumping his shotgun in the air, "The open road at high speed! And I love a good chase!"
"Same here," Tucker called out the window of his Winnebago, "And at least this time they ain't tampered with my baby to hinder us."
"Now if we could just get around these dang cops," Bob pointed to the myriad of cop cars blocking their forward progress.
"Give it some patience, Bob," the country singer told him, "Sooner or later they'll run out of gas."
"Not us, nosirree," another biker who'd been overhearing the conversation from outside the open window piped up, "Nothing slows down the Black Diamond Riders."
Back in front, Elwood swerved wildly around a slower van. It was then he became aware of an announcer talking. "Hey kid, what've ya got there?" he asked Keith.
"Streaming video," Keith held up his laptop for Elwood to see, "One of the wonders of the Internet. We can watch our own progress live."
"Amazin'," Elwood stared at the screen. On it was a picture perfect image of the Bluesmobile screaming down the interstate. "I didn't know ya could do that nowadays. Well, so much for the evenin' news."
"Uh, you think you want to watch the road and not the screen?" Zee pointed just as the Bluesmobile was about to rear-end a truck. Elwood jerked over to the far left lane just in time.
"Let me," Jake put on hand on the laptop and pointed the index finger on his other hand at the windshield. Elwood found himself watching both the road and the computer at the same time. It was somewhat amazing to see his pursuers from a neutral point of view as from the news helicopters. "…utterly unbelievable," the announcer was saying, "Our aerial reconnaissance shows the Bluesmobile is actually going a hundred and forty-two miles an hour. Needless to say, if you plan on driving anywhere in southern California tonight, please, stay off the roads until this mess is over. Looking back, the authorities trying to catch the notoriously slippery Elwood Blues stretch out for miles; this might well turn out to be the largest mobilization of police authority in the history of this country. Let's go to our Fox News law analyst Arnold Mensch, who will try and lay out the situation for us. Arnold, what do you think will be Elwood Blues's next move?"
"Well Bill," said a stuffy lawyer type, "From what I've heard from legal experts in Illinois, one should expect the reckless when it comes to Elwood Blues. He's probably going to stay at top speed to keep his lead he's got right now. The best bet for the authorities would probably be to keep him locked up on the freeway until he runs out of gas, which if he keeps going at the rate of speed he is now should occur just after he enters San Diego County."
"And then should they go in for the move?"
"That would depend on how desperate he is, Bill. With three children in the car, local and federal authorities may not want to move in for the kill immediately. They may try and talk him into letting them go first, then try and get him before he takes off. Of course there's the possibility he might commandeer another car and continue this romp further."
"TV of the future, gotta love it," Elwood commented, "Well, hate to disappoint them, but…" Without warning, he swerved hard to the left and crashed through the median barrier. "OOOOHHH! Did you see that!" the commentator exclaimed, "I don't know how he did that without wrecking the car!"
"You don't know this car very well, do you, pal?" Jake chuckled. There was another small pileup as the authorities tried to break to a halt near the gap in the barrier. Those that could get through the break continued to follow their quarry back up the northbound lanes. Many of the cars that were farther back threw themselves into reverse and swarmed up the southbound lanes backwards. "This is just incredible," the commentator was telling his audience, "I never thought I'd live to see the day when hundreds of people would be driving the wrong way up a freeway just to catch a group of musicians."
"Uh, I think our friends are back," Zee pointed out the right side window. The drug dealers' cars had apparently stopped near an off ramp and had gotten back on Interstate 5 northbound. A spray of bullets tore into the roof. Inside his limo, Terrell rubbed his hands in excitement. Now we've got them dead to rights," he snickered.
"Shall I get out the bazookas Ty?" Vinnie asked him, pressing the button for the sunroof.
"Wait until we get closer," his brother said, "And away from all these cops."
"I think they might start chasing after us," the driver gulped. Indeed, several cruisers had followed their lead and were following them north.
"If they do we'll blow them away too," Terrell hefted a semi-automatic and climbed out the sunroof. He let out a salvo at the Bluesmobile that blew out the taillights and caused the rear bumper to fall off. Elwood swerved all over the highway in response. "Better give 'em a moving target," he reasoned, "So Jake, where's the last piece of the relic, so I know where I'm running to?"
"The last piece is underneath Yankee Stadium, so we're going to book a concert there just before Game 7 on October 30th," Jake said.
"Drat, so the Yanks'll push it to seven games?" Zee was disappointed.
"It'll be another disappointment for Cubs fans, yeah, but if the world does end, at least they'll be able to say they played in the very last World Series," Jake tried to reassure him.
"Well, at least I know they win in 2015 over the Miami Gators," Zee said jokingly, "Good old Doc Brown; you could put him to shame with knowledge over the future, Jake."
"So the Miami Gators play ball now?" Elwood asked.
"It's a movie, Elwood," Buster informed him, "The real Miami team's called the Marlins."
"Gators sound better," Elwood suggested, "So, whatdya say, should I cut over on I-10 in a coupla miles, or should I wait until I-80 up near Frisco?"
"I'm not going to live with this for the next four hundred miles!" Zee ducked as a fresh spray of bullets him the seats."
"But the police will be waiting for us at the 10," Mack had produced a map, "I say we get off at Route 134 and take the Pasadena to the Foothill to the Orange to I-10. That's a little out of the way, but not too much."
