Thief With A Bike ~ Krii7y

~~~ { 5 } ~~~

"Awh, no desert H2R? Actually I meant grey camo."

Smit thought for a second. "Actually doesn't sound like a terrible idea, but I'm not sure. How come I feel like this is a terrible idea."

Smit turned the bike on, it's growl like hum filled Johns ears.

"Here let me explain. You paint that bar orange, and everything but some of the main fairings mat black, then you paint, or wrap the rest of the fairings dark grey camo."

"Your crazy." Smit shook his head.

John grabbed onto Smii7y, and pulled himself onto the bike behind him. Smit grabbed his hand, and forced it higher on his side.

"Don't hold there." He said quietly.

"Uh why not?" John was genuinely confused.

Smit lifted his hoodie a little to show a conceal carried glock, fully loaded, but with safety on. He didn't have it on his belt, instead strapped to his side not far above it. Not even John noticed. Smit knew Chicago better than John, and for obvious reasons. It didn't really surprise John that Smii7y had his loaded, and at hand.

"That new?"

"Mhm." Smit said simply "I don't want you to shoot yourself, or me, so don't hold there." He chuckled.

"I got mine too, but it's in my bag." John said quickly, to remind Smit that he probably wouldn't go anywhere in America without one.

"Figures." He said quickly. "You mind not pushing me into the tank." He said sarcastically.

John hadn't realized he might have been pushing Smit forward a little, and scooted back.

"Thanks." Smit said coolly, and put his phone away. "You wanna see how fast this baby really goes?"

"Hell yeah!" 

~

Smii7y did not disappoint when it came to motorcycles. Sure, he may have disappointed his parents, but never with motorcycles.

They had found a nice open strip of road, that may or may not have been an airstrip. Smii7y was Smii7y, so he insisted they wouldn't get in trouble. 

They had reached up to 234 mph. John was having an absolute blast, and had never been happier.

Now that he thought of it, Smit didn't have a lot of people running up to him, wanting autographs, or pictures or anything, despite him dressing the same as he did when he preformed. To be fair, John forgot he was famous for awhile.

"Smit?" 

"Yuh?" Smii7y replied quickly.

"Are people scared of you or something? Because I'm sure most people know who you are and your accomplishments. Yet I see no one approaching you. It's weird." John said, but sounded more sincere than he wanted.

"Uhm? I actually don't know why people don't come up to me. I'm thankful, because I hate people anyway."

"Yet you walked up to me?"

"You have a bike, I have a bike, we're in the brotherhood. I don't hate you if that's what your asking." He tilted his head away from the road, and towards John.

"Well obviously, but you answered the question so I won't push you."

"John please, I'm not sensitive, I'll answer all your questions." Smii7y sounded annoyed. He didn't want to be babied.

"Okay, how'd You realize you were good at stunting?"

"I knew my first wheelie." Smii7y said simply. "Speaking of wheelies, I want to pop this bad boy up."

"Smit, it's a racing bike, not a stunting bike."

"Doesn't matter, they can all wheelie." Smit waved him off. "You better hold on though."

John did as Smii7y said, and Smit popped the bike up, quite effortlessly actually. John was used to being higher up on the bike when he did this. It was quite scary to be behind Smit, instead of in the front. They had stopped racing planes earlier, and now were just doing slow, wheelie circles. John might have had a heart attack if Smit popped up the bike at 234 mph.

Once Smit let the bike drop back down, conversation continued.

"Were you born in Chicago?" John asked.

"Nuh uh, Canada, I have duel citizenship." Smii7y continued. "I don't cross the border much anymore though."

John figured as much, Smit had a strange accent. It seemed Smii7y had lots of his own surprises.

"So your parents are in Canada?"

Smii7y noticeably stiffened, and slowly looked to John. "My parents?.. yeah." He said quite calmly despite his body language.

"Touchy topic?" John asked.

"Not really, just caught me off guard." Smii7y answered. "They never really loved me, kicked me out at 6, said I was old enough to live on my own. And so, I did what I could. Went through foster homes after an officer found me, rode my first bike as soon as I was in my first one." 6 Years old?! What were his parents on? Riding a motorcycle at 6? That's insane. John knew Smii7y was in his late twenty's, same as John, that meant, since his first home was probably when he was 6 or 7, he'd been biking for 20 or 21 years. Which was a little while. 

John got his first bike at 16, so he hadn't been biking as long as him.

"To clarify, my first bike was a little dirt-bike, and yes I crashed it, and totalled it." Smit added sharply.

John was just going to move on from that crucial information.

"What's your preference-." John was interrupted.

"Men, be more specific." Smii7y said like a smartass again. John and him already had this conversation. Although that was an accident. 

"-in motorcycles, Smit. MOTORCYCLES." John exaggerated.

"Sports bikes, I like Kawasakis mainly." Smit said as it as if he'd said nothing before John specified.

"That's great." 

Now, he and Smit had left the airstrip, and had plans of riding around the city a bit. Smii7y had dropped the topic completely and was complaining about something, but John really couldn't care less for one of Smii7y's random rants.

John, apparently, was subconsciously leaning forward, and Smit seemed to notice. He either didn't care, or didn't mind. Johns head was hovering over Smii7y's shoulder, when Smit sat up straighter, his head was suddenly in the crook of Smits neck. And again, he didn't care, or didn't mind.

John felt something he'd never felt before in that moment. Not with the women he dated, not with anyone ever. Watching Smit pointlessly ramble on about nothing. The LEDs in his helmet flash different colors, and different patterns. He felt something true. It was hard to describe the feeling because he'd never had it. Never knew what it was.

He wanted more.