NationStates Jolt Archive

The blue and red lights bounced of the canyon walls, lighting the dark, moonless night. The blue and white BMW 330i roared down the black top, pushing the three digit mark on its speedometer. As it slid easily past 100 miles per hour, the police officer allowed himself a smile, watching as the small black and red object a mere hundred yards ahead slow. To him, the chase had lasted all of seven seconds, enough time for him to tag the motorcycle, chase it down, and pull it over. It was a small bike, a 600cc Kawasaki ZX-6R. The rider, wearing a black jacket sighed as he pulled over, removing his helmet.

The officer smiled as he walked forward, hand resting on the .40 Sig P228 on his hip. However, his smile faded as he approached the bike. The buzz of two powerful liter bikes filled the air, and as the officer turned to watch, he saw the lead bike leap up on its rear wheel, flying by at an easy one seventy. Another bike followed closely, the driver leaning into the bike, making his profile as low as possible. The officer turned to watch, his eyes falling on the green Ninja just in time to see the driver, helmet back on, his middle finger up in protest at the officer. He keyed the ignition, kicked the bike into gear, tearing back on the throttle, letting the front wheel rise up as he rocketed away. The officer turned back to his car, but didn’t run to chase. He knew there was no way for him to catch up to the three bikes. He chuckled to himself, and returned to his patrol car, killing the lights, and began scanning for more racers.

Our story starts in the scenic country side of southern Imitora, a few miles from the major city of Belleview, more specifically Fairville Heights. While the city of Belleview could be seen as the southern version of Northampton, about the same size in population and square footage, the major nightlife, the small town of Fairville Heights was nothing like Northampton Heights. Northampton Heights was the stereotypical rich town. Quiet, gated, one that in each little subdivision, massive home owner requirements kept parties to a minimum, and the town seeming old and stale. Then we have Fairville.

Fairville is just a touch smaller than the Heights, as Northampton Heights was often called, but no less monied. However, it was louder, more relaxed, and often on a Saturday afternoon, fathers would be out in front yards, throwing a baseball or football with his son, or a young driver would be seen, hanging half out of the hood of his car, working on some obscure part of the motor to push the car that tenth of a second faster. Parties ruled the night in the small subdivisions, from adult dinner parties to young raucous college parties in the homes owned by off campus students.

But we continue away from the main town, towards the country side. A large country house stood in an empty field. The house was large, but by no means a mansion. However, three large brick buildings off to the side held the real money of the owner. In one garage was a full set up that would make the owner of a professional tuning house jealous. An all wheel dynamometer, lift, tools, chain harnesses, and the like filed the empty spaces. In another garage, one padlocked with a black bird painted on the large door, sat a number of “one of” super cars. It held the numerous Black Owl Customs, a small private business owned by Robert Fortier and Thomas “Hoot” Gibson, where everyday rides were turned into cars that would bring the known supercars to their knees.

However, we focus on the third garage, one set a small distance from the house, but larger than the other two. Inside were the owner’s own personal cars. Heavily modified, no single ride in the garage was sitting at less than eight hundred rear wheel horse power. The eight cars in the garage were not only massively powerful, but massively fast. Each one had seen the streets in anger, screaming down open roads that made Imitora famous. But again, these are not our direct focus. We look towards a door in the back of the garage where our query rests.

In a small secondary room, there were four motorcycles. Small, nimble, and fast is the key. Three belonged to the owner of the house, and one was that of a friend. Two sat in the dim light offered by a one way window, a MV Agusta F4-1000 Tamburini and a Triumph Daytona 675 Triple. The two Euro sport bikes were accompanied by an orange Yamaha, a Jaime James Special YZF-R1. The three represented the best of the Japanese, Italian, and British markets, bikes that could not only out maneuver near anything, but were nigh unmatchable in speed. The fourth bike was off in a corner, sitting under a tarp and on a lift.

In the clean, sterile back room, the four bikes sat in silence, undisturbed from the rest of the world. Each had light modifications, just to increase speed and power, and each had a license plate flipper. They were used for one purpose: speed to out run. Each bike was capable with modifications of hitting two hundred miles per hour. With drivers capable of controlling the bikes, they were the perfect tools to use for leaving police in the dust. And that was exactly what the driver of each bike did.

The riders of the bike had no name for their group, no stand out identification, but rode for a different reason. Each bike was capable of carrying small amounts of substances of any sort in their small compartments. Mostly under seat, hollowed out cavities, some of the riders carried extra goods in backpacks and impact packs. The goods, however, were far from legal. As the Crown brought more laws down on the people of Imitora, groups such as these had taken up smuggling, gun running, and other nefarious acts in order to slowly bring pain to the Crown.

And in other news, the Queen has confirmed the passing of a new firearms law. With this new bill, titled the Fair Ownership Bill, Imitorans will now be required to turn in weapons of any nature which may render to them an advantage over police and other law enforcement agencies. This includes all members of Private Security Corporations. Currently, eight PSCs operate out of Imitora, all of which have brought strong words of resistance against this bill. This new law joins a number of laws, such as the Registration Bill passed that requires all Imitorans to register and submit information on any prescription drugs they have. Also recently passed and joining these bills is the Narcotics Transportation Bill, which now lists transportation of narcotic substances on the illegal list a capitol crime against the crown. Now in weather…

The TV clicked off as the watcher, Robert Fortier, hit the red button on a grey remote, and pushed himself up from an overstuffed leather chair. He sighed quietly to himself as he walked away from the chair, pulling a cell phone from his pocket, and pressing a quick series of numbers. He let the number ring for a few moments, and then spoke quickly into the phone, leaving a quick message on a voice mail.

“Hey, its me, if you have the cash, we’re ready to roll. You know where to meet, we’ll be waiting.” He clicked the cell phone shut, and deposited it back into his pocket. He continued walking slowly towards the kitchen, and walked over to the ‘fridge, grabbing a beer. He popped off the top, and took a long pull on the drink.

“What’s the matter hun?” a voice spoke out from behind him. An attractive brunette walked up behind him, putting her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Nothing. Gonna run tonight, up to Westchester and back. Nothing big this time, just enough to fund our next run.” He placed the beer down and turned to face his wife, Mary, smiling into her eyes.

“What me to run with ya? I haven’t gotten out to much lately, not on the bike at least.”

“Nah, this might be a bit rough of a run, more cops than usual, Westchester just got nailed hard on the racing, they shut down four highways just to take out five or six kids. Nothing even that fast. Don’t want you getting nailed,” he finished.

She smiled a concerned smile. “I just don’t want you getting hurt or anything.” She pulled away, and handed him the beer. “Who are ya running with?”

“I’m gonna roll with Hoot this time, Lutz is backing off after last week nearly getting nabbed. That and the boys up north aren’t really wantin to come back down. To much risk getting outa Northampton.”

She nodded again. She wanted to go, to keep an eye on her husband and to make sure he didn’t get slammed. She reached over to a closet, and pulled out a black and red leather jacket. The front had a black spade outlined in red stitching, and a tribal design in red and white up the left arm. The right arm held patches of different parts found on Robert’s motorcycle, with the MV Agusta logo at the top. On the back, the words ‘Carpe Diem’ were stitched in white with red stitching, and the MV logo over a black tribal design with red stitching. He grabbed the jacket, and pulled in on.

He smiled, and leaned forward, kissing Mary, and then turned to walk out to the third garage. He sat in the quiet darkness of the garage, the sun setting past the horizon, and after a moment of meditation, he pulled on his black and red riding pants. He preferred to just wear jeans, but these would help when falling off the bike at a hundred plus, as opposed to the jeans that might help under fifty. He clipped an iPod to the inside of the jacket, and pulled on a red helmet with black tribal designs. He startled the MV, and started the bike. He reved the one liter inline four a few times, and then looked over his shoulder as a door opened and closed. Hoot nodded, walking over to the orange Yamaha, and just gave Robert the thumbs up. He pulled on and zipped up an Alpinestars jacket that matched the bike, and started up the Yamaha.

Moments later, the tight twisty back road turned into a private raceway, the two bikes firing down the straights, leaning into turns and dropping knees. They pulled into a small parking lot, and turned off the bikes, walking inside. Hoot walked over to a pay phone, and Robert pulled the zipper down, undoing the jacket, and sitting at the bar. He ordered a beer, and waited for the contact to arrive. Hoot sat next to him minutes later.

“He’s on his way. Shot for your thoughts,” he asked, waving over a bartender.

“We need more riders. There are four of us on a good day. That’s not enough to carry shit; hell we barely make gas for each run in the payments.” He sighed, and took a long pull on the bottle, placing it down on the bar. “Seriously, we need to recruit or something, get a couple more riders. I think two, three at most. Anything more than that would put us at to many, and start to get attention. The unwanted kind.”

Hoot nodded. “Well, what do you think?”

“I say we call it nil on this run, and tell the giver why. Tell him he can get more product up north, and we can make a bit more cash.”

“Well, that’s all well and good. I’ll let you tell him when he gets here that we won’t be running. And while were at it, who the hell else are we gonna get to ride with us? Got any of your boys from back up north? I know the Spades won’t do it, think you can get your One Eye buddies in on it?” Hoot asked sarcastically, knowing full well that the One Eyed Jacks, and their splinter group Aces and Eights, wouldn’t run.

“Lets just ride tonight, not go up north, and keep our eyes open, ok?”

Hoot sighed. “Fine. But you gotta pay for the drinks.”

“What about my shot?”

“I’ll give you a shot you bastard,” Hoot chuckled, waving the bartender over again. “Hey, I need some drinks!” he shouted, forcing the disgruntled server to turn and walk over.

The third under- level of the Tanaaran embassy parking garage was completely lightless, and still. The only sound breaking the stillness, the faint whir of a gull wing lifting. The nearly silent boot steps that followed were just more auditory teasing. The figure that strode throught the black void moved confidently to a door and entered a long string of code into the security panel that masqueraded as a simple intercom system access. The faintest of clicks might have marked the unlocking of the multiple locks and defenses, but then again it might have been an auditory illusion...

