Post by defunctlies on May 10, 2008 21:29:37 GMT -6
The scene opens on Jack Hammond standing in front of the Richard J. Daley Center, looking up at it. He grins to himself before turning to the camera, gesturing to the city around him.
"Chicago. The 'Windy City'. And tomorrow, I'm going to be cooking up a storm against three other competitors."
There's a slight groan from off camera, Jack making a face.
"What? It wasn't that bad a joke, was it?"
Jack sighs and shrugs, but looks at the camera again, holding up a small leaflet.
"It's a fantastic city though. And something that caught my eye on the info pack that I looked at, is what other cities it's twinned with. Well, one city in particular; Birmingham."
He holds up the leaflet to an open page pointing and grinning.
"The city I grew up in is twinned with this one. Obviously, there are differences, notwithstanding the fact this place is inhabited by mostly Americans rather than Brummies, but there are a few things I can see that exist in both cities."
Jack scratches the back of his head, waving his other arm about.
"I can feel a great sense of community in this city, with no real forms of segregation. The city has a beating heart rather than a mechanical ticking of some of the bigger cities. I've walked around the residential and downtown areas and seen many things that I can recognize from Birmingham; local shops, even on the main high streets. Markets down some alleyways where normally you'd expect muggers. Kids playing out in the street. Really warms the heart."
Jack pauses.
"Then again, there is one thing I shall always remember Chigago for."
He stops next to a car and the camera zooms out slightly, showing a slightly tatty-looking 1974 Dodge Monaco, daubed in Illinois State Trooper Black and White.
"This car, and the film it was in; The Blues Brothers. Possibly one of the funniest films from when I was growing up, and what stood out in my mind was the climactic car chase with this car; the Bluesmobile."
He grins and pats the bonnet.
"Before there was Herbie, before the Transformers, before Knight Rider; there was this car. A 1974 Dodge Monaco that had so much character that it was possibly another member of the Blues Brothers Band. According to legend, it could run on electricity, could manage a top speed of over 200km/h, and could even fly when chased by neo-Nazis. And after Elwood had ragged it all the way from that concert across the State Of Illinois, it literally fell to pieces."
He looks down at the car, reaching for the doorhandle.
"Thankfully, the one that fell apart in the movie was one of about 13 Dodge Monacoes that were bought for the film. And this one works."
Hammond steps into the car and immediately starts it up, a low rumble filling the air, changing to a roar as Jack squeals away. The camera quickly cuts to the dashboard cam, Jack grinning.
"Next to Steve McQueen's Mustang in Bullit and The Challenger in Vanishing Point, I have wanted to drive this car so badly."
He buries the throttle and chuckles, the cabin filled with the sound of the 440 cubic inch powerplant deafening. Jack briefly looks down at the speedo and blinks.
"We're doing 60 mph already...and I think that was a real patrol car I just passed..."
He glances out of the window and makes a guilty look, immediately slowing down. The camera cuts to Jack stationary, looking rather apologetically up at a police officer standing at the window, giving a rather guilty little explanation. We can't hear the officer, but he doesn't look pleased.
"...and you see it is a lot more powerful than I expected, and it was a little exciting for me...yes, I understand there's a speed limit and I'm sorry I broke it. It's an old car and I didn't know it could go that fast...yes, Officer, I understand...ye-...yes, Officer, I'm sorry...you have a nice day too!"
The police officer walks away, Jack winding up the window before looking at the passenger's seat.
"Can you imagine this car getting me sent to prison the night before my match?"
There's a muffled response, making Jack suppress a laugh.
"Yes, I suppose any car could get me in trouble with the way I drive. It just so happens I really like this car."
Jack pulls away slowly looking behind him, before looking at the camera.
"Which is a pity...because it's not that good. The handling's poor, the brakes are scary and the interior...well this was built as one of the 'speed' cars and so it's pretty threadbare in here. And the noise is quite...unsociable; at tickover, it's as quiet as a musical performed by pneumatic drills."
The camera cuts with Jack having the window wound down, talking to someone he's pulled up next to.
"Eh? No, I haven't taken the exhaust pipe off, it's meant to sound like this...Eh? No, I'm not mad. Not much, anyways."
Jack pulls away and rolls his eyes, sighing.
