A warm sun shone over Yankee Stadium on the afternoon of October 30. The deserted facility stood in silent vigil of the stage being loudly built at the cusp of the infield.
From an access tunnel, three figures walked out onto the field and approached the stage. "How's it coming?" Latifah called to the builders.
"Just about there, Miss LaGrange," Sam called down to her from the front, "Once they shut out the stadium lights, this is going to look brilliant. We've been working on several pyrotechnic and lighting effects that'll look spectacular."
"I hope so," Curtis commented, "I've waited a long time for them to do this again. This is what I always dreamed for them: a huge audience of over fifty thousand people."
"Say, who are you again?" Dave asked the dead bluesman, who didn't answer. Curtis instead walked up onto the stage and tapped a trapdoor in the center with his foot. "I hope Jake can open this once the fireworks go off," he remarked, "A whole lot of people won't want them to get off this stage."
"I also hope they don't find their new car before the show's over," Clarence told his old partner. Curtis had personally driven up the Good Old Boys' Winnebago for the Brothers—using his own holy powers to make it invisible—and had parked it inside an abandoned subway track below the stadium. The Brothers, it had been planned out, would head down there once they had obtained the last piece of the Relic and finished the show and take off, preferably before the authorities could figure out where they'd gone.
"I doubt it," Curtis reassured him, "Hell's going to be so preoccupied trying to keep them from getting the Relic that they won't bother to look for an escape vehicle."
"Whatever," Clarence shrugged. He tapped several neon signs on the stage. "Oh yes," he nodded, "This'll do fine. Now all we need is for them to be able to get here on time."
"And the problem is," Latifah voiced a concern of her own, "How're they going to get here when they told us to take the Winnebago?"
"Here she comes," Jake pointed over the horizon in front of the farmhouse. Out of the clear blue sky came a sleek silver shape. "The Goodyear blimp?" Mack was amazed, "You rented the Goodyear blimp?"
"It was going to go over the stadium anyway, so I figured we might as well travel in style for once," Jake said, "Besides, now we get to make a big dramatic entrance."
"And we won't have to sneak through security," Elwood realized another advantage to air travel. "Better step back, Armstrong, this thing'll blow a stiff wind," he told the dog as he and the other humans stepped back to give the blimp plenty of space to land. The band and the disco bikers had already left—at Jake's request—and thus they were the only ones left on the farm. The blimp sank lower and lower, eventually hovering a few feet off the ground in the fields to the south. "Going our way?" Foley called from the cockpit window.
"You know it," Elwood hefted his briefcase and led the group toward the blimp. He scrambled up the ladder into the cockpit. "Thanks for the lift, pal," he told the pilot at the wheel.
"Hey, for what you guys pay, I'd fly you to Antarctica," the pilot held up a bag of gold in ecstasy, "So it's Yankee Stadium, right?"
"That's right," Jake was the last one in, "Hover over until we get instructions from our ground crew. Then we're going in. Foley, you set the cables?"
"They're ready to roll, Jake," Foley held up several metal cables attached to the side of the blimp, "They've just got to look closely where they throw them."
"And we're just supposed to slide down these from a thousand feet in the air into the stadium?" Zee gulped nervously.
"We ain't gonna die doin' it, brother," Elwood reassured him, "We're on a mission from God, remember?"
"OK Cosmo, take her up and set a course for New York City," Jake instructed the pilot, "Our destiny awaits."
The sun was starting to go down as the band walked out onto the field. The stage lay completed before them. "What a place," Murphy commented, staring around at the thousands of seats around them, "Now this is where we should have played twenty years ago. We could have put all those orphans through college with the gate money from this."
"Who would have thought, Jake and Elwood Blues, crusaders for the less fortunate?" Matt chuckled, "Well, now we're playing for the whole world, so I guess we are topping it."
"That you are, boys," Curtis abruptly appeared behind them again. Everyone dropped their instruments in shock again. "Seriously," the dead man scolded them, "You'll break them if you keep doing that."
