Chapter Three: An Interesting Morning
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Chapter Three: An Interesting Morning

Chapter Three

It was right after breakfast in Ponyville, when Spike set off toward 54th Street, and Fleetwood's dealer. It was a beautiful morning, the birds singing, and not many cars were on the road, which was a relief to Spike, due to Ponyville's lack of sidewalks. A cool breeze was blowing, cooling the summer air.

Spike was nearly there, when all of this peace was shattered. A car horn blasted through the morning air, and Spike jumped at the sound. Spike expected the car horn to shut off, but it kept on in a continuous blare, although he began to get used to the harsh noise.

When he arrived, Spike found the source of what had spooked him. A Chevrolet sedan was parked in the maintainence center of the dealer, with it's hood open. Two ponies were near it, one with his head over the hood, and the other, a mare, scurrying around the car, looking for a way to silence the horn. Then, after a few seconds, gave up, and kicked the car in anger, finally cutting off the noise.

"Can't you idiots do anything right?" She snapped, "Trixie is now late for her job interview!"

Spike could've sworn he'd seen the mare before.

"Well sorry," the the stallion fired back, "a steering adjustment takes time!"

"Screw the adjustment," she snarled, "Trixie is leaving, good day to you, sir!"

She jumped into the Chevy, and started it, and got as far as the parking strip, when the mechanic blocked her way.

"YOU CAN'T GO, YOU FOAL, I DIDN'T RECONNECT YOUR POWER STEERING YET!"

Trixie was obviously unmoved by the mechanic's concern.

"Try and stop me, hayseed!" she jeered as she pulled out into the street, and the car roared away.

The mechanic took off after her on foot, but stopped after he lost sight of her. Spike was wondering what had just happened, when the stallion walked over to him.

"Air-dammed kids these days," he remarked, breathing heavily after the short pursuit,"hey aren't you that friend of Fleetwood's?"

Spike nodded.

"I'm Mel, lead mechanic around here. I'll take you inside."

Spike was led onto the dealer floor, where he was greeted by the chill of air conditioning. Even though he had been inside, he could never believe the beauty of the room, with an intricate carpet design, velvet ropes around each car on the floor, and the large air conditioning units made the showroom slightly chilly, a nice change from the morning sun of outside.

Then, Fleetwood emerged from some curtains covering the doorway to a back room. He was wearing a black suit with a red tie, looking ready to go to some far off casino, while most ponies were still in their pajamas (Well, while Lyra was still in her pajamas!).

"Spike, my friend!" He greated the dragon with a warm smile and a pat on his back. "Are you ready for the first part of your training?"

"Mr. Brougham," Spike replied, obviously still thrilled at the entire setup," I'll always be ready!"

"I doubt that, you little son of a Buick," Fleetwood muttered under his breath. "Now, time for your training. You've got to learn how to reel in mares."

Just then, a purple-ish mare hobbled into the showroom. She was holding a whiskey flask, and was obviously drunk.

"This is a perfect chance to show you what I mean," he explained, obviously excited to see a customer. "Watch how I do it."

Fleetwood strolled over to the mare, who was now staring at the GM Lesabre Concept Car which was at the center of the display. Fleetwood leaned beside it, and, after a while, the mare turned and gave him a glazed stare.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Fleetwood asked, trying to sound cool, "is there anything I can help you with?"

The mare stared at him for a little while longer, and then trotted over to a nearby Buick, taking a slug of the whiskey in the flask.

Fleetwood walked back over to her. He was going to try another approach.

"Excuse me, " he repeated, now looking her in the eyes, "are you looking for anything...in particular?"

Instead of being wooed, like most of the mares who had the pleasure of staring into his eyes, the strange pony seemed unphased. She trotted away to look at a neat-looking Chevrolet, and fell over while looking at it, obviously more than a little bit impared.

Fleetwood had enough of her, and, frustrated, stomped back over to Spike.

I'm giving up," he fumed, angry about the failure of his charm, "Lesson over!"

Spike was actually worried about the purple pony, and walked over to her. "Excuse me," he said, scared that she might do something strange, "Are.. are you alright?"

For the first time, since she arrived, the purple mare actually showed signs of conciousness, and smiled.

"You're cute," she remarked, giving Spike a strange stare.

"Heh, thanks" spike replied, blushing slightly. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I dunno," the pony shrugged," where am I?"

"Ponyville Cadillac-Buick-Chevrolet, the greatest car dealer in all of Equestria!" They way Spike heralded the name of the dealer, you could tell that Fleetwood's advertising ideas were rubbing off on him.

"Oh." This strange pony seemed to be dissapointed that she was standing in such an amazing showroom. "I thought this place was Alchoholics Anonymous! I'm Berry, by the way."

"I'm Spike."

"Well," the Berry said, in a voice nearly as pretty as Rarity's, "If you ever wanna, you know, call me."

Spike was confused by what she meant, but he accepted her phone number.

"Well," she said, seeming reluctant, "I'd better go hit Derwent's Liquor, it should be open by now. Goodbye, Spike! Hold on to that phone number, you hear?"

"Alright," he said, still not knowing what she meant. "Goodbye!"

Berry stumbled to the door, but stopped a few feet short next to a Buick Roadmaster, leaned over to one of it's four ventiports, and, supporting the idea that she was drunk, vomited into it.

Fleetwood ran toward her, sending her sprinting out the door.

"Berry Punch, you guttergirl, you come back here and clean that up!"

He gave up, and then stomped over to Spike.

"THAT," he said, jealous at the phone number and angry at the damage to the Buick,"was luck. Not every mare in this town is a filthy alcoholic, skanky, highschool dropout who has no taste in cars! I knew that we should've sealed the ventiports on the Buicks, like they did in America! Still, you did a great job at getting the phone number, but you need some more training. We'll start after lunch."

"Alright, Mr. Brougham, i'll see you later!" Spike walked back outside, dissapointed that he hadn't learned anything.

Spike was walking home, and now traffic seemed to be picking up. The morning rush hour had started, the dirt streets slammed with cars, trucks, and the occaisional school bus. He was dodging traffic when he noticed a familiar blue Chevy. It was missing it's bumper, it's hood crumpled, radiator steaming. Beside it, he saw the even more familiar mare filling out paperwork, while a tow truck pulled another crashed car away. A highway patrolman was speaking to her.

"So, ma'am," he said, adjusting his sunglasses, "you say you didn't have any power steering?"

"Well," Trixie fussed, "It's not my fault! That redneck mechanic didn't reconnect it!"

"You LEFT before he could reconnect it," Spike said, butting in to their conversation, "It's entirely your fault!"

"Ma;am," the officer warned, "you know you're going to have to pay for the damage you did to Ms. Redheart's car over there don't you?" He pointed to the the devastated white Kaiser that the towtruck was towing away.

"Well, uh," she stammered, trying to think of an excuse for her recklessness," Trixie doesn't have any insurance, THAT's it! Yeah, no insurance!

"Ma'am," the officer replied, obviously now saying "ma'am" in every sentance in which he spoke to her, "That's illegal!"

"Well, uh, uh," Trixie tried to think of a way out of the situation. "CLOAKING POWERS, ACTIVATE!"

Trixie threw a smoke pellet to the ground, blocking Spike and the patrolman's vision. When it cleared, shortly after the detonation, the officer's Fury police cruiser was seen veering into traffic, racing away from the accident.

"Oh, not again!" the patrolman growled. He then reached toward a small walkie-talkie on his vest. "Dispatch, I have a suspect who just stole my Plymouth, requesting assistance!"

"Roger that, Flegel," a voice replied through the radio. "A squad car is on the way, pursue on foot as long as you can."

Officer Flegel took off running, out of sight after he crossed the street, the flow of traffic blocking Spike's vision.

Spike then continued home, wondering what to tell Twilight about the entire incident. All he knew was that, this had been a very strange and interesting morning.

*Note* I do not own Wilcox and Flegel oil distribution company.

Chapter Four: Fleetwood's Training
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Chapter Four: Fleetwood's Training

Chapter Four

"Okay," said Fleetwood, smoking the third cigar that afternoon, "what have you learned, Spike?"

Spike recited the list of things he had learned from his mentor.

"One, dress with style. Two, ALWAYS show good manners to mares. Three, NEVER mention sea ponies at a casino."

"Spike," Fleetwood said, a tear coming to his sky blue eye," that was beautiful. You follow that, and you'll be the best gambler in all of Equestria, like me!"

"Hey," Spike interrupted the brown pegasus, who gave him a sharp glance. "'The best in all of Equestria?' Aren't you that one pony who got screwed and lost 2,000 bits to a mob boss in Fillydelphia?"

"Maybe," he replied, obviously flustered by the small dragon questioning his skills. "Now, I'm gonna teach you about role models, people you should try to be like to score with mares."

"Role models?" Spike said questioningly. "Like Starswirl the Bearded?"

"No, no, no, no, NO!" Fleetwood laughed. "Sweet Celestia, Spike, we're trying to help you score with Rarity, not do a nerd montage to the tune of 'White and Nerdy'! Besides, does anyone you know even KNOW about him besides me?"

"Well," Spike answered, "Twilight knows about him!"

"But," Fleetwood asked, already knowing the answer, "Do you think of Twilight as being 'cool'?"

"Well, no-"

"Exactly my point!" he bellowed triumphantly, "Now let's go through some 'cool' role models."

"You mean like Flavor Flav?"

Fleetwood was disgusted with what Spike viewed as 'cool'. I said 'cool', not 'annoying-ass little son of a Studebaker!'"

Spike was scared of Mr. Brougham when he was angry. When he was, he was very prone to breaking things and beating himself. "Calm down, Fleetwood," he cried, "you're scaring me!"

"Sorry, Spike," the highroller sighed," Now, here we go: Me: Cool. John Lennon: Cool. Frank Sinatra: Cool Carrol Shelby: Cool. Flavor Flav: NOT COOL!"

Spike was confused. "I haven't even heard of most of those people, Mr. Brougham!"

"And thats why you fail with the fillies!" Fleetwood pointed out matter-of-factly. "You should go check out books from the library to learn about these certain people, as uncool as reading is."

"Hey!" called a lanky mustard-colored colt near a door to the back room, holding a book. "Reading is cool!"

"Snails, you air-dammed slacker, you're supposed to be fixing Cheerilee's Buick Special! What are you doing out here?"

"I was, uh, on break?" Snails was thinking of another excuse, when a portly light blue unicorn stumbled through the door he was standing near.

"Hey, Snails, dude," he said, not noticing Spike and Fleetwood, "I've got the stuff. You wanna go play Call of Cutie while we smoke it?"

"Snips, man, not now, can't you see the boss is right over there?"

Snips turned to see Fleetwood glaring at him, definitely angry at what he was planning to do.

