“I don’t think I want to get married,” Alicia says, quite seriously.
“You’ve got plenty of time,” Mary interjects. “You might if you meet the right man.”
“Not every man’s like Daddy.”
She’s right there, I think to myself. It seems like Mary caught herself a good one, but so many are cheaters or abusers. Must be hard navigating your way through all that.
“If you don’t want to get married, you don’t. You find your happy on your own, then good for you. You don’t have to abide by society’s expectations.” Fuck knows I don’t myself. And I might be old, but I’m not old-fashioned. In the same way I don’t think I need a woman, I don’t think women need a man to complete them.
“You want to stay for lunch, Grumbler? I was just going to make something for us.”
Why not? I’ve got nothing else planned for today. “Sure.”
That’s how I end up spending another couple of hours in the company of the two women. A couple of times I act as referee when I find they have some opposing views, but suspect Alicia is just arguing for the sake of it. It doesn’t faze me. I’ve seen enough of that between brothers over the years. In all, I find it relaxing. It’s been a while since I was entertained in anyone’s home. Well to be honest, the feeling of being a guest soon disappears.
Mary and Alicia’s home is comfortable. Tidy and clean enough, but with dust visible on some of the surfaces, a couple of cobwebs on the walls, and a floor which could do with a quick encounter with a vacuum settled me more than a spotless home. The type of place I could kick off my boots and make myself comfortable—or keep them on, and no one would complain about it. A house spotless and tidy would set me on edge.
“What does your club do?” Alicia asks.
I notice Mary’s eyes flick to me in concern, as if she’s got suspicions she doesn’t want confirmed.
“Well, Alicia, let’s see. Like most MCs we run an auto-shop. The custom work we do has become so successful, we’ve split that part off. That’s now run out of a spare hangar up at our compound.”
“Hangar?”
I explain, “The compound is on an abandoned airfield. One hangar has been converted to a clubroom and living space.”
“Sounds cool. Are there any planes there?”
I chuckle. “Not anymore. The runways are all broken up with weeds growing through.”
“Is that all your club does? Work on bikes?”
“And cars, trucks. Anything mechanical really. Not the big stuff though. But no, that’s not all. Not long back we bought the shop next door to the garage and set it up to sell biker apparel. That’s become a place where civilian bikers like to shoot the shit and hang out. Keeper gets the credit for coming up with that one. Blaze runs our tattoo parlour, Deuce our bar, and Brakes our strip club. All the brothers work at one place or another.”
“Do they each own the businesses?”
“Club owns them,” I answer Mary. “We all get an equal take.”
Her brow furrows. “But what if someone’s not pulling their weight? Do they still get paid the same?”
“If someone’s not doing their share, well, that’s where I come in,” I wink at her, “aided by Salem the enforcer.”
“It sounds like a commune,” she observes.
“Kind of,” I agree.
“What do all the names mean?” Alicia asks. “You haven’t mentioned anyone with a normal one.”
“Names are given when you patch in—that’s become a full member. Sometimes, like Salem and Pennywise, it’s the prez’s fancy. Sometimes it’s because of something you look like or do.”
“Do you grumble a lot?” the kid queries.
I snort but try to wear an innocent expression. “I apparently have been known to.” Christ knows how I originally picked up that name. I swear I’ve grown into it and didn’t start out that way.
“Tell us about some of the others,” Alicia asks.
“Well, I can’t explain them all, kid. Names are personal. But for those I can—take Reboot, for example. Whenever our computer guy had a problem, Reboot would tell him to switch whatever device it was off and back on. Token got so fed up with him, he suggested the handle.”
“What about Dusty?”
The memory makes me smile. “See, we were out on a ride one day, we were going to a hog roast at one of the friendly clubs up near Los Angeles. We wanted to impress, you know?” Alicia nods as though she does. “All of our rides were fuckin’ perfect, gleaming chrome, polished tanks. There was a car pulled up at the side of the road with the hood up. A man was leaning into it fiddling with the engine, while a girl in very short shorts and legs up to her ass was leaning against the door looking bored, long blond hair streaming out behind her. Dusty swears she locked eyes with him as he passed. Trouble was, he couldn’t stop looking at her. Had his eyes on the rearview when he hit a pothole in the road. He swerved onto the shoulder, and though he managed to stop upright, it was with one wheel half on, half off the pavement. Beside him was a short drop.” I bark a laugh.
“It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. Of course, all of us had pulled up to make sure he was alright. Seemed he was until he tried to get the bike back on the road. He lost his balance and he and his bike ended up in a mud hole. Well, we got both out, checked there was no damage, but he was a fuckin’ sight. I swear he had mud where mud has no business being. Anyway, the day was warm and soon the mud dried. So we turned up, a dozen of us on bikes which were gleaming, and then there was him. Our hosts took
