Thankfully for 'Angela,' Pestilence's main way of killing people was through disease and not through accident. Therefore, he pulled a gleaming white helmet out from under his saddlebags and handed it to her.

"You'll have to hang on tight. I don't go the speed limit," Pestilence whispered, trying to make it sound as innuendo filled as possible. He smiled as she attempted to sit on the motorbike side-saddle. "I'm afraid that isn't going to work, darling." Whipping off his jacket, he sheilded her from on-coming traffic. "You're going to have to hitch up your skirts." He tried to be gentlemanly and turn away, but couldn't help but glance out the corner of his eye.