"Maybe it is a case of 'never meet your heroes'. I've driven Steve McQueen's Bullit Mustang, but had to drive it at less than 10mph incase I broke it, which was frustrating, to say the least."
Jack grins.
"But still, I can feel that this car, despite its huge flaws and deafening engine, it has some character. I can feel myself wanting to just drive to a gig in this thing and then steal all the money and make a run for the border...but seeing as I've already been stopped once today, and all I can play is 'Chopsticks' on the keyboard, I'm going to have to try something else."
He grins and pulls over, holding up a finger to the camera before clambering out and out of sight. After a couple of seconds, 'She Caught The Katy' as sung by the Blues Brothers strikes up, and Jack gets back into the car, wearing a black suit, white shirt, black tie, sunglasses and a hat, exactly like one of the Blues Brothers. He grins and nods, looking pleased with himself.
"Yeah! Now this I could get used to."
He grins and starts the car up again, driving off.
"Now I'm living the dream; I'm dressed like Elwood Blues, driving around Chicago in the Bluesmobile, listening to a classic track."
Jack nods and smiles, cruising along.
"And yes, I do realise that rather looking like Elwood Blues, I look more like that kid they had in that awful sequel. Just before anyone points out, I am aware. As is the director who's in the passenger's seat and is laughing his head off."
Muffled laughter can be heard followed by 'where did you get that suit made?" Jack actually laughs out loud, having to slow down so as not to crash from laughing so hard himself.
"I did not get this specially made! Nor, as the sound recordist in the back thinks, get this from the child's department!"
The muffled laughter increases in volume, the music eventually fading out. The camera cuts to Jack leaning on the bonnet of the Bluesmobile, back in front of the Richard J. Daley Centre. He takes off his glasses and the hat, tossing them through the driver's window.
"So am I disappointed? A little. But it was still something I'd wanted to do for so long, and now I have, I can say I genuinely enjoyed myself. Admittedly I ended up looking like a bit of a berk in the process, and nearly got thrown into prison the day before the big match, but I'd like to think that's something the Blues Brothers, if they'd been a tag team rather than a band, would have done something like that; win the tag team belts in the coolest way possible, then run for the border from The Empire in this Dodge."
He pats the bonnet.
"As for me? Well, I don't expect to be making a run for the border after tomorrow night, nor am I competing for gold. I am, however, looking to capitalize on my current streak of wins. I don't want to just be another 'somebody' or 'almost'; I've been looking around and I'm starting to notice how people are reacting to me nowadays; I've been tipped by a few people to actually win tomorrow, I got a mention in the Fox Report a week back, and I've won the respect of many people who would have turned there noses up at me a few months back. Sure, it inflates my ego a little, but I've got my family to keep me grounded and make sure I don't go the way of the Kanes."
The British highflyer shrugs.
"I'm starting also, to realise my potential. I'm beginning to feel that coming to nCw was one of the best opportunities I'd ever been given. I've suffered losses, injury and pain, but I'm tasting victory and every time I hear that crowd pop...it's indescribable."
Jack can't help but grin.
"It doesn't mean I'm going to stop my negative mentality rants; they help me focus and entertaining if pulled off well; I'm just saying you may see less of them."
He shrugs.
"So. It seems that I've warranted a few replies from my opponents about tomorrow, and I feel I should address them individually...I know, it's a new thing for me, but we'll see how this goes."
Jack winks cheekily at the camera.
"Sexy Jason...it seems you did not learn from the mistakes I made earlier this week when I wrote off that Mustang. As I told you, it may look pretty, and has a lot of grunt, it has too much muscle and not enough know-how. The setup for the suspension is for one, ancient, and secondly, it's set up not for a sports car, but for a truck, so it's dim-witted. Now, by no means am I calling Sexy Jason all brawn and no brains, that'd just be stupid. I just think that first off, he needs a better taste in cars, the Bullit and Shelby Cobra Mustangs are far better than the lazy modern ones with albiet less power but tweaked and improved chassis. Also, you've talked about being a 'new' Sexy Jason in one of your earlier promos, and how this will help you defeat me...yet in your latest promo, you say how you 'don't need to change your style to beat us'."
Jack scratches his head.
"Okay, either you're playing mindgames with me, or you've got some weird circular logic, but those two statements clash worse than a Jonathan Ross suit and haircut. And talking about clothes, it's all well and good you say you can beat us also in whatever clothes you choose, but I beg of you; stick with what you've worn before. I will admit that maybe a thong or nothing at all, which may stick with your style would also act as a fantastic distraction, but please, for the sanity of everyone in the locker room...don't."
