Chapter Twenty Four

By Chris Fulmer

"Fast away the old year passes, fa la la la la, la la la la," Del sang along with the taxi's radio as he lit up his third cigarette since the cab ride had begun. "Hail the new year's..."

"Could you PLEASE not smoke any more of those!?" Nancy protested, covering half her face.

Del sighed but ground the cigarette out in the taxi's ashtray. "Whatever happened to all those smokers' rights campaigns?" he muttered under his breath.

"And could you also turn down the radio?" Neal's old sweetheart harped, "My eardrums are breaking!"

"Actually, I don't find it too loud," Neal said. He was lying, but he didn't want to get Del all riled up.

"Thank you Neal," Del glanced out the window at the setting sun. "You know, there's few things more romantic than a sunset. I remember on my first date with Marie, we sat out on a boat in Puget Sound and watched the autumn sun go down. We kissed for the first time as the top went under the horizon, and I remember saying, 'Well Marie, that's the twilight for today, but the dawning of the rest of our lives together.' And she looked at me with a smile that said..."

"Thank you Mr. Griffith, but I heard enough of your biography earlier today to last a lifetime!" Nancy quipped. Del stuck out his tongue at her.

"It's okay, it's okay," Neal said. "So Del, where do we go from here anyway?"

"Let's see, I think we're about five miles from Dayton," Del said, checking a map of Ohio he'd brought with him from the restaurant they'd eaten at in the morning, "so once we get there, we cut over onto I-70 West and take that into Indianapolis, where I guess we can shack up for the night...if we can get there by seven, that is."

"Why seven?"

"It's December 22nd, Neal. The travel rush starts today, and Indianapolis is the center of travel for all of Indiana, so if we're not punctual, we'll have more luck finding a four-eyed Cyclops than we would a hotel room."

"Well I'm sure..." it was now that Neal realized the taxi's speed was fluctuating noticeably. He looked up at Clark. His former friend was staring out the window at a red Ferrari driving by in the passing lane driven by a rather sexy blond. He was smiling dopily and trying to look macho. Neal rolled his eyes. Clark always seemed to fall for hot women in Ferraris while driving; indeed, this one looked very much like one he'd ended up taking a nude pool dip with once in Arizona, if Ellen's description to Susan had been accurate. "Hello, Mr. Bickle? Anybody home?" he said tapping Clark on the shoulder.

"Huh, what??" Clark snapped out of a trance.

"Could you perhaps pay a little more attention to the road, please?" Neal told him.

"Oh, sure, just a minute," Clark said, turning so he'd have one eye one the road and another on the woman in the Ferrari. She now shook her head at himand sped up. Clark did the same. Unfortunately, with only one eye on the road, he failed to see...

"CEMENT TRUCK!!!" Nancy screamed, pointing to one in their lane not more than ten feet ahead. Clark gasped and slammed on the brakes, but to no avail; he slammed the cab into the back of the cement truck, causing the chute to come crashing through the windshield and cement to come pouring into the taxi.

"Oh great job, Sparky!" Neal shouted, lifting his feet up as the cement flowed over them, "These shoes cost me four hundred dollars!"

"I swear I didn't see it there!" Clark protested.

"Of course you didn't, you...!"

"Uh, there's a cop behind us," Del said, pointing out the back window. Sure enough, a police cruiser was right behind them, siren wailing.

"Don't worry Del, I can lose him," Clark floored the accelerator...and hit the cement truck again, causing the entire back of the truck to collapse, showering gallons of cement all over the four of them.

"Pull over right now, mister!" Neal dove headfirst over the front seat and jammed his foot down on the brake.

"Neal, I'm well in control of the situation!" Clark shouted, stamping on top of Neal's foot. Neal responded by putting his other foot on top of Clark's, and the two soon began a foot war before Del leaned over and steered the taxi over to the shoulder. "Let's all just act naturally, and this shouldn't take too long," the shower curtain ring salesman said, apparently not taking to seriously the fact that the four of them were covered in cement.

The state trooper walked up and knocked on the driver's side window. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?" he demanded to Clark once he'd rolled it down.

"Uh yes, officer, I'm well aware I was speeding, and..." Clark began.

"License and registration, please," the trooper demanded.

"Uh,..." Clark searched his pockets, "I, uh, don't seem to have it on me right now..."

"All right then, how about just give me your name, if that's not too difficult!"

"My name, uh, my name is, uh, Latka DeIgnatowskibanta, and this is my, uh, trainee, uh, Vern," Clark pointed at Del, who gave the trooper a big thumbs-up. "We were giving these two in the back a quick lift into Dayton and..."