"And we'll keep dropping if you keep doing that," Mr. Fabulous told him, "How'd you get here?"
"That's a trade secret," Curtis walked up onto the stage, which was divided in the middle by a set of steps. Earlier, it had been agreed that Murphy would play the piano and Paul the special keyboard Ray had managed to put together. They were on raised white platforms on the left side of the stage, along with band slots for the guitars. Both sets of drums for Willie and Jordan were on the right side, along with the slots for the horns. "Right now it would be time for you all to get warmed up," Curtis continued as the band took what was to be their places, "Clarence and I are going to give the crowd a little treat before Elwood and the others show up."
"Uh, one quick question, how are we supposed to get out of here after they're done?" Steve Cropper inquired as they took the stage, "Even now there's cops everywhere out there."
"Leave it to me," Curtis gave him a mysterious smile.
Elwood stared into the west at the setting sun. They were moving up the Delaware River at a leisurely rate of speed. Down below, the fall foliage shone like rainbows in the twilight. "Hey Buster, want to come see the view?" he called to his surrogate son.
"Sure," Buster ran over. Elwood lifted him up so he could see more easily. "It's beautiful," the boy whispered in awe.
"Oh yeah," Elwood nodded in agreement, "I always wished we coulda done something like this when I was your age—camp out in the woods, I mean. The Penguin never let us leave the city. Same with you?"
"Basically," Buster nodded, "It's lovely to see the world more. You feel cooped up in an orphanage. You know, I never thought I'd be doing something important like what we're going to do."
"Oh yeah," Elwood nodded again, "People always write off us orphans. They don't think we're good for anything. Well, tonight we're gonna prove 'em wrong. And ya know what the best part's gonna be, Buster?"
"What?"
"That you and I are gonna do it together," Elwood told him. He shared a warm look with his young friend for a minute, and then went back to foliage watching as they slowly started to turn towards New York.
Yankee Stadium was starting to fill up very quickly as dusk fell. Outside the stadium, buses dislodged dozens of people in Blues Brothers shirts toward the swamped ticket windows. MTV and VH-1 crews were talking with many of them as they made their way inside the stadium.
Also standing out in the parking lot was the hundreds of law enforcement vehicles that had made the journey up from Virginia. Police, FBI agents, soldiers, S.W.A.T. team members, and other keepers of the peace filed into through the gates, rifles armed. It was through a crowd of Blues Brother enthusiasts that Mercer and his entourage were now weaving. "One side, slackers, one side!" the Department of Corrections chairman ordered the fans, pushing several of them dismissively aside. "I'll tell you guys, at this rate no one here's going to stick around for the game," he confided in the others.
"Did you see, they're selling merchandise at the front gate," Mount said, sounding very upset, "If I see another T-shirt of these goons, I'm going to throw up."
"We've got to watch out for Jake, I just know he's going to be here," a nervous Suntzman said as they moved up the ramps to the upper deck behind home plate.
"For the last time, Warden, Jake is dead," Agent Orange rolled his eyes.
"No he's not, you moron!" yelled a nearby fan, "And he's going to be here tonight, you wait and see!"
"Well if he is, he's not getting off the stage," General Storrs commented firmly, "We'll take him out same as the rest of them."
"Yeah, you want to just shoot everyone in sight, don't you?" Tony grumbled at him. Keith's father had been miserable the whole way up.
"Ah, lighten up, Danson, will you?" Marvin rebuked him, "Your attitude's starting to grate on me."
"OK, OK, everyone settle down, we're here for a show and an arrest," Mercer separated them. They reached their seats near the bottom of the upper deck. "Police, give up the seats," Daniel flashed his badge at the people sitting in them. They would have defied him if it weren't for Ness's loud growling. Mercer lifted his dog into the seat on the end and plopped down into his own. "Marvin, go check with the local cops to shut off the exits," he informed Joliet's head guard, "Put a guy at every ramp and staircase. And get me a hot dog and an orange whip while you're at it."
