Greased Lightning
Appalachian Mountains, somewhere in Ohio
The guy on the motorcycles is named Iron Horse. You read that right- motorcycles, plural. He's a Splitter- one of those guys that claims he got his powers from atomic radiation, and now he can split his own atoms, making multiple copies of himself. However he got his powers, Iron Horse is a one-man motorcycle gang.
He likes to steal a bunch of bikes on the East Coast, and ride the whole lot of 'em to the West Coast. Then he spends some of his take from the bikes, has a little fun, and hops a train back across the country to do it all over again. He doesn't get caught very often, because he'll take some bikes one way, and some bikes another way, travelling several different routes simultaneously to get out West. Plus, he only steals fast bikes.
Which is why I'm after him. I've run down eight of his duplicates, which only gets the bikes back, because the duplicates disappear when caught- fading back to energy, and rejoining with Iron Horse. So, he knows I'm coming. I'm catching up to the next guy now. "Engine Injun Number Nine, guess how hard you weren't to find!"
"Aw, why don't you beat feet, greaser!" he yells over the bike's engine. "You're ruinin' my rides!"
"That's Greased Lightning to you," I tell him before throwing a superspeed punch that knocks him off his ride.
He tumbles and skids to a stop along the side of the road. He's mostly okay, because he's wearin' his leathers and dome.
I skid to a stop next to him, and turn to watch his bike slide into a tree on the other side of the road, breaking in half before the pieces go tumbling down a slope into the woods.
I turn back to see that the biker's still here. "Looks like you're the real deal, Iron Horse. Ready for jail?"
"What're you talkin' about, sneaker freak?" he snarls. "You ain't got nothin' on me!"
Pointing a thumb over my shoulder, back the way we came, I say, "Um, nine stolen and damaged motorcycles?"
"Man, that track suit you're wearin's too tight, Greased Pig. Them bikes are legit."
"Yeah, right," I say. "Tell it to the cops."
"Hey, man! It's true! I got a backer!" he shouts indignantly, reaching inside his jacket.
I grab his arm with one hand, and reach for his inside jacket pocket faster than he can blink. Instead of the gun or knife I was expecting, I find, "Papers?"
"Pinks," he says indignantly. "For all forty-seven bikes I've got headin' out West. You owe me for nine, by the way," he adds smugly.
"Who's your backer?" I ask, ignoring him.
"Who do you think?" he spits.
"Chrome Dome?" I ask.
"Of course, Chrome Dome! Who else'd have the bread for all this?"
"Where can I find him?" I demand.
"Screw you, greaser!" he shouts angrily.
I rip up one of the pink slips, and scatter the pieces with the wind from a superfast wiggle of my fingers. "Where is he?"
"Come on, man! You can't do that! These bikes are legal!" he pleads, jumping to his feet.
"Karma's catching up to you, I guess," I say as I rip up another one in the same manner.
"Damn, man! Come on! He ain't gonna pay me back for whatever bikes I don't have the slips for!" Three more of him appear, and the four of them rush me.
I deck them at superspeed, and three of them fade away as they hit the ground. "Stay down this time," I say impatiently, shredding another pink slip. "Where is Chrome Dome?"
"ARGGHHH!" growls Iron Horse. "Alright! He's in Redondo Beach! I'm supposed to be there in a few days! He's got storage nearby for the bikes!"
"He's going to store them?" I ask in surprise. "Shame," I add as I shred another pink.
"Hey, man! I told you what you wanted to know!" he shouted, reaching out without getting up.
"Address?" I ask, holding up the next pink slip.
"Alright, man! Alright!" and he tells me the address. "It's a big beach style house!"
"A 'beach style' house?" I ask.
"You know- looks homey and relaxed, like you might find in the country, but it's too big to be anything but expensive. It's near the water, but has its own pool."
I chuckle. "I get it."
I turn to go, but Iron Horse says, "Hey, man, what about me?"
"What about you?" I say, shredding another pink as I look back his way.
He bangs his fist in the gravel of the roadside. "Dangit, man! I told you I don't get paid for bikes I don't have the slips for!" He breathes hard for a few seconds, then says, "How am I supposed to get there? You wrecked my bikes!"
I shrug, shred the rest of the slips, and throw the pieces in the air. "I don't care. Just make sure the rest of you that have bikes get there. And go back and get those other eight. Don't make me find you again," and with that I run circles around him, landing a few punches and a couple of kicks, and I'm gone, tearing across country towards California.
Back on the side of the road, Iron Horse groans, and grouses, "Stupid greaser and his stupid medallion." He kicks gravel as he gets up. "Jerk." He spits, and starts walking back towards the nearest town.
***
Redondo Beach
Chrome Dome's dressed relaxed in a pair of old jeans, a black t-shirt, black leather jacket, well worn brown boots, and wearing that stupid, open-faced chrome helmet. He's sitting at a poolside table, sipping on some kind of mixed drink with a pink umbrella in it when I skid to a halt, standing directly in front of him. "Greased Lightning," he says with disdain. "I was told you were coming. When are you going to get a better suit?"
"When are you going to quit wearing that disco ball you call a helmet, Chrome Dome?" I shoot back as I sit down.
"You wear a tight, black shirt with an open front shaped like a lightning bolt, and it plunges down to your navel- trimmed in orange, no less," he says with disgust. "Black leather pants, and that gold medallion around your neck- and I'm the disco reject?"
We laugh. "Seriously, why do you wear that thing?" I ask.