Jack shudders a little.
"Like I said before, however, this is not the first time I'll be facing him, and I'm pretty sure that we both know what the other man is capable of, and I know that Jason's not the kind to disappoint. So despite what I say, let's see who can go best two-out-of-three, eh? Oh, and get a new car though...I suppose I could show you my Mustang if you want me to."
Jack grins at the camera and holds up a pair of fingers.
"Ricky Johnson. To say this man has issues would be an understatement. He's coming into this match with his wife in the hospital, and has obviously gotten something a little wrong on his end. He's saying how I have no respect for him, telling him to back out of the match. I never said you should back out, Ricky, I just said what I would do in the same situation. I'd feel uncomfortable to say the least, and I will feel uncomfortable when you step into that ring with me, knowing that you're leaving a loved one alone in the hospital."
Jack holds up his hands disarmingly.
"And if you think I'm disrespecting you by saying that, then I'm sorry. Trust me, I have tons of respect for you; seeing you in action and decimating your opponents the other week has made sure that I stand up and take notice. I respect you decision to choose to wrestle tomorrow as well. I also respect you enough to not back down myself; I won't go easy or ignore you because I pity you. I want this win as badly as you, if not more."
Jack grins ferally.
"I know what it's like to be disrespected, whether it be outright, in-your-face stuff and the snide, disarming kind. But trust me when I say I want you to bring that a-game to the ring tomorrow, and I'll show you how much I respect you by bringing my own."
He sighs and cocks his head at an angle.
"Justin Marsham. I don't know where you're coming from. In your latest promo, you talk about how much you respect me, and I thank you for that. Yet in that same promo you absolutely lay into Jason and Johnson. And not a few days before you had some lanky bloke dressing up like me naming every horrid American car under the sun. Now, I don't know if you're hoping for some sort of support out there, but it's 'every man for himself'. I have been lulled into working with someone before, only to have my head kicked in by said same person. Not only have I become more optimistic, but I'd like to think I've become wiser."
Jack shrugs and sighs.
"I don't know, maybe, as you state, you see me as a better competitor than Ricky and Sexy Jason, and therefore I'm the person you'll need to work hardest on. That actually gives me a slight thrill to think that out of the three of us, you see me as the biggest threat. Just get your facts straight; I don't see myself as being 'better' than anyone. In my honest opinion, my latest wins, particularly in the Showcase match, my ability may have helped, but luck has been a deciding factor."
Jack makes a face and scratches his head.
"Complacency, overconfidence, ego, temper...I'd like to think these will not be mitigating factors that used to plague me and make me trip at an all-important hurdle. These are, however, things that I feel that Marsham may need work on...hell, he could start an 'Egos Anonymous' club and will out the membership with his head alone for a month, and I do hope he doesn't use any of these as an excuse if he ends up losing."
Jack sighs and looks down at the Bluesmobile, looking contemplative.
"I do hope that I'm lucky enough to beat all three of you tomorrow...I really want this win, and I'll push my body to its limit just to get it. This is my big chance. My chance to break out and show the rest of the nCw what I'm capable of. To start chasing gold."
In what seems like a shift in character, Jack glowers seriously at the camera.
"So, Ricky, Jason, Justin...tomorrow night, you will be facing someone who will give his all to win, who will stop at nothing to get his hand raised, who you will not find to be a simple pushover. Give me half a chance and I will take it."
Jack holds his stare on the camera for a few seconds before cocking an eyebrow, looking at someone just off-camera.
"Can I stop being serious now? All this frowning hurts my face."
Muffled laughter breaks out as Jack breaks out into a grin. He holds up a finger.
"And before I go, there's something I've always wanted to do."
The camera fades out on Jack and then fades back in on him sitting in the car at night, next to a lit road sign that reads 'Chicago - 106 mi'. He's wearing the hat and sunglasses again, with an unfamiliar face in the passenger's seat, also dressed the same. Jack turns to the other man.
"It's a hundred and six miles to Chicago, we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses."
The other man nods and says two words.
"Hit it."
Jack floors the throttle and roars off into the night towards Chicago at full speed. As the scene finally fades out on Hammond's shrinking tail lights, he can be heard to mutter.
