Wally had matured. By far, he had matured. He no longer watched cartoons, instead choosing to watch CSI for the some-what educational purposes that he could use for the KND. But they had booted him out.
According to them, his sudden mature behavior was a sign of puberty and hormones. And the KND would put up with neither. And neither did his teammates.
Long fights and arguments usually ended with Wally cussing and being thrown out of the tree house. Already, he had lost two major bones in his arm, including the humorous; aka, the funny bone, and had stainless steel bits attached. And he was far from being the man of steel.
So he began collecting. Not ordinary collecting of a kid. He collected guns and ammo. So far he had two twelve gauge shotguns, three nine millimeters made by Glock and Berretta, and a 30-30 rifle with scope. He kept them away in his closet, all in armored and fire-proof cases with digital codes. His parents knew of this two, but said nothing of it for it was, for them, a very mature act of responsibility to own and care for a firearm. They were impressed by the cases Wally made by never taking the guns out of the case unless at the shooting park or when Joey wasn't around.
Wally pulled the shirt over his head and tucked the Glock into his waist band of the jeans he was wearing. The magazine was not toped off, so he had nine shots out of ten. But if he got into a serious gun fight (which, he thought, would never happen), he had two magazines that were topped off, so he had a total of twenty nine shots. Enough to get away, not to win. That was his new motto.
He walked outside and felt the cool night air on his face. The humidity was high, warning him of a soon to come rain fall. He would be home by then. He just had some business to care for.
He walked to the corner and crossed the street. An angry woman honked at him as he crossed, but he ignored her and preferred to give her the finger. Though he didn't.
He walked another three blocks into a storage area were a friend of his lived. His name was Jack and he was excellent with parts. He already made Wally three customized motorcycles, two crotch-rockets and one dirt-bike. Tonight he needed the extra speed of one of the crotch-rockets, but preferred to take the dirt bike. It would maneuver easily and had enhanced shocks on both tires in case he wanted to go down- or up- a flight of stairs.
Jack came out and spat on the ground. He walked over and replied to Wally, "You need to gas it up, amigo. It ran out when I was testing. Use the blue can."
Wally grabbed a blue gas can and opened the lid and took out the tube. It smelled different. Completely different from the normal gas.
"What is this?" Wally asked, keeping the urgency and suspicion from his voice easily undetected.
"Hydrogen. Gas got so damned expensive, I need a cheaper fuel. So I changed the engine to a smaller engine. You still get the same ninety horse-power, but fuel is way less expensive. Plus you might get a little extra speed with a lighter engine."
Wally nodded and handed Jack a crumpled fifty. He took it and said, "Gracious, now I can pay my rent."
Wally got on the dirt bike and revved the engine. It was whisper silent. Excellent.
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He arrived at another garage, meeting up with another collector, Jordon. He was Russian with no accent detectable to Wally. The shook hands, then embraced.
"Aw, Wallabee. I have a treat for you." he said.
They walked into a garage and Wally kept his cool at the sight of the many guns. Revolvers, pistols, shotguns, rifles.
There was a display case filled with firearms for sell or trade. But one weapon caught Wally's eye. A snub-nose magnum revolver. Instantly, they were discussing a fair price.
"Fifteen thousand and it is yours." Jordan said, nodding his head to agree with himself.
"Fifteen thou! I'll give eight grand for it and five boxes of shells."
The Russian sighed. "You drive a hard bargain," he said, and Wally tensed up. "But I see that you will go no higher. Allow me to retrieve the purchase for you while to collect your funds."
Wally pulled out a casing of one hundred dollar bills and laid it on the table. Jordan put down the revolver and five boxes of ammo. They slid the trades across the table and picked up their winnings.
Jordon slapped the bills across his hand before flipping them in his ear.
"Sounds light." he said, looking across the table.
"What? Do you not trust a friend?" Wally said, placing the revolver and it's ammo in a foam lined case. He laid his hand on a scanner and locked the system. Nothing was getting in or out of this case without Wally's prints.
They shook hands once more and Wally left, leaving the Russian to count his newly earned spoils in peace.
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Wally awoke the next morning and yawned. It was the first day of summer and, again, he had business to do. But he could stop by the tree house to pick up a few things.
He ate breakfast, worked out, took a shower, and brushed his teeth before going out to the shed. Wally had built it with his dad and they had let Wally store stuff in there. Like the dirt bike.
It was low on fuel so he had to stop by Jacks, who wanted to make some modifications on it.
"Please, amigo." he begged on both knees.
"Whatever," Wally said, then added, "But it's got to be done in two hours."
"Si," Jack said. "Gracious!"
Wally sat in the shade of extendable roof that came out of the garages. Jack's girlfriend, Susan, had retrieved a folding chair and a mug of root beer for Wally.
"Thanks," he said, sipping the fizzy foam off the top of the mug.
After an hour and a half, Jack came out, wiping his dirty, sweating face with a rag.
"It's done." he said, leading them to the garage.
"I installed a nitrous tank," he said, gesturing to a small tank underneath the main one. "It carries an equivalent of a cup of liquid nitrous. You'll get about a half a minute of extreme speed before it's empty. Enough to-"
" Get away, not win." Wally finished for him.
"I also filled up your tank."
"Thanks." Wally said and handed over another fifty. As he crossed Susan, he put a folded twenty into her training bra. "Thanks." he said to her, grinning.
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He rang the door bell of the tree house and Numbuh Five answered it. She slammed the door, but Wally stuck his foot in the way.
"I'm just here to pick up a few things." he said through gritted teeth.
He shoved the door and entered, heading straight to his room. He grabbed a duffel bag from his empty closet and stuffed a few things into it. When he turned, Numbuh's One, Two, and Three were at the door. Numbuh Five was in his face.
"What do you think your doing, just barging into a KND home base?" she screamed, an inch away from his face.
With that starter, all the other's began to yell at once.
"Shut up!" Wally yelled, but they ignored it.
He took out the nine millimeter he had in his waist band and shot three times at the ceiling. Instantly, things were quite.
"I just came to pick up a few things from my room!" he yelled. "Damn it, you act like I'm the Toiletnator or Father!"
"That's 'cause you are like them!" Numbuh One yelled back.
Angrily, Wally shot a bullet at Numbuh One. It whizzed by his head, missing him completely. But the bang harmed his ear and he crumpled to the floor.
Alarms began to rings and Wally tucked the gun away and excused himself from the tree house. He jumped on his dirt bike and sped across town, almost using the nitro. But it would be a waste any way. He just needed to stay low for a few days and everything would be back to normal. Hopefully.
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He arrived at home, dropped his bike off in the shed. He dragged his feet up the stairs, into his second bedroom. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.