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Dinah comes up from the garage, wiping grease off her hands onto a rag, which she leaves with the bar in exchange for an egg cream. It's not really a fair trade.

She's dressed for shop work: hair pulled back from her face, dirty jeans and a Green Lantern T-shirt that's stained from where she's wiped her hands as she went.

Go on, ask her if she can recite the oath.

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Voodoo shakes his head. "Never seen any of his movies. Why, he ride one of them?"

"There was a classic series of photos of him taken by Phil Stern," she explains, turning up an aisle and walking towards the bikes and truck as she promised.

The bed of the pick-up has been used as a workshop slash storage area, and it's recognizably hers. A pail behind a rear wheel is over flowing with trowel and garden forks and pruning shears, and a pair of boxing gloves hang from the corner of the truck. It's generally much used, very messy workspace.

"It made this particular model famous."

"No shit?"

Well that puts them in a different light.

He takes a look around her workspace, and his eyes, predictably, fall on the gloves.

"You box, too?" he asks, nodding to them.

Dinah nods. "Same uncle that taught me to ride a motorcycle was a five time heavyweight champion. Ever hear of Ted Grant? Wildcat?"

Probably not.

Voodoo stops in his tracks.

"Shit yeah I've heard of him. Took him on once when he was visiting the gym I used to train in."

He puts his hands in his pockets and stares at the gloves, nodding.

"I was 16. Motherfucker knocked me out in the first round. Didn't land a single hit on him."

It's always awesome when people you know exist in different universes. Dinah grins at him.

"You mouthed off at him, didn't you?"

That'll get Ted to knock out a teenager in a single punch. She lifts her right hand, flexing the fingers.

"When I was sixteen, I broke my metcarpophalangeal joint on his jaw."

But at least she landed the punch, right?

Voodoo shrugs. "Might've done. Challenged him to a fight. Never saw his hook coming."

He stretches his neck. "That was one of my dumber ideas of the day. Of the month, really. Shoulda stuck with beating my pops up."

"Where's the challenge in that?" Dinah says. "You never improve if you don't aim out of your class occasionally."

This is why she spars with Wonder Woman sometimes.

She pulls the cover off one of the motorcycles and stands back. "This was his."

Voodoo looks it over, nodding in approval. "How fast could it go?"

Dinah smiles, amused at the frequency of this question.

"When he first got it, maybe ninety miles per hour? He made some adjustments, and I've done the same to this one. One fifty, easily."

She needs to go fast to keep up with speedsters.

Voodoo whistles. "No shit. Didn't think the old engines could put out that much."

"Well, they can't," she admits. "Not unless you basically rebuild it from scratch."

Which is what she and Ted have happily been doing.

"I was commenting more on how it could get up to 90 in the first place, but shit, rebuilding it ain't nothin' to sneeze at neither."

He looks over the bike.

"I always had a thing for those sport bikes. You know, the kind they do races with? Things looked pretty sweet."

"Yeah?" Dinah asks. She gives him a quick glance for a weight estimate and looks up the aisle. "Bet we can find a lightweight model to start on."

Voodoo nods. "Whatcha got?"

Dinah takes a couple of seconds looking up and down for likely candidates, then starts up, away from him, with a purposeful stride.

Without looking back at him or slowing up, she asks, "how do you feel about ninja?"

"How do I feel about ninja? Miss, I am ninja."

In not so many words: yes.

"Really? I had you down as more of a pirate."

Regardless, she's drawn up by a third generation Kawasaki Ninja.

"Alright, meet your new best friend. She's yours, now. And I'm going to expect you to take care of her."

Which means Dinah can add motorcycle care lessons to what she's going to have to impart.

But she's not looking after another man's bike for him.

"Call me a hybrid. A pinja."

He crouches down next to the bike, scratching his beard as he looks over its workings.

"So. Just like that, huh? No paperwork, no nothin'?"

"Well, if someone comes in and says that's really his bike and hand it over, I guess you can fight it out," she says. "But as far as I can tell, no one lays claim to anything in here very much. And that's a criminal waste."

Voodoo nods. "Ain't it just."

He stands up, his hands in his pockets. "Okay. I'll take it."

"Alright," Dinah says, and her face breaks into a much wider grin.

"Let's get started."

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