"...we drove all that way just so I could say that line. I am mad."
"Chicago. The 'Windy City'. And tomorrow, I'm going to be cooking up a storm against three other competitors."
There's a slight groan from off camera, Jack making a face.
"What? It wasn't that bad a joke, was it?"
Jack sighs and shrugs, but looks at the camera again, holding up a small leaflet.
"It's a fantastic city though. And something that caught my eye on the info pack that I looked at, is what other cities it's twinned with. Well, one city in particular; Birmingham."
He holds up the leaflet to an open page pointing and grinning.
"The city I grew up in is twinned with this one. Obviously, there are differences, notwithstanding the fact this place is inhabited by mostly Americans rather than Brummies, but there are a few things I can see that exist in both cities."
Jack scratches the back of his head, waving his other arm about.
"I can feel a great sense of community in this city, with no real forms of segregation. The city has a beating heart rather than a mechanical ticking of some of the bigger cities. I've walked around the residential and downtown areas and seen many things that I can recognize from Birmingham; local shops, even on the main high streets. Markets down some alleyways where normally you'd expect muggers. Kids playing out in the street. Really warms the heart."
Jack pauses.
"Then again, there is one thing I shall always remember Chigago for."
He stops next to a car and the camera zooms out slightly, showing a slightly tatty-looking 1974 Dodge Monaco, daubed in Illinois State Trooper Black and White.
"This car, and the film it was in; The Blues Brothers. Possibly one of the funniest films from when I was growing up, and what stood out in my mind was the climactic car chase with this car; the Bluesmobile."
He grins and pats the bonnet.
"Before there was Herbie, before the Transformers, before Knight Rider; there was this car. A 1974 Dodge Monaco that had so much character that it was possibly another member of the Blues Brothers Band. According to legend, it could run on electricity, could manage a top speed of over 200km/h, and could even fly when chased by neo-Nazis. And after Elwood had ragged it all the way from that concert across the State Of Illinois, it literally fell to pieces."
He looks down at the car, reaching for the doorhandle.
"Thankfully, the one that fell apart in the movie was one of about 13 Dodge Monacoes that were bought for the film. And this one works."
Hammond steps into the car and immediately starts it up, a low rumble filling the air, changing to a roar as Jack squeals away. The camera quickly cuts to the dashboard cam, Jack grinning.
"Next to Steve McQueen's Mustang in Bullit and The Challenger in Vanishing Point, I have wanted to drive this car so badly."
He buries the throttle and chuckles, the cabin filled with the sound of the 440 cubic inch powerplant deafening. Jack briefly looks down at the speedo and blinks.
"We're doing 60 mph already...and I think that was a real patrol car I just passed..."
He glances out of the window and makes a guilty look, immediately slowing down. The camera cuts to Jack stationary, looking rather apologetically up at a police officer standing at the window, giving a rather guilty little explanation. We can't hear the officer, but he doesn't look pleased.
"...and you see it is a lot more powerful than I expected, and it was a little exciting for me...yes, I understand there's a speed limit and I'm sorry I broke it. It's an old car and I didn't know it could go that fast...yes, Officer, I understand...ye-...yes, Officer, I'm sorry...you have a nice day too!"
The police officer walks away, Jack winding up the window before looking at the passenger's seat.
"Can you imagine this car getting me sent to prison the night before my match?"
There's a muffled response, making Jack suppress a laugh.
"Yes, I suppose any car could get me in trouble with the way I drive. It just so happens I really like this car."
Jack pulls away slowly looking behind him, before looking at the camera.
"Which is a pity...because it's not that good. The handling's poor, the brakes are scary and the interior...well this was built as one of the 'speed' cars and so it's pretty threadbare in here. And the noise is quite...unsociable; at tickover, it's as quiet as a musical performed by pneumatic drills."
The camera cuts with Jack having the window wound down, talking to someone he's pulled up next to.
"Eh? No, I haven't taken the exhaust pipe off, it's meant to sound like this...Eh? No, I'm not mad. Not much, anyways."
Jack pulls away and rolls his eyes, sighing.
"Maybe it is a case of 'never meet your heroes'. I've driven Steve McQueen's Bullit Mustang, but had to drive it at less than 10mph incase I broke it, which was frustrating, to say the least."
