“It was his own fault!” Barkovitch yelled. “You saw him, he swung first! Rule 8! Rule 8!” No one said anything. “Go fuck yourselves! All of you!” McVries said easily: “Go on back and dance on him a little, Barkovitch. Go entertain us. Boogie on him a little bit, Barkovitch.” “Your mother sucks cock on 42nd Street too, scarface,” Barkovitch said hoarsely. “Can’t wait to see your brains all over the road,” McVries said quietly. His hand had gone to the scar and was rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. “I’ll cheer when it happens, you murdering little bastard.”
