[pshrynk]

Augustus Keaneer Slopeton, PhD walked into his favorite bar in Havana, Sam's Authentic Cuban Bar, and looked around just as a beer mug flew past his head. Oh, good! It was going to be a lively night. Dodging a pair of sailors engaged in mortal combat with their hereditary enemies, the Marines, he made his way to the bar. "Double shot of Talisker, Sam!" he said when he got there.

"I got 'scotch' or 'scotch'," said Sam, following an old script that was played out every night.

"Can't be blamed for trying, Sam. I believe that I will have the 'scotch' tonight, then." A local man, who had just wandered into the bar to deliver some used furniture bounced off the bar rail and dove back into a knot of sailors. Sam put a glass on the bar and poured a double shot out of a bottle labeled "Old Rotgut's Somewhat Unusual Scotch."

"I need a pilot, Sam, preferably one with a plane. Know of anyone?"

"Well Professor, funny you should ask. Excuse me." Sam took out his bat and hit the arm of a man trying to reach over the bar for a free beer. Broken furniture was one thing, lost profits were not tolerated. "Sorry about that, Professor."

"Not at all. You know of someone?" He looked out at the fight just as a small grey dog jumped up on a table and lapped at the beer there. A man in a dark suit and wire rim glasses got thrown from a knot of fighters and landed on dog, table, and beer. All of them went down with a crash.

"Well, Armistice and Patrick were whining in their beer, or rather beer and rum and juices about needing to get work." A beer mug flew at Sam's head and he reached up and caught it in mid-flight.

"Armistice and Patrick?" asked Slopeton. Just then three fighters fell into him and dragged him along with them out to the middle of the floor. Now, this was the life! Let those other professors of archeology sit in their ivory tower endowed chairs and pontificate on Early American Native Religious Practices 101! Augie Slopeton from the Bronx was a head butting, ear gouging, hands on researcher. And he never got his white linen suit dirty. It paid to have a Knack sometimes, just for the show of it.

He had a sailor under each arm and was introducing them through the tops of their skulls when he looked over to the bar. There stood a man in a flight cap, dealing handily with two others in the fight. Slopeton nodded in approval. A brawl was no place for niceties and the man's knees were as deadly as his hand, apparently. Lying under the man was a balding blonde man who was obviously hors de combat. He still clutched a full mug of beer. Another nod of approval.

A Sailor jumped on his back, trying to unscrew his head, but finding little purchase on his buzz cut hair. Slopeton spun around to dislodge the back man and faced back to the bar. The Pilot looking fellow had apparently changed. He stood there with a dazed and almost beatific look on his face, staring at the door.

Dropping the unconscious sailors, Slopeton turned to look at the door. There stood an attractive blonde who was dealing with the unwelcome advances of a very drunk and soon to be unconcious Marine. He winced as the woman's fist buried itself in the man's gut.

Then, it happened. She looked at the pilot. The pilot looked at her. Hormones filled the air. The pilot got cold cocked by the man he had unwisely ignored in order to fall into love at first sight. Unfortunately, he also fell onto the floor.