Jack grins.
"But still, I can feel that this car, despite its huge flaws and deafening engine, it has some character. I can feel myself wanting to just drive to a gig in this thing and then steal all the money and make a run for the border...but seeing as I've already been stopped once today, and all I can play is 'Chopsticks' on the keyboard, I'm going to have to try something else."
He grins and pulls over, holding up a finger to the camera before clambering out and out of sight. After a couple of seconds, 'She Caught The Katy' as sung by the Blues Brothers strikes up, and Jack gets back into the car, wearing a black suit, white shirt, black tie, sunglasses and a hat, exactly like one of the Blues Brothers. He grins and nods, looking pleased with himself.
"Yeah! Now this I could get used to."
He grins and starts the car up again, driving off.
"Now I'm living the dream; I'm dressed like Elwood Blues, driving around Chicago in the Bluesmobile, listening to a classic track."
Jack nods and smiles, cruising along.
"And yes, I do realise that rather looking like Elwood Blues, I look more like that kid they had in that awful sequel. Just before anyone points out, I am aware. As is the director who's in the passenger's seat and is laughing his head off."
Muffled laughter can be heard followed by 'where did you get that suit made?" Jack actually laughs out loud, having to slow down so as not to crash from laughing so hard himself.
"I did not get this specially made! Nor, as the sound recordist in the back thinks, get this from the child's department!"
The muffled laughter increases in volume, the music eventually fading out. The camera cuts to Jack leaning on the bonnet of the Bluesmobile, back in front of the Richard J. Daley Centre. He takes off his glasses and the hat, tossing them through the driver's window.
"So am I disappointed? A little. But it was still something I'd wanted to do for so long, and now I have, I can say I genuinely enjoyed myself. Admittedly I ended up looking like a bit of a berk in the process, and nearly got thrown into prison the day before the big match, but I'd like to think that's something the Blues Brothers, if they'd been a tag team rather than a band, would have done something like that; win the tag team belts in the coolest way possible, then run for the border from The Empire in this Dodge."
He pats the bonnet.
"As for me? Well, I don't expect to be making a run for the border after tomorrow night, nor am I competing for gold. I am, however, looking to capitalize on my current streak of wins. I don't want to just be another 'somebody' or 'almost'; I've been looking around and I'm starting to notice how people are reacting to me nowadays; I've been tipped by a few people to actually win tomorrow, I got a mention in the Fox Report a week back, and I've won the respect of many people who would have turned there noses up at me a few months back. Sure, it inflates my ego a little, but I've got my family to keep me grounded and make sure I don't go the way of the Kanes."
The British highflyer shrugs.
"I'm starting also, to realise my potential. I'm beginning to feel that coming to nCw was one of the best opportunities I'd ever been given. I've suffered losses, injury and pain, but I'm tasting victory and every time I hear that crowd pop...it's indescribable."
Jack can't help but grin.
"It doesn't mean I'm going to stop my negative mentality rants; they help me focus and entertaining if pulled off well; I'm just saying you may see less of them."
He shrugs.
"So. It seems that I've warranted a few replies from my opponents about tomorrow, and I feel I should address them individually...I know, it's a new thing for me, but we'll see how this goes."
Jack winks cheekily at the camera.
"Sexy Jason...it seems you did not learn from the mistakes I made earlier this week when I wrote off that Mustang. As I told you, it may look pretty, and has a lot of grunt, it has too much muscle and not enough know-how. The setup for the suspension is for one, ancient, and secondly, it's set up not for a sports car, but for a truck, so it's dim-witted. Now, by no means am I calling Sexy Jason all brawn and no brains, that'd just be stupid. I just think that first off, he needs a better taste in cars, the Bullit and Shelby Cobra Mustangs are far better than the lazy modern ones with albiet less power but tweaked and improved chassis. Also, you've talked about being a 'new' Sexy Jason in one of your earlier promos, and how this will help you defeat me...yet in your latest promo, you say how you 'don't need to change your style to beat us'."
Jack scratches his head.
"Okay, either you're playing mindgames with me, or you've got some weird circular logic, but those two statements clash worse than a Jonathan Ross suit and haircut. And talking about clothes, it's all well and good you say you can beat us also in whatever clothes you choose, but I beg of you; stick with what you've worn before. I will admit that maybe a thong or nothing at all, which may stick with your style would also act as a fantastic distraction, but please, for the sanity of everyone in the locker room...don't."
