Another semi-long entry for the 28 Dead Ends meme...

Greedy Dead End

"Come on, Dead End, old pal, it'll just be a few days now and then, you get uh, 25% cut for your services, what do you say?" Swindle wheedled the Stunticon.

"Why me?" Dead End polished his leg-mounted fender panels, looking up periodically at the yellow jeep Transformer.

"Because I need an expensive car for the scam, and you're the only one who'll work. Breakdown would go postal over being looked at, and Wildrider can't hold still long enough for delivery. Drag Strip ain't the right kind of car, and I'm a jeep. Since I can't get the Autobots to cooperate, that leaves you." Swindle pointed a finger at Dead End.

"Hmm. Twenty-five per cent seems a tad low," Dead End said in his urbane, faintly British voice. "Fifty-fifty is reasonable to me."

"FIFTY? Are you over-energized or something? I'm doing all the work on this one, all you have to do is sit there and look pretty come delivery time, let the mark drive you home, then take off when he's not looking." Swindle sounded like he was about to melt a processor. "Thirty per cent, and not a penny more!"

"Oh, very well--forty per cent," Dead End said, sounding bored. "If you won't go that high, I suppose you could try eBaying F-15 jets instead..."

"Very funny. All right, forty per cent! And they call me a chiseler!" Swindler huffed. "Hold out your arm, will you? I want to check your VIN out, might actually be clean."

"My what?"

"VIN. Vehicle Identification Number. You were built from a real Earth car, in case you've forgotten, and you still got all the serial numbers and other crap." Swindle turned to the nearby computer terminal and puttered about for a few minutes. "Bah. You're a stolen car. Have to fake up a clean VIN; makes you a bit less useful than I'd hoped, so, thirty-five per cent."

"I bet Skywarp would be really amused if you sold him on eBay. Or better yet, see if you can get Starscream."

"Oh, all right, forty per cent!" Swindle glared furiously at the dark red Stunticon. "Chiseler!"

The first deal went down clean as clockwork. The maroon Porsche 928 sold via online auction to John Clark in Westchester, New York, and was duly delivered by an auto freighting service to Mr. Clark's driveway. Mr. Clark enjoyed driving his shiny, beautiful vintage Porsche for one fine afternoon; unfortunately, it was stolen out of his garage while he slept.

The second through sixth scams went just as smoothly. The seventh deal did not go so smoothly. Megatron had a mission for the Combaticons, and Swindle was in a hurry to get the auction listing completed before being dragged off to the mandatory strategy meeting. He made one small mistake; he forgot to change Dead End's VIN in the listing.

...That's why Dead End crashed through Sgt. Harry Mulligan's garage door at one o'clock in the morning, engine howling as he sailed through the air to slam down onto the street outside. One, two police cars that way, a police van this way, with three more black and whites behind it. Two of the police cars pulled in front of him to barricade the street; Dead End sped up and rammed them.

The two police cars skidded down the street, dragged sideways by the impact until they were pushed apart and Dead End drove between them, unscratched amid the wreckage. He screeched down the short residential street and took the corner on two wheels, heading for the main avenue.

His radio crackled. "Dead End, what in the Pit is going on? Police frequencies just went crazy about your location!"

"It's gone pear-shaped, Swindle! You got sloppy, they got smart, your scam just got blown wide open. Was getting ready to extract when I picked up all kinds of vehicles on my radar--stuff that shouldn't have been in that neighborhood."

"I thought there was something fishy about a cop being able to afford a Porsche on his salary! Figured he was just crooked. Any Autobots?"

"No sign of them. Help me shake some of these cops before they get an eye in the sky."

From his stakeout in the corner of a convenience store parking lot, Swindle watched a police helicopter fly by. "Too late for that, Dead End."

"You could shoot it down."

"That'll cost you five per cent, Dead End."

"If things get that hot, I'll call Motormaster. Then you can negotiate your remaining share with him."

"Slag you! I hope the Aerialbots scrap your chassis next time!"

"No doubt they will. If not them, sooner or later something will."

"Threatening you is no fun at all. You'd drive Vortex nuts if he ever got his hands on you."

Dead End had gotten clear of the twisty little residential streets and was screaming down the main avenue at about 100 mph. Strip malls flashed by, identical lighted dominoes all in a row as the Stunticon headed for the open freeway. He easily dodged the few cars on the road at this late hour; a collision now would slow him down.

The police helicopter dogged him, its skids only a few feet above his roof. Dead End accelerated up the ramp to the freeway, deliberately hit a bump and went sailing into the air--

Transformed in mid-air, swung his rifle up and around, and smashed the helicopter's rotor with one burst of super-compressed air. He twisted, transformed back to car mode and slammed down onto the freeway, bouncing once or twice as the helicopter dove into the ground and crumpled. Fortunately for its passengers, it had been less than twenty feet off the ground.

Dead End screamed off down the highway, hitting 200 mph as he left the town behind.

A scream of rage erupted from his radio: "Slagging humans! I hope the little flesh-things crash, die and burn! I'm going to squash them! I'm going to--"

"What are you going on about?" Dead End asked over his radio.

"THEY FROZE MY ACCOUNT!"

"...I thought you moved the payments offshore."

"I forgot to because of Megatron's stupid mission! So sue me, okay?"

"Really, you should keep track of your priorities, Swindle. Which is more important, Yet Another 'Exterminate the Autobots with The Ultimate Weapon' Mission, or moving your payoffs to a numbered Swiss bank account?"

"ARRRGGGGHHHH!"

-- FIN --