The darkness moved and part of it stepped through the door into a room only slightly less pitch black than the third under level. THis room was crossed and another door unlocked and passed through. Tanaaran's believed in security that actually WAS secure.

Eventually the darkness stepped into a room with enough light that it was revealed to be an armoured figure, concealed in a full body suit and helmet. The armour was form fitting, high tech, dull, dark, light absorbing only faintly relecting the many small LED's that shown star bright in the consoles control pannel. The duller light of the mutiple monitor screens weren't reflected at all, save for a vague shine off of the full helmet that it's wearer slowly removed. A deliberate snap of the head and long, wavy hair cascaded down as the helmet was set aside.

"How did the suit work?" A shadowy figure spun the ergonomic computer chair around and looked the figure over. The voice carried the faintest him of a Japanese accent.

"Like a charm, my love" Robyn set the helmet aside and bent to give her husband a quick kiss, before slidinging into the chair at the empty console next to his. "Just like the Interceptor does. And don't worry the armour is acting just like a knee brace."

The rumble shook the walls of the garage, or so it seemed as Mark sat in the seat of the customized version of the latest GT Mustang. The 2005 'stang had returned to old-school design, but under its hood the company had improved some of the specifics. Yet, the owner of the car still wasn't satisfied. He wanted more power, more torque, and a killer sound system to boot.

"Cut!" yelled Lance as he appeared from under the hood with a wave to Mark. The car went silent as it shut off. "Still not quite what I expected, but it'll have to do. I doubt Mr. Marcum is gonna know the difference as any of us would."

Dropping the hood, he wiped his hands on a rag, wiped up any spare prints and tossed the grease mat to the side. "You get the stereo wires uncrossed? Goddamn Anthony is gonna get us sued if he does that shit again."

"Yup. Took the liberty to trade em out with some better stuff too. I sent the kid to input a number of files on paper onto the new computer system." Mark replied as he emerged from the seat.

"Good. Next time, don't let him work on anything without supervision, or it's coming outta your pay. Got it?"

"Sure thing boss."

Just then, Anthony slammed open the door with an excited look on his face. "Yo! Yo Lance! Guess what? There's been a massive raid on Young's Grease Pit. Seems they've been slipping a few illegals in for the last few months."

Turning his head to the boy, Lance raised an eyebrow, "Any idea what they were using?"

"Couple o' bikes this time around. Seems that more and more people are getting in on the rides. Don't look like Colby and his boys knew what they were doing though, cuz now they're sitting their happy asses in jail awaiting the wrath of God."

"Tony, if there's anything I know, God's a speed demon himself. Otherwise, why would there be people like Mark and I?"

Tony frowned at the deliberate void of his own name in that, then chuckled. The phone rang from the office, to which Tony went in to answer. A few minutes later, he came out again, "Yo! Lance! Call for ya!"

Rolling his eyes, Lance looked at him, "Who is it?"

"Some guy, says he knows ya. Said something about 'bout how the old school is gonna one day become obsolete."

"Bull-fuckin'-shit!" Lance declared as he made his way to the office and past the grinning boy. Behind him, Mark called after him laughing, "Attaboy, Lance!"

"Thats right," the nazzley voice replied, "Muscle is all old hack. Your POS Carburated bull shit eight can't touch my natuarly aspirated, hundred and twenty horse Civic. Its got vtak!" Hoot shouted into the phone, covering his voice.

"And if you think you got the balls to prove me wrong, get you old hack over the hill ass down to K7 on 185 in Bellview, and I'll show you!"

He clicked the phone down, and laughed, walking over to the bar.

"What are you so up about?" Fortier asked.

"I just called Lance, hes gonna be down here soon. Think we can get him a bike?"

"Yeah. He know it was you?"

"Probably not. It'll be nice to have him though. Hell, even if he can't ride, we can stick him in one of your cars, and..."

"Fuck that," Fortier cut him off. "He can drive yours. Hell, ya know, if it weren't for Holly and Amanda, I'd swear you two were lovers."

"Well, he is pretty handsome."

"I'm handsome."

"No, your manly. His handsome. And your taken. I don't think Mary would like me on you."

"I wouldn't like me on you."

"Touche. How long? I'd like to have a third guy when we tell the drug and gun smuggling king of southern Imitora that we wont be helping him after all."

Hoot just laughed. "It was your idea to cancel."

Fortier responded with a long pull on the Bud Select.

The phone went dead, and Lance growled loudly as he threw the reciever aside. The shattering of glass was heard and he groaned. Through the office window looking into the pits, he heard Mark and Tony laughing hard.

"Holy shit dude! You's pissed!" Mark cried as he approached the broken window. "That's gonna be docked off YOUR pay!"

Lance gave him a deadly look, "My shop, asswipe. My shop..."

Exiting the office, he made his way to the underground storage lot's only access beside the concrete sliding doors to the east of the shop. "Mark, keep the shithead out of trouble. I'm heading to Belleview." as he disappeared down the spiral steps leading to the lot.

"Where the fuck is Belleview?" Anthony asked Mark with a confused look on his face.

"Nowhere near here. Home of the real kings of the road. Ever heard of Imitora?"

"Yeah, I believe so. Didn't Lance race down there some time ago?"

"Maybe." Mark grinned as he turned to watch the concrete doors slide back and Lance roared out in his car of choice, his heavily modified '73 Camaro that had garnered much respect, even from the new-age racers.

"And there goes the bloody bastard."

"Any idea who it was on the phone?" Anthony asked as he put some tools away.

"I'd wager its Fortier or Hoot. We occassionally do business with them, legal stuff too, mind you, but occassionally they call Lance out for some good old fun. It's been a while since they've called for that though, and you could tell that Lance was just itchin' to kick someone's ass."

Anthony laughed as he thought back on the stories he had heard about the infamous Imitorans. They were legends of the asphalt, their names whispered in dark corners, even here in Tarlachia.

The door to the bar swung open, and two men walked in, moving with purpose. Fortier looked over his shoulder and noted the two men, and stood. "Here we go," he said quietly, and walked over.

"Mr. Rodriguiez, its a pleasure," he said, extending his hand. He nodded towards the mans body gaurd, who had connected the two. Fortier and the other man, a muscular black man named Tony but who answered to just about anything, had served together in the 22nd SOTF. "Listen, we have a bit of an issue."

"Issue? I don't like issues Mr. Fortier. In fact, I despise issues. It is, how do you say, bad for buisness," Miguel Rodriguiez, cocaine king pin of Imitora, responded with a thick Spanish accent. "In fact, when issues arrise, more issues usually pop up in which I solve with removing causes of the issues."

Fortier noted the subtle, at least in Rodriguiez's idea of subtle, threat, and just smiled. "Miguel," Fortier responded, kicking out respect, "I've decided that my end of the operation needs an upgrade. I'm getting more riders. It'll take a few days, but afterwards, we'll be able to deliver the product, and more of it. And everyone will be happy. You'll get more money, I'll have less chance of getting caught, and everything will run fine."

The Spaniard eyed Fortier with suspicion. He sighed, and nodded. In reality, he could take out Fortier, but then again, he wouldn't have anyone to transport the goods. "I'll give you two days to get a group together, then if you don't transport the goods, I end you. Ok?"

"Excellent," Fortier smirked. "I'll see you here in two days. Via con dios," he finished, and walked back over to the bar.

Hoot nodded back at him, watching the two other men walk out. "Smooth."

"Whens Lance gettin' here?"

"Soon enough. Why?"

"Cuz we only got two days."

A red 660 Raptor quad flew down the country roads sturring up dust on the sides of the pavement from swurving back and fourth in both lanes, there was 2 police 330i's on the riders ass but he just cracked it even faster and started to pull away. As the chase went on the rider seen a small bar right up the road, cracking the bike into 6th gear he ripped off down into a ditch and out, he looked behind himself and chuckled, he looked back to see a wall

"aww shit!"

He cussed silently then the left tire hit the wall at a speed to knock him off the quad, he crashed the ground and rolled over himself twice. The man sat up and removed his helmet looking at the crowd of people around him wincing in pain

"whats the problem here...do i look drunk to you? haa" the man said in a southern accent

out of his back pocket he revealed a large flask, unscrewed the top and took a drink,

"anyone else want a shot...i share??"

The police ran over and one pounced on the drunk rider

"got you, stop moving! u gave us enough trouble..and that squad car u ran off the road!"

The rider of the 4 wheeler is Mitchell presswood a southerner that spent every day of his 20 years of life around machines on a farm. He ran motocross 4 years in a row and managed to place 3rd for 3 of them, last year he placed 2nd, to him a major acomplishment. Presswood has an obsession with speed and purchased an RC51 in black, silver and red, his next big thing to conquer.

Mitch was also getting married to a girl that he went with sence highschool and needed to make money to build them a home they could call theirs..her name was Libby...she was mitch's girl..no one messed with her down south, she was a fine example of a southern flower..brunette hair..beautiful body with a nice tan and very loyal to her man.

OOC:[NS::]Really Drunk; Not to be a pain, but please fully spell out all words you type. Nice to see you on board.

Rolling thunder could be heard as the Camaro pulled into the parking lot of The Tap Room. Within moments, it was silenced, and a lone man exited the driver's side. Glancing around through his opaque shades, he took note of the vehicles and bikes sitting nearby. Each one had their own story, each one told him of possible danger. Walking toward the entrance, he reached out to the door, only to be surprised when it opened from the inside and a moderately built man stepped out, his eyes shielded slightly from the sun's bright rays. Lance respectfully stood aside, but kept his eyes on the man's own when he finally saw Lance standing there.

"G'day." Lance offered with a half smile as he watched as a Spaniard exited the bar. The Spaniard merely glared at him before continuing on his way.

Well, if I didn't know any better, he's crooked. Lance thought as he entered the dimly lit bar. He looked around, then headed straight to the bar.

