Thief With A Bike ~ Krii7y

~~~ { 8 } ~~~

Smii7y pulled up to his garage, with John in tow. To John, 'garage' was an understatement. It was more like a factory.

John watched Smii7y mess with a remote, and the huge doors rolled up, revealing more bikes then John had seen in his life. Smit just drove on in.

There was a strip of motorcycles along every wall, and on both sides of a rail in the center of the building. Every bike had custom paint. Some had LEDs on the inside. All of them were expensive.

John didn't see Smit's regular ZX-6R in there, or his H2R. He suspected they were the ones in shop. It was hard to pick out two bikes from the rest anyway. 

Smit had every brand, and every model in there, it looked like. From Kawasaki, to Aprilia, to Ducati, to Yamaha, to Harleys. Dirt bikes, and motorcycles, as well as supermotos, and even pit bikes. He'd never seen anything like it. ZX-6Rs, R1s, R6s, ZX-10Rs, H2s, H2Rs, RSV4s, 400s, 300s, RS 660s, S1000RRs, Superleggera V4s. Everything.

"How the fuck did you even do this?" John asked in shock.

"I dunno, Just happened." Smit said sarcastically, parking his 636 in a spot beside a plethora of other ZX-6Rs, obviously his favourite model. He had every bike nicely organized with brand, model, and horsepower. Nothing was out of place. 

The building itself looked like something these motorcycles would reside in. Wasn't much on the outside, but on the inside the stark whiteness of the walls, and perfect lighting, made every metallic bike shine, and every mat one a deep, rich color.

John also noticed lots of empty spots, obviously Smit was always looking to add to his herd.

John parked his bike in an empty spot right next to the other ZX-6Rs, where she fit in nicely, then turned to Smit.

There was two podiums on the far wall, and only one bike was on one. A pure gold painted H2R, with beautiful gems in-betted into it. John suspected that the H2R he and Smit rode the other day, sat on the other one. John was surprised he only had two.

"How'd you even get that?" John nodded to to H2R upon her podium.

"Paid stunting, and modelling for Kawasaki. They were nice enough to promote me to having the only true gold H2R in the world. She ain't ever touching the pavement."

Seemed about right.

"This is insane Smithers." John dropped a new nickname, and Smit immediately turned to look at him.

"That's new." Smii7y continued, "and yes, I have a problem."

"Clearly." John replied to the second statement.

"Pick a bike, we can ride it to the shop, and pick up my 636. You can ride it back." Smii7y said, waving John off. John was honoured to have a bike, that he picks, placed upon his hands for the drive.

"You getting the scratch fixed?" John asked, and buried his excitement.

"Yeah, I know it's a battle scar, but its ugly, and has a bad story." Smii7y answered, patting John on the shoulder.

"I think the story's nice, but whatever you like. The scratch is ugly on the white, I do agree." John answered honestly.

Smit only shrugged, and looked at John who undoubtedly looked like a kid in a candy store. Except he was in his late twenty's, and he was in motorcycle paradise. 

"Go ahead, run around and check out every bike." Smii7y said. "I have all day."

That's all John needed to hear as he did just that. Run around, look at every model, every paint job, and every modification.

Smii7y only watched him silently, occasionally sticking his nose in to tell John more about a particular bike. Then, John made his decision. An Aprilia RS 660. It was heavily modified for stunting, and it had a cute, ocean like paint job which started really light blue at the top, at the seat, and ended dark blue-purple at the bottom, near the tires. The tires themselves where actually coloured, and were the same dark blue-purple, and the rims were navy.

It was quite the bike.

"I like that one too." Smii7y threw in his two-cents. John already figured so.

"K let's go. Do you need to pick up your H2R too?" John said.

"Course I do." Smii7y said, and hopped on the bike, kicking up the stand. He then used his feet to back it out of its spot.

Before John jumped on with him, Smit revved, still with his feet flat on the ground, straddling the bike, so John could hear the bikes beautiful, high pitched, sport bike hum.

John jumped on behind him anyway, and Smit, reluctantly, sat his ass down.

"Just go, I can't wait to dive this baby!" John practically commanded Smit.

"Okay! Okay! Were going!" Smii7y rolled out of the garage, and fumbled with the remote, before they took off down the road.

"There's a big stunt ride next weekend. Police escorted and everything!" Smii7y commented.

"You want me to come?" John already knew where this was going.

"Mhm! I'll be lonely." Smii7y said.

"I doubt anyone as famous in the stunt community as you, would be lonely." John commented. "Plus I'm not very good at stunting." He continued.

"Don't say that, I'll teach you. We have all week." Smii7y chuckled.

"I have the best coach in the world then." John complemented, and it clearly went straight to Smit's heart. The little things. John knew Smit didn't talk to many other people besides his tight group. So the little things probably got to him. He didn't get complemented often, not now, not before, and probably not ever. 

According to Smit, he went through multiple foster homes. Those probably weren't the best either. John felt genuine sympathy for the guy. Even in his fame, Smit didn't have a great group, or a lot of people who don't think they are a bunch of hard-asses, that actually give him complements.

Smit was simply too sweet for this world, at least he was to John. Smit seemed to try with everyone, and not everyone was nice, or even showed the least bit of kindness towards him because they thought someone like him didn't need it, or wasn't worth it.

Boy is he worth it.

It made John wonder how many people Smit had tried to be friends with. Bikers sometimes aren't easy to get along with, some at least, and couldn't care less who Smit was. If Smit went to Puffer for friendship, he obviously didn't have it easy.

Something lead John to believe that Smit had tried to talk to every biker in Chicago. Maybe that's why he knew every bike.

Smii7y has quite the memory.