Bugs Bite

CHAPTER NINETEEN: The White Tiger

Time passed by again, as it is wont to.

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The White Tiger was sentient with yellow lights and mellow drinks and ruddy faces. Avish felt an agreeable wave of nausea and reception wash over him.

His head ached like a dick after masturbation. God, what did Preeti think of herself. That bitch. He couldn't even smoke - nothing else, just smoke a fag (well, maybe with the occasional sip, but so what?) - in his own house. "Unhealthy atmosphere" for Radha, his wife said. Well, it was his fucking house and his fucking choice if he wanted to keep a "healthy" atmosphere for his daughter or not.

'Screw your wife,' he said to himself as he walked into the pub.

Now this is the kind of atmosphere I call healthy.

He wended his way to the counter, letting the cigarette in his hand fall to the linoleum floor. It sure as heck was crowded here today. Women in revealing clothing and men in even more revealing clothing - close to naked than Nirvana, that was the saying here (complete nudity was a big no-no, even in a place like The White Tiger) - sauntered about the place, bitching. Avish soon forgot all about his wife and daughter.

This was hangover time, baby.

He muttered 'Screw your wife' once more under his breath, and well-neigh danced his way over to the counter.

'Hey, watch out mister-'

'You're stepping on my foot, dickward-!'

'Watch where you're going, handsome-'

At last, squirming his way through the crazy throng - crazy but me crowd, he called them - he finally reached his destination and became a recipient of what was likely the hundredth smile of the day from Norman the Barman. His real name was Risharb, but that was deigned too uncool for his job.

'Hey, man,' Avish greeted, rubbing his temples as he took a stool.

'Hey ho, Mr. Tired-of-my-wife,' Norman the Barman said ebulliently. 'What may I serve you with today, sire?'

Avish raised his eyebrow at the guy. 'What do you think I would like, Risharb?'

Norman looked around at his other customers, keeping his charming smile pasted. Then he bent over and said in a low tone: 'Alright, I'll get you the usual, I was just joking. Just don't call me by my actual name, Mr. Tired-of-my-wife.'

'Then don't call me that.'

'Don't call you what, sir?'

Avish opened his mouth and made as if to say 'Risha-' and Norman gestured with his hands to pacify him. 'Sorry, sir. I was just trying to lighten the mood.'

'And you've done a wonderful job so far, Norman,' Avish said sarcastically.

'Aren't you a little too cynical today, sir? Another big argument with the Mrs.?'

'Don't invoke her name.' Avish gave him the stare. Norman bustled with an efficiency only bartenders and doctors - and maybe barbers - can exhibit. He slammed a bottle of gin on the counter and began to actively pour into a glass. 'Don't,' Avish said, and snatched the bottle itself from his hands. Drained it half in one giant gulp.

'Are we in a mood today?' Norman merrily chirped.

'Leave 'im alone, Norman,' a very distinctive voice said, followed by a hiccup. 'Our Avish boy don't like no troubles when he's-' hiccup '-pissed.'

Avish looked over at the speaker, who was a burly giant disguised as a human wearing "Jesus is black" boxers and sleeveless "Get Woke" tight-fit uppers, showing off his tremendous musculature.