"What'll it be, son?" a grizzled man asked as he finished topping a draft and handed it to a patron two seats down.

"Got any moonshine?"

The barkeep laughed, "Nah, but we do have some pretty good domestics here."

"Surprise me with one of 'em." Lance replied as he took his seat and dropped some bills down in front of him. He looked forward to the many bottles behind the bar, but not looking at them. Instead, he was studying the room behind him courtesy of the reflections on each bottle.

A draft mug clinked down in front of him. "Here ya go, son." The money was taken in a continuous fluid movement.

As Lance nursed the domestic, the same nasley voice called out from the other end of the bar. "Hey you, yeah, you punk ass, you here to try my vtak, bitch?"

As Lance swug around, Hoot stood up, arms extended out wide in a gesture of "bring it on", grinning. "Whats up man?" he said, walking over, shaking Lance's hand. "To fucking long."

Fortier waved over, grabbed his beer, and walked over, smiling. "Good to see ya Lance, glad you came."

Taking the proffered hand, Lance grinned in reply, "Definitely too long amigo." Then, he yanked Hoot closer into a head-lock, "And you owe me a new office window!"

Laughing, he released Hoot and greeted Fortier in turn. "Still keeping the wannabe's at their mark, eh?"

He gave both of them a knowing smile before taking a long gulp of the drink.

Fortier laughed. "Yeah, someone's gotta do it. I got a Ruf now thats running about 30psi on some big twins. Three point eight liter six, but pushing at least nine hundred to the wheels. Plus some more cars that are pretty quick. But anyways, 'nuff of that. Hows buisness going for ya?"

As Fortier, Hoot, and Lance reminsced, a phone call was made. In Northampton, just south of the Royal Manssion, was embassy row. Along the main drag was the Tanaran embassy, next to the Larkinian and across the street from the Iansislanian. Embassy Row was the only street in the entire nation where anything that came close to looking like diplomatic immunity existed. Any more than a few feet of the five mile long strip, and any foriegn diplomat was subject to the rules of the crown.

In the Embassy, a phone rang. More specifically, the phone that connected to a secretary in the information sector, rang. The secretary answered politely, and the words exchanged were breif. The non-descript voice left an address, the same as the Tap Room, and Fortier's and Hoot's names, and the advise that an officer or agent of any type get down their as soon as possible. After that, the phone clicked, the informant in the field hanging up.

Tony pocketed the cell phone, and zipped up his own riding jacket. He gunned the ignition on the Aprila, and reved a few times, taking off with one wheel high, following the Mercedes Benz S65 AMG piloted by Miguel.

OOC: I'll handle the bar fight in my next post....

Robyn listened to the brief report and grinned as she added the pieces together. "Now why would Imitora's biggest drug kingpin have his current bodyguard call us and let us know where Fortier is currently?" Her tone of voice made it not a guestion, not really.

"Why don't we drop you close by and you go see what make's Fortier of such interest to one Miguel Rodriguiez." Kazuma's grin matched his wife's.

"Well, they did say as soon as possible and, by conventional means that is a four hour drive plus. Why, if we limited ourselves to conventional means, they'd be long gone." Robyn grin turned evil as Kazum spun around and began ordering up what they needed.

Three hours later as the massive Bell Quadtilt Rotor went vertical, Robyn made a last radio check with Kazuma and put the Interceptor into gear.

"Telemetry is green for go, Robyn and everything is five by five...and I love techno geek speak"

"You are so nuts my love!" She laughed and went to silent mode. It was only a few miles more and she was pulling into the parking lot of The Tap Room. The gull wing door swept up and the leggy brunette stepped forth, her leather duster swirling about her ankles. The neon lights reflected faintly in the highly polished leather as she crossed the lot and entered the gloom of the bar.

As Hoot, Fortier, and Lance conversed, the bar seemed to slowly fill. Mostly truckers and bikers, the multi-roomed resteraunt and sports bar was soon packed. It was then that a wall seemed to explode inward to the bar, sending chuncks of wood, aluminum siding, and stucco over the main room. Fortier spun as did Hoot to see the rider splayed out, and two police offers moving towards him, night sticks drawn. They descended on him, and Fortier looked at Hoot. "What ya say we do our good deed for the month?" Hoot nodded, and the two stood, walking over to the cops.

Fortier tapped one on the shoulder, and as teh cop turned up to look, he found a fist flying towards him, impacting his nose, and sending him flying out backwards. He landed on his back, hard, and two bikers who decided they were no longer fans of the police, moved in.

The other officer moved towards Fortier who was helping the man up, and brought his night stick back. He went to swing, but found that he couldnt move his harm. Hoot held tight the pulled back baton, and took the pool stick he had been holding, and brought it around, smashing the cop in the face, dropping him. He brough the stick back, and slammed it down on him hard, cracking the graphite pool. "Not so fun is it!" he shouted, bringing the pool cue down in between his words.

Fortier turned and noticed two more police officers who had been in the corner moving towards the fight. One drew his gun, but Fortier had moved in quickly, and grabbed the weapon, turning it towards the officer's thumb, and pulling it away, just to toss it aside. He drove his fist hard into the officer's gut, dropping him. He looked at the other one, and smirked. "Ready for some fun?" he asked just before charging.

As Robyn opened the door to the bar, a bottle of some liquor of sorts exploded against the wall, the first greeting she would get to an Imitoran bar fight. It was close to full swing now with most of the bar goears fighting for reasons that they didn't know. However, that never stopped a good fight, and as the Spyder Bait cover of Black Betty began to play, the fight simply continued on.

Robyn ducked fluidly away, avoiding another bottle, but grimmaced at the splash of beer across her face and hair.

"Damn it I just washed my hair this morning!" She snarled as she stepped around a trio engaged in what seemed to be little more than wrestling around with each other on the floor. The various hues from the neon bar signs washed everything with a surreal light, and distorted the brawlers faces even more than the emotions motivating them did.

She surveyed the room carefully as she sought to find Fortier among the chaotic shifting mass of combatants. Then a fist came her way and she swayed aside as her hand lanced out and caught the wrist attatched to the hand. A half step back, and pivot on one heel, a classic Aikido move, and the body attached to it all flew through the murky air to crash into the remains of a interior wall.

Mitch dropped the flask to the ground scooping up sand in the other hand throwing it into the face of one of the police officers, then kicked him in the stomach.

"Common! what now! thank ya sir!" Mitch got to his knees crawling over to the the fallan cop
"now Mr police officer we don't want you doin anythin' too harsh now do we" Mitch removed the cops sidearm tucking it in the front of his pants.

Mitch stood up,catching a mans arm as he went to smash a bottle in his face, headbutted then released him to the ground. Mitch slapped the man who had offerd him help on the back while running towards his bike, he pulled it away from the wall and hopped on kicking her into a start.

"Names Mitch P need anything let me know!!not hard to find!" Mitch yelled over the noise of the quad, he then pulled the bike up and cat wheeled out of there so people would move out of the way.

When he got on open road he lit it up once again, this time towads home as quickly as possible. Mitch passed farms and run down homes on both sides of the road going out to where he lived..Mitch was country..when he pulled into his driveway Libby was standing beside her black 81 Camaro Z28.

He pulled up and killed the Engine,"hey sweetheart whats goin on?" She looked at him and said

"Mitch i got this job in town..at the tanning salon, one step closer to getting our own place!" She smiled showing her perfect teeth

Mitch hopped off the bike and threw his arms around her, "common baby i'll fix us somthin to eat", the 2 started going towards mitch's parents home..a very large southern mansion that used to be a cotton plantation back in the Civil War.

Mitch thought to himself," i gotta find some work...somthing that pays good anything...serious..work.."

Fortier watched as the man who had been chased into the bar took off. "So much for a thanks," he said, making a mental note of the man's name. He spun to see a biker comming at him, one of the Harley types. He ducked under a lazy punch, and came up, driving his fist hard into the man's chin, knocking him off his feet and droping him cold to his back.

He spun, and saw the bartender reaching under the bar, and noted it only meant one thing. He grabbed Hoot's wrist while the man was in mid punch, and pulled him back. THe fight was quieted by a loud "boom" and those still fighting looked over to see the bartender standing, holding a sawed off shotgun. He looked over the combatants, frowning. "I would take kindly if ya'll took this little scuffle outside nah," he said with a thick Texan drawl. Fortier was already heading towards the door, Hoot close behind him.

He looked at Lance, who had been pounding away on the face of some kid wearing a "Chevy Sucks" tshirt, and flicked his head towards the door, signaling their leave. Fortier exited the bar, and began walking over to the corner where he and Hoot had left their bikes. He looked back, and noticed Hoot and grabbed someone, a female, and was pulling her out of the bar. The face looked familar, but he couldn't quite famous. Fortier had gunned up the MV, and Hoot walked over, still pulling the girl with him. Then he reconized her. Tanaran intell. He nodded smartly, and then saw the rather futuristic looking car off in the parking lot.

"Shes with us," Robert said, knowing Hoot had reconized her.

Hoot nodded, and while pulling on his own helmet, looked at Robyn. "Follow us," he said. He looked off towards Lance's Camaro, and saw that he was already ready to go.

He gave Fortier the thumbs up, and Fortier flipped down the visor on his helmet, kicking up the kick stand, and twisting the trottle hard, his real wheel swinging out long, and pointing him towards the highway. He pulled again, and the front wheel kicked up hard, and Hoot followed, pulling a wheely on his Yamaha. Lance and Robyn followed close behind as they rocketed away down the long straight away from the bar. In his rear view mirror, Hoot saw the lights of squad cars pulling into the bar.

The group sped down the roads, following the twists of the asphault as it moved around hills and through canyons, and soon they were in Bellview. Fortier led them to his house just outside Fairville. He led Hoot around back to the small motorcycle garrage, and let Lance pull the 'Maro into the main garrage where he kept his own cars. He then pointed Robyn towards the tuning garrage, which was empty at the moment. Pulling off his helmet, he walked over to Robyn, hand extended.