"Well, uh, Mr. Brougham," he stammered, "I can explain. Eldorado gave us some of his cigars for payment of working so hard-"

"Nice try, you two," Fleetwood said sarcastically."One, my dad HATES you two, and two, you NEVER do ANY work, hard or not. Now, get out of my showroom and go help Wilcox with that Buick!"

The two slackers scurried off through the back door, and there was a loud CRASH!

"SNIPS, SNAILS!!" screamed a voice cracked with age, "YOU AIR-DAMMED PLOTHOLES! YOU NEARLY BUCKING KILLED ME!! GO CALL AN AMBULANCE, I'VE FALLEN, AND I CAN'T GET UP!"

"Good one, Mr. Eldorado!" laughed a new voice. "Even in severe pain, you can make a good pop cultural reference!"

"Shut up, Wilcox!" growled the first voice.

"Oh my god, dad!" Fleetwood yelled, running into the back room.

It had been half an hour since Eldorado had fallen, and he had been taken away in an ambulance.

Fleetwood walked back over to Spike.

"Well, Spike," he said happily, "crisis avoided. Now, where we?"

"Cool role models?" suggested Spike.

"Oh, yeah, NOW I remember!" he said. "Now we'll be moving on to what I like to call 'Swag'."

"What in Equestria is 'Swag'?" Spike asked quizically.

"What kind of question is that? No wonder Rarity dumped you!" Fleetwood . "Why, it's only the most important thing ever for snagging mares! Just look at me: Suit, Cadillac, Clean-cut, THAT'S swag! So much, it makes me a filly-killer!"

"No, Mr. Brougham," Spike chuckled, "it makes you so swag, that you don't have to threaten to kill fillies for them to go out with you!"

"You're lucky I have a sense of humor, kid!" Fleetwood muttered under his breath. "I think we should get you some new threads, it'll help your appearance."

"What kind of threads?"

Fleetwood gave Spike a 'Really, kid?' stare. "A suit, of course! Do you ever see that Irvan guy in anything but a suit?"

Just then, a factory whistle blew, signalling the end of the work day. Several mechanics, including Mel, Snips, Snails, and a tan pony, who Spike later found out was Wilcox.

"Well," Fleetwood yawned, "You better be getting back to Twilight. I'll pick you up tomorrow to go suit shopping."

"Okay," said Spike, walking toward the door. "Mind if I use the payphone to call Twilight?"

"Not at all, Spike!" Fleetwood said in an upbeat manner. "The roads are getting busy, anyway, and I'd rather you get driven by her instead of getting squashed by a car. 'Bye!"

"Goodbye."

Spike was being driven home by Twilight. The rush hour was taking it's toll on the flow of traffic: They were in a mile-long backup, going nowhere when Twilight leaned over to him.

"So," she said curiously, "what AMAZING pick-up technic did your AMAZING mentor teach you?"

"Well," Spike said enthusiastically, "He taught me about COOL role models!"

"What do you mean 'cool'?" Twilight asked, suspicious of Fleetwood's teaching methods.

"I dunno, people who were cool, like Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, that sort of thing."

"Hey," Twilight said playfully, "Don't forget Starswirl The Bearded!"

"Twilight," Spike sighed, "Starswirl The Bearded isn't cool."

"He was too!" Twilight defended her idol with strong resentment toward Spike's claim.

"If he was cool, and he's your role model, then how come you never are the life of the party?"

"Spike," she said, outraged that her own baby dragon would call her square, "I have too been the life of the party! Like this one time... No, that was Pinkie. Let's see here...."

This was obviously going to take a while, so Spike rolled down the window, and leaned out of the idling car. He felt the sun on his face, and let it's rejuvinating rays soak into his dark purple skin.

He was about to roll the window back up, when he noticed a familiar Rolls-Royce idling alongside them, with it's window down. This was Irvan's Rolls, and him and Rarity were inside, talking. Spike strained to hear them over the noise of traffic.

"...Had to get us thrown off the train, didn't you Irvan?"

Spike could barely make out Rarity's silky voice, and Irvan's low growl.

"I though that the buffet was free with the tickets!" He protested.

"Well, it wasn't, so now we'll just have to stay home!"

"It's alright, honey," Irvan soothed in his low baritone voice, "we could do some sort of arts and crafts project. HEY, here's an idea! You could teach me how to sew!"

Rarity gasped. "Oh, dear!" she fussed, "I forgot about my HUGE order for R.J. Coltfield's! Now i'll lose my contract for them! Nice going, prince charming!"

"Rarity, sometimes you act like such a bi-"

"Now I remember! Once, I was drunk, and I woke up in bed with Big Macintosh!"

Twilight's triumphant shout teared into Spike's evesdropping. He rolled up the window of the Volvo quickly, and faced her.

"That's cool, Twi," he said halfheartedly, "but you're still not that cool. But that doesn't matter, 'cause Mr. Brougham's gonna make me a filly-killer, and Rarity will finally love me!"

"Spike," Twilight sighed, "You CAN'T really be taking this seriously! Fleetwood Brougham can't be trusted, and Rarity and Irvan's relationship is ROCK SOLID! It's unlikely that they'll be splitting up!"

Spike looked over to the Rolls-Royce, and saw Irvan and Rarity screaming at eachother, inaudible only because of the windows now being up in both cars.

"Oh, Twilight," he thought to himself. "If only you knew how wrong you are..."

Chapter Five: Uncle Henry
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Chapter Five: Uncle Henry

Chapter Five

Spike was eating breakfast, when he heard the honk of a car horn. He hurried to the window, and looked out to find Fleetwood's Cadillac Brougham Town Car Prototype outside. He ran outside, Twilight following from a distance.

"Hey, Mr. Brougham!" Spike called to his mentor as he got out of the car.

"Hey, Spike! You ready for that suit?"

"Ready as ever!"

"Alright then," he said, "let's go!"

Before they could get into the car, Twilight ran up to Fleetwood.

"Well, well hello there!" he stuttered as Twilight forced her face into his.

"Listen, buddy," she growled, "I don't like what you're doing to Spike. You're turning him into an egotistical plothole like yourself."

"Well," Replied Fleetwood, straightening his bolero tie in an arrogant manner, "I wouldn't say 'plothole'..."

Twilight continued. "You can poison the air with your converterless cars, brainwash all my friends into sleeping with you, even brainwash Spike, but NOBODY calls Starswirl The Bearded uncool!"

She stomped away, furious at the overconfident salesman, when he finally got into the car along with Spike, and set off.

They were near the Carousel Boutique, on Allen Avenue, when the unexpected happened. Fleetwood braked hard to avoid hitting a familiar blue Chevrolet, now limping on blown tires, from hitting him. He waited a minute, and 6 Ford Galaxy Police Cruisers shot by, sirens blaring. When the coast was clear, he proceded again.

"Why do we keep running into that car?" Spike asked him.

"I dunno", he replied, "but that car must be pretty great and powerful to be able to go that fast with all four tires blown!"

(HAH, LAME TRIXIE JOKE!)

They soon arrived at the Ponyville Mall, which also housed the Ford dealership. Fleetwood spat at a Ford Ranchero on desplay as they passed it.

"Air-dammed Fords," he muttered, "No sense in style....taking all my buisness!"

After a while of walking, several failed attempts for Fleetwood to pick up a mare, and nine more rants about General Motors' superiority to Ford, they arrived at the only other clothes store in town besides the Carousel Boutique, R.J. Coltfield's, one of many across Equestria, and a few in Utah.

They walked in to find the most amazing array of dresses and suits they had ever seen. Fleetwood stared dumbstruck at a pinstripe suit, while Spike tried to imagine Rarity in the most beautiful non-Rarity dress he had ever seen. After a few seconds of this, a familiar face ran up to them. She had her hair tied back, and was wearing a nametag that said, "Hello, my name is Berry". This was the drunk mare that had appeared in the showroom.

"Hello, welcome to R.J. Coltfield," she said unenthuisiatically, "How may I help y- OH, HEY, SPIKE!"

"Hi again, Berry!" Spike was happy to see this pony, and catch up on things. "So," he said, trying to sound as smooth as Fleetwood, "Why are you working here?"

"Because," she teased, "I'm the only pony alive who has ever drank a colledge tuition away!"

The dragon and the purple earth pony laughed for a while, until the rest of the shoppers gave them stares of confusion.

"Hey, Berry Punch, you still owe me money for ralphing on that Buick!" Fleetwood pointed out.

"Sorry, Brougham," Berry said, overstressed and in debt, "I can't pay you."

"But," Fleetwood said, staring suggestively inter her eyes, "There is another way....to pay."

"You're not suggesting...."

"Oh, but I am, Miss Punch."

The next thing he knew, Fleetwood was on the floor, getting peppersprayed.

"Fleetwood Eldorado Deville Seville Calais Brougham," Berry screeched, "Have you no shame?!"

"Well," Fleetwood gasped, making a huge effort to speak through this pain, "Can you... at least... stop pepper...spraying me.....long enough.....for... me to buy Spike a..... suit and.....leave?!"

"Alright," she agreed, "But only because I need the money to raise my filly and BUY MORE BOOZE!"

She led them to a massive back room, full of suits and dresses of every color, shape, and size. It was an impressive sight to see, with ties on rolls like rubber tubing, and huge shelves full of every type of undershirt imaginable.

Spike looked high and low for one he could fit into, and high and low again for something he actually LIKED. At last, they found it: a fat black suit with a white undershirt, and yellow tie.

"Is this the one, buddy?" Fleetwood asked, bending over to face height of the dragon.

"Oh, it's the one that's gonna knock Rarity's socks off!"

"Rarity, huh?" Berry punch said questioningly. "Don't you have feelings for any other pony in this town?"

"Nope!"

"Are you sure?"

Spike was not sure where the alcoholic was going with this, and gave her a confused look.

"Ugh!" she snorted, stamping her hooves angrily, "Let's go get this purchased, I guess."

Spike and Fleetwood were wallking back to the parking lot, suit in hand. They grabbed lunch at the food court, and then continued down the hallway. They met Pinkie, who was shopping for party supplies, Applejack, who was visiting the Dodge dealer for parts for Sweet Apple Acres' one and only flatbed, and Rarity and Irvan, bickering between eachother as usual.

They were passing the Ford dealership again, when they heard someone laughing at them. They whipped around to see an elderly tan unicorn with yellow hair, his sides BURSTING with laughter.

"Air-dam, Fleet," he chuckled, "I bet your boy there looks like a pimp with that suit on!"

"Well, hey, Uncle Henry," Fleetwood growled, trying to suppress his anger, "how's your buisness going?"

"Amazing, as usual," he bragged. "How's your's? Buisness crappy as usual?"

"I'll have you know that it's not crappy at all, Westside!" Fleetwood fired back. "It's going very well. Everypony in Ponyville is lining up for a look at this year's Cadillac!" He then leaned over to Spike. "Back me up, kid!" he whispered sharply.

