Speed Racer Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction / Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ Dangerous Curves ❯ Nothing of Importance ( Chapter 7 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Raven Dhancer 
Anime/Manga: Speed Racer Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction / Crossover Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Mystery / Horror / Comedy / Action | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 05.17.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.2K | Visits: 292 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Speed Racer Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction / Crossover Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Mystery / Horror / Comedy / Action | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 05.17.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.2K | Visits: 292 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: Speed Racerand Angelare the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.
Chapter 7: Nothing of Importance
by Raven Dhancer
Exhibit J: Chim-Chim's Diary, excerpted:
Nothing of importance happened today.
--excerpt ends
Nothing of importance happened today.
--excerpt ends
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They were gone half an hour when Pops finally showed. He came in with a bag of very unique looking tools. They were a cross between medical and mechanical, as if to work on miniscule cars. We had laid Sparky on a table in the middle of the garage. Pops set to work, cleaning off the fluids and cutting away the torn covering that had looked like skin. A metal surface was revealed, not unlike the casing of a hard drive with a few cables hanging free.
"I can't tell, but I think the brain is undamaged. A concussion certainly, but the fluid systems should be handling it. The biological damage ought to be small, he's in his own life support unit, although that's been damaged but it's still working. I can replace the parts and repair it, although I won't be able to replace his fake face and head cover. That was done by someone else and not me and we don't have spares."
"Need any help?"
"No. I've done this before and I did it by myself and nobody helped me then either. "
"Just trying to polite..." I said. He went back to work. I would have gone outside to smoke and lean coolly against the building. Except (1) I didn't smoke, (2) leaning coolly against the building and not smoking is called loitering, and (3) unfortunately, leaning and playing with a yo-yo just looks silly.
I fired up the small talk. "I'm glad you answered the cell. I wouldn't have known where to find you."
"If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have answered the phone." Pops growled, "It was very clever of you to have the phone fool caller-id by putting up another name instead of your name in the caller-id window when you phoned. Don B. Crewl is not your real name?"
I flipped open the phone, looked, and dialed.
"Lorne," I said when he answered "you've got my phone again. How's it going with the lady?"
"I wondered when you'd notice" he said in that disgustingly cheery tone, "I'll fill you in later. One thing you ought to know though, I think the Hell Wheels club has hired another driver. A brazilian, I think. Saw him earlier. It's all in that tape. Later, babe."
Tape? Meanwhile, Pops seemed to have finished repairs, and was now wrapping a covering around Sparky's head. He turned and glared at me.
"I've replaced his heart. Although it isn't his heart, but the main pump for the mechanical body which I have built. The original is still there but much too damaged and weak, but it keeps the human parts alive to control the exoskeleton. As I said he lives in his own life support system which is also his body. Much like you and I perhaps. But different."
"So what's with the head?"
"Weight. I had to move the surviving parts around to keep the weight distribution the same in the new body and so I rebuilt the head and put the main hydrolic pump there to compensate for the lightweight metal skull that I put in." He was silent for a while.
"Can we leave him? We need to talk."
"He'll be OK and we can lockup the garage to be sure that the people who want to hurt him are not able to get in. Do you have somewhere you want to go with me?"
"I'm starving. Do you know Joe's Diner?"
"I can't tell, but I think the brain is undamaged. A concussion certainly, but the fluid systems should be handling it. The biological damage ought to be small, he's in his own life support unit, although that's been damaged but it's still working. I can replace the parts and repair it, although I won't be able to replace his fake face and head cover. That was done by someone else and not me and we don't have spares."
"Need any help?"
"No. I've done this before and I did it by myself and nobody helped me then either. "
"Just trying to polite..." I said. He went back to work. I would have gone outside to smoke and lean coolly against the building. Except (1) I didn't smoke, (2) leaning coolly against the building and not smoking is called loitering, and (3) unfortunately, leaning and playing with a yo-yo just looks silly.
I fired up the small talk. "I'm glad you answered the cell. I wouldn't have known where to find you."
"If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have answered the phone." Pops growled, "It was very clever of you to have the phone fool caller-id by putting up another name instead of your name in the caller-id window when you phoned. Don B. Crewl is not your real name?"
I flipped open the phone, looked, and dialed.
"Lorne," I said when he answered "you've got my phone again. How's it going with the lady?"
"I wondered when you'd notice" he said in that disgustingly cheery tone, "I'll fill you in later. One thing you ought to know though, I think the Hell Wheels club has hired another driver. A brazilian, I think. Saw him earlier. It's all in that tape. Later, babe."
Tape? Meanwhile, Pops seemed to have finished repairs, and was now wrapping a covering around Sparky's head. He turned and glared at me.