"Thought you looked familiar, back from Tanara, right?" He waved over to Hoot and Lance, signaling them to come over to the house. "Lets get inside, I wouldn't be suprised if we get a knock on the door shortly. That, and you two," he said, pointing to Lance and Robyn, "need to get up to speed."

In the distance, he heard the 'whup whup whup' of rotor blades, knowing that a helicopter was moving, most likely a police chopper, out looking for runners.

Taking a glance at his knuckles which slightly bled from the kid's teeth having cut the skin superficially, Lance ambled over to the house. He went to the kitchen, only to reappear a few minutes later with a paper towel to dab the blood off his hands while muttering to himself.

"Bloody idiot kid...thinking his little fuckin' ricer was anything good. Kid was telling me his shit under the hood, and I've seen Powerwheels with more power!"

He looked up to Hoot and Fortier as they laughed. He smiled and added, "Besides...I didn't like his shirt. It just...clashed ya know?"

Taking a seat on a rather comfortable recliner, he asked, "So what's this shit," he did a roundabout gesture with one hand, "you're getting us all into now?"

Mitch and Libby sat outside on the front porch having a beer togeather watching as the sky got darker.

"Mitch im so excited about this new job, Mr jones needs a hand on his farm..you knew about that right?" Libby said while holding Mitch's left hand

Mitch sat his beer on the table and thought for a minute about the men at the bar earlier..they weren't like everyone else..

"you know what Libby, im lookin for somthing else..somthing...differernt and i think im close to finding it..i been a farm hand my whole life but it can't support you the way i wanna"

Libby smiled and sat up looking right into his eyes

"Mitch im behind you in what ever you do baby,money is not a thing with me..you got all these neat little toys..motorcycles and such..you'll figure it out eventully..im here for you.."

Mitch smiled, he felt the Glock.21 still tucked in his pants pressing against his stomach...he still didn't know why he really took it..

"don't worry Libby...everything is gonna happen...i promise you..every time i have promised you somthin' what happens?"

"what don't happen when you promise me..?" She grinned, "now drink up..im ahead of you!"

Robyn followed Hoot and Fortier, glad to be out of the bar. Over encrypted channels she let Kazuma know her new destination.

*And yes I'll be careful. We got out of there before the cops showed but you might want to monitor them for a bit. Do the usual with anything interesting. Also give me a down load on a guy, I think I remember his name as Lance, he might be from Tarlachia, or maybe GS. Drives old style muscle*

Shortly a data dump arrived and Robyn listened as she drove. Arriving at Fortier's place she whipped the Interceptor smartly into the indicated bay and killed the engine. When Fortier walked over hand extended she shook it comfortably

Thought you looked familiar, back from Tanara, right?"

She was more than a little surprized to hear him say the name the way he did, but remembered in time enough to keep a fairly poker face that he was one of the few that did know about Tanaara's ties to the off world Empire of Tanara.

"Yes, had a wild ride with your sniper. Than man is certifiable" She gave him a wicked grin and followed him into the house before the helicopter managed to get over head

Comfortable in a corner of a long sofa, with a brief introduction "Robyn"She said softly to the Tarlachian, Lance, listening quietly as he asked Fortier what she was wanting to, but was content to let some one else ask.

So what's this shit," he did a roundabout gesture with one hand, "you're getting us all into now?"

Robert wlaked over to the 'fridge, and pulled out a beer, offering them around. He stood while the rest sat, and took a long pull on the beer. He nodded at Robyn to her comment, and chuckled. "Yeah, Ryan is a bit of a nut job. Something's wrong up there, guys a few cards short of a full hand, but Christ, he can shoot."

When they were all comfortable, he looked around, and began talking. "Alright, as some of ya'll know, our lovely Queen has been less than forgiving of the bountiful miscreants that basically run every non governmental function of Imitora. Even the legal shit has been pulled out. Most of the stuff that Imitora was founded on is gone. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love an authoritarian as much as hte next guy, but shit, reduced firearm ownership? Even voting rights have been yanked, not that Imitoran elections have ever been exactly fair. Now, we all know I'm Mr. If you have nothing to hide then why do you care, but really, alot of it has been taken out of hand. Fratelli is starting to stick it to our industries, and shaft some of the major companies in the nation. Shes also not exactly Ms. Freindly with the rest of the world." He paused for a moment, letting the thoughts settle in.

"Now, before you all get freaked out here, I'm not asking you to help start a revolution, or over throw the crown. Instead, I'm asking you to take the biggest risk anyone could really ask you to take. We all know that in Imitora, there is no such thing as diplomatic immunity, or a misdemeanor. Every crime commited is full on, you screw up once, it doesn't matter which Sultan's son you are, your going to a wonderfull Imitoran rape me in the ass prison."

He paused again, taking another sip. "Right now, Hoot and I have been running goods once legal, but now one hundred percent illicit in and out of Northampton. Been going on for about four months, since I got back from Largent. Its not easy at all, considering its just the two of us. The money is good, but not great. Basically, I'm asking ya'll here to help us smuggle things across Imitora. We only do it basically tell Fratelli she can shove it, we are gonna do what we want. I can't promise you safety, I can't promise you you'll go home alive. But I can promise you that even though it seems like we're just a bunch of street thugs, you are gonna make an impact on the future of Imitora. So, what do ya'll say? Wanna run some guns?"

So, what do ya'll say? Wanna run some guns?"

"I'm in ...conditionally." Robyn replied with a sharp look at Fortier. He knew she was an agent of a foreign government, and not necessarily cleared to act on her own. Or so it would be in a more conventional government than Tanaara's.

She had complete independance of movemnt and action, but she also knew that her direct boss, HRH Hexx had some specific directives in place as well.

"There's only one payment I'm authorized to accept."

Frowning slightly, Lance mulled over Fortier's words. A covert operation smuggling once legal goods, with decent pay, and high risks. But, he got to rip the streets doing what he loved best. Yet again, the risks were high, and he would be on his own if he was caught.

Standing up and walking to Fortier, he stopped before him and looked the man in the eye. His finger jabbed at Fortier's chest.

"I'd never want to piss off the brass. You know that. I'm a law-abiding citizen. So...you're saying there's absolutely no diplomatic immunity?"

"Yup."

"And there's only a decent pay?" Lance pressed.

"That's up to our contacts. But yeah, decent could define it."

"No one else wants in?"

"Nope. Then again, I didn't call many others. I wanted the best. I want you."

Lance turned and thoughtfully stared at a well framed picture on the wall of a high end Porsche. He studied the car's intricate smooth curves. Suddenly, he snatched the other man's beer, took a deep chug from it, and handed the nearly empty bottle back to him with a sly grin on his face.

"All right. I'm in. But on two conditions."

"What's that?"

He pointed to the picture, "That's mine." He then pointed to Hoot. "And I get to beat the living shit outta that asshole."

Hoot leapt to his feet in protest.

Fortier chukled as Hoot jumped up. "You mean to say you want to try to kick my ass," he replied. "I mean, I'll let you try, but no promises I wont put you in the hospital."

"Hoot, heel," Fortier said. "The poster's yours, I got plenty of them if you want to rumage through."

He paused for a moment, taking in long thoughts and watched their faces. "Alright, its settled then, your all in. You can stay here if you want, I'd recomend it, keep a nice low profile till we run. Robyn, your car looks like it'll hold up just fine, but Lance, we need to get you somethin' else. Don't get me wrong, I know first hand that cars have just as much ability to whup a bike and ours can outrun sqaud cars like nothing, but we need more mobility. Thats why we are usin' bikes. I think we can get you one in a day, and Hoot can give you a crash course, pardon the pun, on riding. Its pretty easy to pick up once you get on."

Hoot stood up, and took over from Fortier. "Rob's right, this isn't an easy run. We've made it three times, and everytime you run you get closer to getting caught. We've tried different routes and run times, the one we have may be predictable to the cops, but it is the fastest, and best to loose them on. But hey, if it was easy, it wouldn't be fun, right?"

"Like I said, I can't promise you wont get nabbed, and I can't promise if you do we'll get you out. But its for a good cause."

Hoot let out a soft yawn, and stretched out, Fortier taking que. "Its late, and we got a big day tommorow, gotta teach you how to ride," he said to Lance, "and get ya'll up on the run route. You crashin' here?" he asked Hoot who was already spread out on the couch.

"Yeah, I'll 'em get set up in the guest rooms."

"Alright. I gotta run an errand, I'll be back by the time ya'll are waking up. Should be at least. Get some rest, we're hittin' the ground running, and hard."

With that, Fortier slid out of the room towards the garrage. Hoot procedded to set up Robyn and Lance, and then crashed on the couch, falling into a deep sleep.

On west bound highway 207, Fortier piloted a black Porsche. It wasn't any Porsche, but a Ruf tunned Porsche 911 Turbo. The Ruf Rt12 was moddified from the base line to tweak out six hundred and fifty horsepower. With more touches, Fortier had managed to pull a nice, smooth nine hundred and fifty wheel horse power, pulling every bit of power that the 3.8L six cylinder could muster up.

He babied it onto the highway, bringing it up to legal 60mph limit, and pointed it south when he got on I121, which would take him to Korsten, the southern town which, according to his INSA sources, was the home to this Mitch P kid. He had pulled the ID off the bike's liscense plate, and had sent it in. Minutes later, he had everything he needed.

But he was going to have some fun on the way in.

One he hit 121, he punched the throttle, downshifting the Porsche to get the revs up nicely. He held it, power shifting from second to third, and keeping the trend up all the way to fifth. He held the throttle down as the German super car pulled cleanly up to two hundred, slipping like liqid through the air up to two hundred and fifteen, and settling at two hundred and twenty. The road whipped by as he gently moved past traffic, a black blur on the midnight highway.