"Oh, uh, yeah!" Spike stammered nervously. "Buisness couldn't be better!"

"That's funny," Westside sneered, "Last time I checked, everypony in Ponyville was lining up to get a glimpse of this year's Lincoln! Face it, Fleetwood, i'll always be a bigger seller of cars in this town, and always was!"

"That's even funnier," Fleetwood retorted, "as I seem to recall a little project of your's not selling too terribly well. What was it called? Oh, yeah, THE EDSEL!"

"Ha, Ha, Ha!" Fumed the tan unicorn, "VERY funny! You know what? Let's settle this prejudice right now, with a bet!"

Fleetwood's eyes narrowed.

"What kind of bet?" he asked slowly.

"The Sweet Apple Acres Classic is next week," Westside explained. "I bet 800 bits AND bragging rights that one of my racers OR ME can beat your pathetic little team!"

"It's a deal!" Fleetwood growled, forcing his face into that of Westside.

After several long minutes, Westside broke the death-stare, and trotted back to his dealer. After he had left, Fleetwood threw himself on the ground, and commenced crying.

"What am I gonna do?!" he weeped, "he is the best racer in this tournament EVERY AIR-DAMMED YEAR! I'm bound to lose!"

"Well," Spike said optimistically, "I could race with you in that tournament!"

Fleet perked right up.

"Good idea, Spike!" he trumpeted, "and, this could be a good time to improve your image! I heard that Irvan was gonna be running in that race, too!"

"I'll give them both hell!" Spike roared, "One for taking my love, and the other for taking our bragging rights!"

"That's the spirit!" Fleetwood yelled joyfully. "Plus, I'll let you borrow one of my Corve- SPIKE, LOOK OUT!"

Fleetwood pushed Spike out of the way, as an ever-so-familiar blue Chevrolet broke through a wall, and raced through the mall, followed by an array of Ford, Plymouth, and Chevrolet police cruisers.

"What were you saying, Fleet?" Spike slurred, dazed by hitting the deck so hard.

"I said," he repeated, "that you could borrow one of my Corvettes!"

Spike and Fleetwood were amped: One was going to finally get his dream girl, and the other would triumph over his lifelong buisness rival, Westside. They were both high on life, on top of the world, and NOTHING, and I mean NOTHING could bring them down at that moment, not even Trixie's screams of protest as she was handcuffed to the rear seat of a Ford police cruiser nearby.

Chapter Six: The Apple Cider Classic 300, Part One
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Chapter Six: The Apple Cider Classic 300, Part One

Chapter Six:

*Note: Inspired by "Envy and Arrogance", I have decided to make a soundtrack for this story. Hit on each **** for each scene's appropriate music.*

****

It was the big day, the day of the Apple Cider Classic 300, the biggest race of the Sports Car Club of Equestria season. Many racing teams from all over Equestria would come to take home the gold, the three most-known ones being "Dynasty Racing", owned by Fleetwood, "Roush: Equestria", owned by Westside, and "Apples To Apples Motorsports", owned by none other than Granny Smith. There were others, indeed, but none were as consistent in winning as these three, or as competitive.

"Alright, team," said Fleetwood, straightening his helmet, " This is our chance to show Westside and Irvan what we're made of! Wait, where's Wilcox? He's NEVER late! Come to think of it, I haven't seen him for DAYS!"

****

Just then, Spike heard the honk of a horn.

"Hey, Fleet!" Mel yelled, "check this out!"

Everyone turned to the entrance of the parking lot to see a red Plymouth Fury wheezing over to their pit box. It was heavily rusted, but a '58 Fury nonetheless.

The car drove into the garage where they were holding their before-race meeting. The car was coughing out more clouds of blue smoke than Eldorado's Coupe Deville, which Spike had only seen once.

The overstyled bucket of bolts got to through the enterance, but Fleetwood blocked the way.

"HEY, BUDDY!" he roared over the chug of it's ancient V-8, "GET THIS HUNK OF SHIT OUT OF HERE BEFORE YOU POISON US!"

The car shut off, and the door creaked open to reveal Wilcox in full racing gear.

"This," he said proudly, "is my dusty, rusty, trusty, lusty Plymouth!"

"What do you think you're doing, Wil?" Fleetwood laughed. "you can't drive that leaky, creaky, never-even-a-bit-sneaky, freaky old thing in this race! Even if it was fast enough, remember the rule we had around the shop?"

"No fat chicks?"

"NOT MY DATING RULE, YOU IDIOT, THE CAR RULE!"

Mel stepped up, and recited the rule:

"All cars that enter the shop premisises must have an engine, suspension, or chassis built by General Motors," he said proudy, having always followed the rule."This also applies to "Dynasty Racing"'s track events in which they enter."

"It's alright, Mr. Brougham, Wilcox said cheerfully, "her suspension was in too bad shape, so I put some Goodwrench coils in her, now she rides like a cloud!"

"You're beginning to sound like Mel, man!" Snails chuckled.

"Wilcox," Eldorado grunted, "you can't drive that pile in the race! We already are bucked cuz of that new team Rarity and Irvan started, and I don't wanna be takin' no more chances!"

"Please, Mr. Eldorado!" he begged, similar to how a young colt cries for a toy, "PLEASE let me run in the race! This old girl may not look much-"

"But it still isn't much!" Snips ridiculed playfully, and the garage burst into laughter.

Wilcox ignored this, and continued.

"She has SWEET take-off, and can drift like a Mazda! Not to mention that this car came with an aftermarket speedo that goes up to 250 MPH! Please! If we lose because of me, I promise that i'll do Snips' and Snails' work for the rest of the time I work here!"

"You already do," Spike said jokingly.

"But, anyway," Wilcox started again, "even if I do come in last, it won't matter! Fleetwood has bought us all cars that can actually corner almost decently for the best time ever, and Spike has been taking those driving lessons from Fleetwood's uncle Grenville! We're bound to win!"

"Alright," sighed Fleet, finally giving in, "you've convinced me, you can drive your leaky, creaky, never-even-a-bit-sneaky, freaky old Plymouth in the race."

Wilcox cheered, jumped up and down in a Pinkie Pie-ish fashion, and blew the Fury's horn triumphantly. He settled down after he saw Eldorado give him a sharp glance, and Spike rolled his eyes.

****

"Okay, back to what I was saying before Wilcox got here." Fleetwood paused to light another cigar. "As you all know, Spike is going to be racing with us this year, due to the fact that he has a bone to pick with Mr. Irvan over there. Spike, just to let you know, there are three classes of car for this race: Sports Cars, Muscle Cars and Hotrods, and RV's. You'll be driving our Sports Car entree. Dad, you'll be driving the "Bootlegger Special", that Chevy Confederate Roadster we made together back in the '70's."

"I'LL GIVE 'EM HELL!" the Eldorado cried, waving the Confederate cavalry saber he carried for luck.

"Dad," Fleetwood groaned, "put your saber away, you'll scare the spectators! Snips, Snails, you'll drive the Chevy Camper Van I got from me and Derpy's divorce."

Snips and Snails high-fived each other, happy that they would get to partake in the race at all this year.

"Mel, you will be pit crew alone this year."

Mel adjusted his Autocar cap humbly.

"I'll be driving my GM LeSabre against Westside. Wilcox," he finished, with slight hesitation in his voice, "You will be... driving your Plymouth. Any questions?"

Just then, an announcement came over the Sweet Apple Acres Raceway's loudspeaker.

"ATTENTION RACEGOERS!" the announcer yelled, deafening feedback screaming over the voice at some points, "THIS IS GRANNY SMITH SPEAKIN'! ALL DRIVERS PROCEED TO THE STARTING LINE FOR THE EVENT!"

"Well," Spike sighed, "So much for questions!"

Chapter Seven: The Apple Cider Classic, Part Two
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Chapter Seven: The Apple Cider Classic, Part Two

Chapter Six:

All the racers were lining up at the start for the race. The teams were doing a final check of their cars. Applebloom had her head under of the hood of her Datsun, pretending to look like she knew what she was doing, Rarity and Irvan were arguing about their Jaguar E-Type's tire pressure, and Westside's mechanics were tuning his blown Edsel Corsair for maximum performance. Trixie, racing only for the money, was sitting in her Fleetwood Pace Arrow RV smugly, waiting for the race.

"Okay, Spike", Fleetwood said, looking at Westside's Edsel nervously, "Here's what you gotta do: Pass on the inside, floor it on the straights, and don't worry about Trixie, she's all show and no go. You got that?"

Spike saluted his mentor.

Meanwhile, the announcers were getting ready for the race in their skybox.

"Hello," said one into a camera, "and welcome to the annual running of the Apple Cider Classic 300, here at Sweet Apple Acres. My name's Delray, and we've got an amazing race for you today."

Scootaloo had just finished singing "A Circle of Friends," and several cars had shattered windshields, but the drivers decided to press on anyway.

"Clear the grid, clear the grid, please!" Delray said through the loudspeaker, his voice echoing. "All the cars are looking very nice on the grid...."

Spike had his eyes fixed on the bumper of Irvan's Jag, who was starting just in front of him. Oh, how he wished he could run him off the road. "No, Spike," he thought to himself, "save it for the race!"

The annual flagger, Cheerilee, stepped onto the small platform where she sat. Everyone began to rev their engines, waiting for the start.

"All the cars looking very nice on the grid, engines started, and the countdown begins!"

"Five..."

Wilcox rubbed his Plymouth's steering wheel, anticipating the race.

"Four..."

Snips and Snails stared nervously at Trixie's huge RV.

"Three..."

Westside looked across to Fleetwood, and ran his hoof across his neck.

"Two..."

Mel looked out nervously from the pits.

"One..."

Spike growled in fury, determined to beat his rival.

"The flag is up, and there they go!"

All the cars roared off the line in a crescendo of tires squealing, engines screaming, and superchargers whining. Trixie was left at the line, trying to start her huge Pace Arrow. After a few seconds, she started it, and lumbered away.

****

Very soon, all the cars were roaring down a long, curvy stretch of highway, drifting around corners, and racing through apple orchards. Fleetwood was hell-bent on beating Westside, and the two were locked in a battle far ahead of the other racers. Snips and Snails were sliding through clouds of lumbering larger RV's, barely avoiding being squashed on multiple occaisions. Wilcox was locked in a fog of junkers, right behind an orange Datsun 510, when he made his move, the Fury screamed through the racers, at around 100 Miles Per Hour, passing Irvan, who had already begun to lose ground due to engine troubles. Spike flipped off Irvan as he too passed him. Irvan stared, mindblown at losing so much ground, as even Applebloom speeded past.

After a few laps, and being lapped by everyone on the track, Trixie had enough. She hatched a plan, and put it into action.

