Chapter Two:

The Reverend Lazarus Kayge

He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.

- Samuel Johnson

Even with his very limited experience, Derringer was sure that this date wasn’t going too well, and he certainly wasn’t having too much fun.

            Part of it had something to do with the fact that after he’d been dragged about the periphery of the dancing crowd, Joanna’s Tits pressed against his arm possessively, conversation wasn’t particularly encouraged as his attempts to talk were met with distracted, half-hearted replies as someone seemed particularly interested in everything and everyone but Derringer.

            Part of it had something to do with the fact that ten minutes in the club, Derringer was told, “Stay here, I’ll be right back” and off Joanna’s Tits bounced, disappearing into the writhing masses of black and leather, of PVC and satin cloaks. Derringer’s heart almost broke for it was then that he realized that while Joanna’s Tits were unbelievable, Joanna’s Ass was nonexistent.

But, most of it had to do with the fact that, almost half an hour later, with Derringer’s feet hurting almost as much of his pride, there came a disturbance in the crowd, heading right towards him. The writhing mass of people suddenly began to coalesce into an order, a path being cleared, its borders marked by the waiting patrons. The passageway was temporary, as it began to cave in almost immediately as…

            Joanna’s Tits appeared once again, proceeding down the faux-corridor with someone towering right over them.

            What caught Derringer’s attention first were his eyes.

The left eye wasn’t what really startled Derringer. It was an obvious contact lens, the iris colored in a bright, fluorescent red that literally glowed in the dark, the rest of the eye blotted out in darkness.

No, it was the right eye that actually kept him frozen a bit as it took him in. That eye was too intense, too blue, too real.

            Derringer took a step back to take a better look at the rest of him.

            Underneath the flashing lights of the club, the contrasts of his stark, pale flesh peeking out from underneath his stark, black clothing were heightened, exaggerated. There was an oversized parody of a reverend’s smock, covering half of his long, scrawny neck, an upside down crucifix drawn in with black permanent marker. The smock was stitched to an armless, button-down tunic that ended at mid-thigh, all buckles and strategically placed fishnet panels, with clasps galore to be found running down the sides of his over-sized pants that were tucked in the tops of calf-length combat boots.

            He was at least six inches taller than Derringer’s 5’10, all pale skin and compact, wiry muscle – less like a distance runner’s, more like a junkie who had lived a very, very hard life with not enough meals in between fixes.

Angry, thin scars tracked up and down the male’s bare arms, the pink keloid tissue emphasized by the shadows cast by those blinking lights. It was obvious by the lines and the spacing of those marks, that their owner had specific ideas and designs in mind.

Derringer suspected that someone had had too much time on his hands, and not enough attention when he was growing up.

            “This the Norm you wanted me to see?” was the first thing out of the guy’s mouth, his thin lips immediately curling into a sneer.

            Joanna’s Tits were snuggled quite contentedly against his side. “Kayge! Be nice. This is, Darren. Darren, this is…The Reverend Lazarus Kayge.”

            Derringer blinked. He had begun to open his mouth to say something, maybe correct the error made of his name once again, maybe to ask what was going on here, or maybe tell her that he was about to leave.

“Hi?” Derringer said.

            “Where do you find these sheep, Nite Shayde?” Kayge asked, keeping his unsettling eyes on Derringer.

            “He’s in my astronomy class,” was the purred reply, the nipples of Joanna’s Tits rubbing slowly against Kayge’s side.

            “Uh,” Derringer said.

            “He’ll do,” Kayge said, as he pulled his arm from around her waist and peeled away from her, Joanna’s Tits turning to face Derringer once more, arms folding underneath.

            “…‘Nite Shayde?’” Derringer managed to stammer out, taking his eyes from Kayge and to Joanna’s Tits – wait, no! Her eyes!

            Then, he was staring at Kayge’s chest as he moved in front of him. Kayge cracked his knuckles, one hand at a time.

            “That’s Mistress Nite Shayde to you, Stepford Freak,” he said, pushing Derringer’s shoulder, hard enough that he stumbled backwards a few steps to regain his balance.