In just under ten minutes, he was exiting the highway, and pulling off towards a long road that lead to the Southern Plantation Mansion. He slowed the Porsche to a stop, and pushed the door open, walking a short distance towards the front door. He knocked on the door, waiting for an answer.

Lance frowned at the thought of using anything but his preferred ride, but he wasn't stupid. If Fortier said the cops were getting better, then that meant they were getting a lot better. Which further translated into people like Fortier and his crew to just keep ahead of them.

"All right. Let's do it."

He fell silent as he thought over the idea, and barely noticed when Hoot led him to his room. He crashed on the bed, falling asleep after some time. He didn't even bother to kick off his shoes.

Libby opended the door too see a man standing on the porch, Mitch was in the living room watching scarface.

"uh hi...how can i help you sir?" She asked looking out into the yard for more people

People always were showing up to fight Mitch over somthing stupid ever sence he was a teenager, always other guys wanting to take a swing at him over bullshit.

Mitch looked out the window and seen the Porsche in the driveway, he pulled the Glock out cocking it then stood up placing it in his back pocket and waited to see what Libby would say to him, Mitch was sick of ballsy assholes comming to his parents house.

"just like Scarface..defend the home.." he stared at the Tv wishing he could find a way to get the things he had

"Libby who's that at the door!" he got impatient and yelled, no one ever had a exotic car like that in this part of Imitora..not somthing that was seen every day

"I need to talk to Mitch. I got a job for him if he wants it. Don't pay that great, but enough if he wants it." Robert peered inside the large house, seeing the siluete of Mitch standing against a wall. He pushed past Libby, his hand resting softly at his back, ready to pull his Kimber if he needed to, but he kept his left hand up.

"Sorry, but I got buisness, and I don't have time to shit around. You Mitch?" he asked, but continued before letting him answer. "I saw you riding, back out near Felston. Looked good."

He looked around the room from where he was standing. "Nice place. I got a job for ya, if you want it. Don't pay all that great, but decently enough. Its gonna be tough though, and I don't want anyone who's gonna shit out on this. You might get your ass in trouble, big time. You game, or am I wasting my time?"

*Dearheart, I'll be spending the night here, don't worry about me. I'll call you first thing in the morning* Robyn listened to Kazuma's reply with a soft smile before closing the Iridium encrypted satalite phone. The guest room's bath had slarge shower and she stripped off the interlinked armour she wore, after sending a code to put the Interceptor's AI into sleep mode. Stepping out of the black silk body understocking she indulged in a long shower, letting the hot water pummel the knee that was still recovering from the last round of surgeries.

As she crawled inbetween the crisp bed linnens she laughted soundlessly to herself. Fortier hadn't said word one about what the price might be. He'd have every reason to be concerned. Tanaarans adored shocking the stuffing out of people. He'd find out soon enough though.

She fell asleep missing her husband, the glaser safety slug loaded Manurien tucked under the pillow.

Libby stepped aside and Mitch approached the man looking into his eyes, he paused by Libby and replyed.

"What kinda job...if it's trouble then it has to be more money then you made it out to be.."

Libby put her arm around Mitch and felt the glock in his back pocket and a look of suprize came over her face.

"Mitch...whats goin on...what did you do at Felston..and what is this!"

She pulled the Glock out and pushed it into his chest, He took it and threw it on a chair.

"Now Libby...we can talk about this later....please..what do i always tell you"

She turned and went into the living room, Mitch stepped forward almost nose to nose with Fortier.

"i can drive...and i need money...please..fill me in.."

Libby stood in the doorway to the living room looking at the glock sitting in the chair, her eyes were locked on it.

Fortier stared back into Mitche's eyes. "Not to much cash, maybe ninety five, hundred for each of us. Thousand, that is. With oppotunities for future runs. Any extra cash we pick up along the way we split up. Its the usual set up for a run. Like I said, you get picked, then your on your own. Its gonna be tough, and I don't want anyone who isn't gonna pull their weight around."

Fortier waited for a response.

Back in Fairville, Hoot waited outside Fortier's house, watching the sun break the horizion. He watched as a bike rolled in from the distance. The black Aprila rolled to a stop, and and the rider stepped off, pulling of his helmet. "Hows it hittin Tony?" he asked the black body gaurd, taking the keys from him. "Fortier said the car you want is in the garrage, so have fun."

"Aight man, thanks," he said, shaking Hoot's hand, and walking over to the garrage. Moments later, the S65 AMG roared out of the garrage, and down the road, away from the house.

Hoot smiled, and walked back into the house, up to the room where he had left Lance. He shook the sleeping man, trying to wake him up.

"Hey," he said shaking him, "get your ass up. Some guy just stole your 'Maro, I told him he could have it, that you'd rather have a Civic, that the six some odd hundred horsepower was way to much for you."

Mitch studied Fortier's eyes then stuck out his hand to show it was a deal.

"when do we roll?im ready for a bit of excitement in my life..you mentioned you had seen me drive..my 4 wheeler?..or a little somthin more..."

Libby came out once again, she seen Mitch's dad walking around the Porsche looking it all over and she rushed over grabbing the gun putting it under a pillow on the chair.

"Mitch..what kinda money is it.."

Mitch looked at her and grinned

"baby it's gonna be enough to make sure we never have cash problems...im skilled obveiously or he wouldn't have came here today..i have to take it"

She leaned over and kissed him gently

"Ok Mr what do i call you..Names Mitch..Mitch presswood"

Mr Presswood came in the house and looked at Fortier

"ey you boy, thats a nice sport racin car you got out there ey! real nice..they don't make em like they used to ..all plastic and shit..garbage..can't even make a good truck no more.."

In a real strong southern accent, one that a person could hardly understand.

He started climbing the massive staircase to the second floor shaking his head mumbling about the Porsche

A hand suddenly shot upward from underneath the pillow, a SIG-Sauer SIG Pro 2340 in hand as he pistol-whipped Hoot across the face. Hoot stumbled back and Lance was on top of him, the pistol pressed into the man's eye not so lightly.

"How 'bout I give you some forty cal power right here, right now?!" Lance growled as he held Hoot down, making sure the other man was pinned.

Fortier nodded. "Good. I'm sure you know where the Ice House is. Meet us there tommorow night, 'round 8:30, I'll tell ya more then. Don't pansy out on me," he said, turning, and walking out the front. He got into the Ruf, and speed away, leaving Mitch to wonder what he just got into.

Back at the house, Hoot sighed loudly. "Ya know," he started, tensing his shoulder, "I used to do this for a living."

"You must of not been very," but Lance couldn't finish 'good at it', becuase by the time 'very' had left his mouth, Hoot had swung his arm in, grabbing the frame of the pistol, and twisting up toward's Lance's thumb, breaking his grip. He spun, bringing his elbow up into the side of Lance's face, and scisor kicked his legs, snapping them into Lance's. He rolled away and up, pusing himself quickly to his feet, still holding the pistol, and grabbing Lance's arm as it came up towards him. In a swift move, he snapped the wrist around, bent the hand, and then the fingers, back to the point of breaking, but not quite past the point of snapping.

He brought his foot around, and pinned it right on top of Lance's free wrist, twisting the ball to pull the joint apart, but again, holding it short of breaking. "I like to think I was pretty good at it." He released, and stepped back, helping Lance up, handing him a motorcycle helmet. "Time to teach you how to ride, and don't wory, your 'Maro is still there. Still slow, but still there," he joked.

As the exited the house, Fortier's black Porsche was slowly pulling up. He stopped the car and exited near the two men. He noticed the scratch along Hoot's face, and the bruise starting to form on Lance's cheek.

"Lovers quarel?" he asked, jokingly.

"Nah, just decided Lance needed a real rough wake up. And I dont mean that I...."

"Save it, I don't wanna know. You gonna show him how to ride?"

"Yeah, wanna come watch him fall a few times?"

Fortier laughed. It was a common saying among motorcyclists that its not it you fall, its when you fall, and its all a matter of time. "Sure, let me grab my lid, I'll be right out." He disapeared around the side of the house, and emerged shortly after on the MV. Hoot had already pulled his bike out, and started it, looking at Lance.

"Think you can start it with out killing yourself?" he asked. Fortier just reved and let the clutch out, pulling up the bike on one wheel, and taking off towards the football stadium a short distance away. "Well, get your shit going son!" Hoot said, laughing, reving his own bike.

He watched Lance hop on the Aprila, and awaited a disaster or complete suprise.

When Fortier left Mitch looked at Libby and lead her back into the living room, they passed out on the couch shortly after. Mitch awoke to the sun shining in the large windows it was too hott and he couldn't sleep no more. Libby must have went home then to work, he got up and went upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes.


The little wooden shed door creaked open letting in the sun light, Mitch stood in the doorway then walked over to the RC51 running his fingers over the handle bars and along the gas tank.

"you are my secound love.." he said with a smile.

Mitch was dressed in a black/red bike outfit with a matching helmet, he clicked down his visor once he was on comfortably then gave the bike a kick. It chirped then roard to life, he sat for a minute reving the engine then tore off down the driveway leaving a cloud of dust behind him.

When he hit the main drag he came on to it just crackin her.

"lets get re-aquainted baby" he said to himself

As he swerved around cars he heard a "woosh" sound,the Speedomiter was going in excess of 135, Mitch loved speed and risk but didn't feel like getting in a cop chase today, he tapped the brakes and dropped gears while watching the speedomiter slowly drop down and he was at a relaxed speed going towards Felston to the bar, not to drink this early of course but to get a bite to eat.

He whole time he drove at a relaxed pace thinking about Fortier, thinking about how lucky or how fucked he was that he got this job offer..It was one that had to be investigated..one of those too good to be true times in ones life.

OOC: Jeez...even in IC-worlds, I get bruises on my face...:P

Lance straddled the Aprila, his feet planted firmly on the ground as he rubbed his hands free of the residual pain from Hoot's recovery earlier. One day, my friend, one day... As he did this, he studied the bike's design and took note of the important features. Clutch there...exaust there-better not touch that while runnin'-brakes there...fuck the brakes, who needs em?