"I've replaced his heart. Although it isn't his heart, but the main pump for the mechanical body which I have built. The original is still there but much too damaged and weak, but it keeps the human parts alive to control the exoskeleton. As I said he lives in his own life support system which is also his body. Much like you and I perhaps. But different."
"So what's with the head?"
"Weight. I had to move the surviving parts around to keep the weight distribution the same in the new body and so I rebuilt the head and put the main hydrolic pump there to compensate for the lightweight metal skull that I put in." He was silent for a while.
"Can we leave him? We need to talk."
"He'll be OK and we can lockup the garage to be sure that the people who want to hurt him are not able to get in. Do you have somewhere you want to go with me?"
"I'm starving. Do you know Joe's Diner?"
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Meanwhile, Lorne was doing whatever the hell it is he does...
Excerpted from "Everybody had a Solo - A Mac Lind Mystery”
It was past midnight when we left the pits. Spritle was lying in the bed of the truck. He was wrapped in tarps and under a cover. We took the on-ramp to Branson and headed out of Tulsa.
"Hey, I know some people in Branson" I joked, but Trixie was in a bad mood and said nothing, just gripped the wheel.
We stopped for gas at the oasis. "We're by an outer pump, the cameras won't see us. Pay cash." she told me. The pump was pre-pay. I went inside.
It was one of those all-in-one stores that sold everything including booze. I got a short stack of plastic cups. I paid for ten dollars of gas, the cups and bought a pint of Wild Turkey from the rack behind the counter. On the way out, I stopped and filled a cup with ice from the drinks machine, big cubes. The guy at the register gave me a look like I was stealing the ice, but then he just shrugged and went back to playing Sudoku.
After we got back on the highway, I put the cup of ice in the cup holder, and made myself a bourbon and rocks. "You want a drink?" I asked Trixie. She shrugged. I passed her mine and made another.
"You don't seem too sad about Spritle", I said.
She took a sip of her drink and stared ahead, gripping the wheel. I was thinking she wasn't going to talk at all, but then she said, "He got mean." and took another sip.
"He used to be cute." she continued, "But I think he was always mean. He was adopted at the same time as Chim-chim, I know, but that's all I know about his past. Chim-chim was his best friend, and that was strange. Chimpanzee's are dangerous, but he never hurt Spritle."
She was silent for a while. "Spritle use to have this laugh, you know? 'Hee-hee-hee' but with no joy in it. He'd do it after he hit someone. Like he was saying I'm in pain, and now you are too. It was scary. Then he grew up. He got big, really big and hard and he didn't giggle after he hit people, he just hit them."
"What about Chim-chim?"
"Chim-chim was still his friend, I think, but I don't know if they were in touch. He's gone to Japan. He's taken some of the Racer inventions and is trying to do ... something. I don't know what."
My cell rang, it was the client. "One thing you ought to know," I told him, "The Hell Wheels club has hired another driver. A brazilian, I think. It's in the report."
I thought Trixie looked a little pale. Maybe I was imagining it.
Excerpted from "Everybody had a Solo - A Mac Lind Mystery”
It was past midnight when we left the pits. Spritle was lying in the bed of the truck. He was wrapped in tarps and under a cover. We took the on-ramp to Branson and headed out of Tulsa.
"Hey, I know some people in Branson" I joked, but Trixie was in a bad mood and said nothing, just gripped the wheel.
We stopped for gas at the oasis. "We're by an outer pump, the cameras won't see us. Pay cash." she told me. The pump was pre-pay. I went inside.
It was one of those all-in-one stores that sold everything including booze. I got a short stack of plastic cups. I paid for ten dollars of gas, the cups and bought a pint of Wild Turkey from the rack behind the counter. On the way out, I stopped and filled a cup with ice from the drinks machine, big cubes. The guy at the register gave me a look like I was stealing the ice, but then he just shrugged and went back to playing Sudoku.
After we got back on the highway, I put the cup of ice in the cup holder, and made myself a bourbon and rocks. "You want a drink?" I asked Trixie. She shrugged. I passed her mine and made another.
"You don't seem too sad about Spritle", I said.
She took a sip of her drink and stared ahead, gripping the wheel. I was thinking she wasn't going to talk at all, but then she said, "He got mean." and took another sip.
"He used to be cute." she continued, "But I think he was always mean. He was adopted at the same time as Chim-chim, I know, but that's all I know about his past. Chim-chim was his best friend, and that was strange. Chimpanzee's are dangerous, but he never hurt Spritle."
