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stuffed it and my stuff onto the floor of the sidecar.
    “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Freddie. “You’re serious? You want me to drive this thing?”
    “No, I want you to ride this thing. So if you have a better idea I’m all ears.”
    “Well, no, but—”
    “Then it’s all set.”
    Freddie stared at the chrome engine glimmering in the moonlight and whimpered, “What’s NOS?”
    “Oh, she’s got a custom nitrous oxide tank which means we basically have two speeds,” I explained with an ear-to-ear grin. “Sonic and supersonic.”
    Freddie hunched over, his hands on his knees.
    I patted him on the back.
    “Don’t worry,” I said, remembering what I overheard Grumbling’s say. “It’s got a left-hand tank shift, a right hand throttle, and a heel to go, toe to slow foot clutch. Oh, and a suicide clutch rig. Whatever that is.”
    Freddie’s face turned ghostly white.
    “Look, I’ll drive the chopper if you don’t think you can tame the beast—”
    “No, no, I can do it,” he said adamantly. “It’s no biggie. I may be small, but I’m no wimp.”
    “Never said you were. You can handle her,” I said, smirking ever so slightly. “Just get Snaggletooth in the sidecar and wait here, ready to go. I’ll be right back.”
    I left Freddie to familiarize himself with Cherry Pie and walked into Grumbling’s trailer.
    Inside, the place was a real dump and smelled like dirty underwear and sweat. I crinkled my nose, turned my head, and lo and behold—through the pile of empty beer cans, whiskey bottles, dirty ashtrays, and fast-food wrappings—there they hung on a hook, a set of keys with a rhinestone cherry key ring, just begging to be taken. I reached for them and almost had them within my grasp when a vicious voice startled me from behind. My earlier excitement faded into absolute horror.
    “So there you are, you disgusting mutant. What do you think you’re doing?”
    Shaking, I turned to face the satanic ringmaster of doom. Even the red, glowing tip of his perma-cigar personified evil.
    “How dare you enter my trailer?” screamed Burt. “And how dare you treat Peaches with such disrespect!”
    Burt undid the buckle latched around his fat waist, and off came his belt. With maniacal evil-clown glee, he folded the leather belt in half, and SNAP came the dreaded noise. He raised his hair-covered hand over his head, preparing to crack me across the face with the makeshift whip, and hissed, “It’s time to teach you a lesson you just might not live through.”
    I braced myself for the blow. And then CRASH! I opened my eyes to find Freddie and Snaggletooth standing in Burt’s place. Freddie held a shattered whiskey bottle, and sported a mingled look of fear and accomplishment on his face.
    Burt was down for the count.
    And that’s example number one as to why Freddie Finch was one of the coolest guys on the planet. A good friend always has your back—even if it’s ribbed.
    “Well, Freddie, I guess we’re even now. Didn’t know you had it in you.” I grabbed Cherry Pie’s keys off the hook. “Guess we should take off before he wakes up, huh?”
    Oddly enough, Freddie started laughing again. He was weird like that, always bursting out into fits at the most inopportune times. “Yeah, right about now, that would be a really good idea.”
    Freddie and I booked it out the back of Grumbling’s RV to steal our only beacon of hope. I threw him the keys. “She’s all yours, Rambo.”

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    HOW TO ESCAPE A GANG OF KILLER CLOWNS
     
    Once we took our positions on the motorcycle, Freddie started up the engine. Or at least, Freddie tried to start up the engine. It took a couple of tries, or maybe fifty, but then she finally roared to life. The sound? It was better than listening to one of my favorite songs on my smashed up iPod. I found a couple of goggles in the sidecar, most likely because I was sitting on them and I handed a pair over to Freddie. He looked like a frog in them. Suppose I