Speed Racer Fan Fiction ❯ The Great Gotham Gumball Rally ❯ The Great Gotham Gumball Rally ( Chapter 1 )

The Great Gotham Gumball Rally

 

A Speed Racer/Batman crossover

 

By

 

Equisrider

 

 

 

 

Ring. Why was that annoying sound not going away? Ring. Opening his eyes, Speed Racer looked at the clock. Ring. “Alright, already!” Why would anyone be calling him at 4 in the morning? He glanced over at Trixie, amazed that his beloved wife could sleep through all that racket. Ring. He picked up the phone. “Hello, Racer residence,” he mumbled groggily.

 

“Is this Mr. Racer?” a British accented male voice asked.

 

“Yes. Who is this?”

 

“My name is Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Racer. I apologize for waking you at this hour. It must be nearly 4:00 in Tokyo, but I have been authorized by my employer to contact you concerning an important matter here in the United States. Have you ever heard of the Gotham Gumball Rally?”

 

Speed sat up, instantly awake. “Yes, I have! It's one of the most prestigious, dangerous, and expensive races in the world. I hear the grand prize is one million dollars! The entrance fees are way too costly for the average racing team, though.”

 

“That is correct, Sir. My employer, Mr. Bruce Wayne, has followed your racing career with interest, and wishes to sponsor you in the Gotham Gumball Rally this year. The Wayne Foundation sponsors the race every year, and the “steep” entrance fees go to support the World Fund to End Children's Hunger. A worthy goal, I assure you.”

 

Speed smiled, imagining the good he could do with a million dollars. He could keep the Mach Five in top racing condition; he could afford the entrance fees to some of the bigger races! He could buy a nice house in the country for him and Trixie. He could pay for Pops' medical bills! But then common sense pulled him out of his dreaming. “Mr. Pennyworth, why does Mr. Wayne want me? He could have any number of drivers who are better than me. Is there something I need to know?”

 

“I commend you for your caution, Mr. Racer. I understand the sudden nature of this situation, but I assure you that my employer specifically requested you because of your integrity, good form, and sportsmanship. You also have, if I may say so, a blazing drive to win, which doesn't hurt your chances, either.” The man on the phone chuckled slightly.

 

Speed smiled at the compliment. It sounded like a great opportunity. “I'd need to bring my entire racing team with me. The Mach Five is a very specialized car, and I only let one mechanic work on it.'

 

“Mr. Wayne has already authorized me to offer you and anyone you care to bring, an all-expenses paid round trip to Gotham City, and a stay in Wayne Manor during your visit. I'm sure you will find the accommodations to your liking.”

 

Speed tried not to sound too excited. “Alright, Mr. Pennyworth, I accept your offer. Please thank Mr. Wayne for me, and inform him I'll leave immediately.” Speed paused. “How will we get the Mach Five to the U.S.?” He could almost hear the smile on the other end of the phone.

 

“Arrangements have already been made, Mr. Racer.”

 

*****

 

 

Speed was amazed. When Alfred Pennyworth said that arrangements had been made, he had no idea of the sheer scope of those arrangements! Sparky fluttered around the Wayne Foundation's specially modified C-17 Super-Sonic Transport jet as the Mach Five was being loaded into the cargo bay, reminding Speed of an overprotective mother hen. He laughed as Sparky reminded the ground crew for the umpteenth time that the Mach Five was a “highly specialized car”, and not to mess with the steering wheel. The Mach Five's mechanic was justifiably proud of his baby, and wouldn't let anyone else even touch it except for Pops Racer, The Car's builder. Speed's father was the exception to a lot of rules.

 

Trixie had been angry at Speed for not letting her in on the decision, but the all-expenses paid excursion to Gotham City (and the shopping spree he promised her) had changed her mind. She now stood with him, watching the Mach Five as it slid gracefully into the belly of the SCRAM-jet plane, secured to a special pallet, and given plenty of room in the massive hold. She smiled at her husband. “I hope Gotham has good weather this time of year, Speed. I'd love to get a tan! And we're going to stay in a mansion! I've always wondered what that would be like. Too bad Spritle and Chim-Chim couldn't come. They would have loved it.” She laughed. “I'm half tempted to check the trunk, to make sure they haven't stowed away.”

 

Speed hugged her close and smiled. “You know as well as I do that Spritle's too big to hide in the trunk anymore.” They both watched as their luggage was loaded into the plane, along with a large shipping crate, and the cargo bay doors slid closed. It was time to board the plane.

 

“SPEED!” Pops Racer came huffing and puffing up the plane's gangway, waving his arms frantically. He looked exhausted from the effort. Speed turned towards him to steady his panting father. “Thought you were going off without your old man, huh? You know I'm still tough enough to take you across my knee! The doctor gave me special permission to come on this trip, and long as I take my medicine, so don't even THINK of leaving me behind!” His blustering done, Pops racer looked fondly at his son and his daughter-in-law. “Besides, I'd be bored stiff staying back here and breathing the Tokyo smog!”

 

“You sure, Pops?” Speed asked with his voice full of concern. Ever since Speed's mother had died, Pops had gone through the motions of being alive and vital, but the spirit of the Mach Five's creator had withered with grief. His heart had withered, too, and was weakening, which caused the doctors and his family no small concern. The medications kept the inevitable at bay, but both father and son knew it was only a matter of time before Pops joined Mom Racer in Eternity. Perhaps it was good for Pops to come along after all, and maybe enjoy himself.

 

“Do you honestly think that I would miss an opportunity to have a free vacation in a mansion, with a butler to see to my every whim? It's a dream come true!” Pops winked, with a twinkle of his former self, shining through for Trixie. She smiled, and kissed Pops on the cheek, making him blush. She could always do that, and she loved it. She had always been fond of Pops, and since she became his daughter-in-law, she understood that underneath that blustery exterior, there was a kind, gentle, tenderhearted man, who had never forgiven himself for driving Speed's brother Rex away from the family.

 

Grabbing their carry-on luggage, Speed, Pops, Trixie, and Sparky boarded the plane to find opulent luxury in the mammoth transport. Their jaws dropped at the solid gold trim, the wood accents, and the huge plush seats! Television screens, DVD players, video game consoles, and every technological convenience met them at every turn. Speed grinned. “Spritle would go nuts if he were here! The first thing he'd do is head for the nearest refrigerator. Then, with his mouth full of food, the video games would be under siege!”

 

“Hey Speed!” Sparky's voice cut excitedly through Speed's laughter. “Get a load of this computer! It's got some of the most up-to-date CAD and drafting programs I've ever seen! I'll bet Pops could make some great design modifications for the Mach Five on this baby!”

 

Pops snorted derisively. “You think those newfangled gadgets can help make a better Mach Five, huh? I'll have you know that there's no greater computer in the world than the one right here!” He tapped his head and winked. “If the Mach Five (perfect car that it is) needs any modifications, I'll make them the old fashioned way, thank you very much!” Pops looked around. “Now where did I put that bag I had a minute ago?”

 

Speed looked at Trixie, and she giggled. He smiled back at her as a voice came over the loudspeakers. “Good afternoon, Team Racer. This is your captain speaking. If you will please take your seats, we will be cleared for takeoff in a few minutes. As soon as we have reached cruising speed and altitude, I'll let you know it is safe to move about the cabin. On behalf of the Wayne Foundation, and Mr. Wayne himself, welcome aboard. Flight crew, prepare for departure.”

 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a pretty female flight attendant in a conservative outfit with the Wayne Foundation logo emblazoned on the left breast pocket began bustling about, securing seat belts, fluffing pillows, and securing gear. Trixie eyed her speculatively as she offered Speed an extra pillow and blanket. “Thank you, that'll be all for now, Miss.” She said as she looped her arm through her husband's, a bit too possessively.

 

Speed merely smiled at her fondly. “It's not as if you're in any danger of losing me, Trixie. I'm yours.”

 

“I know that, and you know that, honey. I just want to make sure SHE knows that!” Trixie grinned impishly as Speed laughed and kissed her forehead.

 

The seven-hour flight was uneventful, with only some minor turbulence, and most of it was spent in planning for the big race. The computer had been thoughtfully loaded with a database of course routes, speeds and road conditions, checkpoint locations, and border stops. The rally was a long-distance affair, taking several days to complete, and winding its way through Gotham, into the surrounding countryside, and up into Canada and back. Sparky indicated possible pit stop areas along the route, while Pops and Trixie discussed other areas of logistical support. Speed spent his time memorizing the course, every curve, every landmark; every bit of information the database could give him. His was the ultimate challenge. With Trixie as his navigator, he could concentrate on the road, but he wanted to be extra sure that they both knew the route. This would be a dangerous race, he knew, but if they pulled it off, the reward would be substantial.

 

When they finally touched down at the Wayne Foundation's private Airstrip, they felt almost ready for anything.

 

**********

 

A large luxurious bus was waiting for them on the airstrip. It pulled up as the plane came to a stop, and its doors hissed open as Team Racer exited the aircraft, and the cargo bay doors slid open for the workers to unload the cargo. Sparky again scurried here and there around the Mach Five (and the harried crewmen unloading it) until Speed summoned him over to the rest of the group, and he got a grateful glance from the crew.

 

A rather dapper silver-haired man in a butler's uniform got out of the bus, and approached the group of travelers. “Greetings and salutations, Team Racer, and welcome to Gotham City! I am Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Bruce Wayne's butler and Charge-d'Affairs.” Speed made the introductions for Team Racer, and Trixie blushed prettily as Alfred gallantly kissed her hand. Then the old gentleman smiled. “You must be tired after your journey. Please step aboard the bus, and we will conduct you to Wayne Manor, where you will be staying during your visit here. Master Speed, if you and your charming spouse would care to follow us the short distance to Wayne Manor, you will find a garage for your most remarkable car.”

 

Shouts from near the plane interrupted them, and Speed turned just in time to see a large shipping crate being unloaded from the plane fall on its side and burst open. To everyone's surprise, out of the crate rolled a plump16 year old boy and a large anthropoid ape, teeth chattering, wrapped in blankets, and looking a little pale. Pops looked ready to explode as Speed rushed to the open crate to aid the odd pair. “Spritle! Chim-Chim! What are you two doing here?”

