Free Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) by Edward Lee

lowered his voice. “Tell me who’s gonna win that fight.”
“Alas, the gladiators of the new, dark age,” Gormok remarked,
and peered up at the boxing bout on the bar television. “But have thee
a censer? Clearer visions are always begot by fire.”
“What’s a censer?”
“It’s something you burn things in, during rituals,” Beth defined.
“And don’t be idiotic, Rudy.”
Rudy ignored her, glancing about. “How about this?” he
ventured, and slid over a big glass ashtray sporting the Swedish
Bikini Team.
“It shall suffice,” Gormok approved. He sprinkled several shakes
of salt into a bar napkin and placed it in the ashtray. “A taper, now, or
cresset or flambeau.”
I hope he means a lighter. Rudy flicked his Bic. He lit the
napkin, which strangely puffed into a quick flame and then went out.
Gormok’s face took on a momentary expression of tranquility as
though he were indeed taking part in some ritualistic worship. Then
the odd man leaned forward...and inhaled the smoke.
Rudy stared.
“The combatant dark of skin and light of garb,” Gormok giddily
intoned, “who is called Tuttle, before two minutes have expired, will
emerge victorious by a single blow to the skull of his oppressor.”
Rudy snatched up Beth’s purse.
“Rudy, no!”
    “How much money you got?” he asked, rummaging. He
fingered through his fiancee’s wallet. “ Twenty bucks? That’s it? ”
“Damn it, Rudy! Don’t you dare—”
Rudy turned toward the mob man’s booth. “Hey, Vito? Adouble
sawbuck says Tuttle KO’s Luce this round.”
Vito didn’t even look up. “No more credit, Rudy.”
“Cash, man. On the table.”
Now Vito raised his smirk to the tv. “Tuttle’s getting his ass
kicked. Don’t make me take your green.”
“Come on, Vito!” Rudy barked. “Quit bustin’ my balls. Are you
a bookie or a book collector?””
Vito made a shrug. “Awright, Rudy. You’re on.”
Rudy jerked his gaze to the tv, then drooped. Luce was dancing
circles around his man, firing awesome hooks which snapped Tuttle’s
head back like a ball on a spring.
“You’re such a fool,” Beth groaned.
“Hark,” Gormok whispered, and pointed to the screen.
Tuttle shot a blind jab which sent Luce over the ropes—
“Yeah!” Rudy yelled. Then: ‘Yeah, fuckin-A yeah! ” he yelled
louder when the ref counted Luce out and raised Tuttle’s arm in victory.
Vito came over. “Good call, Rudy. Just don’t forget that six large.”
Rudy’s smile radiated. “That’s five thousand, nine hundred, and
eighty, Vito.”
“Yeah. See ya next Friday, paisan.”
Vito left the smoky bar, while Rudy fidgeted on his stool. Even
Beth was rubbing her chin, thinking. And Rudy had a pretty good
idea what she was thinking about.
“How’d you do that, man?” he asked aside to Gormok.
“I am an alomancer,” Gormok answered through his ludicrous
grin. “I am a salt-diviner for the Fourth Cenote of Nergal.”
What you are , Rudy thought, is a nut. But I love ya anyway. He
put a comradely arm about Gormok’s shoulder. “So, Gormok, my
man. How would you like to come and live with us?”
II

“Who’s that? ” Mona winced when they got home.
    Snooty bitch . “This is our very good friend, Gormok,” he told the
blonde coed. Her 38C’s pushed against her blouse. “Gormok, this is
Mona, our housemate.”
    Gormok appraised the attractive, tight-jeaned student. “Men
have rown leagues for such beauty, priests have scaled ziggurats.”
“Uh huh,” Rudy said. “Mona, how about going to your room to
study, huh? Gormok and I gotta talk.”
Mona made no objection, padding off with her English 311 text, Pound, Eliot, and Seymour: The Great Poets of Our Age . “Sit down,
Gor,” Rudy bid. “Make yourself at home.” Gormok did so, his lap
disappearing when he sat down on the frayed couch.
Rudy nudged Beth into the kitchen. “Get him a beer. He seems
to like beer.”
“Rudy, this might be a bad idea. I don’t know if I—”
“Just shut up and