In the lower deck along the first base line, Tyrone Terrell and his drug dealers slid into empty seats. They had been forced to leave their guns behind so as not to tip off security, but were more than prepared to take out the Blues Brothers with their bare knuckles. "I don't see them anywhere," one of the dealers commented.
"They'll show up," Terrell stated confidently, "and when they do, they're all ours."
"And when we're done killing them, can I get some autographs from the players?" Vinnie asked his brother.
"NO!" Terrell kicked him in disgust.
"Well can we at least stay and watch the game, Ty?"
Up in the upper deck in right field, the Black Diamond Riders and the Good Old Boys sat down in their reserved seats. They had managed to circumvent security by carrying in baseball bats, which they'd told the guards they wanted to have autographed. Of course, their intentions with the bats were far more sinister. "You can barely make out the stage from up here," Mad Dog commented, squinting at the structure far below them.
"So sue me," Bob snorted, "These were the best seats I could get after every one of their dang fans bought up the good seats in the house."
"Say, I think that might be Topton down there," one of the bikers pointed at the field. The Gibbstown Disco Gang was pulling onto the field around the stage, 8-tracks blaring. "Ack!" one of the Good Old Boys cringed in pain, "I hate that sound! It's so not Nashville!"
"It's only for a little bit, Lester, just think positive," Tucker patted his band mate, "And soon our quarry will be entering the trap."
On the roof, unseen by the snipers and S.W.A.T. sharpshooters now circling and watching the field, Camille and the Nazis were leaning against the light fixtures, confidently watching everything below. "Our trap should be perfect," the former remarked, "If those Russians and paramilitaries know how to shoot straight."
"Don't you worry about them, lady, I can sense they've got the killer instinct," the Head Nazi reassured her, "And they may not have to be used at all, in fact." A devious smile crossed his face. "Because once our Fuehrer meets those baboons," he said darkly, "They may not be in one piece to finish this little show of theirs."
The lights of New York glistened in the night underneath the blimp as it cruised over midtown Manhattan on its way to the Bronx. From where he was standing, Elwood could just make out the glow of Yankee Stadium's lights in the far distance. He picked up his briefcase from the floor and locked the cuff around his wrist. Best to start getting prepared for the big jump, he figured.
"You know guys," Zee commented from up front next to the pilot, "If there's still a world left after this, I've been thinking, we could make great profits if we create separate units to go around the country and perform."
"You know guys who'd be willing to play us in concert?" Mack sounded skeptical.
"I know a couple of guys back in Chicago: Honeydripper Paparazzi, Pipes McDonnell, they have a good blues sounds," Zee told him, "I'm just saying, we could make a lot of money running different groups."
"Well, in Heaven you learn money isn't everything, brother," Jake was putting on a pair of headphones. "Curtis, we are five minutes from the park," he told his father figure over them, "You and Clarence give them the warm-up."
Behind the stage, Curtis was wearing his own headphones. "Gotcha Jake, we're going in now," he told him. "Miss LaGrange, give us our intro," he told Latifah from the wings.
"You're just going to go out like that, Curtis?" Clarence stared dubiously at his late partner's shabby old suit. He'd already changed into his sparkling blue outfit and shades.
"Not to fear, Clarence," Curtis spun rapidly around in a circle. When he stopped, he'd changed into a glittering white suit. "Just like old times," he told his friend, "We're going to have fun out here tonight."
"Oh yes," Clarence almost cried as he examined the thousands of fans lining the stadium, "I never thought I'd live to see the day we'd play something this big together."
The stadium's lights dimmed to loud applause. Soon all was dark except for the spotlight trained on the center of the stage. Latifah walked into it. "Good evening New York," she told the crowd, "Tonight, for your pleasure, please welcome the magic tandem, the most powerful blues duo of the Forties, Clarence Craycroft and Curtis Salamone."
