Vinny didn’t even yelp when the drunk Lodian’s fist flattened his face, it caught him that much by surprise. He did, however, stagger back, fumbling the triangular chips in one hand and covering his nose with the other as blood fountained out.

The Lodian was a huge dude, a head and a half taller than Vinny, with a gut that bulged out of his leather vest. He was also belligerently drunk. With an irritated swipe, he knocked Vinny’s bets to the floor. Then, the gap in the rushing crowd closed, cutting them off from my view.

Now I was annoyed I had left my gun in my truck. In my experience, flashing a weapon was often enough to intimidate the fight out of a drunkard.

“Guess I’m doing this the old fashioned way,” I muttered as I shoved into the crowd.

I used my body to forge a path through the stinking press of alien flesh. Though beer sloshed across my arms and shirt, I kept driving forward, crushing the plastic cups against my body. After I slipped under the legs of one of those spindly elephant aliens, I finally found Vinny. He lay on the ground, leering up at the Lodian in the leather vest, his elongated snout covered in blood. He had recovered the three triangular chips and clutched them protectively to his chest.

Unfortunately, he seemed to care more about the bets than the beating he was taking. The Lodian drew a foot back and kicked Vinny in the ribs. Vinny curled up into a fetal position as a rush of anger flooded me. Without pausing to think, I pitched one of the beers at the Lodian oaf. It hit him right in the chin, spilling what was left of the beverage down his swollen gut.

Snarling, he turned toward me.

“Come on, you overgrown Teletubbie!” I shouted, pressing the other beer into the upper hand of a random Torlik standing nearby.