 

Somehow the chimpanzee managed a sheepish hangdog expression on his simian face as the boy answered. “We knew Pops would never let us come along on this trip, so we stowed ourselves on that crate. But NOBODY TOLD US THE CARGO HOLD WASN'T HEATED!!!!” Spritle's teeth were chattering viciously, and he was almost frozen through as Speed picked him up and dusted him off. “I guess that wasn't the brightest thing we've ever tried doing, was it?”

 

Speed tried hard not to laugh and to look properly stern as he scolded his younger brother. “You two could have frozen to death in there, not to mention getting me in trouble with Mr. Wayne! How am I going to explain this to him?”

 

“Aww c'mon Speed! We're gonna get it bad enough from Pops! Go easy on us, huh?”

 

Pops descended on the two stowaways like a freight train. “What do you two mean, pulling a stunt like this?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in? You two are grounded for life! Do you hear me? No more video games, no T.V. and you're both going on a DIET!”

 

Chim-Chim groaned, and rolled over as if he were dead while Spritle's mouth dropped open with a few unintelligible syllables of shocked protest. “A DIET???” Aww, Pops! ANYTHING but that! Please! We're growing boys, and need our food! Besides, we can make ourselves useful! We could clean house, and run errands for Mr. Wayne, and…”

 

The boy was interrupted by laughter from everyone except Pops. Even Alfred chuckled. “If I may say so, Master Racer,” he said, addressing Pops, “I may indeed be able to find a few things for these two rascals to do to `earn their keep', shall we say?” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he slyly winked at Pops. “Perhaps they could help me do the dusting, or clean the cars, etcetera?”

 

Pops relented. “OK, Alfred. They're yours to do with as you see fit. And if they screw up, it's DIET time!”

 

Spritle and Chim-Chim glumly nodded in acquiescence. They knew they were in trouble. But then Spritle brightened, turning to his simian friend and pet. “Come on, Chim-Chim! How hard can a little dusting and washing a few cars be? It'll be a piece of cake! Speaking of cake, we're hungry!” They scrambled onto the bus, looking for something to eat.

 

In a dark room, a lone figure sat in front of two-dozen glowing screens. With a few keystrokes of the massive keyboard, one of the monitors zoomed in on the bus parked at the airstrip. There was Alfred Pennyworth speaking to the group of newcomers, no doubt making them feel welcome. Another flick of the key switches provided the figure with a close-up of Speed Racer, his face trying not to smile at the antics of the two unexpected stowaways. A low voice spoke into a microphone. “Computer, initiate a level one security lockdown of sensitive areas within the perimeter, on the grounds, and in Wayne Manor.” An electronically synthesized male voice responded with, “Task complete.”

 

The bus pulled away as the Mach Five's supercharged engine roared to life with Speed at the wheel, and Trixie by his side. The private road to Wayne Manor was longer than some of the racetracks Speed had conquered during his career, but within ten minutes, they had pulled up to the front of stately Wayne Manor. A ten-door garage appeared at the far end of the mansion, the first door waiting patiently open as Speed pulled the Mach Five in and exited the car, opening Trixie's door and rejoining the others who were exiting the bus. Alfred opened the huge front doors, and ushered everyone inside the opulent ancestral home of the Wayne Family. “Please wait here while I inform Master Wayne of your arrival. He is most anxious to meet all of you.” Alfred smiled and turned away, exiting the entryway through one of several doors.

 

Trixie broke the echoing silence. “Look at this place! I've never seen such a fantastic house! Olive Wood parquet floors, priceless art on the walls, and look at the décor!” She began wandering around the entryway ooh-ing and ahh-ing over every new thing she discovered: priceless Ming Vases on pedestals, rare paintings by Masters such as Raphael, Michelangelo, Renoir, Matisse, Degas, Rembrandt and DaVinci. A huge 12th century tapestry hung on the wall of the large grand staircase, depicting a feast in a castle. Spritle looked around, awestruck. “I think we've been suckered, Chim-Chim! How are we ever gonna get THIS dusted, pal? This Wayne guy must be LOADED!”

 

“Actually, most of these are copies. The originals are far too valuable to society to be anywhere but in a museum.” A deep baritone voice rang through the hall, and Team Racer turned to see a tall, well-built man standing in a doorway. He was wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater, and he had a pair of Nikes on his feet. A small amount of grey tinged his jet-black hair just around the temples, and he had a friendly smile on his face. “Alfred just told me you guys arrived. I hope you didn't have any trouble finding the place.” He smiled again. “I'm Bruce Wayne. Thanks for coming, Speed.”

 

Speed stepped forward, taking Wayne's offered hand. “It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Wayne. I hope your confidence in Team Racer is well placed. But how did you know who I was? We've never met, or even spoken.”

 

“Good question, Speed. It's true that we've never met, but after following your racing career on TV and on the Internet, I feel as though I know you. I like your style, and I think you've got a good chance of winning the Gotham Gumball Rally this year. Oh, by the way, folks, I've ordered a little lunch for us. I kind of figured you'd be a little hungry after your flight, and with the time change and all you might want a bite to eat. Would you care to join me in the dining room after you've gotten settled?”

 

Spritle and Chim-Chims' ears perked up. “Did you say food, Mr. Wayne?”

 

“Spritle,” Pops scolded, “Try being more polite to our host, especially since you shouldn't even be here!”

 

“It's OK, Mr. Racer.” Wayne smiled. “Alfred informed me of our extra guests on the way to the house. I'm sure they can work off their room and board with no difficulties. Alfred has already had rooms made up for all of you, even Spritle and Chim-Chim. Oh! There's just one more thing to remember: The house is big and confusing if you're not used to it. I remember getting lost in it when I was a kid.” He smiled again. “You probably don't want to go exploring without Alfred to guide you, ok? Thanks. I'll see you in about a half an hour for lunch.” With that, he turned around, and disappeared through another doorway.

 

Alfred appeared a moment later from the same doorway. “If you will be so kind as to follow me, I'll show you all to your rooms.” He led them up the grand staircase, and down a long hall, modeled after the great Hall of Mirrors at the Palais de Versailles in France, where Speed had visited during one of his races there. This one was scaled down, but had the same architecture. A 30-foot high arched ceiling was supported by multiple wall columns in the French Renaissance style, with mural paintings of blue sky and white clouds and cherubs adorning the ceiling. The walls themselves were adorned with mirrors, reflecting and magnifying the light provided by huge hanging crystal chandeliers. A multitude of doors were opened on both sides of the hall, and at the far end, there was another staircase going down. The smell of good food wafted up from below, indicating that the kitchen and/or dining room was close. Speed and Trixie got a room, Pops was ushered to another room, Sparky was given a room a few doors down, and Spritle and Chim-Chim shared the room closest to the stairs, (and thus the source of the food) much to their delight.

 

Everybody got settled in their rooms fairly quickly, and once again, Trixie was both awed and delighted with the accommodations. The bed was huge, as was the room. They had their own private bathroom, lavishly decorated, a huge indoor Jacuzzi, and every amenity they could ever need. They had their own intercom system, and they could communicate with the other team members, or with Alfred anytime they wished. As they were getting ready for dinner, Speed heard a beep on his intercom. He responded. “Yes, who is it?”

 

“Speed, it's Bruce. If you're already set for lunch, I'd like to talk to you in private about the race. Can you meet me in the library? Alfred should be there in a minute to take you there.”

 

“Okay, Mr. Wayne. I'll be there.” Speed wondered why he needed a private interview with his host, but he decided this might be nothing more than a trillionaire's little eccentricity manifesting itself. He decided to give Wayne the benefit of the doubt. A moment later, there was a knock on the door. Trixie answered it. Alfred stood in the doorway. “Please pardon my intrusion, Mistress Trixie, but I believe Master Speed is wanted in the library. Luncheon will be ready shortly, and I will return to escort you both to the dining room.” He nodded towards Speed, who followed him out into the mirrored hallway as Trixie closed the bedroom door behind them.

 

The mansion was huge. Alfred led Speed unerringly through the labyrinthine maze of turns, corridors, and entryways. It wasn't long, however, before the efficient butler ushered Speed into a huge room, lined from floor to 20 foot ceiling with every type of book imaginable. A set of bay windows opened on to a large porch, and Speed could see a large garden and fountain below. There was a huge oak desk in the center of the room, and at it sat Speed's host, Mr. Bruce Wayne. Alfred unobtrusively backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

 

“Hi, Speed.” Bruce Wayne started things off in an easy manner. I wanted to talk to you in private about the race. I thought you should know a few things about Gotham City.”

 

“Sure thing, Mr. Wayne. I did go through the database on the race you put on the computer aboard the plane, though.” Speed was a little puzzled about the need for a private meeting with his host, adding to Speed's opinion that the trillionnaire was a little eccentric.

 

“Call me Bruce, Speed.” Wayne smiled at his guest. “I wanted to talk to you in private because I know about some of your competition.” His mood turned quickly serious. “As I said earlier, I have followed your career quite closely, and I know some of the dangers you've faced in your other races. I remember watching the Mammoth Car and the smugglers aboard it almost kill you and Trixie. I remember the Apache Motorcycle Gang trying to run you off the road in an ambush. I remember Kaballah. I just wanted you to know what you're up against. This race is no less forgiving than the others you've been in. I'm sure you've heard of Racer X, right?”

 

Speed nodded. “He's the toughest opponent I've ever faced in my career. Why?”

 

Wayne leaned forward in his chair. “I've just received word that he is also entering the Rally. I don't know where he got the front money, but I though it only fair to warn you that he was competing. They say he's a jinx. In every race he's ever been in, there's been at least one fatality. I wouldn't be surprised if someone was going to die in this one, too. Watch your step out there, ok?”

 

“I plan on it, Bruce. I've raced against Racer X many times. I also plan on winning the grand prize. I know my car is the best in the world, and I know I can win!” There was an eager gleam in Speed's eyes as he looked at the older man. “Did you…” He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Alfred came in.

 

“Master Bruce, I know you did not want to be disturbed, but there is an urgent matter at Wayne industries that requires your immediate attention, Sir.” Speed thought there was just a little too much emphasis on the word, “Immediate”.

 

Wayne stood up suddenly. “Of course, Alfred, thank you for telling me. I hope you don't mind cutting this short, Speed. Thanks for letting me talk to you. I'll see you later. Alfred, show Speed back to his room, please, and make my apologies at lunch, ok? Thanks a lot!” With that, he hurried out of the library.