Spike was racing along, passing everything in sight in first, when he came along a group of cars, moving at about 50 MPH! Why was this happening, did they have engine trouble?

"Hey, Spike, what the hell's the hold up?" Mel's grizzly voice crackled through the radio.

"I don't know," he replied, "I think someone's blocking us in!

Spike was right. Trixie was swerving about in her massive Pace Arrow, blocking every car behind her. Soon, the racers had enough.

"Hey, move it on over!" yelled Rainbow Dash, honking her Shelby Cobra's horn.

"Not until you admit that Trixie is the best racecar driver in the world!"

"I've had enough of this fooling around!" yelled Lyra, flooring her Chevy Camaro, "COMING THROUGH!"

The torqouise Camaro rocketed past everyone, only to be run off the road by the gargantuan Pace Arrow.

"HOME RUN!" cheered Trixie, clapping her hooves, and letting go of the wheel. She then lost control, and drove the huge RV into a ditch.

She got out, and stomped her hooves angrily. She looked at the mangled grille of the once-mighty beast, and expressed her anger and defeat in one simple word:

"SHIT!"

Chapter Eight: The Apple Cider Classic 300, Part 3
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Chapter Eight: The Apple Cider Classic 300, Part 3

Chapter Eight:

The race had been going on for several hours now, and most of the racers had conked out. Lyra's accident had rendered her Camaro a smoldering ruin, and Bon-bon had stopped to help. Derpy had gotten to occupied on telling off her ex-husband, Fleetwood on the radio, and had crashed into a bale of hay. Applebloom had her engine overheat after damaging the radiator, and Snips and Snails had stalled out on a hill. Only Irvan, Spike, Fleetwood, Westside, Rainbow Dash and Wilcox remained, and Irvan was beginning to fall asleep.

As darkness began to fall, Westside made his move on Fleetwood. He engaged Fleetwood in a game of high-speed tag, and the two began to endanger eachother's lives. The two cars slammed into eachother with gargantuan force, and spinned out of control. Westside's Edsel hit the CMC's clubhouse as the racers flyed by it, and Fleetwood regained control, and brought the car safely to the pits.

Meanwhile, a few of the racers, hopelessly lapped, emerged from the pits to challenge the four remaining cars. Rainbow Dash laughed at one of the challengers, a Buick Roadmaster Station Wagon, as it came lumbering up behind her, but then realized that it was gaining on her, and FAST!

"How can this be happening?" she thought, "I'm getting passed by a bucking WOODY!"

It turns out, the Buick WASN'T gaining, SHE was slowing down!

She looked at her fuel guage, and realized that it was buried on "E". The Shelby Cobra she was driving began to sputter, and the engine soon cut off completely.

Irvan, Spike and Wilcox began to shut down as well, and the three guided their cars to the pits, where they refueled them. Each driver got a very different pep-talk

"IRVAN, YOU IDIOT!" Rarity whined, "DIDN'T YOU KNOW HOW TO READ A FUEL GUAGE?!"

"You're doing great, Spike," Mel said enthusiastically, just a few more laps, and we'll have won!

"Wilcox," Fleetwood sighed, " you know you're my prodigy, but why did you have to pick such a thirsty car? This fuel up takes up a lot of fuel, you know!"

Fleetwood was right, and not just about the Plymouth. The teams had taken so long fueling up that the five cars that had left the pits in pursuit (A Ford Falcon belonging to Westside's team, Apple Bloom's Datsun, Derpy in her Buick Roadmaster Wagon, an AMC Gremlin, and a Mini Cooper) had caught up, and were now only half a lap behind!

Spike and Wilcox told Mel to cut their fill-ups short, whereas Irvan just took off without warning to Rarity.

"You idiot!" she screamed at the top her lungs, "it's not full!"

****

The Jaguar, Fury, and '63 Corvette were flying along, the five junkers pursuing them relentless determination to beat them.

They tried to pull away, but the rejects would not let up. It was clear that they weren't going to lose them. Spike then focused on beating his arch-rival.

"..and," continued Delray the announcer, "We have Spike and Irvan fighting for first, Wilcox in second, Apple Bloom in third, Hooves in fourth, Derwent in fifth, Stetson in sixth, and Apple Fritter in seventh! We are now on the last lap, folks, it's anyone's race!!!!"

Cheerilee reached for her checkered flag as the cars rocketed down the last straightaway toward the final turn.

Spike was already flooring his Corvette, not able to break the two-wide with Irvan. It would take a MIRACLE to win this race!

As soon as he had given up hope, and was about to slam on his breaks and stop his car, Spike heard a car horn blaring. He looked in his rear-view mirror to see Wilcox, highbeams blaring, charging uncharicteristically up from behind. The battered Plymouth Fury took a huge chomp of Irvan's E-Type's bumper, and made his rival lose just enough traction to give Spike the lead. The racers slammed on their breaks, screamed around the final corner, and across the finish. SPIKE HAD WON!

Chapter Nine: After-Party
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Chapter Nine: After-Party

Chapter Nine:

Spike slammed on his brakes, and the Corvette came to a screeching halt. He climbed out the window, not bothering to even use the doors during his excitement of winning, and ran over to the pits, where Fleetwood and Eldorado popped the cork of a bottle of champagne.

"Great job, buddy!" Fleetwood cried in happiness as Spike scurried over to him, "we did it, just look at Westside!"

Spike looked into Westside's pit box, and saw him yanking off a pony's racing helmet.

"Air-dammit, Stetson!," he howled, paralyzing the failed driver with fear, "I don't care if you ARE a cop, I know what i'm saying when I say, YOU CAN'T DRIVE WORTH A BUCK! Fairlane, get this guy outta here!"

A blue unicorn hurried over, and began to drag Stetson to an Econoline van.

"You can't do this to me, you goon!" he screamed as Fairlane pushed him in, "I'm an officer of the law-"

"Oh, shut it!" growled the much larger and intimidating Fairlane as he shut the van's rear door. He then walked over to the driver's door, climbed in, and drove off.

Spike was about to go over and help Wilcox out of his deathtrap of a Plymouth, when he noticed Rarity and Irvan going at each other YET AGAIN, although this time was probably the worst they had fought.

"It wasn't my fault that I placed second!" Irvan protested as Rarity turned her back to him, "It was all smooth sailing until that Celestia-forsaken Plymouth Belvedere took a huge chunk out of my bumper!"

"Irvan, you idiot!" Rarity screamed, "First, that was a Plymouth FURY, not a Belvedere. Second, you are the worst boyfriend EVER! You get me thrown off a dinner train, lose my contract with R.J. Coltfield's, and you embarass me in front of Canterlot's highlife!"

"HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW IT WAS A BELVEDERE?! And besides, I don't see any highlife here, all I see are some stupid hicks on some unsafe bleachers!"

"Look over there, then!"

Rarity gestured toward three large, shiny skyboxes that overlooked the bleachers and the track. Inside them, unbeknownst to Irvan, were some of Canterlot's biggest racing and fashion names.

"You know what," he growled, "forget it, Rarity, I'm tired of you beating up on me like you do to Sweetie Belle, I'm out of here, we're through! Get yourelf another punching bag!"

"FINE!" Rarity raged, a tear coming to her eye, "I DON'T NEED YOU!" She than began to cry, and ran to her Bentley.

"Good news, eh buddy?" Fleetwood asked, interrupting Spike's eavesdropping.on the troubled former couple, "now you're free to hit on Rarity!"

"And then again," Fleetwood said to himself softly, a malevolent grin appearing on his face, "so am I...."

"Yeah," Spike agreed, not hearing the second part, "great!" He was happy that Rarity was single, but still could feel some empathy for the battered Irvan, who was driven over the edge by her.

"So," Fleet continued, "Spike, you have passed my training."

"REALLY?!"

Spike felt his excitement begin to overflow again as the thought of passing the rigorous training flashed through his mind. With Irvan out of the way, and his training passed, he could finally get a shot at his dream girl.

"Spike," Fleetwood said proudly, "It is to my great satisfaction to present you with a passing grade in the gentlecolt training, and now I will present you with the Number ONE tool for getting mares: a car!"

"Oh, man!" Spike said, trying to contain his excitement as he bounced up and down.

Fleetwood led Spike to a battered 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z-28 in the parking lot with a "For Sale" sign on it's windshield.

"This was my first car. I was gonna give it to Wilcox, but he has that Plymouth Fury now, so I'm giving it to you."

Spike was in awe at the sight of the legendary muscle car.

"Is it fast?"

Fleetwood gave Spike the "Really, kid?" look that he had flashed toward him so many times over the last month.

"Custom-installed 500 Cubic Inch Cadillac Eldorado V-8, Custom Mel-O-Matic 10 speed, Goodwrench Performance Suspension Coils, you better believe it's fast!"

"Wow," Spike was amazed by the features on the humble-looking legend, "How much money did you put into this thing?!"

"I don't know, about $40,000 Bits..."

"WOW!"

"Remember, Spike..." Fleetwood cautioned, "Layla was built in 1969, she's not like Twilight's Volvo, she actually has some value to her! Treat her well."

Fleetwood threw the keys to Spike, but they missed his hand, and fell to the parking lot's gravel. Spike snatched them up with glee, a grave reminder of his greedy dragon instincts which had destroyed half the town years before.

"Hey, guys!" Mel and Wilcox, hooves around each other's backs, came trotting up, "We're gonna hit the clubs tonight for a victory drink, you wanna come?"

"You know I do!" Fleetwood cheered, "Which one?"

"ALL OF 'EM!"

"Sweet Celestia, this is gonna be sweet! Wait, Spike can't come because he's not old enough!"

"Yes," Mel said slyly," But that rule only applies to PONIES, Spike's a dragon! Whadd'ya say, Spike, wanna get sloppy drunk and sleep with random mares?"

"ALRIGHT!"

"Okay, then," Fleetwood said enthusiastically, "We're good to go! But wait, who's gonna be our designated driver?"

"We don't have to have one!" Wilcox pointed out, "I was thinking on going to Canterlot for a while tonight, so we could at first take it easy on the drinking in the crummy South Side bars, and then drive up to Canterlot, and take the train home!"

"That, Wilcox, sounds like a BRILLIANT idea!"

"Then what are we waiting for, you weak-stomached plotholes?" called Eldorado, hobbling up to them, "Let's go!

****

The following evening was the strangest of Spike's life. It was a blur of traffic lights, cocktails, and George Thorogood blaring in low-end bars. He also remembered Fleetwood playing poker in the Royal Celestian.

"Three, craps, you lose." said one of the gruff stallions playing.

"Oh, Damn it!" Fleetwood slurred, jumping onto the table, and stomping on the chips, "THAT WAS PRACTICE, THAT WAS PRACTICE!"

