"Why don't you watch what you're doin' buddy?" a harsh voice said.
Elliot turned around. "I didn't—"
"Oh, a wise guy, eh?"
Customers began to draw around the bickering duo. Elliot sized up his antagonist—a burly, nondescript man with a seam running down from one ear to his chin.
"I'm not looking for trouble," Elliot said. "But if—"
A fist erupted from nowhere and sent him spinning back against the bar. He elbowed up and drove a punch into the burly man's stomach, followed with a ringing blow to the jaw. The other staggered—
And a third entered the brawl. Elliot felt a punch rake across his face, blocked a kick aimed for his groin, and barrelled across the room, striking out angrily at his assailants. By now the room was filled with moving, cursing, gesticulating men, while the bartender ducked to safety.
Elliot plunged through the mob and found the man who had struck him the first time. He seized him by the collar and drove him to the floor, just as someone yelled, "Watch that table!"
He turned—not nearly in time. The flying table caught the back of his head with a sickening thunk, and he dropped unconscious to the floor.
A cold rag splashed wetly on his face, and a heavy voice said: "Bring him out of it. He's not badly hurt."