 

Alfred sighed, smiling. “Sometimes I wonder how he keeps going as hard as he does.”

 

Speed nodded. “It must be pretty hard managing all the things he has to deal with. You seem to be up to the task of helping him, though Alfred. How long have you been his butler?”

 

Alfred Pennyworth smiled. “Since before he was born. The Pennyworths have been serving the Wayne family for generations. I remember running around after him as he streaked down the halls, toddling just as fast as his legs could carry him!” He chuckled, a warm light shining in his old eyes. “He hated wearing his diaper, you see.” Speed laughed out loud, imagining the little heir running around the grand hall, naked to the world, giggling as Alfred chased him with a diaper. Alfred chuckled with him. “He was always very fearless. And that has helped him a great deal as an adult. He has overcome many of the same challenges you have, Master Speed. Not necessarily on the racecourse, but in his personal life, instead. He may seem eccentric, but I could not ask for a better employer or friend. He has great confidence in you, and I know you will not disappoint him.” A shadow fell across Alfred's face, and he looked up in surprise. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit, sir?”

 

Speed whirled around towards the window to see an apparition in black, backlit against the sunshine streaming in the bay windows. He gasped as he recognized the costume with its pointed ears, black cowl and armored bodysuit, the logo of a stylized bat emblazoned on the chest and the buckle of the utility belt. The black cape flowed to the floor, and the Dark Knight said nothing. “Batman!” Speed breathed.

 

The Caped Crusader stepped into the room. “You've heard of me. Good. I've heard of you, too, Mr. Racer.” Batman's slightly raspy voice held no discernable emotion, and the eyes in the cowl were filled with steely resolve. “I knew that Mr. Wayne had invited you to participate in the Gotham Gumball Rally, as well. Actually, that's the reason I'm here. I put him up to it.”

 

Speed was stunned. Why would one of the world's greatest crime fighters want him to be in a race? The possibility of Batman even knowing of his arrival in Gotham was shocking enough. There was a moment of chaos in the racecar driver. Was he in trouble? Did Batman have some ulterior motive for causing Mr. Wayne to invite Speed? What was going on?

 

“You're wondering why I'm talking to you.” Batman dropped a small bag onto the desk. “Open that and look inside. What do you see?”

 

Speed looked warily inside the bag. The glitter that reached his eyes was unmistakable. “Those are diamonds!” he exclaimed.

 

“Very observant, Mr. Racer. They are also evidence. Do you know an Inspector Detector in your hometown?” Speed nodded.

 

“Yes, but what's he got to do with…”

 

“I have spoken with him at length about the help he has received from you in solving many of his cases during your racing career. You are now in a unique position to aid me in a rather delicate matter. It seems that an international ring of jewel thieves has chosen the Gotham Gumball Rally as a convenient means of smuggling stolen diamonds into Canada for sale on the black market. You can help me retrieve them before the race hits the Canadian border.”

 

“Batman, isn't this a matter for the police, or Interpol?” Speed wondered why the Dark Knight hadn't already alerted the authorities since he was a superhero.

 

“Ordinarily, it would be, Mr. Racer, but Bruce Wayne has asked me as a personal favor NOT to involve them. The Rally is a charity event subsidized and sponsored by the Wayne Foundation. It will be attended by thousands of spectators, lining the tracks. There will be over one hundred cars in the race. The police cannot acknowledge my existence without undermining due process of law. My methods of… obtaining evidence, if known, would render it inadmissible in any court. If the thieves get wind of any surveillance or pursuit, they would react with violence to innocent bystanders. Even though I officially do not exist, I'm too well known by the criminal element. It's too great a risk. That is why Mr. Wayne asked me to handle this in a covert manner.”

 

Speed nodded. “I can understand your need for secrecy, then. But why not enter the Batmobile in the race? From the rumors I've heard of your car, it could even give the Mach Five a run for its money.”

 

The man in the cowl smiled slightly. “Thanks for the compliment, but there are several problems. The Rally is a NRCA sanctioned event. That means all rules concerning types of vehicles allowed are strictly enforced. I'm afraid that while the Batmobile would certainly win the race, it would be disqualified. It doesn't exactly run on gasoline, you know. Also, I am not a professional racecar driver, so I would not be allowed to enter even if the Batmobile were within NRCA specs. Beyond all of those reasons, there is no evidential proof of my existence. An urban legend should not enter a televised event. This is why I urged Mr. Wayne to sponsor you in the race. If I were a betting man, I'd lay odds that you will not only win, but will help me apprehend the suspects before you reach Canada.”

 

Speed thought about the situation. He considered the extra danger he would be in. He thought about Trixie. She should not be involved in this, but how would he manage without a navigator? “O.K., Batman, I'll do it. But I'll need to inform Trixie, so that she'll understand why she's not coming with me.”

 

“I would advise against that, Mr. Racer. Your marriage and Mrs. Racer's status as your ONLY navigator are a matter of great public interest. If you were to appear on race day without her, it would draw too much attention to your entry into the race. Our suspects are extremely paranoid, and they may alter their plans if they even suspected something was up. You might not even survive under the circumstances. I know you are concerned for your wife's safety, but you must trust me on this. I will make arrangements to plant a tracking device on the Mach Five, with your permission. It will allow me to know to within inches of your position at all times. I will follow at a discreet distance, and out of the media's way. If you make an unscheduled stop, I'll know about it. If you run into trouble, I'll know about it. And I will be able to be there in seconds. I can't tell you more about the details of this, but you will not be alone. Does that satisfy you?”

 

Speed acquiesced. “I agree, Batman. Most of the cars nowadays have GPS navigation systems, anyways. It won't raise any eyebrows.” He looked at the huge book-filled shelves lining the walls, then turned back to face the Caped Crusader. “Will there be…” But he spoke to an empty room. Batman had vanished.

 

*********

 

Alfred appeared from somewhere behind a series of shelves where he had unobtrusively hidden during the interview. “You have had a great honor bestowed upon you, Master Racer. The Batman rarely makes personal appearances to visitors, from what I understand.”

 

Speed nodded pensively. He was certainly awed by the Caped Crusader's appearance, and felt honored to be working with Batman himself, but he still worried about Trixie's safety, and how this extra responsibility would impact his racing edge. He walked thoughtfully behind Alfred back to the room he shared with Trixie, and then prepared to tell her the momentous turn their participation in this race had taken.

 

He should have known better than to worry. Trixie was enthused and excited by the idea of working with the famous Caped Crusader, and Speed laughed aloud when she said, “You just try and keep me from being in that passenger seat, Speed Racer, and maybe Batman WILL have to drive the mach five!” He held her close, enjoying the warm comforting softness of the woman he loved. Things were just getting interesting when Alfred knocked, summoning the pair to lunch.

 

The table in the main dining room was on par with the rest of the opulent furnishings in Wayne Manor, and the lunch was a feast. Spritle and Chim-Chim could scarcely wait for their host before they dug in with both hands. The mealtime chat was pleasant enough, covering topics from Speed's hometown, to Bruce's philanthropic efforts to put his trillions to good use. Team racer chatted about the upcoming race, with Bruce Wayne politely interjecting with questions as his curiosity was aroused. After a delicious chocolate mousse desert, Bruce's manner changed abruptly. “Speed, I understand you had an unexpected chat after I was called away.” He arched an eyebrow, carefully observing how Speed would handle this.

 

“That's true, Bruce, but I don't know if it should be discussed openly.” Trixie glance in surprise at Mr. Wayne, and then around the table, to see Team Racer looking at Speed, (all except for Spritle and Chim-Chim, who were too busy stuffing their faces to notice the change in tone that the conversation had taken.) Speed himself was unsure of how much he should talk about it with his host, seeing as how it was a covert matter.

 

Wayne nodded approvingly. “Good. Your caution does you credit, but you are among friends here, Speed. Alfred informed me of your visitor, and the topic of conversation. I asked for Batman's help in this issue, and it's only right that the rest of your team knows what you know. They can better help you and Trixie by knowing what you're all getting into.”

 

Speed then related the details of his conversation with Gotham's greatest crime fighter, and of his agreement to help Batman apprehend the criminals. Pops blustered his way through the idea, as usual. “Speed, it took me a long time to agree to let you race, and even longer to agree to your helping Inspector Detector, but this is too much. It's too dangerous! It's bad enough having you deal with the dangers inherent in your profession, and to have Trixie with you at all, but to expose yourselves to this added risk is unacceptable! I won't allow it!”

 

To Speed's relief, Trixie came to his defense. “Pops,” she said, wrapping her arms around her father-in-law, “Didn't you hear Speed? He's got the best crime fighter in Gotham city, and maybe even the world tailing him! I can't think of anyone outside of this family I would rather trust. Besides, we've gotten out of a lot more risky situations than this. I agreed to this, too, you know. We'll be as safe as we have been in any of our other races.” She kissed him fondly on the cheek, making him blush.

 

“I just don't want to lose either of you. Since Rex left, you and Spritle are all I have. I do want to have some grandchildren, you know!” Now it was Trixie's turn to blush, and she prettily turned a few different shades of red as she looked at Speed. He smiled at his bride.

 

“I can understand your concern, Pops,” Bruce said, “but I've never known a time when Batman did not keep his word. Every criminal he ever vowed to bring to justice is now behind bars. Speed and Trixie couldn't be in better hands. If it will help you, I'll allow you to watch the proceedings of the race fist-hand aboard my private helicopter. You, Sparky, Spritle and Chim-Chim will all be able to communicate with Speed and Trixie during the race, and keep tabs on them. An extra set of eyes never hurts.”

 

Pops smiled. “Thanks, Mr. Wayne, but the Mach five is such a fast car, your chopper won't be able to keep up with it.”

 

Wayne smiled again. Why don't we test that assumption, shall we? I have a pilot's license.”

 

Pops shifted uncomfortably, but Speed interrupted. “I think that's a great idea, Mr. Wayne. I'd like some practice on some of the outlying parts of the course anyway!”

 

With that, they all got up. Wayne paused for a moment. “Alfred! Could you please clean up, and make sure my chopper is prepped on the west pad, please? And make sure that Sparky has everything he needs.”

 

“Certainly, Master Bruce.” Alfred smiled. “However, the Mach Five has already been certified as roadworthy by Master Sparky this morning. Good luck, Master, Speed.”

