Tremaine's Ride
1
Nick Gray, wearing his fighting gear, threw himself to one side. The bike rider swept pass on flaming wheels and out through the smashed window he had used to gain entry to the jewelry store. The rider landed silently and skidded the back wheel to the right. He took off in the other direction.
Nick scrambled after the cyclist, but by the time he had used a line to get to the roof tops, the rider and his strange conveyance were gone in the New York night.
The Owlhoot returned to the scene of the crime. He surveyed the wreckage, looking for any clue that might help him. The only lead that looked promising was the charred wheel prints in the floor of the jewelry store.
The masked cowboy followed the print until they went into the nearest entrance of the city's subway system. There the prints terminated in a star pattern burned into the concrete landing.
The Owlhoot shook his head.
Time to look at the victims again.
2
Lazarus Tremaine arrived in New York City, after riding north from the city of Cutter Bay. He had made various stops along the way, but hoped to continue to Boston as the sun ascended out of the Atlantic, casting the city in a strange glow of red.
His path took him through the island traffic, pass the scene of the robbery the night before. He frowned behind his tinted glasses when he saw the yellow tape and the burnt trail in the asphalt.
He followed the trail to the subway.
Maybe he would pause in his road trip to look into this, Tremaine thought as he looked for a place to stay while he was in the city.
3
Nick Gray sat at a desk in Holding Tower. His love, Coral Anderson, stood behind him, long, curly hair falling to her slender waist. Green eyes watched the blotter as he worked.
A map of Manhattan Island filled the space. Street locations were marked by large dots. They were scattered across the island. The only thing they had in common was a motorcyclist with a fiery bike had robbed them within the last two weeks. Otherwise they didn't seem to have any connection, with varying degrees of similarity in what each of the places did for business. The only thing that remained the same was a destructive entry and exit by the perpetrator that virtually destroyed the inside of the buildings.
Nick rubbed his eyes, tired by sifting through the evidence gathered at the scene. He had been lucky to interfere in the last robbery, but had no clue where to look next.
"What are you working on, Nick?," asked Cory quietly.
"The NYPD asked me to help them with this series of robberies," Nick said. "I'm not making a lot of progress on it."
"Tell me about it," said Cory, interested and curious.
"The perp hits these places at night," said Nick. "Uses a fire power to cut his way in. Then he burns the places down before he leaves the scene."
"Is there any connection between the properties, or the owners?," Cory asked.
"Not as far as I could tell at first glance," Nick admitted. "Let me go through the files again."
"I'll help you," said Cory. "I don't have to be at the shoot for a couple of hours."
"Thanks, love," said Nick, turning to the crime reports to continue searching for answers.
4
Lazarus Tremaine found a cheap hotel. He stowed his clothes after getting a room. He rode down to the library, parking his bike at a garage off the street. He went inside to search the newspaper files.
The papers were full of the strange robberies. He took notes on every detail. He knew that not every detail would be provided, but enough was there to give him a set of locations and patterns.
He quietly wandered what had set off the rampage, as he worked. Something like this didn't happen in a vacuum.
Tremaine stopped to buy a map on his way back to the hotel. That would help to decide on his course of action when he had all the addresses marked out. Maybe a pattern would emerge, but he doubted it if the police had not seen one with their years of experience dealing with villains in the city.
Still even professionals made mistakes and didn't see the forest for the trees.
Tremaine made his weekly call to New Mexico before going about his business.
He didn't have long before nightfall.
5
Nick Gray and Coral Anderson went over the volumes of data again. They spent hours before they found a tenuous connection. Two of the victims had belonged to the same fraternity. They went back through the files and found all of the owners of the robbed business had belonged to the same college fraternity.
The years were different, and the colleges were different, but they all had joined Beta Alpha Lambda fraternity wherever they had gone to college. They had all started their own businesses after graduation and become moderately wealthy men in their chosen endeavors.
Nick quickly did a search for other BALs in the city.
That would be the flaming motorcyclist's next targets.
6
Lazarus Tremaine went over his map as he roamed the streets of Manhattan. He knew that most of the places had been robbed randomly. He knew they varied by business and owner with no means of connection.
