"So, These Three Murderers are Drinking in a Bar"
an excerpt

Muncey's Bar ~ 5:45 PM
Chapter One

"C'mon, goddamit," the giant urged. He looked around at the crowd, smiling at the obvious reverence with which they watched him. "You aren't even trying," he scolded. He knew his opponent, all red-faced and sweating, was watching him warily through clenched eyes, sensing the big man could defeat him at any time, and probably wondering what he'd gotten himself into. He relaxed the pressure of his grip just slightly, giving the man hope. In arm-wrestling, it was all about physical and mental punishment.

He knew his hapless opponent sensed a lessening of the relentless force he'd been exerting for the last few minutes, and he watched the man throw his body forward, hoping to force Malcolm's big hand backward. The poor schmuck was tiring, though. It was inevitable. Couldn't keep up with that kind of pressure for long, could you, boy? he thought, feeling the weariness of the man telegraph through his own arm. He let his hand inch backward, and for the first time he allowed the man to push his arm beyond vertical. Yes! Go for it! He knew how the man would react. Adrenaline would pump with the force of a water main through his system, and he would throw even more of his weight into his forearm. Again, the big man gave up a little ground to him. His wrist ached slightly, but he felt strong. It had been a long, hard day. He needed this. The man grunted as he bore down on Malcolm with every ounce of strength he had left.

Malcolm Sealy smiled. He was barely breathing hard, while the smaller man was laboring, his breath rushing forward in short gasps that rustled Malcolm's rust-colored beard. If he only just held on, the man would probably pass out, he thought; but that wasn't in the plan. He wanted to demolish the man's spirit as he wore his body out. His favorite thing in the world was to watch defeat in another's eyes. He spoke softly to the man, his voice barely audible above the noise of the bar patrons crowded around them.

"D'ya think you can do it?" he asked.

The smaller man's eyes widened as Malcolm gripped his hand more firmly and began moving it backward. The momentum he had surrendered, he slowly and methodically regained, and he saw defeat in those eyes; tasted it. He began to smile again, and his opponent couldn't tear his gaze from Malcolm's suddenly intense blue eyes. Teeth clenched, Malcolm cocked his head at his victim, like a snake hypnotizing him as he forced the man's arm backward at an increasingly painful angle. His smile broadened.

Suddenly, the skin of the man's elbow rolled under him, and Malcolm saw pain flash in those eyes. In that moment, the man surrendered. Malcolm, with a mighty roar, slammed the back of the man's hand onto the bar, forcing him to leave his barstool as he strained to avoid having the tendons of his forearm torn loose.

"Yeah!"