He also remembered being in a Ponyville South Side pub, sitting next to an inebriated Eldorado and the always impared Berry Punch:

"I think... I think I remember you from somewhere, missy," he stuttered, "Hey, weren't you at that Racetrack in Pheonix, Arizona a few months back?"

"I was if you want me to have been!" she said cheerily, snuggling up into his side.

There was a scene in the Royal Celestian's ballroom that he remembered very much:

He and Fleetwood were at a counter, atop a balcony that looked out over the entire ballroom. They were staring out into the sea of ponies, all dancing to music from Eldorado's generation.

"I remember my first dance with a mare!" he said proudly, hiccuping due to the alchohol.

Spike's eyes widened. "You do?"

"Naw," Eldorado laughed, "I'm so bucking plastered I can't remember why we're here!"

"Hey," said Wilcox suddenly, pointing out toward the mob of ponies on the dancefloor, "Isn't that Rarity?"

"Yeah, that is her, isn't it!" Fleetwood replied, "She's all alone, too! Now's your chance, "Spikey-Wikey", go get your dream-girl!"

Spike hurried down a great spiral staircase to the ground floor, to Rarity was standing. He then noticed that the band began to play a fast-paced swinging song that he had heard from somewhere before.

****

"Excuse me," he panted as he approached Rarity, "May I have this dance?"

Rarity looked at Spike's tuxedo, and then into his eyes. "Well, I suppose it would be alright."

The two began to dance, reeling and rocking to the World War Two-era swing, and they wound their way through many ponies, toward the center of the room.

"Excuse me," interrupted Fleetwood, popping almost out of nowhere, "Spike, can I have a go at it?"

Spike was not happy at shortening his crowning moment in life, but Fleetwood was his mentor, so he let him dance with his long-time love. The band played deep into the night, Rarity switching between the two at 6 minute intervals, until it was time to go home.

****

Spike sat in the dining car of the Canterlot Cannonball, staring out through the window at the mountainous terrain which the train was traversing. His mind was beginning to clear after the long drunken blur, and he was reflecting on how amazing his dance with Rarity had been. The image of them, together at last, would stay in his mind until the end of his life. Screw the Grand Galloping Gala, THIS night had definitely been, the best night ever. He walked back to the sleeper car in which he was staying, still thinking about his expirience. But then, he bumped into just who he was fantasizing about, none other than Rarity!

"Hey, Rarity!" he said cheerfully, fighting back the racking headache that was beginning to hit him, "What are you doing on the train?"

"Oh, well," she sputtered, probably slightly over .08 herself, "I decided to take the train home instead of running the risk of being pulled over."

"I really enjoyed it tonight," Spike continued, his eyes shining, "It was amazing, absolutely amazing."

"I enjoyed it too, but really, Spike, I must get some beauty sleep. Good night!"

"Okay, good night!"

The unicorn hurried off from the direction from which she came, seeming very eager to go to sleep. Spike thought she had been acting a little strange, but then again, she could've just been intoxicated, so Spike dismissed the thought. But then, an image of Fleetwood and Rarity, on the same dancefloor just a few hours earlier, flashed through his mind. Could his best friend and mentor be in love with Rarity too?

"No," he thought, "He probably is just friends with her!"

He tried to tell himself this, but the image of Fleetwood kept flashing through his head as he walked into the sleeper car, and layed his head to his pillow. He let the image leave his head as he said his prayers, and went to sleep. Tomorrow was a bright new day, and Rarity was now showing signs of liking him. Things couldn't be better.

Chapter Ten: Layla
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Chapter Ten: Layla

Chapter 10

Spike awoke the next morning as the train glided slowly into the Ponyville station. He jumped out of his cot, and rubbed his eyes. He yawned, and made his way to the sink at the end of the sleeper. He was about to brush his teeth, when he heard soft giggling coming from one of a compartment with it's blinds shut.

"HEY," a pony growled, "Keep it down, you damned kids, I'm tryin' to sleep!"

"Sorry!" Fleetwood's voice rang out from behind the curtains, which intriuged Spike. He walked over to the curtains, and knocked on the side of the cot.

"Hey, Fleet!" he whispered, trying not to wake the angry traveller up again, "This is our stop, get up!"

"Hold on a second, I gotta get dressed!"

"But, Fleetwood, we don't normally wear clothes!"

"Just leave me alone!" Fleetwood was unusually foul-tempered this morning. There was a loud rustling, and some hushed voices, which confused Spike. Was there someone else in bed with Fleetwood?

Just then, the image of Fleetwood and Rarity flew through his head again, and Spike panicked. He yanked open the curtain, to reveal Fleetwood with someone hiding under the covers,

"WHO'S UNDER THERE?!" Spike roared, expecting the worst.

"DANG IT, SPIKE, WHAT'S THE MEANING OF THIS?!"

"I WANNA KNOW, DAMN YOU!"

Spike threw the covers off the bed, and gasped as he saw Rarity. She shrieked, diving for the window, which was open, ran around the side of the train to the street, and dissapeared.

"Fleet," Spike said quietly, beginning to tear up, "WHY?"

"You REALLY trusted me, Spike?" Fleetwood cackled, similar in sound to his father, but slightly higher. "You know what I do?: I find some dumbass kid, I fill him to the top with everything I know, and I see if he gets the mare. If he doesn't, I need to improve my tactics. If he does, I do the only thing a scumbag like myself could do, sleep with his fantasy! I call it, "testing the water"."

"But, WHY?" Spike repeated, tears now pouring from his eyes, "I thought we were friends! I'M YOUR SPECIAL BUDDY!"

"Oh, please!" Fleetwood laughed coldly, "I say that to every son of a Buick who walks into my dealer, including Wilcox! It's all just a sales ploy to get them to trust me!"

"But, Rarity loves ME!"

"Has she ever told you that?" It was at that time that Spike realized Twilight wasn't right enough: Fleetwood Eldorado Deville Seville Calais Brougham had no soul. "Let's face it, "Spikey-Wikey"", he continued, stabbing Spike in the heart with each word, "I hope you took a LO-O-O-O-O-ONG look, because that's the only time you'll ever see Rarity in bed!"

Spike couldn't take it anymore, it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He ran down the train car, bawling his eyes out, waking up everyone, including the traveller from earlier.

"Hey, I thought I told you plotholes to shut it-"

"CAN IT, SON!" Mel shouted, hearing the entire ordeal with Fleetwood and Spike, "The kid's had a long day!"

****

Spike ran all the way home, bawling his eyes out. He felt even more depressed than the first time he had failed, which was pretty tough to beat. He ran through the front door of the library, into his bedroom. Twilight heard this, and trotted in after him.

"Spike!" she growled, "You've been gone ALL NIGHT! Where EXACTLY have you been?!"

"YOU WERE RIGHT, TWILIGHT!" Spike bawled through a , "FLEETWOOD IS A DARK, SOULLESS, EVIL, MANIUPULATIVE JERK!"

"He slept with Rarity, didn't he?" Twilight sighed

"HOW DID YOU KNOW?"

"Spike, in the little time that we've been living in Ponyville, Fleetwood has slept with nearly every pony in town, except Rarity and me! You may have done this to yourself, but I tell you, when someone makes fun of Starswirl The Bearded AND hurts my loved ones, they GET IT! I'M GOING TO FLEETWOOD'S RIGHT NOW!"

Fleetwood had just gotten back to the dealer, and was opening up for the morning when Twilight arrived. He saw her Volvo driving erratically down the street, and rushed to the front of the showroom.

"Guys, look, It's Twi!" he called to the mechanics, "Quick, roll out the wine cart and watch me reel this sucker in!"

It took a few seconds for Fleetwood to realize she wasn't looking for a car. His joy turned to horror as he watched her drive over the curb, across the sidewalk, and toward the dealer.

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!!" Eldorado cried, putting on a hardhat.

The small Swedish station wagon smashed through the front window, drove across the showroom floor, and rear-ended Fleetwood's favorite showroom model, the Lesabre which he had driven only the day before.

At first, Fleetwood was blinded with rage. He stormed over to the Volvo, shouting every swearword he could remember at the purple mare. "YOU IDIOT!" he roared, "LOOK AT YOU'VE DONE TO MY LESABRE!" Then, he saw the enraged look on Twilight's face, and he began to regret his temper.

"LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO SPIKE" she fired back, using her magic to pick up one of the velvet rope stands that surrounded the cars, and threw it at him. Fleetwood narrowly missed a hard blow to the head as the post sailed past.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" Fleetwood screeched as he dodged more objects hurled toward him.

"I want you to fix my friend!" the purple unicorn spat.

The highroller's eyes narrowed. "Or what?" he asked slowly, suprised at the halt of ballistics hurtling toward him.

****

"Or this." Twilight strained as a purple aura enveloped her and a nearby Chevrolet, and she began to float into the air, the Chevrolet following.

"NOW," she said in a voice as loud as thunder, "YOU'RE GOING TO BREAK UP WITH RARITY, AND LET HER GO WITH SPIKE, OR I AM GOING TO CRUSH YOU!"

Fleetwood was frozen in fear, not able to speak.

"WELL?"

"There.... is an old Brougham family tradition for this situation," Eldorado stuttered, standing up, "If we are challenged for the hand of a mare, then we hold a race for the mare's affection. It's called "Le Trajet De l'Amour".

"Dad," Fleetwood Whispered, shuddering with fear, "You really can't be serious! Le Trajet De l'Amour is too unforgiving, too-"

"Keep your pants on, Fleet!" Eldorado snapped, "We're doing it with cars this time!"

"Oh," said Fleetwood, straightening up, "Then I am sure to win! Alright, Twilight, I accept your challenge. By the way, shouldn't Spike be here to call me out?"

Just then, Fleetwood noticed Spike was cowering in the back seat of the Volvo, hands over head.

"Spike!" Twilight called, "It's alright, I'm done being persuasive, come out!"

Spike opened the door, and stomped over to Fleetwood, forgetting his fear of Twilight's powers immediately. He pushed his face into Fleetwood's, and began to speak.

"You," he growled, "You lied to me, got me drunk, and TOOK MY DREAM GIRL! LE TRAJET DE L'AMOUR, 4 DAYS, YOU GOT THAT?!"

Spike's anger died down, and he and Twilight got back into the Volvo, started it, and backed out of the showroom, Fleetwood being so stunned at Spike's anger that he didn't bother them to clean up the mess. Mel than turned to him.

"You're really screwed this time, Fleetwood!" he warned, "Spike's flaming mad, and he's got your Camaro! How are we supposed to compete with that?"

"Wait a minute," Fleetwood burst out, interrupting Mel's concerned ramble, "THE CAMARO, THAT'S IT! Wilcox, Snips, Snails, get out here!"

****

The three mechanics burst out into the showroom, all saluting him like navy SEALs.