With that, he took hold of the ignition and fired up the bike, listening to it's idle. Although it's overall design was different from the cars Lance had worked on, there were underlying similarities between them, enabling him to quickly figure out what this bike was telling him.

"Here goes nothin'" he muttered as he flipped down the lid and eased the gas until the bike began to roll forward steadily. Quickly adjusting his balance, he increased the speed until he was confident he had gotten it figured out. Next to him, Hoot trailed, keeping watch on Lance's control. Inside his helmet, Lance grinned.

Without warning, Lance suddenly lurched forward and pulled away, the speedometer rapidly rising through the double digits.

Now, it was simply a matter of learning the limits of the bike's performance, and pushing them. Up ahead, the football stadium grew rapidly larger. He could see Fortier waiting, his head turned to watch the two of them approach. Still, the bike roared toward him, and Lance grinned some more. The distance between the two shrunk rapidly until Lance finally began to slow rapidly, stopping within a few inches to spare in front of Fortier's MV.

Pulling off the helmet, he looked to Fortier and gave him a grin. "I think I've got me a knack for this shit!" He laughed as he watched Hoot pull up next to them.

The raucousness of Lance's wake up call brought Robyn out of her bed quietly. Shaking her head at the thumps and bumps she dressed and placed a call to Kazuma letting him know she was all right. Once that was done she wandered down the stairs to see the guys heading off. Quickly she stepped out of the house and shortly wasin the Interceptor

She didn't want to give away all the Interceptor could do just yet, so the motor rumbled quietly as she followed the trio on bikes to where Lance was going to get some riding lessons

Mitch sat in the bar eating breakfast while reading a newspaper, after he was finished he went outside to see a police car sitting beside his bike.

"ey Ronnie whats goin' on today" Mitch sat on his bike talking towards the window

Deputy Ronnie Bergis had gone to high school with mitch and was a good friend.

"hows it goin' Mitch see you back on the road again stayin outta shit hey..haha hows the wife to be?"

Mitch grinned then put his helmet on.

"shes good Ronnie, and yes im stayin my ass outta shit hahaha..you know me too well"

Ronnie shifted the car into reverse.

"well Mitch take care...be seein yah around"

Mitch turned the bike over, reved her up and pulled out of the parking lot slowly then took off down the strait stretch towards town with the intention to go see Libby at work for somthnig to do.

He pulled up in front of SUN tanning Ltd. and went inside to see her behind the counter sitting there reading a magizine.

"hey baby! he said taking his helmet off"

She stood up and smiled at him.

"now Mitch can't stay away can yah?" she leaned over and kissed him gently

"Libby we goin to get your dress this week and do some shoppin, i start work at 8:30 tonight"

She got a not so sure look on her face but replyed.

"be careful Mitch please..everythin's goin so good..please"

He gave her a reassuring squeeze of her hand.

"don't worry baby everythings all right..if it wasn't or if i was un-sure i wouldn't have taken it"

That was his first lie to her...but it was only to protect her.

Fortier just chuckled at Lance's stunt. He was holding his helmet in his hand, and looked at Hoot. Hoot had dismounted the bike, and was pulling on a pair of kneepads. Fortier was wearing a full riding suit with the built in pads, so he didn't need to worry. "Well," he said, looking at Lance, "we know you can handle the straights, and its good to know you can shift the thing. But the big question is can you handle it where it counts. Now, to pardon the pun, this is gonna be a crash course."

Hoot slid back onto the seat of his Yamaha, and reved a few times, getting a bit of power, and letting the clutch out, powering away. Fortier let him get a good speed up, and then pulled his helmet on. "This is what you need to be able to do to survive this." He flipped the face mask down, and let out the clutch, his rear wheel spining, but not pulling the front wheel up.

He shot off towards Hoot, who was in a deep lean. Fortier snapped the bike around a light pole, his knee riding along the ground, then the bike snapped back up to full upright, and Fortier tossed it into another lean, his padded knee dragging along the ground as the bike rotated along an invisable track line. Withint seconds, he was on Hoot, and in less than another second, the MV had slid past the Yamaha.

Fortier moved the bike easily, going from lean to lean, the bike holding its line of control perfectly. Suddenly, he pulled the wheels around, and the two bikes screamed towards Lance. The two pulled up on the rear wheels, flying towards Lance. They dropped, and Fortier leaned in, Hoot following suit, pulling themselves low and close to the bike to keep air resistance to a minimum.

When there was minimla stopping distance left, Hoot dropped a knee, and slid around Lance, his tires comming dangerously close to hitting the Aprila. Fortier however, kept pushing, and then slammed the front break, locking the wheel, and pulling his weight forward. He brought up the rear wheel, twisting it around, and holding his bike in a perfect stop, the rear wheel hovering in front of Lance's face. Fortier eased his weight back, and dropped the bike, perfectly parralel with Lance's Aprila. He turned the bike off, and pulled up the helmet.

"So," Hoot said, walking over from his bike, helmet in hand. "Think you can pull that off?"

((OOC: I'm very tired, so just a quickie post.))

On the eastern-most coast of Gnufasur sat the EHAV main complex. It's from here that the various EHAV Mercenaries call home, and are set out on missions around the globe.

One such catgirl was Rei Lindsay, an EHAV Merc notable for her taste for speed and danger. She glanced at the paper in her hand. She had been hired by a law enforcement agency in Imitora, and was required to bring her motorcycle along. Yawning as she read over the particulars, Rei boarded the EHAV cargo jet, then stared at her motorcycle. It seemed like she would have to modify her 'cycle a bit on the flight over.

The jet took off from the EHAV Complex's private airstrip, and was bound for Imitora.

A few hours later, the jet touched down on Imitora ground, it's arrival well announced ahead of time. Rei was to meet her boss(es) here, and receive more information on her mission. During the flight over, she had removed most of the hidden weapon caches on her bike, modifying the pieces so that instead of holding just small arms, they could hold pretty much anything, including large amounts of drugs. Double checking her Terk 9mm* at the small of her back, Rei walks her motorcycle out of the jet through it's lowered cargo ramp, waving to the gathered police officers. "Heard someone needs someone who can ride fast?" She asked generally, running a hand through her long burnette hair.

She wore a full body suit, light blue and skin tight. It was designed to both act as a light form of body armor, thicker around her chest and neck, as well as to protect her should she fall off her bike. Although, at the speeds she usually drove, a fall meant instant death, regardless of what she wore. Her 'cycle, helmet, and gun holster at her back matched her suit to a tee, and the hidden compartments on the 'cycle she had just finished working on where neigh invisible to the naked eye. Around her neck she wore an Ankh medallion.


((OOC: *Terk 9mm = Terkomai 9mm Semi-Automatic Pistol: It's like a Glock, except manufactured by Gnufasur from local material. Just like a Glock, you can run it through your dishwasher and it'd still fire! The safety's in the trigger, holds 15 rounds. Affectionately called 'Terk' or 'Terk 9mm' by those who use it.
Rei's motorcycle is manufactured by the Terkomai Arms Corporation, on special request by Rei. No real world models to compare it against, but being designed by a company that makes tanks, jets, and guns, you can image it's pretty darn tough and fast.
At the last moment, suddenly remembering something I had once seen on E! or VH1, I've decided that Rei's 'cycle is outfitted with the same type of engine used in combat helicopters. Jay Leno has a motorcycle with a helicopter engine in it, and it sounds pretty sweet when he starts it up. Loud, but sweet. lol Is that okay? :D If not, she can have just a regular, but souped up, motorcycle engine, no biggie.))

OOC: I'd rather stay away from the Y2K bike with the Helicopter motor in it. Its a bit to much for the RP, and would be 100% way outa league compared to Fortier and his crew's bikes, by that I mean it would be like taking Troy Aikman and dropping him into a high school football game...although I could take him. I would say go with a turboed Hyabusa motor, its already the fasted production motorcycle, so just turbo it, and run it in your bike, and you'd be able to over come the extra weight and do just fine.

Sgt. Jon Tacker hated mercs. He hated them with a passion that many could go no where near come up with. He watched with contempt as the Neko descned the ramp of the cargo plane, and plotted having one of his snipers take her on the spot. He didn't trust the mercenary, and had showed up to greet her, with a full SWAT unit. Eight men stood behind him, armed with assault rifles and sub machine guns, with two snipers off on nearby roof tops, thier .308 Remmington rifles leveled, cross hairs sitting on her forhead.

Tacker had been given a simple assignment, capture the drug runners that were carrying drugs and guns across Imitora, and at the current time, he had captured a nice, round number: zero. He had tried everything, from air patrols to road blocks, to bounties. None worked. He had been suggested that he try an insider, pick someone up and get them into the group, and relay all the info they could. He had thought of using one of the many Imitoran Private Security Corporations, but decided to go out of nation, and find a unbiased, save for cash flow, source.

That had brought him to EHAV, and he had used a secondary fund to purchase the use of a mercenary. He watched now, as she approached, and began to walk towards her, hand reluctantly outstretched. "Sgt. Tacker, Imitoran Narcotics and Firearms Office. Pleasure to meet you in person Ms. Lindsay. If you will please follow me, I'll brief you on the way in. Your motorcycle will be handled appropriately," he said, motioning to the Imitoran Air Force crew unloading the bike and loading it into a trailer to be towed by an INFO SUV.

He lead her to the main escort car, a black Mercedes E55 AMG where she was paused. One of the SWAT officers leaned forward and removed the Glock copy from its holster. "I'm sure you understand, opperational security and all." Tacker opened the door for her, and followed her into the car, handing her another file.

"Robert Fortier. Ex-Imitoran Marines, 22nd SOTF, IMC Force Recon/TRACT, and ICIA and INSA black operations. Pretty much the best thing our military could churn out. Now he owns four or five companies that range from automotive modifications to weapon smithing. Owns stock in almost every major Imitoran company, both publicly and privately traded. The guy has way to much money, and is bored. Very bored. And he has a slight problem with the crown, and henceforth he is know running, or assumed to be running drugs, guns, money, just about anything he can, acorss the nation."