Holding the umbrella aside, he sips from his drink as he considers my question. Setting down his glass, he reaches up and removes his helmet, giving me the biggest shock of my life as I see his exposed brain under a clear glass dome. "Because a 'brain bucket' is meant to protect your brain," he says matter-of-factly. Putting it back on, he says, "Any other questions?"
I shake my head slowly, just raising my hands in front of me to surrender this argument.
"Did you make sure Iron Horse knows where he's going?"
"Yeah, he knows," I said. "Lost one of the bikes though."
"And the pink slips?" he asks.
I reach into one of my pockets, and come out with the pink slips, pieced back together with clear tape. I'd grabbed the pieces while giving Iron Horse his beatdown.
"What am I supposed to do with those?," he asks seriously. "They're not legal like that."
"Take 'em down to the Department of Motor Vehicles, sign an affidavit that says your crazy ex tore 'em up in anger, and apply for new ones," I say.
"My ex?" Chrome Dome says with an arched eyebrow.
"I've seen your daughter, Chrome. You gotta have an ex somewhere."
He smiles.
"Speaking of which, is she here?"
Before he can answer, a line of motorcycles roar into his driveway. All of them shut off simultaneously, and forty-six Iron Horses walk up the driveway to the pool. "HEY!" they shout in unison. "THAT DANGED TRACK JOCKEY DESTROYED NINE OF MY BIKES!"
I sprang out of my seat in a blur, decking all forty-five of his splits in pretty much one fluid motion. As they were fading away, I kicked the real Horse's legs out from under him from behind, and landed a solid speed punch as he was on his way to landing on his back.
"I think you mean my bikes," Chrome Dome said calmly. Looking at me, he said, "Destroyed nine of them? You told me only one was lost."
"Eight were damaged, but they're fixable," I assure him. "One was wrecked beyond repair."
"The repairs are coming out of your take," Chrome Dome says dryly.
"His take?" shouts Iron Horse. "I brought you the bikes!"
"Yes," says Chrome Dome with some impatience, "but he brought me the pink slips."
"What?!" demands Iron Horse, jumping to his feet. "He tore up the pink slips!" he shouts angrily.
Chrome Dome waves the stack of taped-together pinks at Iron Horse with a dismissive smile.
Iron Horse looks at me, and now completely loses his temper. "What the hell kind of scam is this, greaser? I'll break every bone in your legs! C'MERE!" he shouts as he lunges towards me.
He's caught from behind mid-lunge, and raised up in the air by his neck. "I don't think you want to do that, Horsey," says a voice like an ocean breeze. "I kind of like him."
"Ah, my dear. Good of you to join us," says Chrome Dome, raising his glass towards his daughter.
I smile. "Classy," I say with a smile, "feelin's mutual." I cross my arms and lean against the side of the house.
Classy Chassis- Chrome Dome's daughter. Five foot seven of beautiful woman with probably as much machinery inside of her as any one of the bikes in the driveway. Makes her super strong, among other things.
Iron Horse kicks and struggles weakly, using both hands to try to pry away the one around the back of his neck.
"You can put him down now, honey," says Chrome.
Classy drops him.
Iron Horse lands on his feet, bending over as he rubs his sore neck with his hands. After a few seconds, he says, "What the hell is this, Chrome Dome? You cheatin' me of my take? Is this how you do business?" he growled.
"Careful what tone you take with me, Horse," Chrome said seriously, as Classy handed him a briefcase. Chrome took out some cash, and handed it to me. "Like I said, he brought me the pinks."
"BUT...!" Iron Horse started, and then kicked the ground, fuming mad, but fearful of what Classy might do if he started shouting again.
"Relax, Horsey," I say, winking at Classy, and then walking over to Iron Horse. I split the cash in half, and say, "You're gettin' half." Then I take several bills off of his stack, and add it to mine. "Minus the repairs, of course," I say, winking at him.
He doesn't like it, but he takes the money anyway. "This is bull, Chrome Dome. That was my money that paid for those bikes."
"Yes, it was," acknowledges Chrome Dome. "Your stake, to prove that you're worth doing business with in the long run. You're losing part of that, because you let Greased Lightning mess up nine bikes, and get the slips away from you. Next time, mail the pinks."
Iron Horse perked up. "Next time?"
"I'll call you," nods Chrome Dome. "You can go. Take one of the bikes."
Horse doesn't like being dismissed, but the prospect of future business convinces him to walk away. He gives me a hard look, and I smile. He narrows his eyes in anger, but stalks out to the driveway. He takes the bike nearest the road, and roars off down the street.
I turn to Chrome Dome, and say, "What about the other part of our deal?"
"I haven't forgotten," he says, tapping the side of his helmet.
"So?" I say expectantly.
"Go ahead and ask her," he says with resignation.
"Alright!" I say happily. "Classy, would you like to go out with me tonight?"
Classy smiles. "Well, sure," she says. "Daddy, can we take a couple of the bikes?"
He smiles. "Of course you can, sweetheart." Looking at me seriously, he says, "Don't keep her out too late, and if you hurt her, I'll kill you."
I'd have laughed at anyone else, but I knew he was serious. "Don't worry, Chrome. I've been wantin' this date for a long time. Shall we?" I asked Classy.
She smiled. "Bye, daddy. Don't wait up."
"Have fun, dear," he says pleasantly.
"We will!" she calls out as we run for the driveway. We hop on two bikes, and head for the beach.
Yeah, I did all this for a date. I mean, have you seen her?
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