ONE
Splice
Death and boredom were a match made in heaven.
As Splice circled his fingertip around the rim of the glass of scotch, he’d yet to drink from, he took a deep, weary breath. The funeral wake had been in full swing for a few hours now, and his Diablo Disciples brotherhood had been doing enough drinking to sink a battleship and the oak coffin. He remained sober because he intended to ride home and sleep in his bed.
City Hall was packed with bikers and civilians to send Simon Dodge, aka Dodger, off in style. He’d been from a crew before Splice’s time, but he’d known the old coot as much as anyone since Dodge still liked to come around the clubhouse when he was in town. He’d moved away years back to be closer to family.
However, since Dodger wasn’t known as a family man, Splice wondered why. Even at eighty-five, he died as he lived, being a lecherous douchebag, in the bed of someone who wasn’t his old lady.
At least he was still getting it up at his age, Splice thought. Any man should be so lucky.
It had been a mark of respect that the club had ridden out of town to pay their last farewells. Splice tagged along because he’d been bored as fuck hanging out at the clubhouse with not much to do other than business matters, and nothing made him happier than when he could feel the wind whistling through his ears at a breakneck speed.
As he swiveled around on the barstool, bracing his booted feet to observe the room, he reckoned he’d give it another hour, which was his lot.
“How many of these have we done this year?” He asked, and Tomb knocked his ringed knuckle on the bar and reached for his glass, downing the clear liquid in one gulp.
“About five, isn’t it? The old-timers are all dropping like flies. They partied like fucking animals back in the day, but death still comes to us all, eventually.”
“Is that a clue for us to go easy then, so we don’t drop dead at fifty?” smirked Splice, and his closest buddy snickered, fishing around in a bowl of nuts; he tossed a few into his mouth.
“I think that ship has sailed. For me, anyway. You’re still a young buck; you’re not thirty yet, right?”
“At the end of the year, I will be,” answered Splice. He shares his birthday with Jesus. He’d hated it as a kid because everyone always combined gifts, as if it were only one event. Nowadays, he doesn’t give a damn if anyone remembers his birthday; he could have enough fun for himself.
Though Tomb was in his mid-forties, their age gap hadn’t hindered their strong friendship. He was to be the best man at his friend’s wedding tomorrow.
“Then there’s still time for you to keep off the hard stuff and change your ways.”
Splice laughed at Tomb’s joke. “What hard shit? If you mean licorice laces, you’ll have to pry them out of my cold, dead hands.”
Splice had a sweet tooth, and he catered to it daily. He might not be snorting coke anymore like some party animals, but he had regular sugar suppliers.
Speaking of. He scowled and rimmed the glass again. “What the fuck is up with Diamond not baking shit for me anymore?”
Tomb half grinned. “You’re still sour about that?”
“With good reason. I used to get a tray of cinnamon buns with thick frosting at least twice a week. Now I’ve gotta wait until his old lady is in the mood for a treat and I get the dregs of leftovers. It’s just not right.”
The MC bodyguard, who baked like a Michelin chef, was cruising for his face to be punched in if he kept Splice hanging on for a treat much longer.
“The asshole got me hooked on his crack and then cut me off cold turkey.”
Tomb found this hilarious and laughed for a few seconds.
“He’s got the love of a good woman, my man. He used to bake when he had shit on his mind; all that’s on his mind now is his old lady and their kid.” Then Tomb dared to smirk and add on. “Might happen to you one day.”
“And the sun might fall out of the sky and scorch the hairs off my perfect ass. Let’s not put that curse on me, yeah? I have to deal with the old ladies trying to fix me up with all their single cougar friends.”
Relationships were a no-no. Splice would stick to his sugar addiction.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried the relationship thing for himself once upon a time, forever ago.
He loved women more than any other man on Earth.
He enjoyed their company, their smell, and their laughter. He even liked the mood swings they threw randomly for reasons only they understood—probably caused by a man.
