When we last left Cuchulainn, he was tormented by his slippery nemesis, the graffiti artist SCRATCH, who was becoming famous around town for signing his name beneath Cuchulainn’s own art. Here, he confides in his barber, Jimmy:
“Do you know the tiger-man, Jimmy?” said Cuchulainn. “The great artist?”
“What are you talking about today?” said Jimmy.
“The local street artist,” said Cuchulainn. “He paints beautifully. You know who I mean! The iconic tigers around the city.”
Jimmy carefully combed Cuchulainn’s hair. “Oh, you mean Scratch! Everybody knows Scratch.”
“He is not Scratch!” cried Cuchulainn. “Scratch is an abomination! He merely signs the tiger-man’s great work. Scratch is an imposter.”
“Well, why wouldn’t this tiger-man just sign his own work? Problem solved,” said Jimmy. “If what you say is true.”
“Of course it is truth!” Cuchulainn tore his cape off.
“Kid, will you calm down?”
“The tiger-man’s work speaks for itself!”
“Ok, just let me finish -”
Cuchulainn leapt from his chair. “It is his life’s calling and Scratch has usurped his reputation!”
“How do you know they’re not the same guy? Or girl?”
“He’ll die for this!” Cuchulainn took the scissors from the counter.
“Now, now.” said Jimmy. “No one’s going to die.”
“My heart is broken, Jimmy!” Cuchulainn fell back into the chair, weeping. “The tiger-man deserves better.”
“Ok, kid,” Jimmy put the cape back around him. “If you… If the tiger-man is so upset by this Scratch kid, instead of taking him out, he should confront him like an adult.”
“And then crush his skull?” Cuchulainn sniffled.
“If it comes to blows he can cross that bridge when he gets to it. But first he’s gotta catch him in the act.”
“You propose surveillance under the bridge? A trap?”
“No! Don't lurk around under a bridge.”
“Shut up, Jimmy,” said Cuchulainn. “A trap is a brilliant idea.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Yes, a tent under the bridge. Scratch will assume it’s a tramp’s home.”
“No, no!” said Jimmy. “Why not ask around the schoolyards?”
“And then he will answer for his lies!” Cuchulainn cheered. “Scratch will fall! Long live Cuchulainn!”
“You mean the tiger-man,” said Jimmy.
“Just cut my damn hair.”