 

Within minutes, Bruce Wayne found his orders had been carried out to the letter. As he helped Team Racer aboard the sleek Bell 222E Jet Ranger helicopter, he invited them to test the radio communication gear that would keep them in contact with Speed and Trixie on the ground. Sparky was impressed. “This is a nice chopper, Mr. Wayne! I should have known you'd have the only production `copter with a maximum airspeed of 200 Miles an hour! But that's still too slow to keep up with the Mach Five!”

 

Wayne smiled again, quoting a line from “Star Wars”, “She may not look like much, kid, but she's got it where it counts. I've made a few special modifications on her, myself!”

 

Sparky smiled, getting the quote. “I wondered about those two extra exhaust ports in the back. Jet assists?”

 

“That's right, Sparky. They'll boost her to fixed-wing speed, if you can handle the initial g-force of the boost. We probably won't have to use them for this part of the course, though. There are some twists and turns here that may keep Speed below 200.” Wayne smiled again, starting the machine's engines. “Buckle up, everybody. Sparky, you fly, too, don't you?”

 

The mechanic blushed a little. “Yeah, Mr. Wayne, but nothing this fancy. I've flown Hueys before, though.”

 

“This thing makes a Huey look like flying a boat!” Bruce smiled again. “It's incredibly easy to fly, and handles like a dream. Why don't you take us up? You've got the flight hours. I had Alfred check before I offered Team Racer the chopper's use.”

 

Delighted, Sparky radioed for clearance from nearby Gotham International ATC and got it, placed his hand on the controls, eased the throttle forward, and lifted the Jet Ranger gracefully off the ground.

 

Speed started the Mach Five's powerful twelve cylinder engine as he watched the Wayne helicopter rise from its pad. His helmet and Trixie's had been fitted with the radio gear worn by most rally racers nowadays, and they were testing it out. It seemed to work just fine. They could easily communicate with Team Racer up in the chopper. Trixie's data pad displayed a real-time map with an overlay of their position, and Speed winked at her, giving her the “thumbs up” sign as he stepped on the accelerator. The Mach Five roared down the private lane, and out toward the open road.

 

The Mach Five performed flawlessly, taking curves at high speed, flashing through the Gotham countryside like a streak of red and white lightning. Trixie was barking out directions as new obstacles presented themselves on the road ahead. “Easy right! Hard left! Watch for trees! Straightaway! Hairpin left with soft shoulder on right! No guard Rail!” Speed responded to each direction with all the alacrity he had developed as a professional racecar driver. They ate up the miles, and occasionally caught a glimpse of the Wayne `copter, above them, tracking his course. Trixie made another course correction. “Blind intersection ahead! Watch for trees!” Speed stepped on the brake as he approached the intersection, his hand hovering near the button that would extend the Mach Five's powerful jacks. He'd avoided many perils in the past by knowing that trick. Speed knew that this stretch of road was cordoned off as a practice section for the racers, and that Bruce had made sure it was clear of other cars, but there was no harm in being extra safe. Without warning, a sleek yellow and black car blocked the intersection just yards ahead of them! With less than half a second to react, speed jammed his finger onto the “A” button, releasing the auto-jacks, boosting the Mach Five over the top of the other vehicle! He jammed on his brakes upon hitting the ground, and power-slid to a halt, twenty-five yards away!

 

Frantic radio calls were coming from up above. “Speed! Come in, Speed! We lost you in the trees! We see smoke! Are you O.K.?”

 

Trixie fielded the calls. “We're fine! Emergency stop and tire smoke! That's all! Unforeseen obstacle. No damage to vehicle. Stand by!”

 

As the tire smoke cleared, Speed threw his helmet into his car, and ran over to where the other racecar was parked. He had competed against this car often enough to recognize both it and its driver. He stopped in front of the Shooting Star, fuming. “Racer X! What the blazes are you doing? Do you have any idea how close you came to getting killed?”

 

“Yes, I do, Speed.” A deep familiar voice intoned. I knew I was in no danger. You were behind the wheel of the Mach Five and I know how good you are. I figured this was the best way to meet you without prying eyes.” The driver in the black mask nodded his head upward, indicating the chopper hovering somewhere above the canopy of trees. Racer X continued. “I also know that this is just one of many spots where air cover will offer you little protection from ambush.”

 

Speed refused to take the hint. “What are you doing here? Are you in the Gotham Gumball Rally?”

 

“Yes, I am. I'm also here to warn you. Go back to Tokyo. Now. This race has elements of danger, which have nothing to do with the race itself. If you show up on the starting line, there's better than even odds you'll be killed before you reach the Canadian border.”

 

Speed had heard these dire warnings before. “You just want to scare me out of racing against you, that's all! It's never worked before, Racer X, and it won't work now!”

 

“Speed, I'm not kidding.” The masked racer's tone became more serious and earnest. “You remember Slick Oiler? Remember Cruncher Block? Remember the GRX? The speed and adrenaline of the GRX car almost cost you your life! Remember the care Pops Racer had to take to get you over the effects of the reflex-enhancing gas they pumped you full of? You were only inches away from a mental institution and the end of your career! The people involved in the dealings of this race make them look like rank amateurs. I can't tell you any more than this, and I probably shouldn't even be telling you this much! Get out of the race, Speed, while you still can. I will do everything I can to beat you on that course, and others will try to kill you if they can.”

 

Speed wondered why this scene kept repeating itself with every race in which he competed against Racer X. The mysterious masked racer constantly warned him against racing, and he constantly raced anyway. Granted, he'd had a few close calls over the years, but he'd always survived, even the attempts on his life. It was almost as if Racer X cared for Speed. He was ruthless on the track, and solitary off it, but Speed was never afraid of the man in the yellow car. Once again, he looked at the older driver, wondering about the man's origins. Racer X looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Speed gave him one. “I'm sorry, Racer X, you'll just have to get used to eating my dust. I'm going to enter that race, and I'm going to WIN!”

 

“You must do as you see fit, Speed. But be warned. Someone else is keeping a close eye on you. He's a ruthless vigilante. He's foiled police investigations in Gotham for years. He operates outside the law, and in his own self-interests. He goes by the rather colorful name of Batman. Avoid contact with him at all costs.” The sounds of whirling chopper blades above them grew louder, indicating that the helicopter above had found a nearby landing site, and that Team Racer was coming to investigate. Before Speed could utter another word, Racer X jumped into the Shooting Star, and sped off as if the very hounds of Hades were after him. He stood silently as the dust settled, wondering after the mysterious figure racing away.

 

**********

 

 

The day of the race shone bright and clear. Team racer arrived at the Gotham National Raceway, where the race was to start, a good two hours early. Sparky was making some last minute tweaks on the Mach Five's suspension as Speed and Trixie went over the details of this stage of the rally, and Pops was just standing back, trying not to look too proud of his son and daughter-in-law. There would be five laps around the one-mile oval, and then the rally would take to the streets of Gotham City and then out to the open road. A goodly portion of the downtown area had been cordoned off for the event, and crowds of eager spectators lined the streets in anticipation of the racers as they roared by. Pit stops were organized, and the inn they would all stay at that night was ready for the flood of drivers and spectators after the day was over.

 

Bruce Wayne was in the V.I.P. box, preparing his speech for the opening of the race, and fielding questions from the press. He seemed in his element. It wasn't long before other drivers and teams began to arrive. Speed looked for Racer X, but he was nowhere to be seen. A race team was setting up in the garage bay next to Team Racer, with a sleek black Lamborghini Murcielago, marked with a double zero designation, and several large sponsors' logos prominently displayed on the sides of the car. A man in a black and white checkered racing suit approached Speed and Trixie. His southern drawl was barely noticeable. “Well, I never thought I'd live to see the day! Speed Racer and the Mach Five in Gotham City! My name's Buck Adams, but you can call me Buckshot. It's kind of a reference to the double aught on the side of my car.” He grinned ruefully. “Jeff Gordon gave it to me in my very first pro stock race, and it's kind of stuck ever since.” He stuck his hand out with a grin.

 

Speed took the man's hand and shook it warmly. “Pleased to meet you, Buckshot. This is my wife, Trixie.”

 

“And she's such a lovely wife, too! I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Ma'am.” Buckshot took her hand and gallantly kissed it. Trixie blushed, and Speed tried not to bristle. She winked mischievously at him, daring him to comment. Speed wisely held his tongue. Buckshot turned back to Speed, grinning. “I like to have a little prayer with the newcomers to the race, if you don't mind.” A small crowd of racers had gathered, and took off their hats respectfully. Buckshot also doffed his hat, and bowed his head. Speed and Trixie followed suit. “Dear Lord, please be with our guests during this race, and please prepare them for the butt whuppin' they are about to receive! AMEN!” The crown burst into uproarious laughter, choruses of “amen!” and “Hallelujah!” erupted from somewhere, and Buckshot slapped Speed on the back good-naturedly, making him realize he was now initiated into the brotherhood of the Gotham Rally.

 

“Thanks a LOT, Buckshot!” Speed grinned at the likeable southerner. “I hope I can keep up with the likes of you!” He gave Trixie a little kiss, and she smiled at him for being such a good sport. Age and experience had mellowed the brash young driver she fell in love with as a teen, and now she had every confidence in his ability to win the race. Let theses boisterous Americans have their fun. Speed would show them what he was made of on the racecourse.

As the morning progressed, Speed surreptitiously checked the Mach Five for the promised tracking device that Batman had promised. Neither he nor Sparky could find the device. Either Batman had misled him, or he was very good at placing bugs. Speed also had the opportunity to check out some of the other drivers in the pits. Buckshot was making the rounds, and played the same initiation gag on several newcomers, most of whom Speed didn't recognize. He did recognize Boltcutter Jackson, a rather disreputable racer on the European circuit. He saw Jessie Muldowney, carrying on her Grandmother Shirley's legacy of racing, and one of the few female drivers in the rally.

 

The roar of engines and the screech of rubber interrupted his reconnaissance and half a dozen day-glow green cars pulled up to the starting line, not even bothering to stop in the pits. They took their places with military precision, engines racing in an impressive show of unity. The windows were tinted black so Speed couldn't get a look at the drivers. The sleek machines bore some very interesting designations: 13, 666, 4, 9, 14 and 40. Every one of those numbers signified bad luck, death, or suffering in some cultures. Speed very much wanted to get a closer look at those cars.