Polite applause greeted the two men as they walked out onto the stage, which was now illuminated by blue strobe lights flashing around the edges and under the floor. "And how are we tonight?" being on stage seemed to have electrified Curtis, who was becoming quite excited to be before a crowd. "I've just received word that the Blues Brothers should be here very shortly, so for now, we'd like to keep you busy. Boys, give us something good."
The band broke into a classic blues rhythm. This was the cue for Sam and Dave to light up the stage. Curtis nodded in agreement at the backdrop behind them, an exact replica of the Palace Hotel Ballroom backdrop, only with the neon signs flashing on and off. Up in the stands, Agent Orange glanced impatiently at his watch. "So where the hell are they?" he demanded, "They're supposed to be here, not two old geezers!"
"Trust me, they'll be here," Mount told him, "They always show up no matter how much we throw up."
"And when they do, they'll find there's no way in here except through us," Mercer agreed, taking a long sip from his orange whip.
Neither they nor anyone else noticed the blimp now circling overhead. Inside, the Blues Brothers listened to the music waft up as they started attaching themselves to the lines in preparation for their entrance. Elwood gently pushed Armstrong's support into place and inserted the harmonica into it. "Don't lose it on the way down, 'cause I ain't got no more," he told the dog as he hooked it up.
"OK, just remember while your out there, you're doing this for the entire world of rhythm and blues," Jake gave everyone a last minute pep talk, "Otherwise just enjoy yourself and give one heaven of a show. Elwood, you come with me after the third song, and we'll get that last piece of the Relic. Tell the band to keep going until he gets back."
He activated the headphones again. "One more song, Curtis, then we're coming in," he informed Curtis down below. The singers all took their places by the blimp's door, ready to jump.
Down below, Clarence and Curtis finished up their last song. Curtis waved for the band to hold up for a minute. After twenty seconds of silence, he gave the thumbs-up signal to Murphy, then to Sam and Dave underneath the stage. The stagehands promptly started several more strobe lights flashing. At the sound of "Can't Turn You Loose," a low rumble started in the stadium. It was quickly accompanied by the clapping of hands and loud cries, not to mention the sounds of the motorcycles parked around the stage starting their engines. "And now ladies and gentlemen," Curtis announced into the microphone over the rising din, "We're proud to present to you the evening's main event."
"Live from Calumet City Illinois," Clarence cut in, looking happier than he had in years, "The men, the myths, the legends, a very part of the cultural fiber of America, the show band of Brother Zee, Mighty Mack,…"
"Cabel," Curtis swelled with pride at his son's mention, "Buster, and all the rest…"
"Including the legendary Elwood J. Blues himself," Clarence now had to practically scream at the top of his lungs to be heard over the crowd, "Live on this the latest stop on their ultimate comeback tour…"
"Please give a warm New York welcome," both partners announced simultaneously, "to the one, the only, THE BLUES BROTHERS!"
"GO!" Jake yelled as the music reached a crescendo. Elwood tossed his line out the door and led the dive down toward the stage, which seemed to be exploding from pyrotechnics and flames Sam and Dave were now setting off to herald their arrival. There was already a strange pinging in his ears from all the noise below. Somehow—but not surprisingly, given that they WERE on a mission from God—he and the others touched down on the stage amid all the fireworks. Elwood dusted himself off, unlocked Armstrong form his harness, held out his arm for Zee to unlock the cuff, withdrew his harp, placed the briefcase behind Willie's riser, and slid back top the center of the stage with the others to wild—unbelievably wild—applause. Up in the stands, Mercer had his hand over his face in shock. "I don't believe it!" he exclaimed to no one in particular, "They tricked us again!"
"Well they may get in like that, but they're not getting out," General Storrs reached for his radio. "All aerial units, I want a constant fly-over on the stadium until they make their next move!" he ordered.