"Tell me Mr. DeIgnatowskibanta, why did you see it fit to ram into that cement truck?" the trooper asked sternly, not believing Clark.

"Uh, well, uh,..." Clark thought this one over for a minute, "Would you believe, officer, sir, that I thought he was carrying too much cement and wanted him to share the load?"

"No," the trooper said flatly. "Step out of the car, please."

"Are you sure I...?" Neal poked Clark in the back and pointed his finger to the outside of the cab. Clark sighed. "Okay officer, what do you want me to do?" he said as he got out.

"Walk this line," the trooper instructed him.

"Oh I'm not drunk, sir, I was, uh..."

"Walk it!"

"'I thought he was carrying too much cement and wanted him to share the load!?' You can't get much dumber than that!" Neal muttered to himself as he watched the sobriety test unfold outside. "This can't get any worse!"

"I think it can, Neal," Del said out loud.

"Oh? And how is that, Del?"

"They're back," Del pointed at the rearview mirror on his side. Two jets could be seen rocketing out of the twilight toward them. "Sparky, get back in here quick!" Neal screamed.

"I can't, Neal. I still have to...HOLY JESUS H. CHRIST!!!!!!!" Clark shrieked as an air-to-ground missile was launched from the jet on the right. Both he and the trooper dove to the ground as the missile slammed into the trooper's cruiser, blowing it up in a massive fireball. Clark crawled back into taxi. "Uh, am I driving known felons?" he implored his passengers.

"Never mind, just floor it!" Neal yelled as machine gun fire began raking the roadway alongside them.

"Right," Clark started the engine and roared off down the interstate. He started swerving wildly in and out of lanes. "Uh Clark, may I ask what you're up to?" Del asked him.

"Giving them a moving target, Del," Clark said as he swerved out of the way just in time to avoid a tanker truck. "Let's see them try to hit us now."

Up in his cockpit, Private Siskel stared in confusion at the radar screen in front of him. "What the hell are they doing?" he asked out loud.

"Trying to lose us I'll bet," Private Ebert commented over the radio, "as if you couldn't figure that out."

"Oh look who's talking, Mr. Einstein," Private Siskel retorted. "No matter, that's still not going to save them." He turned up the frequency on the radio. "Colonel, for your information, we are now going in low and try and disable them with our bombs," he announced.

"Understood, make it clean," came Colonel Champlin's response.

"Roger that," Private Siskel pushed down hard on his stick. "I feel the need for speed!" he shouted as he dove for the interstate.

"I hate that cliché!" Private Ebert muttered to himself as he did the same.

"Neal, would you mind explaining what the hell is going on out there?" Nancy demanded her former lover as the two pilots began strafing the back of the taxi, causing the two of them to duck down in the seats.

"To be absolutely honest, Nancy, I haven't the slightest clue!" Neal told her, jumping slightly as flack exploded just above him. 'These army nuts have been after us for no good reason for the last day and a half!"

"I've got it, we'll shoot them down!" Clark suddenly exclaimed. "Del, get the gun."

"Come on Clark, do you honestly think that one gun's going to stop them?" Del pointed out.

"It's worth a shot," Clark told him.

"All right," Del opened the glove compartment and took the gun out, but at that moment the taxi hit a pothole, causing him to drop it into the several inches of cement on the cab floor, where it disappeared from sight. "Whoops, sorry, I'll get it," the salesman said, reaching down for it.

"It's okay Del, I'll get it," Clark went down for the gun at the exact same time, and he and Del conked heads. They reeled back in their seats clutching their heads in pain.

"Keep your hands on the wheel!!!!!!" Neal leapt halfway over the seat and grabbed hold of the steering wheel, which Clark had let go of. It was at that moment that Clark happened to lean back over to go for the gun again, and he bumped into Neal, sending his former friend onto the floor. "Great! Now this suit's ruined too!" he groaned.

"Stop complaining and just find the gun, Neal!" Clark told him.

"Okay, okay!" Neal felt around in the muck for about thirty seconds before touching something metal. "Here you go," he said, giving Clark...a corkscrew.

"That's not it, Neal!" Clark protested.

"Wait, here it is," Del scooped the gun up.

"Thanks," Clark grabbed it off him. He rolled down the window, pointed the gun at the nearest jet, which was only about fifty feet above them, and fired.

"I don't believe it! He actually hit him!" Neal couldn't help saying as flames began leaping from the jet's nose.