 

As one, the six unlucky drivers opened their doors, stepped out onto the pavement, closed their doors, and locked their cars. They left their heavily tinted helmets on, obscuring any facial features. Speed had never seen such a display. He had never seen locking doors on a rally car before. Buckshot approached one of the drivers, attempting to engage him in small talk. Without a word, the lead driver of car number 13, picked Buckshot up by the collar, and threw him roughly to the side, sending him sprawling to the ground! There was a roar of outrage from the other drivers, but before anything else could happen, Bruce Wayne's voice came over the loudspeakers. “Ladies and Gentlemen! I know tensions are running high in the pits, but please refrain from any behavior that would disqualify you from participating in the race! Team Enigma has made their desire to be left alone perfectly clear, and we must respect their wishes, even as we expect our own pre-race traditions to be accepted. Drivers, ten minutes to places! I say again, TEN MINUTES TO YOUR STARTING PLACES!”

 

Speed and Trixie hurried back to the pit where Team Racer was waiting. Speed could hear the Wayne helicopter on the nearby landing pad powering up her engines, and as he looked towards the sleek aircraft, he saw Sparky, Spritle, and Chim-Chim waving at him and giving him the thumbs-up through the canopy. Pops kissed Trixie's forehead fondly. “You take care of my son, you hear me?”

 

“Of course I will, Pops! You stay safe back here, and not too much excitement, ok?” She hugged her father-in-law, and moved over to Speed. Taking his helmet from the workbench, she lovingly fastened it on his head, cinching it just tight enough, then donning her own helmet and tightening it as well. They adjusted their microphones, and ran a final test. “Driver to chase team, do you copy?”

 

“Copy, Driver. Chase team reads you. Good luck, Speed.”

 

“Driver out. Trixie, you copy?”

 

“Roger that, Speed, darling!” She grinned impishly at him.

 

“Speed, this is Batman. I'm on a secure channel, and nobody else can hear this transmission or your replies. Your first priority after leaving the raceway is to try and get close to the Team Enigma cars. I suspect that they may not exactly play by the rules once they are away from the TV cameras. Be careful, and don't arouse suspicion. I'll stay in touch. If you need to contact me, tap your steering wheel in the two o'clock position three times. That will switch you to this frequency. Good Luck, Speed.”

 

The stands were filled to capacity with race fans, eager for the start of the race, and Speed was sure that the streets along the course would be lined with Gothamites as well. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Bruce Wayne's voice boomed over the central P.A. system, “Welcome to the tenth annual Gotham Gumball Rally for the World Fund to End Children's Hunger! I'm Bruce Wayne. Drivers have gathered from all over the world for this charitable event, and have contributed greatly to the success of our efforts to end children's suffering throughout the world! On behalf of myself, and the Wayne Foundation, thank you all for being here. For those of you, who are here for the first time, welcome! The rules of this rally are all within the boundaries set by the NRCA, and shall be adhered to at all times! In order to start the rally off fairly, all drivers will report to their marks, fifty yards from their cars, and at the sound of the starting gun, will sprint to their vehicles and start the race! Ladies and Gentlemen, get ready for the best racing action you have ever seen! Drivers, take your marks!”

 

Speed and Trixie stood at their designated spots, holding hands, confident that their training and physical condition would allow then quick access to the Mach Five. They were sure of a good start, and excited about getting underway.

 

Above them in the stands sat a man who was quietly giggling to himself, watching the green cars with interest. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, and looked out of place in the casually dressed crowd. He had on a lapel pin in the shape of a question mark. Barely discernable above the noise of the crowd, he grinned and said, “What do a French chef and a Speed Racer fan have in common?” He giggled to himself again.

 

Bruce Wayne's voice drowned out his reply. “Get set!” The crowd hushed in anticipation. The report of the starting gun echoed through the raceway as the drivers leapt toward their cars and the roar of the crowd signaled the start of the race. Speed and Trixie sprinted across the tarmac, and with the exception of Team Enigma, they were the first to reach their car. They jumped in with practiced ease as Speed brought the Mach Five to life, punching the accelerator, and rocketing out of his starting position! Just then, a familiar yellow car flashed past them! Racer X had shown up after all, and had managed to elude them before the race. The Shooting Star pulled in behind Team Enigma, trying to pass them, but was foiled by their precision formation driving. The race had truly begun!

**********

Cars roared to life behind them as their drivers jumped in and gunned the engines, but Speed was concentrating on the tactics of the green cars ahead of him. Their precision was admirable. Almost a foot and a half between each car, forming an impenetrable wall past which Pacer X could not move. Every move he made was countered with almost machine-like precision as they raced around the track before exiting out to the city streets. Speed punched the accelerator in an attempt to gain on Racer X and Team Enigma, but every time he got close, the Shooting Star would swerve dangerously close to the Mach five, causing Speed to Brake hard and pull in behind the yellow car, cursing under his breath. “What's he trying to prove, anyway? Just wait till we get out on the open road!”

 

Watching the race from the crowd, the man in the three-piece suit giggled again to himself as he watched the Mach Five futilely trying to pass the green cars. “They both like to see the S-car go!” Almost doubling over from trying to suppress his maniacal laughter, the mirthful stranger got up, and made his way through the crowd of spectators to the exit.

 

Up in the V.I.P. box, Bruce Wayne was looking for a way to politely and unobtrusively disappear. The small electrical pulse emanating from his wristwatch was a clear sign from Alfred that something was wrong. He pressed a secret button (installed by him) on his cell phone, and it rang. Making a show of answering it, he excused himself from the crowd in the V.I.P. box, found an empty stairwell, and quickly dialed his faithful butler. “What's up, Alfred?”

 

“I'm afraid there's some rather bad news, sir. It seems that the Wayne Industries Robotics Research facility was broken into two days ago, and several of the prototype humanoid robots they were working on for the Transportation Safety demonstration were all that was stolen.”

 

“Let me guess: Six of them, right?”

 

“How did you know, sir?”

 

“Never mind that, Alfred. Why wasn't I told?”

 

“Apparently, sir, the person in charge of security is missing, and the miscreants who stole the robots did such a good job of covering their tracks that the theft was not discovered until just after the start of the race.”

 

“Have the police been notified?”

 

“Yes, sir, they have, and they are already at the crime scene investigating. Shall I have your SPECIAL car prepared, Master Bruce?”

 

Bless him. Alfred always knew how to indicate a good course of action, both without revealing anything (especially on a non-secure cell phone frequency), and without making it seem like a recommendation. “Negative, Alfred. I already have a good idea where those robots are, but I need proof. I'll keep in touch with you. Wait. On second thought, have my special car brought to the rendezvous point on grid coordinate 623 by 243. I'll take things from there.”

 

“Very good, sir. Good luck and Godspeed.” Alfred disconnected, and Bruce returned to the V.I.P. box to make his apologies, citing an urgent business matter that had come up that required his immediate attention. He left the box, hurried downstairs, and made his way out to his new Moller International M-400 Skycar. The four seat VTOL craft looked like something out of “The Jetsons”, but at a top speed of 140 M.P.H. in level flight, it could get him to wherever he needed to go within Gotham city limits in a matter of a few minutes. He strapped himself in, started the whisper-quiet engines, and was airborne in seconds. Rising vertically to an altitude of 350 feet, he sped off to the rendezvous point he had indicated to Alfred. As soon as he had gotten into the Batmobile, he would radio Speed in the Mach Five, and explain the situation. Maybe the young racer could gather enough evidence to prove his theory about the missing robots.

 

Back in the race, Speed was getting increasingly frustrated with Racer X. The mysterious driver of the Shooting Star had been aggressive in the past, but never openly hostile in his driving tactics. Speed was almost ready to believe the ruthless and deadly reputation that Racer X had developed over the years, but there was a nagging feeling of familiarity about the masked racer, which made him wonder. Why was Racer X trying so hard to keep Speed away from the pack of green cars ahead?

 

After the 5th lap, the track opened up, and the roaring cars in the race rocketed out of the raceway and onto the streets of Gotham City, making their way along the carefully mapped out course towards the open road, and northward towards the border. Trixie was calling out directions as a good navigator should, and Speed was responding with alacrity, the couple having spent many races perfecting their timing and technique. The streets of the financial district whipped by, as did the theater district. The skyscrapers thinned as the race gained momentum, turning out of the downtown area towards the outskirts. The roads widened into a six-lane highway, and Team Enigma spread out to encompass all six lanes, maddening the other drivers in the race. Racer X was directly behind one of the green cars, drafting him, saving fuel, and Speed was directly behind him, using the same technique. He and Trixie knew that the road narrowed up ahead in the countryside, and he suspected that under the cover of the trees on both sides of the narrowing road, Team Enigma would start fighting dirty.

 

 

Alfred was waiting patiently at the rendezvous point, standing primly to the side of the Bat mobile, and holding a Bat suit out as Bruce landed his Skycar. Thanking Alfred, he quickly changed into the uniform of his dark alter ego, and the Batman, and jumped into the armored, jet-powered car, making sure Alfred was safely away from the jet wash, and thundered down the lonely road to intercept the Gumball racers. Watching Alfred in his rear-view mirror, he saw the dapper old gentleman take off in the skycar, headed for Wayne Manor. Picking up the radio transceiver, he keyed the mike. “Batman to Speed Racer: Speed, can you hear me?”

 

No response.

 

“Trixie, can you hear me?”

 

Nothing. He decided to contact the chase copter. “Batman to Team Racer chase copter: Mr. Wayne, do you read?”

 

Sparky started at the radio message. Why would the Batman be using this radio? Collecting his wits, he responded. “This is Racer Chase chopper. Go ahead, Batman.”

 

“Bruce Wayne usually flies this copter. Where is he?” Batman played his dual identity to full advantage.

 

“This is Sparky, Batman, Team Racer head mechanic. Mr. Wayne lent us his chopper so we could keep track of the Mach Five during the race. What do you need?”

 

“Have you had radio contact with Speed Racer within the last minute or two?”

 

“Negative, Batman. We weren't expecting a radio check from him for another fifteen minutes or so. Is something wrong?”

