"You b-been warned," he said.
Customers, faro dealer, and barkeep plunged for the door, colliding as they reached it, careening into the street. Pinky Bronklin seemed petrified. When he managed to speak, he stuttered worse than Willie.
"Y-you c-can't b-bluff me," Pinky said.
"Who's b-bluffing?" Willie said.
He touched the cigar to the fuse, which began to sputter merrily. He gave the stick of dynamite another flip in the air as Pinky tore for the batwings with hands straight out in front of him and hit the street screaming for Madrid.
Willie waited till the fuse had burned down a bit; then he laid the dynamite on the bar and strolled through the door. A crowd was gathering a little way down the street. Pinky had almost reached the marshal's office and was gesturing wildly to Madrid, who was coming out of it. They both started toward the Pink Lady at a trot.
Willie met Pinky head on and spun him around.
"B-back to that cell," Willie said. "This t-time, I'm going to handcuff you to the b-bunk."
The roar shook the town. Afterward, there was a lingering tinkle of falling glass. Kind of like music, Willie thought.