Deadly Drafts - CH 41

THE IMMOLATOR 

 

Bernard filled the bar's double-doors. Water dripped from his plaster-white forearms. His left eye, the one closest to his scar, twitched Morse Code: C-R-A-Z-Y. He’d changed from his ripped guard's uniform into a flaming red singlet, his face painted in licks of orange, red and pink. Leather boots rose to his knee. He looked like (and indeed, at one time was) a 'roid-addled WWE-wannabe. He reeked of low-tide. A-Ha replaced Dexy's Midnight Runners and Bernard thundered into the bar, teeth barred. 

"I don't have to kill you," he roared, "but the Immolator will if he has to!" 

The Irregulars scattered. Harris darted into a small huddle of dancing women. Kavi hopped the bar. Only Arthur, buzzed on the righteous anger of a jilted lover, had the insanity to run dead at Bernard. Beyond this giant cartoon of a wrestler, Arthur saw freedom. He saw payback. Bernard set his feet and lowered his shoulders to grapple. Arthur, deciding to play dirty, launched a nearby pint glass. 

"You get him, honey!" a 6'5" Cher shouted.