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."

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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.