"Well Neal," Clark began, "it takes a crack shot who knows how..."

"CHICKEN TRUCK!!" Nancy screamed. Clark spun around and slammed on the brakes, but for the second time in less than five minutes, he collided with the vehicle in front of him. This time, several crates of chickens tumbled off the back of the truck through the big hole in the windshield and broke open, sending about a dozen chickens squawking about the cab.

"Perfect, first cement and now this!" Neal shouted, tossing one on his chest out the windshield.

"Too bad it's not Halloween, otherwise we'd be perfectly dressed for occasion," Del chuckled, gently dropping two roosters out his window.

"I don't find that very amusing right now Del," Neal said curtly, waving his arms to get some more of the chickens to scatter.

"Well, you probably will once we get home. These things always seem funnier in hindsight, like the time last Thanksgiving when that guy punched you onto the road and I nearly ran you over and when I told him to help you he picked you up by your..."

Neal cleared his throat loudly, clearly wishing Del not to continue on the topic in front of others. "Just get these dumb birds out of here with me!" he said, grabbing hold of a black chicken.

Up in his cockpit, Private Ebert grabbed his radio in panic. "Mayday, mayday, I'm hit and I'm burning up!" he shouted into it as his equipment began short circuiting from the bullet hit.

"Well, you just proved yourself a great flyer, Ebert, letting one bullet shot bring you down," Private Siskel sniggered over the radio.

"Oh shut up, Eugene," Private Ebert snapped as he pulled the lever for the ejector seat.

"Looks like I got the last laugh here," Siskel chuckled to himself as he watched his colleague eject. He picked up his radio. "Colonel, the suspects are fleeing north on the interstate, and we have a jet down. Requesting ground assistance."

"Assistance granted," Colonel Champlin said at the other end. He was quite upset that the privates had failed to finish off the targets without ground assistance, but he was under orders to get the codes back by any means necessary. "All right men, let's move out!" he shouted to the troops around him as he climbed up into a nearby tank. "Get this thing up and running!"

"Eat my lead, Maverick!" Clark shouted up at Private Siskel's jet as he emptied the rest of his gun's bullets at it. Most of them missed, but one smashed right through the glass dome over the cockpit, causing Siskel to duck out of the way. He was still in this position when Clark, after realizing he was out of ammo, hurled the gun up at the jet, and the unloaded projectile came right through the hole in the dome and conked Siskel in the head. Dazed, he slid sideways on the stick, sending his plane veering off to the right.

"Well, that's that," Clark said proudly as he watched this last attacker head off toward the nearby woods.

"WATCH THE PLANE!" Del grabbed the wheel and steered it sharply to the left as the flaming wreckage of Private Ebert's plane crashed down just in front of them. They fortunately missed it, but drifted too far in and began tearing up the inner guard rail along the median.

"Well, let's just hope this is the end of this mess," Neal said, bending down in the front seat to avoid flying fragments of the rail.

"Don't worry Neal, we're just entering the outskirts of Dayton right now," Del pointed at the city's skyline right ahead of them, glowing like a lighthouse beacon welcoming them to safety, "Once we're in the city, they can't come at us head-on like this."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that!" Nancy pointed out the shattered back window, where the tank was closing in on them, heartlessly running over moving vehicles that happened to be in its way. "Start weaving again!" she shouted at Clark.

"Gotcha," Clark steered to the right, but the wheel, apparently worn out front all the prior weaving, broke off from the console in his hands. "Uh, Del, I think it's your turn to drive!" he said frantically, handing the wheel to the salesman. Del looked at it for a minute, then screamed in horror and threw it out the window. "Let's just hope they're bad shots!" he cried, diving down to the cab floor. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, however, when there came a loud blast form the tank's main gun, and the next thing any of them knew, the taxi was blown up into the air, where it flipped over and over for what seemed an endless amount of time before coming to a rough landing in the middle of a small creek.

"Are we dead yet?" Neal asked once the initial shock had passed.

"Nope, but we'd better get moving quick if want to avoid being dead," Del opened the door and rolled out into the creek. "Come on, I see a large drainpipe over there; I think it might connect with Dayton's sewer system, we can get away through there."

"Then where do we come out, Del?"

"I don't know, Neal, right now I'm making this up as I go!" Del began dragging his trunk toward the drainpipe.

"Well, at least this one can't be blamed on me!" Clark said, picking up the rest of the luggage.

"No, but I don't think we would have survived another run-in with a truck!" Neal muttered as he ducked into the pipe's entrance. "This is even better!" he said to himself, "first cement, then feathers, and now sewer water!"

