Chuck Versus the Motorcycle

"Morgan!" Lester and Jeff strolled up to Morgan, who was at the moment, talking to Chuck about video game downloads. Morgan turned, replying, "Yeah?"

"We've got beautiful piece of work for you to look at." Lester said with a knowing smile accompanied by an eyebrow-raise. "And the girl selling it is as hot as the bike." Jeff chimed in. Morgan looked from Chuck to Lester and Jeff, then said,

"I'll catch up with you later, okay buddy?" and hurried after the two Buy More employees. Chuck sighed and rolled his eyes, then shuffled boredly back to the help desk. John Casey glanced at him as Chuck walked by, but then went back to shelving digital printers.

In the little garage stood a girl and a motorcycle. She ran a fond hand over the blue paint.

"1965 Panhead Harley Davidson. She's pretty slow and the engine needs work, but the paint job is perfect and there's only one scratch on her. Tires are new too. How much do you boys think I can get for her? I was betting around ten grand because of the engine, including the fact that the bike is practically an antique."

Morgan approached the bike with wide eyes as Jeff studied the girl, who looked to be between the ages of Chuck, and John Casey. She looked at least part-Asian, was built thin but clearly worked out, and had black hair that waved and twisted to about halfway down her back.

"We'd need a few weeks…maybe months to sell this." Lester said eagerly as the girl smoothed the "for sale" sticker on the bike's seat. Jeff just stared at her.

"All right, everything is on the seat as far as information goes. I'm going to go look around the store now. Gove me a call when you've sold it."

"We'll give you a call all right," Jeff muttered, watching her walk away.

"Like I said," Lester sighed, "Fine piece of work." He looked at the "For Sale" tag. It had a number on it, and the name Allison Walters.


Casey had moved on to shelving computer equipment and was taking a short break to look over what he had left to do, when a woman, dressed sleekly in black, with mousy hair walked past, taking everything in. Casey's internal alarms went off and he took his break over to the help desk, where Chuck was sitting. As he walked by, a spot of magenta caught the corner of his eye. It was a tank top, and worn with it were a pair or dark blue jeans. The girl wearing them was…well, Casey hadn't seen anything that beautiful since Ilsa, whom had ended up being a spy. This girl looked part Asian and was carrying a black leather jacket with a pair of sunglasses up on her dark hair.

His admiration and the strange feeling in his chest was abruptly halted as he refocused on the suspicious-looking woman. She was at the help desk and Chuck was fixing her phone as she studied him intently. As Casey approached, Chuck said,

"See? Just a little button jam. It probably got smashed in your purse. Have a nice day!" As the woman turned to leave, she flicked her eyes over him, as though determining if he was a threat. But as Casey took another step forward, she pocketed the cell phone and walked away. Casey stared after her, making a mental note to keep on the lookout for her.

"Chuck, did you flash on that woman?"

"What? No. Why?"

"Forget it." Casey grunted, and he went back to shelving boxes. The girl stopped at the help desk and Chuck pointed her to some corner of the store or another. A few minutes later, Casey was going about his business when he suddenly felt as though he were being watched. Something smelled faintly of oranges and some exotic flower he couldn't place. He turned, finding himself face to face with the girl he had seen earlier, the one with the motorcycle jacket.

"Can I help you?" Casey grunted, shoving any emotion that had reared its head prior, back inside himself.

The girl smiled, hinting only slightly of flirtation, "That depends on your expertise."

"In?" Casey asked, loosening up a little despite his reserve.

"Memory. Specifically in laptops. But if you have a love of motorcycles, I'll accept that too."

"Memory is in the next aisle over."

"But then comes the need for expertise. I don't know what kind I need."

Casey's manager approached and he scowled a little. Now he couldn't leave because the scrawny little man had been badgering him about customer service for a week.

"I'd be happy to help." Casey growled, sounding more like he'd rather strangle her. The girl raised an eyebrow and winked at him.

"Great." They went into the next aisle and Allison helped him narrow the type memory down.

As Casey pulled out yet another type of memory and she rejected it, Allison smiled, looking mischievous and flirtatious.

"Here it is." She said, pulling a box off the shelf.

"How do you know?" Casey grunted.

"Because I knew what type I needed all along, but I thought you were cute. And your manager was staring at you."

Cute was not a word one used to describe any NSA agent, least of all John Casey. But the girl merely smiled and handed him a scrap of paper with a name and number scrawled on it. As she passed his manager, she made a telephone with her hand and mouthed, "call me" over her shoulder. Casey merely watched after her as his hand made a tight fist. But, he kept the scrap of paper.

This is just a little intro. If you watch Chuck on TV, then you already know the characters. If not, well, go watch it. I also am posting a link of what the motorcycle Allison was selling looks like. For visuals. And I don't own any of this stuff, just as a disclaimer.

Link: .com/1965-Blue-Panhead-Harley-Davidson-Art-Print-Poster_W0QQitemZ200290024112QQcmdZViewItemQQimsxZ20081219?IMSfp=TL081219112009r11974#ebayphotohosting