Hiro jerks back, recoils from Pobble's Penguinesque assault upon his person. He looks back and to the left (back, and to the left...): flicks the remainder of his cigarette off into the gutter. Buckle-down of the snaps on his record-bag. One last look between his partners in crime. Then, gone, not a word, retreating around the side of the bar - mumbled words, scuffle, straining noise, thump of meat against wall.