A/n: I own nothing except for the plot.

Chapter 3

"WAIT!" Charley yelled, over the revving of their engines.

"Charley-girl you're ruining our awesome exit."

"I forgot. You guys can't drive there."

"WHAT!" Vinnie cried. "Are you trying to ruin my ego?"

"You don't know where you're going, and besides it looks better that way," she said, brushing them off. "And Vinnie darling, nothing could ruin your ego."

"We have pretty good since of direction," Throttle said.

"Yeah," Modo chimed in. "We made it here from Mars okay."

She shook her head. "It's not that. We need to make it look like you haven't been driving."

"But that's not any fun," Vinnie complained.

"How does making us look like we don't drive suppose to help us?" Throttle asked.

"Legally, by Earth and Illinois state laws you can't drive. The fact that you are driving now, illegally, could get you in deep trouble."

Throttle rubbed his chin and thought about it and nodded.

"But Charley-girl," Vinnie whined, "It's not cool for the baddest mamajammer like me to be driven around."

"Are you implying that I'm not awesome enough to drive?" She pointed a threatening finger at him. "You drive me around all of the time."

"But that's different," Modo answered, "It's a gentlemouse's job."

"What if something happens?" Throttle asked, completely ignoring Vinnie's nonsensical babble about Charley's driving. "Like Limburger gets one of his bright ideas to attack Chicago?"

"Yeah," Modo agreed.

"The answer is still no, unless you want spend some time in jail and pay a fine with money that you don't have."

This caused the three of them exchange to looks.

"She's got a point," Modo said. "The Mayor likes us well enough, but we're guests on this planet."

"Charley," Throttle started. "There's been no sign from Limburger for a week. He might attack today for all we know."

Charley checked her watch. "Then you get to tell me 'I told you so,' if he does attack. Let's go, we're going to be late."

"But I don't like cars," Vinnie whimpered.

"Cry me a river." She muttered. "I'll take the bikes and give them some much needed upgrades and TLC at the garage while, you three are in your class."

The three bros loaded the bikes into the trailer that was attached to the truck.

The four piled into Charley's pickup truck. It was cramped in the back seat. Vinnie crossed his arms in front of him, annoyed. The bros' bikes beeped and whistled at them.

Modo put his hand on the handle bar of his bike. "You have go with Charley-Ma'am right now."

Lil Hoss beeped miserably.

"I know, I know. When in Rome…"

"Do as in Rome," Throttle finished.

Unbeknownst to the Bros, Limburger's lovable lumbering lackey lurked behind the exit of Quigley stadium. The smell of the garbage in the dingy alley masked the smell of oil and dead fish that seem to follow Greaspit around. He sat in his motorcycle hiding behind a branch, pretending to be one with the tree. Charley and the bros did not seem to notice him, even though the tree was awkwardly out of place.

As they pulled away, Greasepit picked up his walky-talky. "The meeses have left the nest? They're not riding their bikes. Something's wrong."

Limburger's nasally voice came over the intercom. "Greasepit, my dear boy, how many times do I have tell you. Go figure out what's wrong with those wretched rodents and call me back. I can't do anything if I have no idea what those meddling mice are up to."

"Dey's gotten in that Charley lady's truck."

"THEN FOLLOW THEM, BUT KEEP YOUR DISTANCE. More orders will come later when you have completed that simple task." Greasepit jumped at the voice giving the orders, landing hard in his motorcycle. The umbrella on his drooped pitifully. It used to be a shade of red, but the sun had bleached it to a light pink and it had spots of oil over it. The edges were singed. Greaspit tossed his disguise in the nearest trashcan sped off in a splatter of grease.

Limburger mulled over the information that his slippery stooge had given him. Clearly the dear boy had gotten distracted on his daily errand to the bait store to buy meal worms, but it was a distraction that could make or break his If those blasted Biker mice were out of commission, that would make his takeover of Chicago that much easier.

He pressed a button on his intercom. "My dear Dr. Karbunkle."

"Yes, your putrid Parmesan pastiness?" A voice, a cross between a hiss and a squeak came over the small speaker.

"It seems that those blasted Biker Mice seem to be having engine trouble. Is this wonderful turn of fate your doing?"

"No, your fetid feta flatulence-ness."

"Interesting. This would be an opportune time to take over Chicago."

"I have just the thing, your Golden Gouda Goodness."

"Excellent. I leave Chicago's destruction in your capable hands." He hung up on the doctor. Then he leaned back and looked out the window of his tower. "I love the smell of destruction in the morning."

A/n:

Please read and review. And yes, god willing it won't take me years to update to again ;)