Does this "feel" like dieselpunk to everyone?

I've finally found a new batch of time (and inspiration) to get to work on my "pulp" style fiction.  I'd love to know what the other members thoughts and feelings are regarding this small introduction to my project.  Does it feel "Dieselpunk"?

NOTE: Keep in mind the only editing that's been done so far is a run through a spell checker.  It's still a rough first draft.

Adventure 1

With an unmistakable rumble the Monorail painted an even darker shadow on to the pitch-black night atop of the poor and dilapidated neighborhoods it’s track support system were built into as the 11:30 express railed by. The pocket areas built around the track system that dotted the cities underbelly were called by one name: Track town. It was not a place to find your self once the sun went down and the monorail began running single payload, passenger only, cars out of the industrial zones of the city and into the entertainment districts.

"Right on time." Jackknife grumbled to a second man as he spat the cigarette from his mouth into one of the many rain puddles that surrounded his perch outside the storage garage. It was one of hundreds of the “mixed used” wide concrete buildings the city had sold the monorail to it’s peoples with. Think of the jobs, they said. Think of the housing?

In reality they were built to have a stable platform for the monorail tracks to be leveled on throughout the city. Spaced just far enough apart to have ample privacy, renters could literally get away with murder inside of them since owners wanted nothing to do with the spaces now that the monorail was up and running.

"McAllister and his hide outs." Ratchet gruffed. He spun around and followed his leader Jackknife into the shadowy dank box of a room, closing the roll down door behind the two of them as they entered.

Originally zoned completely industrial it was filled with storage, parking, garages, and box style multi-use buildings that didn't really have any enforced zoning. This left people squatting in garages and pouring drinks in storage spaces on a nightly basis along the zig zag course that “Track town” carved through the city.

"You ready to talk yet Sparky?" Jackknife asked from the dark edges of the storehouse. The boxes, crates, and car parts had been pushed aside to make an empty space in it’s center where one man was now located, tied to a chair.
"I've told you everything I know Knife, Jesus man." Sparky blubbered from the chair.
"You aren’t said squat yet Spark." Ratchet gave the tied man a right cross with his leather-gloved fist.

Jackknife shucked his wet overcoat allowing the engine man to have his fun. It wasn't often Ratchet was able to participate at this level. The grease monkey was usually busy under a car or three for the duration of a gig while the gang was operating together on the street. Since they were laying low they didn’t need any custom transportation and Ratchet had been getting more and more restless every day.

Besides, Sparky had at one time recently been one of them, Jackknife figured Ratchet felt just as much betrayal as Jackknife did. Might as well let the gear head get it out of his system here while it serves Knifes purpose.

"McAllister’s got something big coming in Sparky." Jackknife stated as he came out of the shadows with his sleeves rolled up. His black tattoos covered his forearms completely from short sleeve to tan leather glove.

"But he don't want to use us this time!" Ratchet screeched in frustration, giving a left cross this time.

"One of us talked about the last gig. That's what McAllister thinks. Did you talk Ratchet?" Jackknife pulled his zippo from his pocket and clicked the lid over and over again in a rhythmic motion almost as if he didn't realize he was doing it.

"To who Knife? You know I don't likes people. I don't never talk to know one!" Ratchet spat a glob of tobacco onto the floor just missing Sparky's boot with everything but splatter.

"Ratchet was off-site all that night prepping the rigs for the next gig, he was never part of any planning. Slider was shot, he's breathing through tubes down at county." Jackknife pulled a cigar out from his vest pocket as he paced before the man tied up to the chair under the spot light.

"Sam's been in Europe." Ratchet stated from the other side of the tied up man.

Jackknife knew that wasn't true, Samantha had been staying at one of his places since the last job, but he didn't see any need to inform the rest of them about her distaste for living with street urchins for days on end. A woman like her, she was used to a certain style and Knife kept her lavished with it. He simply nodded in agreement with Ratchet.

"I know I didn't tell anyone Sparky, which only leaves..."

Jackknife flicked the top of the Zippo to light the cigar he'd put in his teeth. The small square chamber glimmered with flickering light as the flame grew inside it.

As it did, the three-man crew became aware of an unexpected addition to their environment.
The flame of the Zippo was brilliantly reflected back at everyone off of the body of a matte gray motorcycle parked in the shadows of the far corner of their unit.