 

Batman shook his head worriedly. That left him less than fifteen minutes to find Speed and his wife before Team racer began to worry. If their comm. channel was being monitored, he could be tipping his hand just by talking to them. “Not at this time. Keep your eyes on the course, and make sure that when Speed contacts you, that radio checks become more of a priority. No more fifteen-minute gaps. With the tree cover, you won't be able to see the Mach Five, and won't know if there's trouble. I'm trying to contact all the other racing teams and inform them as well. Batman out.”

 

He turned on the GPS locator tracker on his console. A three dimensional map of the surrounding countryside appeared, but the graphic of the Mach Five was missing! The microwave frequency he was using was in the low band, using wide dispersal, so he should be able to track it, unless it was being jammed. But who? With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he radioed Alfred. “Alfred, this is Batman. Come in.”

 

“Alfred here, Batman. How may I be of service?”

 

“Did the police find any useful clues about the Android theft?”

 

“Nothing useful, Sir, but they did find a conundrum spray painted on the laboratory wall in green: “What do a French chef and a Speed Racer fan have in common?” The police have no idea what to make of it, but Commissioner Gordon suspects that The Riddler may be behind the theft.”

Batman Sighed. “I thought so. I'll try working on that riddle. Keep an eye on the police radios for me for a while, ok?”

 

“Of course, Sir. I'll notify you immediately if anything turns up.”

 

“Thanks. Batman out.” He disconnected and changed his radio to scan mode, looking for frequency variations, which would pinpoint the source of the jamming. He had to contact Speed, and let him know that an arch-criminal was behind the smuggling operation, and fast! He punched the gas, and threw the afterburner switch, extending the extra spoilers that would keep the Batmobile on the ground, and flew down the road towards an intersection with the racecourse, hoping he was not too late.

 

Speed Tried once again to draft behind one of Team Enigma's cars, and again, Racer X's Shooting Star deftly blocked him, keeping him firmly behind the big yellow car. This had been going on for hours. He tried yelling over the rushing wind. “Let me pass! That's cheating, Racer X!” It was no use. Either the masked racer was ignoring him, or he couldn't hear above the noise. He tried radioing to the chase chopper to update them on his position. “Mach Five to chase team, Mach Five to chase team. Come in.”

 

“Chase team here, Speed.” Sparky's voice came over the headset.

 

“I'm behind Racer X and Team Enigma. Racer X won't let me pass him to draft the other six cars! I've never seen him play this dirty! They're blocking the road ahead of them so nobody can get past! Is there any way we can relay this to the race officials?”

 

Sparky sounded concerned. “Are you OK? Have they tried to run you off the road?”

 

“I'm fine, Sparky. I'm just frustrated.”

 

“The rules of this rally state that unless there is clear evidence of intended foul play, the other cars can be as aggressive as they need to as long as they don't try to run you off the road. Sorry, pal, you're just going to have to be extra careful in those trees. We're following the racecourse, but we have no visual contact in this forest. By the way: Batman radioed us and asked if we had contacted you. He said to make radio contact every five minutes or so. He wouldn't say why, but he sounded a little worried.”

 

Speed wasn't sure what to make of that. Why didn't the Caped Crusader simply radio him directly? “Thanks for the heads-up, Sparky. Mach Five out.” He taped his steering wheel three times in the two o'clock position, and was rewarded with a blast of static in his headset. He turned to his wife. “Trixie, we've lost communication with Batman! I can still contact the chase chopper, but I can't radio Batman! I think someone knows we're working with him! Be extra careful, OK?”

 

“Trixie glanced worriedly at her husband. “You're the one driving, lover! YOU be careful! I'll be fine. Just make sure that you stay safe until something changes. You know I love you!”

 

Speed smiled. She always knew what to say to make him feel better. He winked at her. “I love you, too. I'm going to try to get around Racer X again!”

 

Just as he stepped on the accelerator, Team Enigma's cars spat a burst of flame from their exhaust pipes, tearing away from Speed and Racer X as though they had been standing still. Nitro! Speed immediately started thinking of the dangers associated with a nitro boost on these types of cars, and then as Racer X's car followed suit to keep up, he glumly wondered why he hadn't thought of adding a nitro tank to the Mach Five. They were soon out of sight around a bend, and Speed began to wonder if he could catch up. Then he began to wonder if he should even try. They'll miss a curve at that speed, he thought, and that will take them out of the race. Maybe I should just keep going. He smiled to himself as Trixie shouted, “TREE!” He reflexively hit the Auto-jacks, clearing the massive felled Oak, and skidding to a halt on the other side, between two trees near the side of the road. Racer X's Shooting Star was close by, but it was empty. There was no sign of Team Enigma. The rest of the pack was minutes behind, but they might not be able to stop in time. He called up to the chase chopper and informed them of the obstacle, that he and Trixie were fine, and to notify the race officials to bring out the red flag until the course could be cleared. Then he and Trixie got out of the car to look for Racer X. They had a good ten-minute lead on the rest of the pack. There was time.

 

 

**********

 

 

The Batmobile roared around a corner, a good five minutes ahead of the pack of Gotham Gumball racers, and at the last reported position of the Mach five. The road was empty. Batman stopped, and did a quick visual scan of the area. Seeing skid marks leading off the road in between two trees, he followed them, pulling the Batmobile out of the way of the oncoming cars, and hiding it in the thick foliage. He carefully got out of the car, searching for any sign of a trap. There was none. No sign of the Mach Five, either. The underbrush was thick. Batman sniffed. The smell of burnt rubber mixed in with the smells of the forest. There were other smells as well: Gasoline, freshly cut timber, and oil. There was evidence that a tree had been felled across the roadway and then hastily cleared. The Gasoline and oil smells were not coming from the road, but from a little way further into the woods. The trail was easy to spot and follow, thanks to the crushed undergrowth. Two cars had passed by here recently. One of them must be the Mach five, but the other one? Possibly it was the other driver who must have forced Speed off the road. Cresting a small hill about a hundred yards from the roadway, he saw two racecars. The Mach Five, with its stylized number 5 painted on the side (It looked more like an “s” than a 5 at this distance), and the yellow car belonging to the infamous Masked Racer. Could he be mixed up in this smuggling ring?

 

Checking for more traps, Batman warily made his way to the Mach Five. No obvious signs of force or damage applied to the car, and Team Racer's two helmets were in their seats, laid there as if Speed and Trixie had left the car voluntarily. Batman examined the Yellow car as well, but no helmet was visible. There was a trace of blood on the steering wheel. The Masked Racer had been injured, and then dragged off through the brush. The tracks indicated to the Caped Crusader that Speed and Trixie had followed. There was another set of footprints in the tangled brush. The story was becoming clear. Both the Masked Racer AND Speed had been forced off the road by a party or parties unknown, and taken to an unknown location. This had to be The Riddler's handiwork! Radio transmissions about a fallen tree blocking the racecourse, and the red flag being waved crackled through the headset receiver he used to monitor the race. At least he had some time before one of the racers got curious enough to investigate the report of a downed tree up ahead. Batman looked around him again, trying to determine where the tracks led to, but they just stopped here. No tracks led off in another direction, there was no evidence of the surrounding undergrowth being disturbed. Everything just seemed to have stopped on this spot. The familiar sensation of adrenaline being pumped into his system before a fight flooded through the man in the mask.

 

 

Speed awoke to the sound of argument. He carefully opened his eyes. He was bound hand and foot, and gagged. The brightly lit room in which he found himself was full on some sort of manufacturing equipment, looking fairly new. There was a balcony or catwalk above him within Speed's peripheral vision. He didn't dare to move around too much because two men were nearby, arguing loudly with each other. The one in the green suit seemed to be angry. “I tell you again, my dear comrade in crime, it's foolproof! There's no way that overgrown flying rodent could find us, or link the thefts to either you or me! We've removed the Interpol spy, and he's on ice. The other two can be disposed of as soon as we have the Bat! Quit worrying!”

 

The other man was in purple, and his green hair flowed about him wildly as the lights reflected harshly across his white face. “Yeah, ok. But you don't know Bats like I do, Riddler! He'll find us! He always does! I still don't have the Smilax canisters in the robots, and your goons left a trail a mile wide upstairs for him to follow! That killjoy is sharp, man! You may have disabled his little radio, but I just know that's not the only bug he planted in the Tokyo Kid's Jalopy!”

 

The Riddler smiled evilly. “Let him find us. The robots you do have should finish him off.”

 

Speed recognized the man in purple. It was the Joker. With a sinking feeling, he realized that these two criminals were working together. Where was Trixie? Speed held still, feigning unconsciousness, hoping to learn more. The Joker grabbed the Riddler by his lapels. “You IDIOT! You actually WANT him to find us??? Your great brain actually thinks you can kill him??? Listen, I've killed at least three of his buddy Wayne's girlfriends, at least one copy of that idiotic sidekick he kept replacing after the original went off on his own, and countless others while trying to get to him! He can't die! He WON'T die! Those robots you stole may be good drivers and better assassins thanks to my reprogramming, but they won't be able to take him! Not before he finds us and sends me back to Arkham!” The Joker's tone was becoming increasingly frantic, edged with a tinge of fanatic terror and hatred, until it bordered on hysterical. Then he burst into laughter. “I must be nuts, thinking we could work together!”

 

“Cool it on the threads, O Clown Prince of Crime!” The Riddler extricated himself from the grip of the madman. “You know as well as I do that we have removed the only people in that race who could stop Team Enigma from reaching the border and fencing those diamonds! Soon, we'll be rolling in bank notes! And with it, we can move into full-scale production. With one of these “Drivers” in the seat of every world financial institution's limos, we'll be able to cause more anarchy than we ever dreamed of! We've already got controlling stock in at least two of the big five banks, and this latest heist will net us enough to take over another one! When we control them all, we can get rid of the other stockholders and owners! When we control the world's money, we control the world! Then you'll be able to get the last laugh on old Batty while he watches helplessly as the world becomes totally dependant on us! Then you can send HIM to Arkham!” The Riddler began giggling. “Riddle me this, my dear Joker: What do a financial institution and a raven have in common?”

 

The Joker looked at him, dumfounded. “You're making riddles? You know I'm no good that that riddle thing! The only one who can solve YOUR riddles is good old Bats!” The joker gave a sly grin. “Why don't you ask HIM? He ought to be here at any time, with all the clues you leave!” He absently fiddled with what looked like a T.V. remote as he tried to needle his partner.

