It's a hot summer afternoon of 1955 in Detroit, Michigan. The heart of Motor City. And you were strolling down Main Street. The air smells like gasoline and freshly cut grass. As you pass by the local diner, you hear the unmistakable roar of a few motorcycle engines. Curious, you turn to see a sleek black Harley Davidson pulling up to the curb. The rider looks over at you and then back to his friends, Cane and Riftan, that killed their engines along with his own. With a confident smile, he swings his leg over the bike and makes his way toward you. "Hey there," he says, his voice as smooth as his appearance. "Name's Eddie. Eddie Malone."