"I'm with you, Neal," Nancy said, holding up her skirt to avoid getting it wet.

"Do you guys here dogs?" Clark asked. Sure enough, barking could be heard coming closer. "Let's move!" Del waved them down the sewer. "You know, it's a good thing we did end up in the river, because now our scent's deadened."

Outside, Colonel Champlin slid down from his tank and flicked on a flashlight. "All right men, let's dump their remains downstream and..."

"Uh, sir, they're not here," Corporal Maslin said, shining his own light into the wrecked taxi.

"What!?" the colonel shouted. "Are the codes still there?"

"Uh, no, doesn't look like it," the corporal admitted.

"Which way do you think they went, Colonel, down the river or up the interstate into the city?" Lieutenant Maltin asked Champlin.

"If they were going into the city, Lieutenant, don't you think we'd be able to see them from here?" the colonel asked, pointing to the very flat land leading into the city ahead of them, which offered no cover for an escaping person.

"Colonel, maybe they doubled back into the woods and tried to head back the way they came in?" Sherman suggested.

"Unlikely, Major, they're too dumb for that," Colonel Champlin told him.

"And besides," spoke up Private Siskel, staggering dazedly out of the woods, "I didn't see them there when I crashed."

"What's the matter with you anyway, letting them take you down like that, Private!?" Colonel Champlin demanded angrily.

"It was my fault, sir, they caught me off guard!" Siskel protested.

"Well because you had to drop your guard, now we don't have air reconnaissance anymore!" the colonel fumed, "so now we're going to have to surround the city and wait for them to come back to us!"

"Well what if they don't leave the city sir? What if they stay in there until they can get the codes over to the authorities?" Lieutenant Maltin posed.

"Lieutenant, A, it's obvious they don't know they have the codes yet or otherwise they'd have already given them to the authorities, and secondly, since they were going to Chicago when we first tried to get the codes back, it's reasonable to assume they'll still try to head in that general direction," Champlin told him, "so if we cover all the exits from the city leading toward Chicago, we'll have them in a bind."

"Colonel, if I may, while we cover the exits from Dayton, why don't we send a task force into the city to try and locate their whereabouts, just to put a more positive track on them," Sherman suggested. "And if we do find them, then we can flush them out into our forces outside the city and trap them quite nicely."

"Good thinking, Major," Champlin commended him, "Do just that."

"Right away, sir."

"Captain Lyons!" Colonel Champlin yelled down to one of the soldiers standing around, the taxi, "get about a half dozen men and follow the major into the city!"

"Yes sir," Captain Lyons waved some of his nearby colleagues toward the interstate.

Colonel Champlin continued dictating his plan. "W.O. Travers, take your regiment down the river with the dogs, see if those buffoons are going that way!" he shouted across the creek. "The rest of you, man you vehicles; we're going to close off Interstate 70 westbound!"

"Yes sir!" several soldiers all shouted in unison. About fifteen men trotted off down the stream with the dogs, their flashlight beams waving in the darkness like light sabers.

"Hey!" came a shout from the woods, "get me down from here!" Private Ebert could be seen suspended by his parachute from a tree branch. Champlin sighed.

"Lieutenant, get the private down!" he ordered Maltin.

"Why me, sir?" the lieutenant asked.

"Because you're not really doing anything else right now, that's why!" the colonel told him. Maltin groaned and scurried into the woods.

Meanwhile, the stench from the sewers was playing Neal's nerves. They had only gone about a mile into Dayton's underground system, and already he was wishing they'd stuck to following the creek. "Any idea where we're going in here?" he asked the rest of the party.

"It looks like those guys will be looking for us out there, so I suggest we find a nice, secure place in the city to spend the night," Nancy suggested, "And fortunately I know just the place."

"Oh really? Where?" Clark asked.

"There's a Best Western in the middle of town that Dennis and I stayed at after we'd first gotten back together that I'm familiar with," she told him.

"Well, any idea where that might be?" Neal posed.

"Why don't we take a look up and see?" Clark began climbing up toward the nearest manhole. He lifted it up, then shouted, "WHOA!" and jumped back down to the sewer floor--fifteen feet below.

"Was that trip really necessary?" Neal inquired sarcastically.

"For your information, Neal, that was right in the middle of main street Dayton!" Clark told him, shaking himself off. "A tractor trailer was coming straight at me; what else did you want me to do?"

"Good, this should put us right where the Best Western is," Nancy said.