 

The Riddler appeared unruffled by the barb. “I know something you only dream of knowing, my dear Joker. And as I have said before, if the Batman finds his way here, you and I will be ready for him.” He jerked his thumb behind him out of Speed's field of vision. “And for your information, the answer to the riddle is plain. We are about to be rolling in. a part of the answer. The reason a financial institution is like a raven is because the notes for which they are noted are not noted for being musical notes.” The Riddler giggled to himself at his own cleverness in adapting and answering the Mad Hatter's ultimate riddle. The Joker thought about it for a minute, and laughed maniacally, pulling out a gun, and firing into the area behind them. There was a muffled scream.

 

Speed's blood turned cold, recognizing Trixie's voice, and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard her sobbing and still alive. Tears of frustration and rage welled up in his eyes at his own helplessness. If only he could signal Batman!

 

Somewhere above the brightly lit production facility, a lone figure made its way through dimly lit hallways. Finding the entrance wasn't as hard as he had originally anticipated, it just took a bit more searching. It took five hits from a tazer gun, however, to short-circuit each of the two robotic sentries. Following his instincts and experience, the Caped Crusader made his way steadily downward towards the area where Speed, Trixie, and the masked racer were being held. He easily avoided the laser and pressure-plate alarms, and was almost to his goal when he heard a muffled gunshot. His blood turned cold. Who was shot? Who would he have to inform that his efforts were in vain? Would Pops Racer have to hear from the Batman that his son or daughter-in-law was dead? He rushed on, taking the chance that he would trip no more alarms or traps. There was no more time for caution when a life was on the line. His heart beat faster as he plunged downward into the earth through the straight corridor, which had leveled out and was starting to turn uphill again, and he noticed that his breathing became faster and faster. He couldn't be that out of shape… He slowed down a little to catch his breath. Then he noticed it. Silence. The air was not circulating. Of course, he thought as even thinking was becoming difficult. It was silent, odorless, tasteless, and absolutely toxic in large doses. Carbon Dioxide! What a perfect trap. It didn't need to be pumped in, because it was heavier than air, and none of his sensors would detect anything wrong with the presence of a gas he exhaled anyway. His eyes became bleary as he fumbled with suddenly uncoordinated fingers in his utility belt for his spare oxygen mask. His heart was pounding from CO2 poisoning as he sank to the ground, too weak to stand. As his vision dimmed and he went numb, he finally managed to don and clear the mask, pouring life-saving oxygen into his body. He could do nothing but gasp as the sweet gas coursed back into his system, restoring warmth, strength, and thought. This wasn't the Riddler's style. This was something devious and simple enough for The Joker to have conceived. The alarm bells of experience went off in his head! The Joker was in on this, too. He jumped up, heedless of his weakened condition. The Joker and the Riddler working together? It surely wasn't the first time. The Joker was getting more murderous than ever, and harder to catch! When did he get out of Arkham? Adrenaline lent speed to his legs as he tore down the deadly corridor. The Joker made things exponentially more difficult and dangerous. He had to get to the Racers fast! There was no telling that the Joker would do to them. There was a light at the far end of the corridor, and he could hear fans again. He could only hope he wasn't too late to save the hostages as he removed his oxygen mask.

 

The two guards that the Joker had staged at the entrance to the main production room didn't even have time to react as the iron-hard and relentless fists of The Batman smashed into them seemingly out of nowhere. They would both need to be hospitalized, he noted with clinical detachment. As they lay bleeding on the floor, their jaws crushed, he quietly tried the door. Locked, as he suspected. He didn't have time for this. Dragging the unconscious and injured sentries out of the way, and a safe distance up the corridor, he set to work lining the steel reinforced hinges with a small amount of c-4 explosive, shaping the plastic charges to cut the hinges off. He attached the lead wires and det-cord to the assembly, and moved back. With no fanfare, he flipped the switch, and the deafening roar of the explosion ricocheted down the corridor. The door fell off its hinges with a loud metallic boom, and he sprang into the room, ready to meet two of his more deadly foes.

 

Speed heard the explosion. The Riddler jumped up, startled, but the Joker seemed to have expected it. “See what I mean about not dying?” He grinned mirthlessly at the startled Riddler. The Joker calmly pressed a button on the remote control he had been toying with. “I told you he'd find us. Let's head over to the balcony to watch the end.” They strode off together, the Joker quite calmly and the Riddler looking nervously over his shoulder, as four of the mysterious members of Team Enigma hid themselves in close proximity to Speed and Trixie. Speed craned his neck around, and could see Trixie out of the corner of his eye. She appeared not to be seriously injured, by she was bleeding from a superficial cut on her leg. He turned his attention to the Caped Crusader. Alert and cautious, Batman took in his surroundings, noting tactical advantages and disadvantages in the area. Calculating what he could use, and what he should avoid. He noticed Speed, and made a beeline towards the young driver. Speed began shaking his head, trying to warn Batman about the four thugs lying in wait, but the gag would not let him talk.

 

The Riddler and the Joker watched from the safety of the balcony up above, and at a safe distance. The Dark Knight rushed towards Speed, seeking to release his bonds and then remove the gag. “Mr. Racer, free your wife and get…” was as far as he got before all four silent helmeted drivers crashed down upon him. His armored batsuit protected him from some of the blows, but Speed could tell that they hurt nonetheless. Batman fought valiantly against his four foes, punching and kicking to get free. His tazer whipped out, and after several blasts, immobilized one of the assailants. The other three renewed their attack, while up above, the Joker chanted a chillingly insane mantra into the remote, “Kill the bat, kill the bat, kill the bat!” The Riddler watched with apprehensive optimism as Batman disabled another android, increasing his odds for survival. But the Batman was tiring. The Joker Started hurling epithets. “Come on, you mindless hunks of tin! KILL HIM!” He kept fiddling with the remote control.

Speed was almost freed by the Caped Crusader's efforts before the thugs jumped him, and he struggled to finish the job as the fight continued. Looking up, he noticed the Joker fiddling with the remote again. The two arch-criminals were paying no attention to him or Trixie at all! He freed his hands and feet, removing the gag, then rushed to help his wife. Trixie was pale but she recovered her composure as Speed freed her, grabbing him around the neck and kissing him quickly. He pulled her arms from him. “Get out of here! The exit's that way! MOVE! I'll be right behind you!” He shoved her towards the entrance, and she broke into a dead run. He started after her, but glanced back at the struggle behind him. Batman's blows were farther apart and weaker then before, and the two remaining thugs were starting to get the upper hand. He ran back towards them, hoping to help, but Batman roared, “Get away! They're androids! Too strong!”

 

The light came on, and Speed realized that the remote was the key. He sprinted behind the hiding places the androids had used, making his way towards the stairwell that led up to the balcony.

 

Batman groaned, realizing what Speed was doing. He'd never make it. Unless…

He roared again up at the Joker and the Riddler. “Haven't you two figured it out yet? You're going to lose!” Throwing off one of his attackers momentarily, he didn't see the other one coming up behind him, getting ready to deliver a skull-crushing blow to the back of his head. The Joker changed a setting on his remote, and the android that was about to deliver the killing blow, paused, and changed its attack. Grabbing the Caped Crusader's arms, it pinioned him mercilessly with his arms behind his back, bearing him down to the ground with the force of ten men. The Joker giggled as he and the Riddler watched Batman go down. “I don't think so, Batty-boy! Not this time!”

 

The Riddler nudged him a little. “What are you waiting for? Kill him!”

 

The Joker did not shift his gaze from his helpless foe. “Are you nuts? This is the first time I have him completely at my mercy! I want to savor the moment, my criminal compadre. The Batman will die by my hand, and then everyone in the world will fear me!”

 

Batman shouted up to the pair, drawing their attention. He saw Speed slowly and cautiously creep up the stairs as he spoke. “You two never learn. How many years have you been trying to kill me, Jack?” He used the Joker's real name, showing the arch-villain that he knew his origins. “All you've done is make me angry. All you've done is create me! It's your fault that I'm here! It's your fault that I've hounded you all these years! It took me a long time, to put a name to the face that killed Bruce Wayne's parents, but I finally did it! Jack Napier, two-bit hood who fell into a vat of toxic chemicals and didn't die when he was supposed to!”

 

The Riddler, delighted by this piece of information, stared at his colleague. “You are responsible for this thorn in my side? Oh, my dear Joker! What fun they will have when they find out that this is all your fault! That was almost worth sparing his life! Oh, this is delicious!”

 

The Joker stared, open-mouthed, too shocked to react.

 

Batman saw that Speed was nearly to the top of the stairs. He began hoping that this would work. He addressed the Riddler. “Edward, how did it feel when Wayne fired you? Were you betrayed? Were you outraged? Did nobody see the potential of your far-reaching ideas? How will it be when the world learns that the Great Riddler is Edward Nigma, a second rate hack who never had an original thought?” Now it was the Joker's turn to giggle. Nigma's twisted mind struggled to wrap itself around the problem of HOW Batman knew his past. The Dark Knight continued his onslaught as Nigma sputtered in fury. “Riddle me this, Edward: What commodity can be bought, sold, or given away, but never seen nor touched, and is the most powerful of all?”

 

Speed was almost within reach of the two criminals, both of whom were bickering with each other over who should get to kill Batman, the Riddler trying to figure out Batman's riddle, and the Joker trying to maintain control of the remote. A well-aimed kick from Speed, and it would be all over. Then disaster struck. The Joker glanced up and to the side. Shrieking with rage, he dodged Speed's kick, and cuffed him to the ground, knocking him unconscious. Regaining control of the remote, he laughed again, His murderous insanity plain in his face and voice. “I win! I win! I get to have my cake and eat it too! How does it feel to be on the losing end, Batty Boy? I thought sending you to Arkham was gonna be fun, but I think it'll be so much cooler to finally watch you die! Then I'm gonna take out the Tokyo Kid, here, and maybe that chick that's with him. Well, maybe not. She looks like she could use a face lift.” He absently fingered his deadly acid spraying lapel flower, a look of evil lust stealing across his clown face. “Maybe I'll off that annoying Interpol freak with the mask, Racer Z, or whatever its name is. I never did trust people in masks!” He turned to the Riddler with mock-deference. “Present company excepted, of course!”