The folder contained military records, photographs, and the like, all with the ever present red Classified stamp over everything.

"Everything your gonna need to know, and then some, is in that folder, plus info on your payments. As agreed, one point five million delivered to EHAV upon our capture of Fortier, plus all other expenses paid for. We want to capture him, alive. We need to to get information. However, if you are comprimised, and feel that you need to, you are authorized to nuetralize the target. If you are forced to kill him, then they payment will still arrive, however, it would be in your best interest, knowing his companions, to get out of the nation as fast as you can."

Teh convoy rolled to a stop in what many would call the middle of no where. Tacker exited teh car, and helped Rei out, a SWAT officer handing back the Terk. The SWAT team was unloading the motorcycle, carefull not to damage it. One officer nodded at Rei. "Nice bike," he said, walking past her and climbing into the SWAT SUV.

"This is highway 366S. It'll take ya all the way into Bellville," one SWAT officer directed. So far, our intell says that they will be meeting for a look over run at a resteraunt called Athena Rose. Nice little Greek place. Casual dress. It'll take ya about four hours from here to get there, but they wont be meeting till 9:00pm tonight, which gives ya about seven hours. Good luck," the officer said, and walked back over to the SUV.

Tacker nodded to her, and slid back into the Benz. Teh small convoy pulled away, leaving the Merc to her own devices.
__

At Bellville South Highschool, Lance was slowly getting the hang of knee dropping. Hoot had lent him the knee pads, and after a few spills that taught Lance how to take a fall, without hurting himself to much. However, he was a quick learner, and soon was dropping perfectly with Fortier.

After nealy an hour and a half of ridding, Fortier led Lance, Hoot, and Robyn back to his house, rolling slowly into the garrage area. He slid off the bike, and stretched out, yawning. He had gotten little, if any, sleep in the past two days, and while he had gone much longer without sleep, he hadn't been riding and racing the entire time. He walked out to the backyard, collapsing in a lounge chair, letting the cool air relax him.

Hoot pulled Lance aside, looking at the garrage that held the Black Owl Customs. "I say we let Fortier rest, catch his breath a bit before dinner tonight. However, I think you and I got something to settle. Follow me."

Hoot led Lance over to the garrage, and punched a code into a key pad, the heavy steel door on the side clicking open. Hoot walked inside, and flipped on a light. There were twelve cars sitting in the garrage, all looking rather normal from the outset, with minor body modifications. Hoot clicked a key fob, and the interior on a 2006 Corvette lit up, along with the head and tail lights.

"Oh six zee oh six. Shes puhing about seven fifty, maybe a touch more, at the wheels. Legitimate low ten car, possibly high nines in the quarter. Custom bored out LS7 to four hundred and fifty four cubic inches, built, poliched and ported wiht a five angle valve job, cams, pistons, rockers, head job, 14 bolt rear, intake and long tube headers with a three inch header back exhaust, all titanium. Upper intake manifold is custom made by hand, and the transmission was rebuilt and strengthend to handle upwards of one thousand wheel horsepower, with a carbon kevlar drive shaft and supports. Its also running a hundred shot, direct port injection nitrous. Full purge system. Its close, but not quite, to Rob's fastest. Hell, not even his second fastest. But I'm building it for boost. Custom Lingenfelter turbo running 10psi. Should be running doors with Fortier's Ruf, maybe a nose slower. Those Germans can build a motor," he finished, chuckling.

He walked over to the car, and popped up the hood, getting a good look at the LS7 that had been bored from 6.0 liters to 7.4. The motor and visable mods had been polished and chromed, the fuel rail covers were custom made, black with a silver swooping owl engraved on each. "Shes new American muscle, all power. Shes almost done too, the rear axle is getting a custom reinforcment to hold on to the power going to the wheels."

He opened the door, and slid in to the driver's seat. "Pretty plush too, leather, CD player, heads up display. Its nice."

Before Lance could ask, Hoot cut him off. "Nah, I aint gonna race you in this. Not ready, and even if it was, I think it would be to much of a shock for the motor. Needs to get broken in nicely. That, and its a touch more powerful, and a good shit load lighter than your car. I got something I wanna run you with, you'll see her tonight. Just thought you might want to see what me and Fortier have been churning out with all that shit we ordered from ya. We call this one the Devastator.

Giving a wide grin, Lance dove his head forward into the bay to study the mechanics of Hoot's and Fortier's genius, and occassionally gave an "ooh, beautiful", or some other appropriate commentary. At last, he looked to Hoot and smiled, "About time you're recognizing that muscles are good for the soul!" A solid punch hit Hoot's shoulder. "Let's have a chat with her." He moved to sit in the seat and caught the key from Hoot.

The roar of the 'vette shook the walls of the garage and Lance's cry of approval was lost in it. He hit the gas, watching, and feeling the engine roar to deafening levels.

"Hell yeah! I definitely wanna see this one rollin' sometime, got it?" Lance declared as he exited the 'vette and tossed the key ring to Hoot. "Gonna bring this to INMCS?"

"INMCS?" Hoot questioned with a puzzled look.

Lance gave him a 'You've got to be kidding me' look. "Yeah man, International Muscle Cars Show? Gonna be hosted back home, outside Snowy Peaks. I've even heard that there's gonna be some good shit coming this year, but then again, I'd say we might very well blow them away. Most of em are wannabes, or guys still learning the tricks, but there are still some good guys out there."

((OOC: lol Kewl. Thanks for the info. And no prob on the 'no go' for the helicopter engined bike. lol A turboed Hyabusa motor it is then. :D))

Rei glanced over the folder quickly as the SWAT SUVs left her, before leaning next to her bike and thumbing one of the hidden panels. She stuffs the folder in there, planning to review it later. "The Athena Rose resteraunt tonight at nine PM, huh? Somehow, I don't think my riding suit will pass for casual dress. First things first... Clothes shopping!" Smirking as she mounts her bike, she puts her helmet on and flips down the visor, gunning the engine and racing down the highway towards Belleville...

Some hours later...

Rei roared into Belleville, slowing her speed so that she was just below the legal speed limit. Already a plan was formulating in her mind as to how to win her way into Robert's group. As she rolled through Belleville, she kept her eyes out for a woman's clothing stores, where she could buy a pretty yet revealing dress for the resteraunt. Sub-consciously, she hoped that the store would take her credit card, or that it would at least be near an international currency exchange center where she could exchange her Lnateds for Imitoran Credits...

OOC: Just a quick heads up, my posting will be somewhat limited, as I just got back home from school, I'm have a job I hate, and appearntly, dial up only works when you pay for it. However, I'll be doin my best to keep this moving along nicely.

IC:

The day procedded on normally, with Robert and Hoot catching up on sleep. They had decided that the run would be this night, after dinner. They had advised Lance and Robyn to do the same, as it was bound to be a long night.

Upon arriving in Bellville, Rei would be greated with a number of options for shopping. Plenty of the stores were still open, all offering sales for Christmas. As usuall, there was little hint of the season, the southern air offering a mild temperature, and no hint of snow.

Lance would be the first to arrive at the resteraunt, Holly at his arm, and he waited outside. It was a few moments later that a deep rumble filled the air, a low, loud vibration, and within seconds, a blue 1972 454SS Chevelle flew by, the powerfull chevy big block roaring as Hoot engine breaked, bringing his speed down, and swinging the tail out into the parking lot. He floored it, and the massive muscle car left two long streaks of black rubber, settling into a parking spot next to Lance. Hoot exited, and waved, Amanda stepping out beside him.

HE walked over, away from the Chevy whose only modern convinence was a set of 20 inch American Racing Wheels, and smirked. "Fortier and I were talking before I left. We got some ideas for the INMCS. And he should be along shortly, he decided to take the scenic route with Mary. Anyways, lets head on in and grab a table."

((OOC: That's cool.))


Rei set about shopping, stopping by numerious stores before finally finding just the perfect dress. It was shimmering black dress with a slit on the right side which went all the way up to her hip. It was a nice evening gown, and it cost her a very pretty Lnated. Rei made sure that she filed the reciept away somewhere safe, so that EHAV would reimburse her for the dress and the nice high heels later.

Safetly wrapped up in a air-tight bag, Natalie brought the dress to a professional alterationist. As she enters the shop, the store manager looked up at her. "May I help you... Miss?"

Still wearing her riding suit, Rei thrusts the dress to him. "I need this dress altered. Just need a hole in the back where my tail..." She turns around so that he can see her tail, as well as the gun holstered at her back. "... Can fit through. Also, I want my dress to have priority over anything else you got right now. I'm willing to pay extra, but I need this dress modified, like two minutes ago." She put a bit of edge to her voice, letting him know that she usually got what she wanted.

The storekeeper nodded, accepting the dress, as well as her credit card. "It'll be done in a half-hour." He said, handing back the card after it was approved. Again she tucks the receipt away.

Rei glanced at her watch. It read 2000 hours(8:00pm). She was cutting it short. Rei nodded, and went outside, sitting on her bike. Time passes, and eventually Rei heads back inside.

Passing the dress back to her, Rei smiles as she turns it over, finding a neatly cut and sewed hole in the back, right where her tail can fit through. "Thanks. Hey, you got a changing room? Or just anyplace I can change into this dress?"

The man points to the public bathroom. "You can use the rest room."

Rei sighs, entering the restroom and changing out of her riding suit and into the evening gown. The hole sits perfectly, her tail fitting through with no problems. Removing her boots, she slips on the high heels she had brought. She leaves the store, her riding suit rolled up under her arm, removing the gun holster and gun and wrapping it around her left thigh, under her dress.

Moving back to her bike, she stuffs her rolled up Riding suit into a hidden compartment, the suit barely able to fit. Sighing, she mounts her bike, slipping her helmet over her head and starts it up, taking off for the resteraunt.