He also knew that something tugged on him as he rode by on his own cycle. Visible burn marks in the streets ended in star burst patterns. The way the tracks ended next to the sewers and subways suggested his quarry was underground somewhere.
The city of New York stood on miles and miles of tunnels of every shape and size. The homeless used the warrens as refuge from the surface.
Tremaine looked at his map again. He marked in the ends of the trail. He turned and headed north, thinking he had a clue to follow up on. Maybe even stop the robber in its tracks.
7
The Owlhoot waited on the roof of the business he had selected. It was a personal finance advisor's office. The owner was wealthy from advising people on how to eliminate debt. The masked cowboy didn't know if his quarry would strike tonight, but knew it was soon. The only other target was an insurance office.
It was one, or the other.
These were the last two places that the last two BALs were involved in.
The rider had struck at one business owned by every other fraternity brother in the city. These two couldn't be far behind.
A motorcyclist pulled up across the street, making The Owlhoot tense up in anticipation.
Could this be the guy?
The Owlhoot waited patiently for the motorcyclist to make his move. He knew it wouldn't take long, judging by the other robberies. The man would go through the storefront window, find what he wanted, and try to get away as fast as possible.
He heard a roaring coming down the street. He looked to his left. He realized instantly he had been wrong when he saw the fiery rider and steed appear. He grabbed a pistol from its holster and fired it in the street in front of the cyclist. A cloud of firefighting foam engulfed the rider.
The Owlhoot smiled, sure that he had finally brought the highway robber to heel.
His elation was short lived as the foam burned away under the wheels of the burning motorcycle.
The flaming cyclist wiped the visor of his helmet clear, gunning the engine. He burned up the road as he streaked away from the sudden confrontation. He seemed only interested in his targets.
The Owlhoot took aim with his other six shooter and fired again. A glowing bullet hit the burning seat of the fleeing bike. He leaped off the edge of the building and swung after his quarry on line fired from his other shooter. All he had to do was look like he was actively pursuing the rider. The man would escape as usual, but The Owlhoot could trace the radioactive beacon to the rider's home, and use the element of surprise to arrest the man.
Unless the slug burned up as the motorcyclist went.
He registered that the other rider had kicked started his own motorcycle and had vanished as he swung above the streets. He had thought he had heard the sound of a horse neighing, but dismissed it.
He was only interested in the iron horse leading him through the city streets.
The flaming motorcyclist led the masked cowboy to an alley north of the failed robbery. There was a flare up of flame and light and the man's burning aura and bike faded out. The beacon tinkled when it hit the ground.
The rider, seemingly clad in regular black biker leather, pulled the nearby manhole cover away and descended into the sewer. He replaced the metal lid after he had descended some of the metal rungs built into the wall of the access tunnel.
The Owlhoot dropped to the asphalt alley floor. He waited for a minute before pulling the cover out of his way. He dropped down the access tunnel quietly. Only a small splash marked his landing. Infrared glasses lit everything in dark red and black as he moved down the tunnel.
His quarry was splashing quietly away through the muck. He didn't look back or to either side, intent on moving to his goal.
He turned suddenly into an opening and vanished from view. The Owlhoot moved swiftly forward. There was no way he was losing his quarry now.
The Owlhoot paused at the new tunnel's entrance. He peeked around the edge of the opening. A dimly lit shaft lay beyond. Rails in the bottom of the cylinder said that the thing was a subway tunnel. Exposed wiring from the lights said someone was staying there, or using the tunnel regularly.
The Owlhoot dropped into the tunnel. He moved forward cautiously. The cyclist could be aware that he had been followed. He could even be laying in wait for the hero.
The whine of a generator led him onward.
The Owlhoot saw the man enter an old car parked on the rails. He slid forward, hoping he had been unseen by his prey.
The Owlhoot tried to look through the windows in the train car. The glass had been scoured to block casual snooping. The hero moved to the door. He checked the sliding panels for alarms before he planted two small explosive charges on the hinges of the car door.
He triggered the charges, bursting into the car. A cloud of smoke preceded him into the parked train compartment. He heard a click and threw himself to the floor. A jet of flame cut through the cloud.