Mistress Nite Shayde wiggled her thin, long fingers at him in a small wave. “Oh, he didn’t know, Kayge. He didn’t mean any disrespect, did you, Darren?”

            “You better not have, sheep,” Kayge said, taking another step towards Derringer.

            “I’d appreciate it,” Derringer replied, as he drew himself up to his full height, shifting his rear leg a bit out to the side as he kept his eyes on Kayge. “I’d appreciate it a lot, if you didn’t push me again.

            “And, it’s Derringer,” he added.

            “Little boy,” Kayge began, taking another step at him. “Don’t you know who I am?”

Derringer slowly shook his head.

“Am I supposed to?” he asked.

            “I am everything your cushy little life has kept you away from,” the Reverend Lazarus Kayge replied, his voice booming theatrically, making the people around them jump with surprise and begin to pay attention.

            “I am what your stupid little system, and precious little rules is trying to keep out of your pathetic little reality,” The Reverend Lazarus Kayge said, widening his red eye, that half of his face cloaked in shadow, the phosphorous glow seeming to come, less from the pits of hell, and more from a roadside diner in New Jersey.

            “I am trouble, little boy,” The Reverend Lazarus Kayge said, flashing a grin that was all teeth and malevolence, his brow raised as if he were trying to suck Derringer into his wide-open eyes.

“And, trouble… has found you.”

 “How long did it take for you to get that right?” Deringer asked.

            The Reverend Lazarus Kayge tensed defensively as he lowered his head, glaring at Derringer. “What are you talking about?”

            “Your little speech,” Derringer replied with a smirk as he began to count off with his fingers. “Points for execution, points for theatricality, but I’ve gotta tell you,” he said, holding up two fingers before making a fist and turning his thumb down. “Points lost because of the cheese.”

            Kayge bristled, the small crowd beginning to laugh as they watched.

            “What, you want to be picking up your teeth from the dance floor?” he asked, as his pale cheeks began to get flushed red, neck muscles tensed and bulging underneath the faux-reverend’s collar.  Kayge took a quick step forward, taking double handfuls of Derringer’s t-shirt, thrusting his face in his.

“You live in your little world, unaware of the things I know. The things I could do to you, little boy,” he snarled.

            The smirk faded away from Derringer’s face as he looked directly into The Reverend Lazarus Kayge’s eyes. “Please take your hands from off of me,” he said, his voice even and quiet. Kayge felt him relax underneath his t-shirt as Derringer readjusted his footing ever so slightly.

            “What if I don’t?” Kayge replied, his tones mocking Derringer’s.

            “I’m obligated to tell you that I know kung-fu, then.” Derringer offered a small shrug and an almost helpless smile.

            Kayge’s laugh was an arrogant sound as he began to push Derringer backwards. “Try something, Stepford Freak.”

            “Ok,” said Derringer.

            They took one more step backwards, then The Reverend Lazarus Kayge learned exactly how painful it was having a sneaker-clad foot jammed into one’s knee as one stepped forward with all of the body-weight on one’s leg.

            Derringer surged forward, breaking Kayge’s weak grasp of his shirt, shooting a punch into his stomach that robbed him of his breath – and, as his other fist hammered into Kayge’s chest, Derringer’s heel found its way behind Kayge’s. Between the force of the blow and The Good Reverend’s own momentum, Kayge toppled backwards, flailing his arms wildly before he hit the ground with a hard, meaty thud.

            Derringer tried not to look too satisfied as he shook out his hands, looking at Mystress Nite Shayde.

“I think I’m going to go home now,” Derringer said, giving her a small wave as Mistress Nite Shayde simply gaped at Derringer, her perfectly coifed lips parting to say something – but, a small exhale of surprise was all that came out as she jerked her hands up to her mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye, Derringer caught a flurry of motion and -

            That punch was fast, way too fast, so fast he didn’t even know he’d been hit until his head was racing upwards, dragging his body behind it, white lights flashing behind his eyes. For a moment, he hung suspended in the air, before the floor came rushing up to greet him, swallowed up by the exploding stars behind his eyes, the roar of the crowd, the buzzing in his ears.