Every eye in Stanky’s Place, whether clouded by cheap whiskey or sharpened by the street hustle, turned toward the iron shadow darkening the doorway. Private dick Hamilton Beach was back in town.

Beach gave the alkies and the punks a minute to feast their eyes, to imagine what his massive chocolate fists could do to them, to wonder what savagery lurked behind the snow-cold eyes. Then he strode over to the bar like a panther, if a panther looked this good in a leather jacket over a turtleneck.

“Now, I don’t want no trouble, Mr. Beach,” Stanky simpered from behind the bar, mindful of what happens to those who mess with Hamilton Beach. In his sweat-soaked undershirt, with his open hands held up before him in a feeble defense, he looked like a decrepit point guard. Sign him up for the Homeless Globetrotters, Beach thought, and threw his head back in a rich, deep laugh. Stanky started sweating in places he’d never sweated before.

“Is it any trouble to pour a brother a drink?” Beach asked, with the same casual menace on display in his walk and the terrible laugh.

“Not at all, not at all,” Stanky said, almost relieved. “Can I get you a Crown & soda, or-”

“No, no.” Beach waved him quiet. “I’ll take a smoothie.”

The bar fell silent. Beach knew everyone in the cramped, filthy room was following their conversation. He’d known they would. He’d counted on it.

His face a half-melted mask of bewilderment, unsure whether to laugh or run out the back door, Stanky asked, “A smoothie?”

“That’s right. Strawberry-banana, if you got it. If not, just banana’s fine.”

Open-mouthed, Stanky tried to think of some way to say “no” to this apparition of simmering power. He didn’t have to. Ray-Ray, a penny-ante hustler in a hundred-dollar hat and twenty-dollar dental work, oozed out of the shadows and tapped Beach’s right bicep with two heavily ringed fingers. “Hey, man. You looking to get smooth?”

“You know it,” Beach said. “You got the hookup?”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Ray-Ray drawled through his permanent sneer. “I got this blender make you drop to your knees and holler hallelujah. I’m talking about 700 watts of peak power and a 56-ounce double-wall thermal jar. You just come with me, I’ll show you a good time.”

“Is that the one with the wave action system to force the mixture down into the blades, for a smoother blend? And with cup-activated dispensing that eliminates the mess of pouring?”

“Damn straight. Now you wanna follow me over to my place, or ULLLLKKK-” Like a soul cobra, Beach’s arm sprung at the man’s neck, his granite grip tightening around Ray-Ray’s throat. He pulled the thrashing, bug-eyed hoodlum’s face close to his.

“I know those specs, fool. And I know you got my blender. It ain’t pro grade, but it’s mine, dig? We’re going back to your place, all right. And if there’s so much as a scratch on the Hamilton Beach Wavestation Dispensing Blender, you won’t just be making smoothies – you’ll be the main ingredient.”

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