Page 210 of Misrule
“Then why aren’t all of you named Outlaw?” Knox asked, laughing at his own wit.
Digger shoved him. “You not funny.”
Knox jerked away from Digger’s reach. “How can you make fun of me but I can’t make fun of you?”
“Cuz you mean what the fuck you say, motherfucker,” Outlaw answered.
“Really?” Knox responded. “And you don’t mean it when you call me Clue No?”
“Sure the fuck do cuz you a clueless motherfucker. That fit your fuckin’ personality, too.”
“Give him a break, fellas,” Cam said mildly. “This is all new to Wafer. You know? Wafer? As in he already has a road name?”
Nodding, Knox smiled at Cam, grateful for his friend’s defense.
“You ain’t gettin’ a cut, so we can call you fuckbag for all I give a fuck.”
“You’re too kind,” Knox said tightly.
“Knox, you ready for your first lesson?” Mortician asked.
Walking to his bike and waiting for Val to step out of his way, Knox nodded. “I was born ready.” He felt around the seat. Not finding the seatbelt, he stooped down to look for a hidden nook. When he didn’t see one, he stood and leaned over the seat to investigate the other side.
“What the fuck you doin’?” Outlaw demanded.
“Lookin’ for the seatbelt. What do you think? Just because you bozos gamble with your lives, it doesn’t mean I will.”
“Seatbelt?” Mortician asked, his eyes wide, while Digger and Val bellowed with laughter.
Knox nodded, glaring at the two hyenas. “Did I stutter, Mortician? I was going to have a deluxe one installed on the bike Ireallywanted.”
“Ain’t no fuckin’ seatbelt on no fuckin’ bike, assfuck,” Outlaw snapped.
When the words sunk into Knox’s brain, he paused, took in Outlaw’s aggravation and Cam’s embarrassment.
“You a funny motherfucker, Knox,” Digger said, wiping his eyes.
Grinning like an idiot, Val shook his head.
“Fuck off,” Knox grumbled, then mounted, his feet touching the ground, his hands gripping the handlebars.
“Where your gear?” Val asked in horror, all humor gone. “You can’t ride in no fucking trousers, loafers, and button down.”
“Why not? I’ve seen others do it.”
“Yeah, cuz others are stupid motherfuckers,” Outlaw retorted. He walked to Knox. “My jeans? They ain’t just fuckin’ jeans. They ridin’ jeans. It’s thicker material. Protect you if you go down, although the best fuckin’ protection leather. I wear full leathers when Ima be on a long fuckin’ trip. I alfuckinways got my fuckin’ gloves on. I wear fuckin’ boots cuz you fuckin’ go down, and boots bein’ the fuckin’ difference between bruisin’ skin or breakin’ bones. State law require fuckin’ helmets. Ain’t fuckin’ goin’ down cuz Ima stupid motherfucker, riskin’ my fuckin’ brains splatterin’ all over the fuckin’ road.”
“Why didn’t you tell me I needed gear?” Knox snapped. “And I’ve seen you ride out of here without a helmet, Outlaw.”
“You ain’t fuckin’ ask what the fuck else you need. And, yeah, when I ain’t goin’ fuckin’ far, I ride without a helmet. I even a-fuckin-llow Megan to do it. You ain’t experiencin’ real freedom ‘til you feel the fuckin’ wind blowin’ the fuck in your hair. That don’t make the shit right.”
“So what now? I can’t take one drive because I’m wearing clothes I normally wear?”
“Don’t fuckin’ insult us,” Outlaw ordered. “Don’t never let me hear you fuckin’ say youdrivin’a goddamn bike. You ridin’ the motherfucker. Case fuckin’ closed.”
“Bruh, you rode a bike decent?” Digger asked.
“Of course. I’m a cross-country cyclist.”