Jack shudders a little.
"Like I said before, however, this is not the first time I'll be facing him, and I'm pretty sure that we both know what the other man is capable of, and I know that Jason's not the kind to disappoint. So despite what I say, let's see who can go best two-out-of-three, eh? Oh, and get a new car though...I suppose I could show you my Mustang if you want me to."
Jack grins at the camera and holds up a pair of fingers.
"Ricky Johnson. To say this man has issues would be an understatement. He's coming into this match with his wife in the hospital, and has obviously gotten something a little wrong on his end. He's saying how I have no respect for him, telling him to back out of the match. I never said you should back out, Ricky, I just said what I would do in the same situation. I'd feel uncomfortable to say the least, and I will feel uncomfortable when you step into that ring with me, knowing that you're leaving a loved one alone in the hospital."
Jack holds up his hands disarmingly.
"And if you think I'm disrespecting you by saying that, then I'm sorry. Trust me, I have tons of respect for you; seeing you in action and decimating your opponents the other week has made sure that I stand up and take notice. I respect you decision to choose to wrestle tomorrow as well. I also respect you enough to not back down myself; I won't go easy or ignore you because I pity you. I want this win as badly as you, if not more."
Jack grins ferally.
"I know what it's like to be disrespected, whether it be outright, in-your-face stuff and the snide, disarming kind. But trust me when I say I want you to bring that a-game to the ring tomorrow, and I'll show you how much I respect you by bringing my own."
He sighs and cocks his head at an angle.
"Justin Marsham. I don't know where you're coming from. In your latest promo, you talk about how much you respect me, and I thank you for that. Yet in that same promo you absolutely lay into Jason and Johnson. And not a few days before you had some lanky bloke dressing up like me naming every horrid American car under the sun. Now, I don't know if you're hoping for some sort of support out there, but it's 'every man for himself'. I have been lulled into working with someone before, only to have my head kicked in by said same person. Not only have I become more optimistic, but I'd like to think I've become wiser."
Jack shrugs and sighs.
"I don't know, maybe, as you state, you see me as a better competitor than Ricky and Sexy Jason, and therefore I'm the person you'll need to work hardest on. That actually gives me a slight thrill to think that out of the three of us, you see me as the biggest threat. Just get your facts straight; I don't see myself as being 'better' than anyone. In my honest opinion, my latest wins, particularly in the Showcase match, my ability may have helped, but luck has been a deciding factor."
Jack makes a face and scratches his head.
"Complacency, overconfidence, ego, temper...I'd like to think these will not be mitigating factors that used to plague me and make me trip at an all-important hurdle. These are, however, things that I feel that Marsham may need work on...hell, he could start an 'Egos Anonymous' club and will out the membership with his head alone for a month, and I do hope he doesn't use any of these as an excuse if he ends up losing."
Jack sighs and looks down at the Bluesmobile, looking contemplative.
"I do hope that I'm lucky enough to beat all three of you tomorrow...I really want this win, and I'll push my body to its limit just to get it. This is my big chance. My chance to break out and show the rest of the nCw what I'm capable of. To start chasing gold."
In what seems like a shift in character, Jack glowers seriously at the camera.
"So, Ricky, Jason, Justin...tomorrow night, you will be facing someone who will give his all to win, who will stop at nothing to get his hand raised, who you will not find to be a simple pushover. Give me half a chance and I will take it."
Jack holds his stare on the camera for a few seconds before cocking an eyebrow, looking at someone just off-camera.
"Can I stop being serious now? All this frowning hurts my face."
Muffled laughter breaks out as Jack breaks out into a grin. He holds up a finger.
"And before I go, there's something I've always wanted to do."
The camera fades out on Jack and then fades back in on him sitting in the car at night, next to a lit road sign that reads 'Chicago - 106 mi'. He's wearing the hat and sunglasses again, with an unfamiliar face in the passenger's seat, also dressed the same. Jack turns to the other man.
"It's a hundred and six miles to Chicago, we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses."
The other man nods and says two words.
"Hit it."
Jack floors the throttle and roars off into the night towards Chicago at full speed. As the scene finally fades out on Hammond's shrinking tail lights, he can be heard to mutter.
"...we drove all that way just so I could say that line. I am mad."