Brett's cruiser was a sleek design with the handlebars and console set low, the seat a little higher than normal, and the underside lifted higher and more narrow with the forward foot pegs lifted to grant more road clearance. It also had optional rear foot pegs behind the seat and an electric clutch, all indicators of a performance vehicle. Chromed instruments of power were held under the black body, the water-cooled V-Twin not boasting the greatest of speed, though for its division, it delivered the greatest balance any one could ask. Built for long hours on the road, yet capable of incredible power when pushed to the brink of its boundaries.
Brett took his place on the seat, ignited the engine, kicked up the stand and eased away. He might have been dressed like it, but he was not one to cause a scene. The mufflers were quiet and did not disrupt the other moviegoers as he circled the lot to the exit. He flipped his light on once he was facing the boundaries of the lighted screen, and just in time to spot the crocotta finally making a move on his human coworker, bursting from the stand like greasy furball in hot pursuit of the frantically fleeing teen. Poor bastard, Brett thought as the two disappeared between the cars.
The sun was just about gone, only leaving the dimmest glow in the west corner of the black sky. In the opposite direction a full moon was rising to cast silver rays across the cold plains of the desert at night. And Brett had the pleasure of riding all the way through the sight. He stopped halfway down the dirt road he was on that lead to the highway, remembering out of habit to don his studded halfshell helmet, though he supposed he could have gotten away with it tonight if he just wore the goggles.
Then suddenly a cracking noise came from the lot. Brett turned sharply in surprise. Those weren't firecrackers. Two shots rapid, followed by a staccato exchange of a firefight.
Engines roared behind the high fence, followed by the crunch and screeching of metal being destroyed. It sounded like a getaway was happening. A sports car barreled from entrance, fishtailing and wheels spinning out underneath, spewing dirt and debris behind it. Headlights blazed across Brett as he was suddenly put in the path of a rapidly accelerating death machine.
"Oh shit!"
He throttled hard, kicking up rocks and dust from the dirt road as well, not caring whether they hit the moron's windshield. He just had to get out of the way of the lunatic driver. The highway was set before him--two directions, no time for choices.
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