She was silent for a while. "Spritle use to have this laugh, you know? 'Hee-hee-hee' but with no joy in it. He'd do it after he hit someone. Like he was saying I'm in pain, and now you are too. It was scary. Then he grew up. He got big, really big and hard and he didn't giggle after he hit people, he just hit them."
"What about Chim-chim?"
"Chim-chim was still his friend, I think, but I don't know if they were in touch. He's gone to Japan. He's taken some of the Racer inventions and is trying to do ... something. I don't know what."
My cell rang, it was the client. "One thing you ought to know," I told him, "The Hell Wheels club has hired another driver. A brazilian, I think. It's in the report."
I thought Trixie looked a little pale. Maybe I was imagining it.
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Speed's Journal, apparently written the back of a on a CAT-Scan report. (From the kind donation of the International Racing Car Driver's CAT-Scan Preservation Collection.)
I'm starting to enjoy this journal writing. It gives me something to do when I'm locked up. Although I'm not locked up now, but if I was I'd be able to write in my journal. Right now I'm just writing because I don't have anything else to do. I haven't tried the door. I could be locked in. Can I be locked in if I haven't tried the door?
I just tried the door. I'm not locked in.
It's just starting to come back to me. I was going to see about Mr. Suppe, but when I got to the hospital, there was an accident and then they made me come in to check me. Felicia was there too and introduced herself. She's nice. She wears a lot of leather. I don't mean she's fat, she's real skinny, but she's pretty tall so she maybe does need a lot of leather, because all her clothes are made of it. That's what I meant. Although those clothes were pretty tight, so I guess she really uses as little leather as possible.
She had introduced herself as Felicia Dangerous and asked me how I felt.
"I'm looking forward to racing with you.” she said, “You're the reason I became a racer!"
I thanked her.
"You're sure you're OK?" she had asked. "I'd hate to see anything happen to you. Where is Sparky?"
I told her that he was probably back at the garage, retuning the Mach 5.
"Thanks!" she said, "See you later." and then she gave me the cutest smile.
I didn't see her again until the next time I saw her when she was letting me out of the janitor's closet. Felicia's a very nice girl, although Trixie wouldn't approve. But Trixie's gone again and she didn't get me out of the janitor's closet. Felicia said she thought she should stick around and keep an eye on me. She said I keep getting into trouble. Women always seem to like me, I guess I'm lucky. One of the nurses said she thought girls feel safe with me around. She said it was the ascot.
"You keep getting into trouble." Felicia said. "Is that normal?"
I had asked her where she had gone.
“I had something to do,” she said, “girl stuff. Then I came back here and nobody knew where you were. And you had gotten yourself locked in a broom closet. Silly!”
“I was knocked out and locked up!” I told her. “I was dismantling my cell phone to use the wire as a lock pick when you showed up.”
“But, why didn't you use it as a phone?” she asked.
“You can't use cell phones in a hospital!” I said. “There are signs all over telling you not to!”
“You're silly!”
I'm starting to enjoy this journal writing. It gives me something to do when I'm locked up. Although I'm not locked up now, but if I was I'd be able to write in my journal. Right now I'm just writing because I don't have anything else to do. I haven't tried the door. I could be locked in. Can I be locked in if I haven't tried the door?
I just tried the door. I'm not locked in.
It's just starting to come back to me. I was going to see about Mr. Suppe, but when I got to the hospital, there was an accident and then they made me come in to check me. Felicia was there too and introduced herself. She's nice. She wears a lot of leather. I don't mean she's fat, she's real skinny, but she's pretty tall so she maybe does need a lot of leather, because all her clothes are made of it. That's what I meant. Although those clothes were pretty tight, so I guess she really uses as little leather as possible.
She had introduced herself as Felicia Dangerous and asked me how I felt.
"I'm looking forward to racing with you.” she said, “You're the reason I became a racer!"
I thanked her.
"You're sure you're OK?" she had asked. "I'd hate to see anything happen to you. Where is Sparky?"
I told her that he was probably back at the garage, retuning the Mach 5.
"Thanks!" she said, "See you later." and then she gave me the cutest smile.
I didn't see her again until the next time I saw her when she was letting me out of the janitor's closet. Felicia's a very nice girl, although Trixie wouldn't approve. But Trixie's gone again and she didn't get me out of the janitor's closet. Felicia said she thought she should stick around and keep an eye on me. She said I keep getting into trouble. Women always seem to like me, I guess I'm lucky. One of the nurses said she thought girls feel safe with me around. She said it was the ascot.
"You keep getting into trouble." Felicia said. "Is that normal?"
I had asked her where she had gone.
“I had something to do,” she said, “girl stuff. Then I came back here and nobody knew where you were. And you had gotten yourself locked in a broom closet. Silly!”
