09: Eight Second Ride (Hoss)

The service elevator doors opened, and four people walked into the hall. Three of them wore all black clothing and gloves, the standard uniform of a henchman. The last wore a pair of gray, grease-stained coveralls, identifying him as Milo Hewitt, a.k.a. the vehicle-obsessed villain, Joyride.

“Dunno how smart it is, breaking into the Cowboy Museum. It's only been open, what, three weeks?” one of the henchmen griped.

“Want to get to the top?” Milo asked, but did not wait for an answer. “Gotta start early. Let's roll—we got twenty minutes with no alarms.”

They made their way through the winding halls, past countless displays and statues, until they came upon their destination: a large, round room, with ropes surrounding the center.

“There she is, gang,” Milo said. “The piece-de-goddamn-resistance. If you're going to steal some wheels in this town, there's only one choice.”

Milo pointed past the ropes and the large signs reading “DO NOT TOUCH,” toward the item in the center—a one-of-a-kind motorcycle; a work of art in steel and chrome. For years, the Cowboy himself rode it into battle. His faithful steed, Hoss.

Each member of the group took up a position around the metallic beast. The moment Joyride stepped on the other side of the rope, he heard a low but fierce rumble.

“What was that?” a henchman asked.

“Imagination,” Hewitt whispered, and got closer.

They crept a few feet closer, and heard a much louder rumble. “I don't like this, man...”

“Don't bail out on me now,” Joyride whispered. “Too late to go back. It's now or never, and I pick...now!”

All four of them jumped toward the motorcycle, and it immediately roared to life. Within seconds, it was at top speed, tearing down the hallway.

“Let go of the throttle!”

“I'm not touching the throttle!”

“Then grab the brake!”

The criminals screamed as it spun around in another circular room, and one of them was sent flying. Joyride tried to assert control, but had no luck. He couldn't slow it down, or even steer it. Meanwhile, the other two goons lost their grip and tumbled away.

With a bit more room to maneuver, Joyride pulled himself into the seat. “Easy, girl,” he shouted, trying to hear himself over the roar of the engine. “Not gonna hurt you...”

Hoss gave off a strange noise. It couldn't have been what it sounded like, because everyone knows machines can't laugh.

Joyride tried everything he could imagine, but to no avail—Hoss was still going at top speed, and heading for a wall. He covered his face with his arms...and just then, the bike screeched to a halt, sending the villain sailing through the air.

He was still unconscious when the police arrived on the scene. Hoss, meanwhile, was back in its normal spot, snoring happily.