Back on stage, Elwood approached his microphone. He was in awe of all the people there just to watch them. Loud chants of "BLUES BROTHERS, BLUES BROTHERS!" echoed around the stadium. It was a great night for a show. He nodded to Zee, who counted down, "One, two, one, two, three, four!" The band broke into the opening strains of "Give Me Some Loving" to loud applause. "We're so glad to see so many of you lovely people here tonight at Yankee Stadium," Elwood gave his introductory speech, "We'd like to give special thanks to Curtis and Clarence for that great intro, and hope you enjoy the rest of the show. Here's Brother Zee with our first piece for your listening pleasure."
"Well my temperature's rising and my feet's on the floor, twenty people rocking now, there want to go more," Zee launched into the tune with great gusto. All the hard work with Clarence had paid off; they all danced about the stage in perfect rhythm and harmony, and the band didn't miss a single beat. Everyone in the stadium clapped enthusiastically with the lyrics—except for the Black Diamond Riders and Good Old Boys, who had their hands firmly over their ears. "I hate this tune!" Mad Dog growled, his complaints drowned out by the cheers all around them.
"Hate it? I LOATHE it!" Bob countered, bending his head down low so he wouldn't have to look at the performance, "They played this same dang song at my old place when they crashed it! Somebody shoot me and put me out of my misery, please!"
The song eventually finished to loud applause. Elwood stared around with misty eyes at everyone lauding them. He could sense something magical was happening—something naturally magical, that was. He walked over to Buster and lifted the boy up. "You know, my pal Buster and I would have to say that life ain't too good for orphans," he told the crowd. "All in all we're treated like dirt by everyone. The good Lord says you shouldn't hold your woes in, so Buster and I are going to lay them out for you here and now. One, two, one, two, three, four."
The band started up "Messing with the Kid." The rest of the singers stepped back up the stairs, letting Elwood and Buster, with Armstrong accompanying on harmonica, sing the lyrics. In the stands, Vinnie rose up, offended. "Hey, you can insinuate that!' he yelled in protest at the song, "We took good care of those kids; we gave them shelter, food….!"
"Shut up you!" the woman behind him whacked him with her program, "I'm trying to enjoy this!"
"Yeah, what's the matter with you!" Terrell slapped his brother's shoulder, "You might as well just yell out, 'Drug dealers, this row,' so cork it!"
Behind home plate, Jack Lancaster was equally offended. "Is he talking to me!" he demanded slurrily, having already helped himself to four of Yankee Stadium's brews.
"I think he was, actually," Marvin squinted at the stage. Indeed, Elwood had seemed to be pointing at them during the refrain, his voice going up several octaves in apparent anger every time he'd sang, "I call it messin' with the kid."
"Well, he's mine then!" Jack rose to get up, but Suntzman pulled him down. "Honestly, you've seen these people," he pointed to the large throngs of Blues Brother enthusiasts surrounding them, "If we go after them now, these nuts'll kill us. So lay off the alcohol a little and just be patient!"
Any personal meaning with the song was lost on the rest of the crowd, who gave it another loud ovation. Out of the corner of his eye Elwood caught Jake descending invisibly toward the stage. "Our own Mighty Mack would now like to perform an old classic," he told the crowd, "One that those of you who might have attended the Palace Hotel Ballroom gig would be familiar with. One, two, one, two, three, four."
Matt's initial guitar solo was drowned out by loud cheers. It now seemed to Elwood that he and the others were standing right behind a live jumbo jet. The roar of the motorcycles as they drove in circles around the stage didn't help the hearing either. But at least now he was going to get a brief respite. He joined Mack for the first few choruses of "Come on, baby don't you want to go? Back to that same old place, sweet home Chicago," before tap-dancing off-stage as inconspicuously as he could. "How're we doin', Jake?" he asked his brother.
"Better than I could have possibly imagined," Jake smiled from ear to ear. "Come on, the last piece of the Relic's this way."