"Works for me," Elwood said, "I guess we'll pull off once we get by this roadblock."
Another group of army trucks had been parked across the freeway, this time closer together than in the previous roadblock. Plus, their personnel were standing in front of them, guns raised. "It looks like they're going to attempt to stop the Bluesmobile by force now," the commentator said, "Those are three thousand pound trucks, I don't quite see how they'll get out of this one without crashing."
"Let's see about that," Jake sucked in his breath. The next thing Elwood knew, the Bluesmobile contracted around him. "How nice," he remarked, feeling like he'd lost about seventy pounds. Now only about an inch wide, the Bluesmobile easily made it through the largest gap between the trucks, returning to its original dimensions once it was safely across. "HOOOOO BOOYYY!" the commentator was screaming, "How in God's name did he do that unscathed? As you can the see, the Bluesmobile was going to hit those….look out, we've got a crash coming!"
Indeed, the drug dealers were unable to stop, and crashed hard into the trucks, completely destroying their own cars. Terrell, who wasn't wearing a seatbelt, was flung hard through the air, landing with a thud on the pavement. "Oww!" he yelled, "I don't get what the…!"
"Hey, you're Tyrone Terrell!" an FBI car was next to them in the southbound lanes, "We've got charges on you including racketeering and…!"
Terrell wasn't going to wait for him to finish—not that he had a choice, as the authorities were streaming up the freeway through a larger gap in the failed blockade. He had little choice but to run for his life.
Up the road, Elwood made a hard right down the exit ramp for Route 134 eastbound. "How much further to I-10 again, Mack?" he asked the former bartender.
"Uh, looks like about thirty-five miles," Mack consulted the map again, "Sooner or later we've got to turn north if we want to get to New York by the thirtieth."
"Once we hit an interstate that ends with a 5," Keith told him, "That's when we could connect with a route that connects with an interstate that heads east."
"If we can get to a 5-numbered interstate," Zee had noticed even more law enforcement vehicles were now following them. "…see now sheriff's deputies from about a dozen communities in the Los Angeles metro area have joined in the chase of the Blues Brothers," the commentator was now saying, "At last check this brings the numbers of local, state, and federal vehicles in this chase up to about five hundred and thirty, we've just been told."
Inside Suntzman's car, which was leading this second charge of authorities, Marvin cocked his rifle. "Try and aim for the tires, Marvin," his boss told him, "There's no way they can reinflate them."
"And don't hit my son whatever you do," Tony Danson warned the head guard as he leaned out the window.
"Trust me," Marvin told him. He took aim, but before he could pull the trigger, Suntzman abruptly hit a pothole. Marvin's shot accidentally hit a tanker truck in the right lane, which tipped over and broke open, spilling out soapsuds all over the highways. Suntzman slipped on the suds and lost control, flipping over repeatedly. No fewer than forty other cars behind him also crashed spectacularly, blocking all but one lane. Inside His new command cruiser, Mount slapped the dashboard in frustration as they made their way in gridlocked single file through the one open lane. "Why can no one follow these turkeys without crashing?" he roared in disgust.
"Shhh!" Mercer hissed at him, "Seymour, roll tape."
His campaign manager activated his camera. "Hey Burton Mercer here live on the road in Glendale after the Blues Brothers," he started to say, "The going's getting a little rough here, but we're still…."
General Storrs grabbed the camera and threw it out the window. "Hey, what was that for?" Mercer protested.
"Are we catching them or grandstanding?" Storrs yelled. He pulled out his radio. "Attention everyone, cover the Foothill Freeway east of Pasadena!" he barked, "I want everything you ca spare put there; tell the feds and local cops to get all they've got too! I want the mother of all blockades covering all lanes of the 210; they do not get through under any…!"
"WHOOOOOOOAAA!" Daniel swerved wildly to the left. Elwood had partially gone down an exit ramp, then pulled back up onto the freeway at the last minute. As a result, a dozen cruisers and FBI cars were flipping down the embankment. That was close," the highway patrol captain breathed once he'd avoid this later mishap, "I'm definitely getting too old for this!"
"I'm definitely getting to old for this," Elwood was thinking the exact same thing at that moment. He merged onto eastbound Interstate 210.
"Now's not the time to give up," Jake said. "We've still got a long way to go before we finish this mission."
"Hopefully we won't run out of gas," Cabel voiced a concern.
"We won't Elwood reassured him, "We're on a mission from God."
"Uh, I hope God has some good ideas up his sleeve right now!" Zee pointed out the windshield. A mess of tanks, trucks, S.W.A.T. vans, and other law enforcement vehicles barricaded the road. The unmistakable sound of turrets being turned toward them and artillery guns being activated filled the air. No less than a hundred law enforcers aimed weapons at them. "You have till three to stop!" one of them barked, "One, two,…!"
And without warning, the Bluesmobile was jerked off the ground and sailed up toward the stars. "OH GOD!" Zee groaned, covering his face, "I didn't mean THIS drastic a save!"
"Shouldn't we call LAX to let them know we're up here?" Elwood asked Jake, who was concentrating hard.
"Just keep pointing her east, Elwood, and I'll take care of the rest," Jake told him. The Bluesmobile narrowly missed a collision with a police helicopter and sailed east across the sky toward far-off New York.