The man in the corner remains still and undisturbed with his head on the table for awhile. Slowly, he raises his head and, still staring straight at the table, begins massaging his temples with his right hand. Feeling a vibration, he reaches into one of the pockets of his gray fatigue pants and pulls out a small electronic device. He fingers it for a short time with graceful movements, as though the device were an extension of his hand. Fully aware of the burning looks of some of the other patrons, he scoots back his chair, hoists himself up and walks towards the bar.
He approaches the bartender, who stares as the unshaven man gets closer. Device in hand, the man finally speaks.
"Look, dude, I'm sorry about the damage. I tell you what. Just give me a figure and its yours. In fact, it's instantly yours. You see, " he says as he thrusts the device over the counter towards the bartender's face, "I've managed to gain access to your bank account. You should be aware that 128-bit encryption with a short password is weak crypto, man. I mean, you basically have a big neon sign hanging up that says HACK ME. The near-public wifi you've got was easy enough. Pfft, WEP."
He chuckles and shakes his head, his blond ponytail poking out of the top of his long, black trench coat. The bartender merely stares back.
"Right, OK. I'll just throw something in there and you tell me if it's acceptable." After a few swift finger movements on the touchscreen, he again shows the device to the bartender, who glances at the device, then moves his eyes back to the man. After a bit of awkward silence, the man says, "Well, then. I'll assume that's sufficient. That should also pay for some," he glances around the decrepit bar, quickly cataloging many of its flaws, "additional repairs which I'm sure no one would complain about. Also, you should consider distributing those funds to the unfortunate victims of my... toy. I'm sure there's more than enough there for everyone-- hell, you can even give them a little extra!"
He spins around and grins at the other patrons, but before anyone can react, he turns back to the bartender and proclaims, "Well, that settles it. I think I'll return here soon. I like this place, and I like you, barman." He pats the bartender firmly on the shoulder. "Oh, by the way, my name is... well, just call me The Factotum. Facto, for short."
The Factotum makes his way to the entrance, waving at the other patrons but neither noticing nor caring about their responses. He exits through the smoldering hole. Just outside the bar, he notices a human female surveying the destruction. <Hmm, not bad,> he thinks to himself. "Well, hello there! I hope you aren't an owner of one of these scrap piles. Such an attractive woman as yourself deserves only the finest. Anyway, if one of these is yours, you should talk to the barman, who has more than enough to cover the cost of repairs."