"I want you all to go find that Camaro, and WRECK IT! Run it off the road, bring it back here, just GET IT AWAY FROM SPIKE!" he handed them the keys to the old White towtruck the shop used. "DON'T dissapoint me, especially YOU, Wilcox!"

The three young colts ran out to the White, and started it. After several minutes of grinding gears, they finally managed to shift into first, and rattled away.

Fleetwood sighed, "I knew I should have taught Snails to drive stick. But still, I know h

Chapter Eleven: The Camaro Bites The Dust
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Chapter Eleven: The Camaro Bites The Dust

Chapter Three:

Spike was out on a dirt road in the country, test-driving the Camaro he had aquired. The car performed perfectly, even in the corners, which was odd for a muscle car. Twilight was in the passenger seat, coaching Spike on drifting the dirt roads.

"Okay," she instructed, "when you come into the corner here....you've got to punch the throttle....Okay, that was pretty good, accept for one little thing-"

"Twi?" he interrupted quizically, "you're a LIBRARIAN! How the heck do you know so much about drifting?"

"Long story," Twilight replied dismissively, "now, keep on trying, you're doing great."

After a while, Spike had gotten the hang of drifting. He was able to perform magnificent powerslides over long sweeping corners, and he and Twilight both knew, they were going to win.

It turns out, Fleetwood knew that too.

Later on, Spike and Twilight were on their way back from the drifting lesson, when a black Lincoln Continental began to follow them.

"Steady as she goes, fella," Wilcox told Snails, "if you go too fast, we could hit them!"

"Well," he replied, "Isn't that the plan?"

"No, we just have to watch them for a while, and when they leave, we'll drag the Camaro up and pull it out!"'

Twilight noticed the Lincoln, and pointed it out to Spike.

"Say, Spike," she said, winking, "how about we test your driving skills out?"

"Yea, Twi," he winked back slyly, keeping one eye on the Lincoln, "that sounds like a swell idea!"

Spike stomped on the gas, and roared away, leaving his surveillants in the dust.

"Come on," Wilcox yelled, "AFTER THEM!"

****

Before you knew it, the two cars were swerving down an old country road, the Camaro's enormous power bogging it down on the slippery dirt, although the underpowered Continental was faring no better.

"Come on, Snails!" Snips cried, "they're right there! Quit sliding, and run them off the road!"

"Easier said than done!" Snails fired back, being jolted out of his seat by another bump.

Little did the Spike know he was nearing a speedtrap. On duty at the speedtrap was none other than Sheriff Trigger Stetson.

"Hey, Quince," he said to his partner, waking him from a nap and pointing to the two cars rocketing by, "time to go to work!"

The old Dodge Coronet Police Cruiser rattled to life, and slid onto the road, lights flashing.

"We've got company!" Twilight screamed, pointing to the cruiser.

Pretty soon, there were three police cruisers on their tail.

"Oh, man!" Wilcox sobbed, "We're going to jail!" he then turned to Snails. "MOVE IT!"

The Lincoln roared, and veered off onto a sidestreet, one of the black-and-whites following. The remaining two focused Spike, and came up on both sides of him. One PIT manuevered him and he spun into a tree.

Spike and Twilight calmly got out, and looked at the damage to the car.

"Oh, no!" Spike moaned, pointing to steam venting from under the Chevy's crumpled hood, "now we don't have a car! Fleetwood's gonna win for sure!"

The police cruisers came around the corner, sirens wailing, and stopped next to Spike.

"Put your hands in the air!" Trigger yelled, drawing his gun, "you're under arrest for speeding, reckless driving, and resisting arrest!"

"Calm down, 'Stets!" Quince laughed, "they'll come quietly after the fight they put up!"

Meanwhile, Wilcox and company hid the Lincoln under a bush as the other cop screamed past.

"Whew!" he sighed, "That was a close one!"

"Yeah," Snips added, "I've been to jail too many times 'cause of other things to go again!"

"Well, that takes care of the Camaro! What do we do now, Will?"

"Just go back to Fleet and tell him, I guess."

Fleetwood was delighted at the news.

"I can already see Rarity and me, walking down the aisle!" he laughed.

Later that night, Spike and Rarity had to sort out the charges with Police Chief Silverstar.

"So, Ms. Sparkle," he asked dubiously, "Can you afford to pay the charges for damaging several police vehicles?"

"No, sir," she replied solemnly.

"Then your car will be impounded. Boys, get that sorry heap of a muscle car outta her!"

As they left the courthouse, Spike finally broke down.

"It's no use trying anymore," Spike bawled, "I'm never going to be loved!"

"Spike," Twilight promised, "We are going to win. Bad guys like Fleetwood never win, and Celestia knows you're due for a victory!"

"But," he sniffled, "What're we going to use for a car?"

"Spike," his metaphorical mother beamed, "I have a surprise for you." She walked over to their Volvo and popped the hood to reveal a snarling, magic-injected V-6, glowing in a menacing purple aura.

"This car is how I know so much about drifting," she explained, "Way back when I was in college, I'd show up at Celestia's Pass and smoke the competition in this beast!"

Spike was speechless. His seemingly-boring friend was actually an expirienced street racer. It was almost as surprising as seeing how horrible Fleetwood was. He may have said this a lot, but he knew it this time: Rarity would see the good in him. Even if he lost, she was definitely going to see through Fleetwood's nice-guy act, and who would be there for her? The Camaro was down for the count, but he had a new hope. Next stop: Le Trajet De'Lamour!

Chapter 12: Le Trajet De'Lamour
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Chapter 12: Le Trajet De'Lamour

Chapter 12: Le Trajet De'Lamour

On the day of the big race, Fleetwood waited on the corner of Derwent's Liquor on Ponyville's South Side. This was a common waiting place for taxis, and not long after he arrived, he flagged down a passing Yellow Cab.

"Hello, Mr. Marathon," he said calmly to the cabbie as he got in, "I have a little job for you."

"Alright, Fleet," he sighed, "What kind of job? It has to be pretty dangerous, judging that you've called me by my first name since Pony Kindergarten!"

"Oh, nothing, Checker," Fleetwood lied, "It's just, I have this friend, you see? And I was wondering if you could take your Peterbilt and squash him for me!"

"WHAT?!" Checker was shocked that his long-time friend would request such an act. He had always known Fleetwood as being easily angered, but never go so far to hurt somepony, except when he was in a barfight. "You're crazy!" he replied, "There's no way I'll do it!"

"Calm down, Checker!" Fleetwood laughed, "I'm kidding! I just want you to tail him with your cab for a while to make sure I win this little race...."

"NEVER joke like that again, Fleet!" Checker snapped back, "I'll do it, how much are you paying?"

"Oh, I don't know, 4,000 Bits...."

"FOUR THOUSAND BITS?!" Checker began to shake his friend's hoof vigerously, "You've got yourself a deal!"

"My plan is coming together perfectly!" Fleetwood thought, "I'm sure to win now, if Spike shows up at all!" He than began to laugh a dark, evil, maniacal laugh, until Checker covered his mouth with his hoof.

"Hey," he said, "No insidious laughing in my cab, or else NO RIDE FOR YOU!"

Spike and Fleetwood were to meet on a windblown slope overlooking Lake Wanahoova, a very beautiful spot, but they couldn't notice that at the moment. When he got there, Fleetwood immediately began tuning his LeSabre, aided skillfully by Mel and Wilcox, while Rarity looked out across the lake.

"What's the matter, honey?" Fleetwood chuckled, "Can't stomach the thought of Spikey-Wikey getting humiliated?"

"You know, Fleetwood, I have a say in this too!" Rarity replied in a frustrated tone, "What if you win and I don't want to be with you?"

"Then you'll just have to suck it up!" Fleetwood said menacingly, "The winner gets the girl, and that's that!"

"Oh, Spike," she whispered to herself, "You'd better finish first!"

"HEY, MR. BROUGHAM!" Wilcox yelled over the wind, "I SEE A CAR!"

"It can't be!" Then, Fleetwood exploded into a fit of laughter as he spotted Twilight's Volvo, sporting racing numbers and several modifications for maximum downforce, lumbering up the hill.

"Is this the morning bus to Fillydelphia?" he jeered as they came to a stop next to his LeSabre.

"Quite the contrary, Mr. Brougham," Spike said smoothly in a mock british accent, "This is the car that's going to be quite literally beating your car today."

"Well see about that, Mr. Swedish Station Wagon," Fleetwood muttered to himself, "Hey, dad, wanna come with me!"

"Fleetwood," the elderly pony sighed, "I can't. This time, you've gone too far: You not only wrecked a perfectly good Camaro, the Camaro I gave you for your 17th birthday, you broke too many hearts with your "testing the water" charade! And besides, I'm getting too old to be goin' on joyrides like last night!"

"Well, fine!" Fleetwood replied, slightly shaken by the intervention, "Mel, get in the car. Wilcox," he gestured to a flat black Ford Custom, "You drive Ms. Rarity to the finish line."

Mel trotted over to the LeSabre, taking his time while Wilcox, fueled by the oppertunity to be alone with such a beautiful mare and feeling a sense of urgency to complete Fleetwood's orders, sprinted over to the Ford, and entered Dukes of Hazzard style, not even noticing the windows were up as he smashed through the glass.

"Alright," Fleetwood hollered, straining to be heard above the howling wind, "This is an open race toward Canterlot and back! Any route can be used! The person back here first! Ready? GO!"

The two cars' tires squealed as they raced off the line, the LeSabre taking an early lead, but as they neared the long winding curve down the hill, the Volvo blew past, leaving Fleetwood bewildered.

"HOW CAN IT GO SO FAST?!" he screamed, letting go of the steering wheel to shake Mel.

Soon, the two cars past another police speedtrap, this one at Plywood Mill Number 2. On duty this time was Flegel, enjoying a sandwich when the they sped around the corner.

"Alright, Dolly," he muttered to his cruiser, throwing the sandwich atop the sun visor, "Let's do this!"

The cruiser lurched onto the road, and sprung into action. Flegel spared no expense in trying to run Fleetwood off the road, only to meet stiff opposition. The LeSabre was much more powerful than the Fury, which was easily flicked off the road.

"Attention all units!" Flegel sputtered from the ditch which he was in, "I am in pursuit of two cars, vehicles are a 1985 Volvo 945 Turbo and a 1951 General Motors LeSabre Concept! I need two units to go after them, and somepony to get me out of this ditch!"

"Roger that, Flegel," the dispatcher replied, "Units are on their way!"

Spike was side-by-side with Fleetwood, until he swerved onto a side road, and dissapeared.

"Where did he go?" he muttered to himself, "Hey, Twilight, what does the map say about where we're going?"

"We're right on track," Twilight said back excitedly, "If we merge onto Equestrian Highway 175, we'll be in Canterlot in two hours!"