“I was knocked out and locked up!” I told her. “I was dismantling my cell phone to use the wire as a lock pick when you showed up.”
“But, why didn't you use it as a phone?” she asked.
“You can't use cell phones in a hospital!” I said. “There are signs all over telling you not to!”
“You're silly!”
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Excerpted from "Everybody had a Solo - A Mac Lind Mystery”
"You thought nobody would see?" I asked her. "You're getting all wound up. Don't be. I wasn't hired to do anything about that little game."
We drove a while in silence.
"Besides, who would believe it?" I countered, "There's no evidence. A guy walks into the can, a guy walks out. An electric cord in a trash can. What's all that? Nothing."
"Don't tell Speed I was there." she said.
"You're not in the report." I told her. "The copy I'm giving Speed, anyway."
"What do you want? Is this why you came?"
"I don't want a damn thing." I told her truthfully. "I just want see where the bodies are buried."
We drove in silence. After a while I pretended to sleep. We left the highway and went down a series of smaller and smaller roads, until she pulled into a driveway. There was a gate and a big bald guy with a heavy coat standing with his arms crossed. He must have come out when he heard us drive up, but I'd have liked to think of him standing there his whole shift in that BS position. We probably made his night. Did he practice looking tough in the mirror?
I leaned out and yelled at him "Hey, Rappaport! You shaved your head!" Trixie glared at me.
"I'm not Rappaport!" he yelled back. I love that gag, but the guy didn't seem in the mood, so I let it drop.
Trixie slid out and walked up to the guy. They spoke briefly, too low to hear, then he opened the gate. She got back in the truck and we drove in. Trixie and me and Spritle. We left Spritle at a shed at the back and drove away; I waved to steroid boy as we headed back to Tulsa. I dropped Trixie back at the hospital and she got in her convertible and drove off. She didn't say good bye, or see you later.
I love this old truck. I've had it since I was a kid. It's old of those old Ford pick-ups, big and squarish with great flaring fenders, all steel and empty space, and you can stick any old thing in there. GPS, telemetry, bunch of other toys, all stuck in a rusty old truck nobody would look at twice. Speed ain't the only guy with buttons on his steering wheel. Did I mention the directional mics? Hit the old replay button...
"Hey Trixie, Boss didn't say you'd be the one bringing the stiff in." says the guy at the gate, sounding surprised. "Who's your friend?"
"Shut up." she says flatly."I'm here. Keep it on ice 'till the boss decides what to do."
"I know," the guy says, "Put him back by the freezer, OK? I'll move it after you go."
"Do it quick. He's been too long out already."
"You thought nobody would see?" I asked her. "You're getting all wound up. Don't be. I wasn't hired to do anything about that little game."
We drove a while in silence.
"Besides, who would believe it?" I countered, "There's no evidence. A guy walks into the can, a guy walks out. An electric cord in a trash can. What's all that? Nothing."
"Don't tell Speed I was there." she said.
"You're not in the report." I told her. "The copy I'm giving Speed, anyway."
"What do you want? Is this why you came?"
"I don't want a damn thing." I told her truthfully. "I just want see where the bodies are buried."
We drove in silence. After a while I pretended to sleep. We left the highway and went down a series of smaller and smaller roads, until she pulled into a driveway. There was a gate and a big bald guy with a heavy coat standing with his arms crossed. He must have come out when he heard us drive up, but I'd have liked to think of him standing there his whole shift in that BS position. We probably made his night. Did he practice looking tough in the mirror?
I leaned out and yelled at him "Hey, Rappaport! You shaved your head!" Trixie glared at me.
"I'm not Rappaport!" he yelled back. I love that gag, but the guy didn't seem in the mood, so I let it drop.
Trixie slid out and walked up to the guy. They spoke briefly, too low to hear, then he opened the gate. She got back in the truck and we drove in. Trixie and me and Spritle. We left Spritle at a shed at the back and drove away; I waved to steroid boy as we headed back to Tulsa. I dropped Trixie back at the hospital and she got in her convertible and drove off. She didn't say good bye, or see you later.
I love this old truck. I've had it since I was a kid. It's old of those old Ford pick-ups, big and squarish with great flaring fenders, all steel and empty space, and you can stick any old thing in there. GPS, telemetry, bunch of other toys, all stuck in a rusty old truck nobody would look at twice. Speed ain't the only guy with buttons on his steering wheel. Did I mention the directional mics? Hit the old replay button...
"Hey Trixie, Boss didn't say you'd be the one bringing the stiff in." says the guy at the gate, sounding surprised. "Who's your friend?"