The Owlhoot flipped to his feet, pistols in hand. The motorcyclist glared in his infrared lenses as he fired. The special bullet cracked against the rider's aura, exploding in a wave. The man went down, spreading fire along the ragged carpet and furniture.
The Owlhoot saw the flames leap on a table of chemicals.
A shadow enveloped The Owlhoot as the chemicals expanded under the sudden heat. He heard a roar, and thought he was moving in the air. He kept himself loose, hitting the ground in a slide.
He looked up. Someone stood against the flames, watching the interior of the train car burn. The fire condensed minutely. The burning cyclist burst out on his fiery motorcycle, landing on his rear wheel. The front wheel came down, and the rider took off. A streak of fire marked the path along the rails out of the abandoned subway tunnel.
The Owlhoot jumped to his feet as the other man ran for his own motorcycle. He grabbed the seat of the bike as the second rider tore off after the first.
The Owlhoot distinctly heard hoof beats as he pulled himself aboard the bike.
8
The two motorcyclists raced through the abandoned tunnels. The Owlhoot had grabbed his rescuer's shoulders as they hurtled along the subway tracks. He didn't like the shadows cast by his fellow rider and the cycle he was riding on.
The three riders burst into a crowded station, steeds screaming in their own ways. The flaming cyclist led the way up the entrance stairs, cooking the concrete steps before exploding out of the entrance mouth. He turned to the right, jumping the hood of a car, landing in traffic.
The Owlhoot hung on through the bumpy pursuit, leaning his weight in the right direction as his driver leaned into a turn. They shot down the sidewalk, following the fiery trail in the street. Glancing over the man's shoulder at the speedometer, the masked cowboy saw the needle was at the end of the scale, as they scattered the walkers in front of them.
"Get beside him," said The Owlhoot, holding his head close to the black hat of his new ally. "We have to put a stop to this."
The man nodded, shooting off the curb. The bike roared as he urged more speed from it. They raced down the street in the middle of traffic, avoiding collisions with cars by finger widths.
The Owlhoot fired one of his special bullets as they raced along. The fronts of the buildings on either side of the street were hazy blurs as the wind whipped at his eyes. The black rider raced his cycle alongside the other. The burning man looked at the two, visor hiding any expression.
The foam extinguisher exploded in the flaming aura. The burning cycle came apart in a wave of fiery ribbons, tossing the driver in the air. The black rider skidded to a halt a few yards beyond where the other man slid along the asphalt. He pushed his hat back as he swung off the black motorcycle.
The Owlhoot swung off the black bike, pistols in hand. The flames surrounding the vandal died down as he looked up weakly.
"Give it up," the masked cowboy warned. "Your vendetta is over."
The black rider walked forward. Gloved hands pulled the other's helmet off. The burning cyclist looked up at him with hate in her eyes, short hair plastered to her skull by sweat. Sad eyes looked down at her.
"The Owlhoot is right," Tremaine said. "You have done enough harm."
"I won't stop until they pay for what they did," said the woman, her hand closing in a fist around the switch in her hand.
The Owlhoot fired the last two fire extinguishing capsules before she could press the switch. The foamy chemicals wrapped around her instantly. Gloved hands released the small tanks from her suit before she could try anything else.
"What a waste," the black rider said, pulling his hat forward to shade his face again. He got on his motorcycle and sped off before the police and fire departments could arrive.
Epilogue
Nick Gray and Coral Anderson walked hand in hand in Central Park, enjoying the spring day.
"Her name was Carrie Brubaker," said Nick, free hand in a pocket. "Her family went bankrupt, her father committed suicide. She couldn't sell her liquid fire invention. Everywhere she turned, someone that belonged to the fraternity seemed to be responsible."
"So she decided to get revenge on all of them," Cory said, already guessing the rest.
"Yes," said Nick.
"What about the other rider?," asked Cory.
"Gone," said Nick. "No name, no address. The police and insurance companies are looking for him because a reward was posted for Brubaker. So far, no success."
"He'll turn up," said Cory, putting her arm around his shoulders. "Its not like he's a devil, or a ghost."