After a while, a Dodge Monaco discovered Flegel, and helped pull his cruiser out of the roadside ditch in which he was stranded.

"Thanks!" he called as the Monaco sped off, it's police lights flashing. He raced after the other cop, and together, they began to hunt down Spike and company. After a few minutes, they found him, and gave chase.

Spike had his pedal to the floor, the police breathing hard down his neck. He struggled to control the car in a drift as he entered Equestrian Highway 175. Flegel and his new friend obviously had trouble with the curve as well, as Flegel busted through a guardrail, and raced over the grass straight onto the freeway. He then regained control, and caught up to Spike and the Monaco, which were now side by side.

"Attention, motorist!" The Monaco's outside speaker boomed, "Pull your vehicle over to the side of the road!"

"No way, Jose!" Spike hollered back over the noise of the siren and both their engines, "I'm doing this for love!"

The Volvo then began to pull away, leaving the Dodge far behind. By the time Flegel had caught up to him, Spike was far out of sight.

"Where did he go?" Flegel panicked, "Where did he go?"

"Calm down, man!" The pony driving the Monaco laughed over the radio, "He's gotta be somewhere on the highway. The only thing we have to worry about is catching up to him!"

Meanwhile, Office Trigger Stetson was listening to the conversation on his office C/B.

"Hey, Flegel, Kirkland," he interrupted hastily, "Call in everypony you know to block him off! Me and Quince are on our way!" He then rounded Quince up, and the two ran to their Corvette interceptor.

"I'll be damned if this guy gets away!" Trigger growled, starting the police cruiser. He shifted into first, and the Vette zoomed away, siren screaming.

While this happened, Fleetwood was feeling very confident. He was taking a shortcut he knew from his days as a moonrunner, and he had heard the commotion on the radio. He thought that he was going to win, but when he got to a bridge that overlooked the freeway, he gawked in awe, seeing that Spike had just passed.

"Mel," he cried, "Are you sure you tuned the LeSabre this morning?!"

"Yeah, yeah," Mel lied, "I did."

It turned out that Mel was routing for Spike, so he hadn't tuned Fleetwood's car properly to give him an edge.

He was even more surprised to see eight Black, and whites following, sirens whooping, red lights flashing everywhere. "If this can't stop him," he thought, "Only one thing can."

Meanwhile, Flegel and his friend were panicking, unable to catch up with the rediculous-looking little Volvo.

"Attention all units!" Flegel cried over the radio, "I need EVERYPONY on this call! Vehicle is a 1985 Volvo 945 Station Wagon! Last seen near the Beuller Interchange!

A cop in Fillydelphia heard this, and ran to his car.

A cop in Canterlot raced out of the car wash after hearing the grave transmission.

After a long time, nearly every police officer in Equestria had stopped what they were doing, and joined the hunt for Spike.

Back in Canterlot, a mare and a stallion walked slowly around two strangely-marked Ford Galaxie cruisers, while a mechanic looked onward.

"So, Chub," the mare spoke up, blowing a bubblegum bubble, "What are we looking at here?"

"Two top-of-the-line, experimental magic-injected, turbine-powered Ford's," he replied, giving them a final look-over.

"You know," the stallion suggested, "There's a dragon-hunt going on outside Bueller, maybe we could test 'em out there?"

"You kidding?" Chub laughed, "Bueller's more than an hour away!"

"An hour? That's it?" The mare ran over to the police cruisers, and motioned for the stallion to get in the other, "Come on, Charlie!" she called playfully, "Time's a-wastin'!"

The two cruisers pulled out of the shop, their turbines screaming, and roared onto the highway.

"You'd better have an energy-drink, Charlie!" the mare warned, "This is gonna be a long trip."

Chapter Thirteen: Dirty Deeds
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Chapter Thirteen: Dirty Deeds

Chapter Thirteen: Last-Ditch Method

****

Several elderly stallions sat at a rural filling station, rocking back and forth simultaneously in their chairs. They talked about the rise and fall of gas prices, interesting ponies they met, and politics, until one of them heard a distant rumbling.

"Whaddy'a hear, Henry?" one asked.

"I hear something huge comin'," he replied simply, "Don't know what it is.

After a few minutes, a huge cloud of dust was visable coming down the highway. Red lights were strobing through the storm, frightening the stallions.

"Holy god," one remarked, as he distinguished the whoop of police sirens, "Everypony get inside, they're gonna-"

By the time he had warned them, it was too late. The station was sucked into a hurricane of dust, salt and dirt as hundreds of cruisers raced passed, sirens blaring. After they past, the gas station lay in ruins, windows shattered, the leaderboard felled, and everypony dazed and confused.

"Where do you think they're goin'?" one of the ponies asked.

"The heck if I know, Henry."

Spike was in the lead, racing along the eerily empty highway. He didn't know where Fleetwood was, but always assumed he was ahead, just in case. Twilight had fallen asleep, and he felt alone on the long stretch of blacktop, until a single police motorcycle came into view.

"You gotta be kidding me!" he thought as it came alongside him, "One lousy Harley?"

"Attention, Motorist!" The cop hollered through a bullhorn, saying the exact thing the Monaco had, "Pull your vehicle to the side of the road!"

He stomped on the gas again, and began to pull away from the Harley, when he saw, at an upcoming intersection, a taxi cab and 10 police cruisers lined up, ready to spring as he passed.

When he saw them, it was too late. Spike roared past, and the cruisers and oddly-placed taxi followed.

****

"Alright Trixie," Checker instructed, "You said you were gonna help me out with this, so I'll give you half the money Fleet promised."

"Trixie is beginning to like this partnership!" She laughed

"Okay, here's the plan," he continued, handing her a shotgun, "You try and shoot out his tires, while i'll try and get you close enough to do so. Just remember, shoot the tires, NOTHING ELSE, or else we'll be going to prison!"

"Got it!"

Checker and Trixie had begun to lose ground to the cops, when finally, they spotted an opening in the clump of cars. They took it, and before they knew it, they were alonside Spike's Volvo.

Trixie fired a shot, but it bounced off the hubcab and came through the cab's windshield, ricocheting around inside, until exiting through a window.

"What're you trying to do, kill us?!" Checker was obviously rattled at the stray round, and decided maybe it wasn't as good of an idea as he thought at first to shoot Spike off the road. He decided to play it safe, and follow at a distance.

Meanwhile, Flegel and the Monaco, who's driver was really named Cobalt, were closing in on Spike quickly.

"We got 'em now, guy!" Flegel giggled excitedly, "Here's my plan: We'll get in between him, and ram him!"

"Sounds okay with me!"

The two mopar cruisers sandwiched the Volvo between them, and we're about to pounce, when Spike noticed this, and sped up, leaving the two cops to slam into each other. They lost control, and began to slide all over the road, before breaking away. Flegel ran into another roadside ditch, but Cobalt wasn't as lucky. He rolled, shattering the barlights atop the roof, and finally landed right-side-up, his radiator steaming.

Flegel ran to the Monaco to find Cobalt bruised, but in great condition for the ordeal. He hoisted his friend up, and carried him to the road while the remaining nine cruisers raced pass, sirens whooping.

After a minute or so, an even more impressive swarm of coppers drove by, when a strangely-painted Ford Galaxie pulled over to assist them. A stallion wearing a Canterlot Police badge jumped out, and helped the two into the car.

"So," he asked curiously, the car already picking up speed, "What happened to that pony over there? He looks like he's been through a tumble dryer!"

"Oh," Cobalt moaned, rubbing his head, "I think I've got a concussion!"

"Naw, you're alright," Flegel reassured him, "Hold it together long enough for us to catch that dragon!"

The sound of Cobalt's crash had woken Twilight, who was dozing, map over her head, when it occured.

"Huh? What was that?" she slurred, shooting up, "Spike, did we win?"

"It's alright, Twi," Spike chuckled, ruffling her mane, "The noise you heard was only a police car rolling over!"

"SWEET CELESTIA!"

Fleetwood was back in the lead, but he didn't know how close Spike really was. He decided to take advantage of the lead, and stop for gas.

He had just put the pump nozzle in the tank, when he noticed a familiar Volvo race into the gas station, and hastily fill up.

"Mel," he whispered, gesturing to Spike's car, "Go over there and loosen some of the bolts on the rim!"

While Spike and Twilight trotted inside to pay for the gas, Mel sneaked over to the hotted up wagon with his trusty power wrench. He quickly loosened all the lugnuts on the rear right tire, and raced back over to the LeSabre, not even bothering to use the doors as he jumped through the open convertible top, and landed next to his boss, who was eyeing the wrong they had done smugly.

"It's been done," Mel reported, "Let's get outta here!"

Fleetwood started the car, and the Lesabre lurched away from the service island, taking the pump with it, and onto the road. The pump popped out as the concept drifted onto the road, shaking the nozzle free of the tank. Both ponies gaped in awe as they saw thousands of police cars swarm the small station they had just left. There was a long silence as they drove through the desert, until Fleetwood spoke up, summing up both ponies' feelings at the extroadinary sight:

"Spike's doomed," he said solemnly.

Twilight saw the cruisers just in time and warned Spike, and they left before the police arrived.Soonthe Volvo was catching up, Spike and Twilight unawhere of the danger that lay ahead.

They were just entering the mountains when Fleetwood came into view. The two cars raced through the beautiful valley regions, and onto a high pass that lead to Canterlot, where Spike decided to try and pass his rival.

As soon as Fleetwood glanced casually into his rear-view mirror, something snapped.

"I don't know how he got here," he growled, "BUT I WANT HIM GONE!" He then turned to Mel, and shook him until he was dizzy. "SHOULDN'T HIS WHEEL HAVE COME OFF BY NOW?!"

"I have no idea, man!" Mel wimpered back, "I'm awfully emberassed at the delay!"

"Well, then," Fleetwood chuckled insanely, "We'll just have to knock it off ourselves!"

As Spike began to come alongside, Fleetwood's plan began to unfold. As the two raced along the cliff, side-by-side, the Lesabre suddenly veered into the inside lane; Spike's lane! With a heavy shove, it knocked the wagon into roadside ditch, it's rear right tire bouncing off the cliff. Fleetwood cheered as he raced away, leaving Spike and Twilight to die.

(Deleted Scene): My Special Buddy
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(Deleted Scene): My Special Buddy

*Starts off in Chapter 2*

"But, I always knew that Rarity was the one for me, the only one, we were destined to be together! I'll never love again!" Spike began to sprint out of the showroom, but he felt a hoof hold him in place.

"Okay, kid," Fleetwood reasoned with him, as he struggled to keep the dragon from running, "What if I made you an apprentice, of sorts, took you under my wing? I could be able to help you get your mare back."

Spike sniffled, and looked up at him, eyes watering, "You'd do that?"