"Shut up." she says flatly."I'm here. Keep it on ice 'till the boss decides what to do."
"I know," the guy says, "Put him back by the freezer, OK? I'll move it after you go."
"Do it quick. He's been too long out already."
TBC
Author's Note:
As a curiosity, here is an e-mail exchange between Lorne and Lindsey during the writing of "Everybody Had a Solo". Reproduced here with the permission of the Mac Lind Project, currently housed at the U of O at T.
From: Greene, Lorne
To: MacDonald, Lindsey
Subject: Fight scene in chapter 5
How's this sound?
"I saw a flicker, a reflection in the metal of the car. I whirled, keeping low and dove forward as the wrench whistled over my head. I tackled the guy and we rolled over and over in the dirt and grease of the garage floor, struggling for a grip on each other's neck. I had my left hand around his throat when I got my right into my pocket and grabbed the brass knuckles. One driving blow against his chin laid him out."
From: MacDonald, Lindsey
To: Greene, Lorne
Subject: Re: Fight scene in chapter 5
Rolling and struggling? Once again, you've got me fighting like a pussy. Why not just say what happened?
From: Greene, Lorne
To: MacDonald, Lindsey
Subject: Diva
Look, Mac Lind isn't you, he's a combination of both of us. Besides, we decided to keep the kids out of it, so who drops a tire over him and whacks him on the noggin with a board?
From: MacDonald, Lindsey
To: Greene, Lorne
Subject: Look who's talking...
Well, if he's going to fight like you, why not have him stand in a corner and scream? Maybe we should go back to Mac being knocked unconcious again?
From: Greene, Lorne
To: MacDonald, Lindsey
Subject: Re: Look who's talking...
I keep telling you babe, every whack on the head is money in the bank. Readers love that stuff. I'll see what I can do...
From: Greene, Lorne
To: MacDonald, Lindsey
Subject: Fight Scene Chapter 5 Again
"I saw a flicker, a reflection in the metal of the car. I started to turn as the wrench whistled in. The shots rang out as I lost conciousness..."
"I came to in a pool of blood. Not mine. It belonged to the guy next to me. He was dead. I looked at Sparky. He looked bad."
From: MacDonald, Lindsey
To: Greene, Lorne
Subject: Re: Fight Scene Chapter 5 Again
Fine. Kinda short, ain't it?
From: Greene, Lorne
To: MacDonald, Lindsey
Subject: Re: Fight Scene Chapter 5 Again
Not a prob. I'll just pad out the drive-and-dump a bit more.
From: Greene, Lorne
To: MacDonald, Lindsey
Subject: Fight scene in chapter 5
How's this sound?
"I saw a flicker, a reflection in the metal of the car. I whirled, keeping low and dove forward as the wrench whistled over my head. I tackled the guy and we rolled over and over in the dirt and grease of the garage floor, struggling for a grip on each other's neck. I had my left hand around his throat when I got my right into my pocket and grabbed the brass knuckles. One driving blow against his chin laid him out."
From: MacDonald, Lindsey
To: Greene, Lorne
Subject: Re: Fight scene in chapter 5
Rolling and struggling? Once again, you've got me fighting like a pussy. Why not just say what happened?
From: Greene, Lorne
To: MacDonald, Lindsey
Subject: Diva
Look, Mac Lind isn't you, he's a combination of both of us. Besides, we decided to keep the kids out of it, so who drops a tire over him and whacks him on the noggin with a board?
From: MacDonald, Lindsey
To: Greene, Lorne
Subject: Look who's talking...
Well, if he's going to fight like you, why not have him stand in a corner and scream? Maybe we should go back to Mac being knocked unconcious again?
From: Greene, Lorne
To: MacDonald, Lindsey
Subject: Re: Look who's talking...
I keep telling you babe, every whack on the head is money in the bank. Readers love that stuff. I'll see what I can do...
From: Greene, Lorne
To: MacDonald, Lindsey
Subject: Fight Scene Chapter 5 Again
"I saw a flicker, a reflection in the metal of the car. I started to turn as the wrench whistled in. The shots rang out as I lost conciousness..."
"I came to in a pool of blood. Not mine. It belonged to the guy next to me. He was dead. I looked at Sparky. He looked bad."
From: MacDonald, Lindsey
To: Greene, Lorne
Subject: Re: Fight Scene Chapter 5 Again
Fine. Kinda short, ain't it?
From: Greene, Lorne
To: MacDonald, Lindsey
Subject: Re: Fight Scene Chapter 5 Again
Not a prob. I'll just pad out the drive-and-dump a bit more.
AN: If you are Speed Racer challenged, there's a link in my profile for basic character info.
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