"Yeah, but now the question is, how to get up there without getting hit," Del said. "Probably the best bet would be to climb up there right under the lid and wait until we hear traffic overhead slowing down. Then we jump up and run as fast as we can to the sidewalk."

"And what if it's on the other side of the street, Del?" Neal asked

"I guess that's a chance we'll have to take," Del started clambering up the rungs to the manhole. "Just leave my trunk down here," he called to the others, "that way we won't have to worry about being weighed down by it."

"Good idea," everybody said at once. They gathered up the rest of their belongings and followed the salesman to the top of the shaft. "Okay, I think I can hear everything slowing down," Del said, leaning his ear against the manhole. "On the count of four, we go, okay? One, two,..."

"Wait a minute, Del, do you mean one, two, three, four, GO, or one, two, three, go on four?" Clark interrupted.

"Uh,..." Del thought this over, "to be honest Clark, I wasn't really sure myself."

"Does it really matter!?" Neal spoke up. "Just go!"

"OK then, GO!" Del threw open the lid and rose out of the sewers. The others crawled after him, turned to their right at the sound of a shrill horn...and screamed at the sight of a large Christmas parade led by a holly-decked steamroller coming right at them. They scrambled to their feet and rushed for the barriers, accompanied by mixed laughter and applause from the large crowds lining the streets.

"That was close!" Neal gasped as they slid to a halt on the sidewalk.

"Well, on the bright side, if this thing's as big as it looks here, those guys couldn't get into the city after us for at least another forty-five minutes," Del said, clutching a stitch in his chest from running. "Now let's hope we're on the right side of the street."

"Yes we are," Nancy pointed right up behind them, where the Best Western loomed fourteen stories up into the winter sky. Del whistled in awe. "Wow, what a place to shack up for a honeymoon!" he exclaimed. "Even with a load of money from our families, Marie and I could only get some touristy place when we honeymooned in Jamaica."

"Well, I'm sure that you had little other choice at that point in life," Nancy muttered. She ignored Del's frown directed toward her. "You guys just let me handle everything."

"That's fine with me," Neal said. He was relieved to not have to pay for anything, as he could still remember how last year his Diner's Club card had somehow ended up in Del's wallet after he'd used it to check into their Wichita motel, and how Del had chosen to return it just before he'd crashed and burned their car, incinerating Neal's wallet and all the cards inside it in the glove compartment.

They walked into the lobby, still gaping up at the high ceilings and fancy chandeliers hanging from them. A massive Christmas tree at least twenty feet high was standing over in what looked like a lounge area to the front of the main desk. Holly adorned the fireplace in this lounge, around which about a half dozen well dressed guests were seated in plush armchairs. These people turned and stared at the new arrivals, who stood out very much, being covered in cement and feathers.

"This is just like the Hotel Bethlehem," Clark said, walking around in a circle and staring at the well-crafted ceiling. "Like it looked on the brochure, at least. I can just see the resemblance in the..." he was cut off as a luggage cart was rolled along behind him and, not watching where he was going, he tumbled backward through it, spilling suitcases all over the floor. "Whoops, sorry there!" he said, jumping up.

"Don't mention it, sir," the bellboy pushing it said, rolling his eyes.

Nancy rang the bell at the front desk. The clerk smiled when he saw her. "Well, well, Mrs. Prior, it is so nice to see you again," he said cordially in a thick French accent.

"And where is Mr. Prior tonight? I do not see him anywhere."

"Mr. Prior unfortunately is not coming tonight, Jacques," Nancy told him. "I need a room for four, myself and these three," she pointed at the men, who flashed big smiles.

"What in the world happened to them?" the clerk asked.

"Uh, it's a long story, Jacques," Nancy explained. "Is there a place where we can clean up?"

"Right down the hall, use the staff bathrooms on the right," the clerk pointed past a high-class bar down a corridor.

"Uh, do you have any spare clothing, robes, or anything like that?" Neal asked. "I only have one pair of clothes with me."

"No I'm sorry, sir, we don't do that." the clerk said. Neal groaned. "Well do you have a washer and dryer nearby so I can get my clothes all cleaned up quick?" he posed.

"Down that way," the clerk pointed down the other hall.

"Uh, Jacques, while we're checking in, could you go pick up my trunk? It's down in the sewer," Del said as he started off toward the bathroom.

"Where!?" the clerk gasped.

"Out in the middle of the street, down the manhole, right up against the wall, you can't miss it." The clerk seemed upset at this request, but he rang his bell. "Enrico, Willie, front please, and be quick about it."