"Sure!" the brown pegasus smiled, "You're my special buddy, you know? That Cutlass was a special, I don't rent 'em out to ANYPONY, you know..."

"Oh, THANK YOU, FLEET!" Spike's enthusiasm exploded. He ran off toward home, screaming the news to everypony he passed.

As soon as he left, a blue 1972 Camaro, missing it's bumper roared up, and screeched to a halt at the curb. Out got a small, skinny tan pony, who ran up to the dealer, weeping.

"MR. BROUGHAM!" he blubbered as he came through the front door, "IT DI'N'T WORK, SHE DI'N'T GO OU' WI' ME!"

"Oh, Wilcox," Fleetwood soothed giving him a hug, "What happened?"

"WELL...." He began, "I PULL'D UP AT SCHOOL..."

"Yeah...."

"I CAME TO 'ER IN IT....."

"Mmhm..."

"AN' THE BUMPER FELL OFF!"

"Aw, that's too bad...." Fleetwood then fished around in his pocket, and found some car keys, and handed them to Wilcox. "You know? A customer just brought back that Cutlass, had 100% satisfaction! If you wanna take it, you can! But, for a small fee..."

"Oh, THANKS, Mr. Brougham!" Wilcox replied, sounding very similar to our little purple friend, "But, why would you do this for me?"

"It's simple!" Fleetwood chuckled, "We're Special Buddies! Wilcox, I don't give this kind of a deal to anyone else, you know....Here, lemme see if I could put you down for a new Pontiac as well....."

Chapter Fourteen: Last Ditch Method
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Chapter Fourteen: Last Ditch Method

Chapter Fourteen: Last Ditch Method

Fleetwood relaxed his LeSabre's hurried pace through the mountains, and began to drive more leisurely. The car idled gracefully down the twisting highway, the sunlight sparkling on it's blue-silver paint, showroom-fresh, showing no signs of the hard driving style it had partaken in for so many years. Fleetwood could finally relax, take his time, and enjoy the road, besides, he had WON! The wasn't a real deadline he had to meet, so he could just ramble along the winding roads, and come back to Rarity.

Meanwhile, Spike and Twilight worked furiously to get the spare on the rim. Grease covered their hooves/hands, the sun beating down hard above.

"You think Fleetwood's in Canterlot by now?" Spike asked, shoving the tire onto the rim.

"Maybe, at the rate he was going, but that's not the Fleetwood I know." Twilight paused to flip her mane out of her face. "He's so confident that he beat us, he probably has slowed down a lot. He thinks that we'll just give up and go home!"

"Well, we'll show him!" Spike agreed as Twilight began to use her magic to tighten all of the lugnuts. "Come on Spike," She panted, breathless from the work, "Let's roll!"

Mel was dozing in the passenger seat, shifting uncomfortably while Fleetwood continued to enjoy himself with the relaxed driving style.

After a few minutes, he noticed a recurring buzz noise. It sounded like the buzz of an engine. No, it couldn't be! Fleetwood looked in his mirror to see the gleam of sparkling purple paint closing in quickly.

He shook Mel awake to show him the sight.

"How could this be!" he ranted, shaking his defenseless mechanic, "I thought they ditched the spare to save weight!!!!"

"The drive a Volvo," Mel replied gruffly, pushing Fleetwood back. Suddenly, the older pony seemed twice as large. "They don't have to worry about weight, unlike you. Your car, no matter how powerfull, is laden with the weight of your soul's corruption and evil. Whereas they have nothing to worry about, you will always finally be judged by that bit of weight. God have mercy on you, Fleetwood."

Fleetwood was stunned at his words, but had no time to take in their meaning. He returned his focus to the blur in his side-mirror, and frantically tried to outrun it, trying to attempt the physically impossible: Push his gas pedal through the floor. But the car was flying, it would take him too long to get to the speed to outrun him. He had to think fast, and then, he came up with one idea: If he couldn't have Rarity, Spike couldn't either. He had decided to kill Spike.

"We're nearly on top of him, Spike!" Twilight called gleefully above the roar of the Volvo's V-6, "We're nearly at Canterlot! We're halfway through the race!"

As they came roaring past on the left side, Fleetwood took a heavy swerve at them, causing them to slam on the brakes to avoid him hitting them.

"You know, Fleet," Mel told him, "It's not too late to stop and repent."

"You know," Fleetwood replied, "You're right, I could, but has any good villian in this type of story ever said 'sorry'?"

"Good point." Mel than jumped right out the side of the car, quite randomly for the moment.

"HEY, WHAT'RE YOU DOING!" Fleetwood screamed after him.

"Preparing for the inevitable!" Mel yelled back, "What all villians in this type of story meet: A certain death!"

Fleetwood drove a little bit more carefully from that bit on.

The two cars continued on to Canterlot at this speed, Spike keeping behind his adversery, with the occaisional spontaneous attempt to get past, only to be swung at by the much larger LeSabre. Finally, they spotted the sign that said "Welcome to Canterlot, Land of Royalty!"

As Fleetwood past this sign, he pulled a 180 and began to race back down the mountain. At first Spike wondered why he did this, but then he remembered the terms of the race: "Canterlot and back."

And that's when the race really got interesting. The two cars began to pick up even more speed as they headed downhill. At one point, Spike thought he saw the car's speedometer past 140! The cars weaved in and out of slow-moving traffic, which was picking up, and continued down the mountain, until something extroadinary happened! Fleetwood began to make his move on Spike.

The brown stallion's mane fluttered in the breeze as he slammed on his brakes in a vain attempt to make Spike crash into his rear, and doom them both. Spike shot past, and the chase was on!

****

The cars were now barrelling down the mountain, past 160 MPH, Fleetwood sideswiping, rear-ending, and shoving at the Volvo every time he could. The Concept convertible was now a deadly enemy to them.

"Do something, Spike!" Twilight screeched as the Lesabre began to pass them on the right. It took a final heavy swerve at them, and Fleetwood unleased his insane fury. Spike tried to break away, but Fleetwood wouldn't let up, he kept contact. Suddenly, Spike figured out what the car salesman was trying to do: He was trying to push him over the edge of the cliff!

Spike knew what he had to do: He had to fight back, and hard! He swung the steering wheel to the right to counterract the Lesabre's influence, the Volvo responding instantly. Both cars had an even chance now, it was easy to figure out what was going on: One would leave the canyon alive, the other dead.

"Fleetwood!" Spike cried out the window, "Why are you doing this! Is it because I love Rarity?"

"You fool!" his adversary cackled insanely, "This has NOTHING to do with Rarity! I never liked you! You're going to PAY for doing this to me?"

"He isn't in the right head, Spike!" Twilight countered, "He doesn't mean what he's saying! What did you ever do to him?"

Spike felt another blow to the car occur. Twilight stopped her pep-talk and let out a high-pitched scream as the car started to slip toward the edge of the road. Then, time began moving very slowly: I may have said this a lot in this story, but now I MEAN IT: Spike KNEW what he had to do. He had seconds before destruction.

Spike slammed on the brakes.

Spike noticed Fleetwood began to move away from him.

He swung the steering wheel to the right.

The Volvo darted between the Lesabre and the wall.

Spike felt rage well up in him: He had visions of Fleetwood talking to Rarity at a bar counter on the train. He saw them laugh at some joke he made. He saw an evil flash quickly through Fleetwood's blue eyes. Then, he let it all loose:

Spike swung the steering wheel to the left, and hurled the Volvo at the Lesabre. Fleetwood was shocked to see the small station wagon sent screaming into his side, and had no time to react. The swedish auto gave him a huge shove, and the Lesabre broke over the railing. Fleetwood felt his grip on the steering wheel tighten as the car fell over the cliff.

There were a few peaceful seconds, until an explosion erupted through the canyon. Smoke began drifting lazily up to the road level in a huge cloud. Spike was shocked he had done such a thing, but Twilight just rested her hoof on his shoulder.

"He's in a better place now, Spike. He really is."

Unbeknownst to them, this wasn't the end of their troubles. After Spike and Twilight had escaped the police, they had rounded up two eighteen wheelers, which they had placed across the road just around a mountain turn, anticipating that the fugitives would hit it and explode, in a "Vanishing Point" fashion. But, when he finally came, Spike just went right under them, his top snagging on the underside of the trailer, and ripping off.

Sheriff Trigger Stetson of the Smith County Sheriff's Department, Officer Flegel, Quince, Kirkland, Charlie, and about all of the cops in Equestria, stared bewildered at the little Volvo speeding away, dumbfounded that he had escaped their grasp, until Trigger finally spoke up:

"Let him go, boys. If that didn't stop 'em, nothing will."

By the time they had reached the finish line at Ponyville Town Hall, everyone who had assembled at the finish line, Berry Punch, Rarity, Wilcox, and several others, were so happy to see them. Berry and Wilcox grabbed Spike and carried him into the air, whereas Rarity cheered on, while helping Twilight from the car. Finally, the celebration died down, and Rarity trotted over to Spike.

"Spike," she confessed, nearly speechless that he beat the best racer in Ponyville besides Twilight, "I just wanted to say thank you. If you hadn't won, I would've been slave to that maniac, and I am eternally grateful to you. Although I wanted to say, before this experience, although I never wanted to say it, I was never actually attracted to you. I mean, there was something deep in me that liked you more than friends, but, I-I... I never pursued that interest. But now, oh, you've shown how much you'd do for my affection, and....That's changed everything. I need someone who's LOYAL, Spike. Not just someone who turns heads. I need someone who will stand by our relationship in times of hardship, not someone who would just bail out at the sight of someone whom they feel is prettier. I-"

"GET ON WITH IT!" Berry yelled, "I GOTTA BE AT A WEDDING BY 4:00!"

"Well," Rarity, continued, blushing slightly, "Here it goes: Spike, will you marry me?"

"YES!" Without hesitation, Spike launched himself into Rarity's awaiting hooves, where she hugged him wholeheartedly. It turns out, Berry had planned that wedding in advance, something she and Twilight both knew was going to happen: Spike and Rarity's wedding.

It took place at an old church by Canal Street, one that although was old, was very well-maintained, and had vines growing neatly on it's wall, and when the wedding bells wrang, the newly-wedded couple came down a red carpet to a waiting white convertible Cadillac Eldorado, chauffeured by Checker Marathon, who, hours before, had been pursuing him, but who was now remembering something he had known ever since Pony Kindergarten, but had forgotten a while back: Fleetwood was a jerk.

The married couple rode off, the rest of the weddinggoers following in their cars, and a grand parade down main street ensued, strangers joining in at every moment. Oh, you should've seen it, such an array of cars, old and new, dirty and clean. Even the police who had pursued them joined in, whooping their sirens and flashing their lights. There was one thing that was known for sure that day: Two young lovers had found each other.

And, as cleche as this sounds, they lived happilly ever after.