Quickly, Blondie jumped behind the bar and with a sweep of both arms, knocked down all the glasses and bottles.
"Send the bill to General Villa, understand?"
He left, laughing loudly at his prank.
"Say there, you, where do the girls hang out?" Blondie asked, reeling up drunkenly toward a small well-dressed man, standing at the door of a tailor shop.
The man stepped down to the sidewalk politely to let Blondie pass.
Blondie stopped and looked at him curiously, impertinently.
"Little boy, you're very small and dainty, ain't you? ... No? ... Then I'm a liar! ... That's right! ... You know the puppet dance.... You don't? The hell you don't! ... I met you in a circus! I know you can even dance on a tightrope! ... You watch!"
Blondie drew his gun out and began to shoot, aiming at the tailor's feet; the tailor gave a little jump at every pull of the trigger.
"See! You do know how to dance on the tightrope, don't you?"
Taking his friends by the arm, he ordered them to lead him to the red-light district, punctuating every step by a shot which smashed a street light, or struck some wall, a door, or a distant house.