She pulls into the resteruant driveway, spotting a group of people just outside loitering near a 1972 454SS Chevelle.

She taxis calmly up to parking spot just next to the truck, eyeing the group and trying to recall if any of them were in Robert's file. "Nice truck." She calls out to Hoot, putting down her bike's kickstand and removing her helmet. She keys her 'cycle off, then runs a hand through her hair, giving it a quick once over, before turning her attention to herself. The dress didn't get dirty on the way down, and Rei mentally leaps with joy. If the dress survived the mission, she'd definately keep it...

The Interceptor ghosted into the parking lot the massive engines deer rumble suppressed till it was but a ghost of it's usual basso profundo siesmologic. Robyn could see that She and Kazuma were the last save for Fortier and his wife. She'd expected to be the last, having made a detour to pick up her husband, refuseing to be the one without an escort.

Besides kazuma hadn't had a chance to meet the Imitorans during their brief 'visit' to Tanaara, and she wanted him to get a feel for them in person. She looked over at him and smiled as the gull winged doors rose silently. The somber look on his face faded as Kazuma looked back at her, and the soft smile he wore only for her surfaced. Lithely swinging out the the Interceptor he strode quickly but unhurriedly around the nose of the car and offered Robyn a hand out with a small bow

"If My Lady would grant me the honor" He said softly in Japanese. Kazuma treated his wife with an inherent old fashioned gentility, and Robyn adored it.

She smiled up at him, allowing him to take her hand and assist her from the lowslung 'one off' vehicle (http://www.atddm.com/Interceptor.htm). It's speciality paint gleamed eerily in the sodium lights of the parking lot, almost glowing from within- a deep amber bronze. As the couple stepped away the door slid closed on their own and the A.I. activated the sentry system.

Robyn didn't need a discrete once over to reassure her that they made a stunning couple, but she enjoyed the view as she turned slightly and looked Kazuma up and down with a grin "Handsome as ever, Dear Heart"

"Even for a washed up, used up ex Yakuza hardbody?" The smile had become a wicked grin

"The body is still hard, and I'm damned glad that you 'washed up' in Tanaara" She teased back, her smile broadening as she saw the desire brightening his eyes

Kazuma's face resumed the usual cold expression he wore about outsiders as the couple arrived at the foursome near Lance's car. Robyn's smile became more decorous as she introduced him to the others.

"Holly, Amanda, Lance, Hoot," She greeted the ladies first with smiles and nods, then the men "this is my husband, Kazuma"

After greeting Kazuma and Robyn appropriately, they all headed in, and soon were ushered to a large maple wooden table with matching chairs. Preliminary drinks were served, and Lance turned to Hoot. "Speaking of the INMCS, I've got a '71 Monte Carlo that I've just acquired. It won't be the main attraction, but I've got a few things in it so far that's going to turn heads with ease. But, that aside, what'cha got brewin' between you and Fortier?"

As he was talking with Hoot, a waiter approached Holly, ready to take her order, and then looked aside to Lance, nudging slightly to draw his attention away from the conversation.

"Yeah, I think I'll have the same thing as her." Lance stated, giving the waiter a slight nod. The waiter moved on to the next person. Lance leaned toward Holly, "So...what exactly are you having?"

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Fettucini Alfredo, babe."

He leaned back, "Oh...right. Yeah, I suppose I'm up for it."

"You better be. You just ordered it." she replied, followed by a quick peck to his cheek. He turned his attention back to Hoot and Fortier.

Robyn (http://www.atddm.com/robyn1a.jpg) had glanced at the Neko who had said something to Hoot - she'd been too far away to hear the exchange, but she'd never never seen a Neko in Imirota before. There were a very small population of them in Tanaara and there had been one in her class at the Tanaaran Military Academy. She hadn't figured the Imitorans for dealing well with non humans.

Once they were seated she and Kazuma discussed their order in a sotto voced exchange. They both loved a good steak done rare and they each ordered one. She laughed to herself as Lance found himself having ordered pasta. But he dove back into the discussion on cars without too much moaning. The INMCS sounded interesting and she wondered if bringing the M4S, an American muscle car of the first water, to the show would be a good idea. She'd run it past her boss.

Fortier and Mary arrived shortly after Robyn, with Mary driving an off white Infiniti G35 coupe. The spoke breifly in the parking lot, and after Hoot waved to some Neko who had commented on the Chevelle, they headed inside. Mari ordered a greek salad and complimented it with an Appletini, while Robert settled on a glass of water and a ceaser.

"Well," Hoot started, in refrence to Lance's question, "we were thinking about doing a Black Owl Customs booth."

"Yeah, Fortier followed up. "New and old together, plus info on how anyone could have their own BOC car. I was thinking about getting my hands on one of the new SRT-8 Chargers, plus an 69 440RT. Hoot is gonna enter his Corvette, plus build up his Chevelle a bit more, and enter them booth in the booth. That, and Mary here is gonna take my Viper up. Show the international crowd what happens when you give an Imitoran a car and some free time."

Rei nodded to herself as she locked up her bike and helmet, heading into the resteruant. She seated herself near-ish Robert and company, but so so near that she'd easily draw their attenation.

As she entered and took her seat, her tail as well as ears kept drawing the attenation of others. She was well aware of the whispered words and chatter about her as she seated herself. She paid no mind to it at all, enjoying the attenation she was recieving.

A waiter came up to her, and she made an order, a ceaser salad and some white wine. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed the group for a brief moment before busying herself with her purse. She tried to evesdrop with her acute hearing. It was difficult to overhear what they were saying over the idle chatter of the resteruant, but she did the best she could. She picked up bits and pieces here and there...

Fortier had noticed the cat girl out of the corner of his eye, and had made mental notes of her movements, and interest in her conversation. He had also noticed that she had ridden to the resteraunt, and done so in a dress. He checked his watch, it was to late for the other rider to show up. He wanted the other kid, but this would have to do. He gentely squeezed Mary's hand, and stood up, walking over to the Neko.

In true Imitoran fashion, he didn't ask to sit, nor did he introduce himself. Instead, he pulled out the extra chair at Rei's table, and waved away an approaching waitor. "Evenin'" he said, offering his hand. "I saw you ride in, pretty impressive feat to pull off in a dress. Especially one like that. I have a proposition for ya," he finished, waving over Hoot and Lance. The two stood, and walked over.

Fortier explianed in quiet terms what the other two men, and Robyn, would be doing. He explained that they didn't know the package yet, it could be drugs, money, guns, or information. He further explained the payment, one hundred thousand before the run, and another hundred on arrival. He looked up, and saw that the food had arrived at the table, and then stood. "Ya got ten minutes to decide. See ya then," he finished, and walked over to his table.

Rei thought quietly to herself, smirking. Didn't think it'd just fall in my lap. better not act too interested.

She waited eleven minutes, digging into her salad, before taking a piece of paper out of her purse and scribbling on it. Folding it in two, she waves over a waiter, passing the note and whispering something to him, pointing towards Fortier's table.

The waiter nods, leaving and disappearing into the back for a moment. He later returns with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. This he brings to Robert's table, "Our finest champagne, courtesy of the madam." He says, motioning towards Rei, who gives them a little wave, grinning like the mischievous speed demon she is.

The waiter also presents him with the note she had written. After unfolding it, he finds just three words written. "I’m SO in."

He would also notice, along the bottom, was more writing, although it was both upside-down and backwards. He’d have to turn the note around, and look at it through a reflective item, like a mirror or a really shiny spoon. Or, if he was smart enough, he could figure it out himself without the aid of other items.

Regardless of how he figures it out, the second part of the note read "Hey cute stuff. Ever done it with a cat? Meow!" Next to it was a really cute hand-drawing of a kitty cat face.

Robyn had raised an eyebrow when Fortier had gone over to the Neko. She knew they were waiting for the last member to arrive, but didn't expect that last member to be a complete stanger, and a non human one at that.

The steaks were superbly done and the couple dug into them with gusto. The conversation around the table was light, centering mostly around cars and bikes. The arrival of a magnum of champagne had both eyebrows raising and a brief, hard look over at the Neko.

Robyn began to reconsider any involvement in Fortier's escapades. One kept such low key, not blared all over the front page. A quick whisper in Kazumas ear, and her spouse was tasked with getting a picture of the Neko and a dossier together.

Fortier chuckled at the message, crunched it up, and pocketed it. The rest of the meal went by with little disturbance, with Fortier, Hoot, and Lance discussing the car show, and their plans. Little was spoken about the run. The meal came and went, and so did the check, and in under two hours, they were out of the resteraunt, heading back to Fortier's house.

Upon arrival, Fortier and Hoot waved Lance over, and gave him a few more pointers about handling the bike. Lance was a quick learner, but chances were that he wasn't quite up to speed with the bike to pull of the run in the best possible way. It was decided that Fortier would run with the new commer Rei, and that Hoot and Lance would run as a secondary team. Robyn would run as the third team, and take a third route that would be near copless. With her actual trunk on her car, she would be able to carry more goods.

With that, the group departed to the bar where they would meet Rodriguez and get the goods. Fortier had left the adress with Rei, who would meet them there as well.

As per her usual, Rei was fashionably late to the meeting, arriving a few minutes after everyone else did at the bar. She was out of her dress now, wearing her light blue riding suit. Her Terk 9mm was holstered at her thigh this time. Dismounting her bike as she parks it outside, Rei glances around, noting some of the vehicles she had seen at the resturant were now here.

she didn't bother trying to inform the local police of the meeting. She wanted to wait until she was in good before she lead them into the trap. Possibly after a few runs. Besides, as long as she was earning money from the runs, she didn't mind making her good employers wait.

She enters the bar, her feline ears twitching as they adjusted to the sound level. She spies Fortier's group, and saunters over to them, smiling. "How's it going?" She says, taking a seat and waving over the bar tender. "Mix me a Black Russian." She slips him her credit card, before turning again to the others.