God damn some people were tirin'. All of that work for a man who had a damn banshee come after him every time he naps, and a fucker who was dumb enough to use brain lightning in front of all them innocent bar goers.

He didn't have enough sense in his head to figure out why someone would've gone and done a thing like that, and with it having been 24 hours since he'd been able to get a proper roll from Marshall Carter and Dark he wasn't firing on all cylinders. 

But hell once he got home, and away from that accursed walmart place he was finally able to get shit sorted and started working on his latest invention. A little inspiration taken from the little touch that space critter had given him when he'd offered it some moonshine at the start. When it touched it the liquor had gone damn near topsy turvy, intense enough to knock him on his ass if he dared to drink it, and when he got it home under the still and under a little microscope thing Jerome had he figured out that the new blend was so got dang flammable that you could load it into a buckshot shell and get dragonsbreath that could slip through any airport on the planet.

Pity that meant he did the whole got dang job for nothin as the alien fella had given him what he needed before he left the shinin' still, but hey. He saved that Icarus fella and he supposed a life saved was worth all the rest of that trouble. 

Cleatus was beginnin' to think that all these folks he got sent on these gat dang jobs with were a few shots shy of a bottle of jack daniels. 

Tryin to use a fuckin bear trap on a ghost? Well. That ain't his problem, but still. What in the sam hill was wrong with these people? Plus he had to go to fuckin Russia of all places, and that just highlighted how fuckin awful he'd let himself get at this whole talking business. Like, what was a fella supposed to do when presented with a man who didn't speak your language, didn't like you, and you couldn't just break his legs to make him talk to you a little nicer?

Well, Cleatus was gonna find out. With the help of Doris from accounting he signed up for one of them "Negotiation" seminars them fancy detectives were always takin and there he learned that sometimes folks didn't like it much when you spit on the ground near em', despite none of em' gettin any on em'.. prudes, and that you could do things like control the tone of your voice below shouting in order to get them to think that you're on their side. 

Weird shit, he'd always been able to just smack a person around a bit after turning off his body cam and they tended to talk, but hey. Autumn had made sure to tell him that he was one of them folks who could be "Redeemed" and if he had a shot, then maybe it was worth talking to these criminals instead of just hurtin em' to make sure they didn't do it again. 

Well, he had takin a pretty bad lickin' from that werewolf fella, though thankfully not from a bite. As he'd found out later that the curse of ly-can-therapy had some manner of infection that'd have had him plum fucked and up the river if he had let that sucker get it's teeth into em'. Cleatus finding himself real glad that he had more sense than to let a dog dig it's teeth into it's arm aside though it meant that he had some paid leave for recovery time, and that meant one thing.

Moonshini' with Jerome, him and his brother spent the entire month fixin up batch after batch of Cleatus Abernathy's own Fireball blend, perfectin' the process ya see because while it was nice to be able to pop it into a shell and blast a fucker to kingdom come it was sadly...

Not fit for human consumption.

Well, not fit for consumption by bitches concerned about open flames in the next 24 hours but Jerome insisted that was a deal breaker. 

So, Cleatus got to work. Creating an even better blend, one that wouldn't up and combust at the lightest of touches, and one that hopefully wouldn't turn into the muddy looking slurry that Jerome always made when Cleatus let him make the initial batch for the still, and at the end he was successful!

Well..

By some metric, now the fire wouldn't go out. The magnesium additive he put in the mix preventing water, dirt, or even sand from putting it out once someone got too close to a flame!

Well.. damn. Wouldn't be no good as a sellin' point for it as liquor, but he was happy to put it into a few of his functional shotglass shells to use for takin out folks who misbehaved next time one of them Harmbingers came up to his house looking for him to set a fella straight.