 

His gleeful laugh was cut short by a voice behind him. “That's Racer X, and shouldn't you check with me first?” They both turned around, surprised to look into Racer X's unmasked face. The Joker had time to say, “You look a lot like the Tokyo…” Before being dispatched by a deft roundhouse kick to the face. Batman watched as the un-masked Racer X knocked out both the Riddler and the Joker, using some pretty impressive martial arts moves. He also noticed the familiarity of the face, and his research of the Racer family came back vividly to his memory. Of Course! It all made sense. The Masked racer was in every dangerous race that Speed had ever competed in. Racer X took his mask out of the unconscious Joker's pocket and donned it unceremoniously, while at the same time removing the remote control from the Joker's nerveless fingers. He spoke with a pretty good approximation of The Joker's voice into the unit's built-in Microphone. “Release Bats. And stand by.” The steely grip on Batman was instantly released, and he got up and brushed himself off as Racer X took Speed in his arms and brought him down to the lower level, setting him gently on the floor and in front of Batman. “The robots are voice activated. They can hear through their own microphones, but the remote is the principle programming device. I've already instructed the androids to obey all vocal commands of the police, except to release video of what they witnessed.”

 

“You're Rex Racer.” The Caped Crusader stated matter-of-factly. “I recognize the family resemblance.”

 

“Then you will also recognize my need for anonymity. I trust that you will respect that, Batman.” Racer X looked down at his unconscious brother. Speed will learn who I am in time, but only at a time of MY choosing. My father Pops must never know that Rex Racer still lives. We are both without families, you and I, Batman. They are a liability in our line of work. Interpol believes you to be a criminal, but after following you during this process, I know better. They might label your style of justice as vigilantism, but it works in the cases with which you deal. I would suggest that in the future, however, you keep my brother out of it. He is an excellent driver, and a pretty good crime fighter, but he has a family. That is a… complication with which he should not have to deal.”

 

Batman listened calmly to the masked man, then sighed. “I saw no other way without jeopardizing many more lives. Speed was the best available, and I don't work well with Interpol. I tend to work best alone.”

 

“Where nobody can see how you operate?” Racer X smiled wryly.

 

“Where I don't have to be responsible for anybody besides ME getting hurt.” Batman frowned. “If I had known the caliber of criminals involved at the beginning of this affair, I never would have involved Speed. I would have found another way. Speed can handle a bunch of smugglers, but not those two. How are you going to report this to your superiors?”

 

Racer X shrugged his shoulders. “You can trust that my report on this incident will be concise and accurate. I doubt that it will change their opinion of you, but at least they will know the facts of the case. As always, there will be no physical evidence that you were here. As for the smuggling of the diamonds, I have a good idea where they are.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Sorry. You can collar the Bad Guys, but Interpol bags the evidence.”

 

Batman bristled. “How do you figure that? You're still in U.S. jurisdiction.”

 

“And you're not a cop. You do your best to bring criminals to justice, EXCEPT when it comes to maintaining the civil rights of the criminals you… disable… before the cops pick them up. Last time I checked, Batman, terror, intimidation, and coercion were not legal police tactics, nor are confessions elicited under those circumstances admissible in court. Granted, they get results, and the police can piece together other evidence based on that testimony which IS admissible in court, but that's why I can't tell you where the diamonds are. I've already notified both the State and local authorities where the diamonds are. They should be here any minute. They ARE cooperating with Interpol, and can legally gather the diamonds without your muddying the evidential chain of custody.”

 

Batman's frown deepened. “And what about the damage that this will do the charity Wayne raises money for? Reports of a crime ring involved with the rally will hurt contributions. Children will suffer. How will Interpol and the police handle that? One of the reasons Wayne asked me to handle this was to avoid police involvement.”

 

Racer X smiled grimly. “Check the race officials' broadcasts. The race is still under red flag, and only Speed, Trixie, and I know that the obstruction in the course has been removed. The pack was stopped long enough to allow for sufficient time to justify clearing a tree out of the road, and is just now safely on its way. The press knows nothing else. That was pretty smart of your friend Wayne to have limited camera coverage out here. If you wake Speed up quickly, he'll be able to get back in the race. Who knows? He might even be able to catch up and win. Tell him you freed Racer X, and that he has his work cut out for him if he wants to win.” Without another word, Racer X bolted toward the door and out into the corridor, running towards the exit, smashing the remote as he ran.

 

The robots were inert, and Batman knew it would be a while before he got these robots back, as they were evidence in a criminal investigation. He snapped a vial of Smelling salts under Speed's nose, and with a start and a grimace the racecar driver came to. “Batman! What happened? Did we get them? I remember going for the Joker's remote. It controls the robots.”

 

Batman looked up at the balcony where the Joker and the Riddler were both still unconscious, and sighed. “Yeah, we got `em. I freed Racer X, and he sprinted for the exit. Mumbled something about winning the race. If you hurry, you might catch him. We'll talk later. Go. Tell your wife that you're ok, and get back in the race. Mr. Wayne told me he's got a bet on you.”

 

Speed got to his feet quickly, rubbing the lump on the back of his head. “Thanks, Batman. I look forward to our next meeting.” He turned and headed toward the exit at a dead run.

 

*********

 

Trixie was waiting anxiously for him in front of the Mach Five, which she had thoughtfully driven back out to the road. There was no sign of the other competitors in the race as he donned his helmet and hopped into his car. Trixie winced a little as he put his hand on her leg and squeezed it affectionately. Then he remembered the cut. “I'm sorry, honey.”

 

She smiled back at him as he started the Mach Five and peeled out, trying to catch up with the pack before they got too big a lead. “You just get back in the race, Speed, physically and mentally! The pressure's off as far as the smuggling ring is concerned, and with Team Enigma out of the way, anybody could win it! I know it'll be you.” She kissed him on the cheek as she reached for the first aid kit and started to treat the cut on her leg without missing a single navigational signal. They radioed the aircrew that they were all right, and that they had been delayed and would tell them later why. The frantic demands for an explanation were met only with mild but firm repetitions that all would be made known after the race.

 

Two hours later, they were at the Canadian border, going through customs, and still five minutes behind the leader. Their stay overnight was uneventful, and they were racing again at first light, streaking back across the border, trying to make up that five-minute lead.

 

The race was fairly anticlimactic for Speed after what he and Trixie had endured at the hands of Gotham's worst, but they kept gaining. A couple of hours outside of Gotham, they caught up to Racer X, weaving his way through the pack, and being given a wide berth by the other drivers. A reputation as a jinx could come in handy, Speed thought. He quickly took advantage of the situation, careening up behind the Shooting Star and drafting Racer X until they were able to get ahead of the pack. Thirty minutes out, and they were one and two, vying for position a good forty seconds ahead of the pack, trying to outwit each other, trying to find that extra edge that would give them the lead.

 

In the end, though it came down to sheer chance. They crossed the finish line just inches apart, with the tip of the Mach Five's nose barely ahead of the Shooting Star's. The crowd roared. The checkered flag waved, and the rest of the day was spent in celebrations, interviews, publicity shots, and awards ceremonies. Bruce Wayne congratulated them personally, and awarded Speed the trophy and the prize money.

 

*********

 

Much later that night, after Speed and Trixie had related the entire story of the red flag and the fight, and who was involved, and after they had simmered Pops' bluster down to a light breeze, they relaxed. A fire was crackling merrily in the oversized hearth. Bruce had been called away to give depositions on some stolen merchandise of his, and everything was back to semi-normal. Spritle and Chim-Chim had gotten off lightly, only having to wash and wax a dozen cars, and were busy stuffing their faces and listening eagerly as Speed and Trixie related the story. A breeze stirred the fire, and everyone started. Standing in the open window was Batman, almost as dark as the surrounding night, the moonlight giving him an almost ghostly outline. Spritle and Chim-Chim jumped a foot in the air, and then hardly dared move.

 

“I came by at Mr. Wayne's request. I don't usually make social calls, but after what you have done to help Gotham city and the World, I felt it only right to thank you all. Mr. Racer,” he looked at Pops, “your son Speed is a true hero. He cannot ever be recognized as such. What started out as a diamond smuggling ring became a plot to take over the World, hatched by two of the worst criminal minds of our time. The Joker and the Riddler acted in concert to bring the world to its financial knees, and Speed's valiant efforts to assist me have resulted in that plan being thwarted, and the two criminals being brought to justice. Speed's involvement, however, must not be known. That's another reason I came. All of you must keep this a secret.”

 

Spritle spoke up. “But Batman, why? My brother helped you catch those two criminals, why shouldn't he get credit for it?” Pops looked chagrined and was about to start apologizing for his youngest son, but Batman interrupted.

 

“Because any evidence of his participation would make your whole family vulnerable to retaliation. If law enforcement even suspected that Speed and Trixie were in that manufacturing facility we found, they would find out who freed them. That would lead them to me. If they ever acknowledge my existence, my usefulness as a crime fighter would be severely compromised.”

 

Again, Spritle piped up. Pops looked like he wanted to strangle him. “Aren't you one of the good guys, Batman? How come the police can't know about you?”

 

“They do know about me, young man. But they cannot ever admit that I exist. I am a ghost, a shadow, a myth, and an urban legend. While I fight for justice and to rid Gotham of the criminal element, I do so outside of the bounds of the law. I cannot gather evidence that would be admissible in any court. I am not a cop. I do not read criminals their rights. I arrest no one. Criminals fear me because they know that they have no rights with me. They fear me because I reach where the Law cannot. I will find them no matter who they are, and no matter what laws they hide behind. I have no identity, no fingerprints, and no address. The police know I exist, but they will never admit it. I can give them clues and tips which allow them to gather the evidence they need to keep criminals off the streets. A myth is much more frightening than a person. Fear of the Batman keeps crime in check here, not fear of the law. Do you understand?”

 

“I think so, sir. You can count on Chim-Chim and I to keep our mouths shut.” Spritle tried to look as grim and fearless as the Caped Crusader and Chim-Chim grimaced, baring his fangs, eliciting a smile from behind the mask. The others grinned broadly.

 

“Thank you. You will probably never see me again. In fact, you didn't see me tonight. But know that you have my thanks, and the thanks of all Gotham, even though they don't know it. I wish you safe journey back to Tokyo. Speed, catch!” He tossed something. Speed deftly caught the shiny metal object. He unfolded it. It was a baterang.

 

“I will keep this in a place of honor, Batman. Thank you.” But when Speed looked up, the Dark Knight had vanished and the window was closed.

 

The End