Atop the motorcycle, a masked man sat determined, yet patient.

"Don't let me stop you." The man the newspapers had been calling Iron Horse stated to all three of them with a grin. “Keep incriminating your selves.”
“What the?”
“Don’t just stand there you fool, kill him.”

The masked man laid a thick sticky torrent of black rubber on the floor as he popped the engine in gear and lurched out of the dark corner. With a flick of his wrist the motorcycles head lamp erupted in the confined space. The three pedestrians cringed, falling away from the direct path of the bike that now rocketed toward them.
“Kill that light!” Ratchet screamed as he dove for cover.
“Cover the door!” Screamed Jackknife as he fumbled for one of the firearms lying about.
“Untie me!” Screamed Sparky as the chair he was tied to toppled over into complete shadows.

“What the hell is going on over their Stratton?” Squawked a voice in the masked mans ear.

Iron Horse sped the bike to the roll door, currently secured closed to the floor, and kicked out at the latch handle as he spun around to face his attackers. Tucking in close to the fuel tank Iron Horse was sure he could actually feel the bullets that were escaping Ratchet’s revolver as they whizzed over him.

With the click of slider tab on the motorcycle’s handlebar the headlamp began to strobe in irregular patterns, colors, and wavelengths of light as it barreled down on the firing man. Iron Horse skidded out just slightly to put the fiery red hot exhaust pipe in contact with Ratchet’s thinly panted leg, followed by one of Iron Horses reinforced jacket elbows to the face.

With a wet ker-snap Ratchet fell back to the floor clutching his bloody face. Catching the revolver in the air Iron Horse arched the bike east, putting the roll door on his right and his target directly in front of him, he fired the remaining two shots loaded in the revolver at the big doors wench sending the door screaming up into the ceiling as the control box sparked and smoked.

The man known as Jackknife stood from the shadows, now armed with a Thompson machine gun, he aimed to finish what he’d been sent here to do.
“Die motor-head!” Jackknife pulled back the mechanism to fire and let loose with an army of speeding led.

Iron Horse pulled his bike to a stop, placing it between his target and the crazed lunatic with the gun, just in time. He laid down the big bike, exposing it’s armored underbelly, to provide all the cover he’d need. The Thompson’s bullets crashed into the bike, the walls, and the floor all around them in a thunderous concert of death.

“It was a mistake!” Sparky screamed in the masked man’s face as the two lay nearly nose-to-nose.
“You gotta believe me it was a mistake. I wasn’t gonna testify honest I wasn’t.”
“I say again Stratton, what the hell have you gotten your self into out there?” Squawked the radio rig again.
“Shut up.” Iron Horse said to anyone and everyone who could hear him.
“You gotta get me out of here so I can tell that to Mr. McAllister!” Sparky screamed.

Iron Horse pulled a knife from his boot. The moonlight glinting off it’s razor sharp edge caused Sparky to squeal again before the masked man could cut him free.
“You believe me?” Sparky moaned a question.
“Can you walk?” The mask man grunted, ignoring the plea.
“I don’t know, I’ve been tied up for days....”

Hearing the Thompson’s ammunition chamber click empty Iron Horse leaned over the bike and threw his knife. It stuck directly into Jackknife’s shoulder causing the bigger man to go down like his comrade just moments earlier.
“Get up off the floor if you want to live.” Iron Horse shouted as he stood up, placing his weight beneath the big bike and pushing it to its upright position.

Without time for an equipment check Iron Horse revved the big bike and layed another torrent of black rubber and smoke as he turned the bike to face the exit. Grabbing the man known as Sparky by his big custom belt buckle made from a huge machined gear Iron Horse piloted the road rocket out of confined storage space with his target in tow.

Struggling to get on the big machine Sparky panicked and flailed as he felt him self loosing his grip. Kicking out in an attempt to fling his leg over the back of the bike Sparky knocked over a gas can and spilled a thick spray of petrol over the still sparking door wench causing a fiery explosion that incinerated all of the contents of the storage space and forcefully shoved the federal witness Steven “Sparky” Coller secure on to the rear seat of Iron Horses motorcycle.

Holding the lapel of his armored jacket close to his face Iron Horse spoke softly.
“Agent Hawk, I’ve got the witness, we’re coming in now.”
“About time.” Squawked the reply.

Thank you for your time.  I'm looking forward to your comments...

Caine