You order a couple shots of whiskey. You down these and you head out to the parking lot. You get your trusty tire iron and conceal it in your pants. With the hooked side standing out over your waist line. You sit on your hood and pretend to smoke cigarettes that you don't have or talk on a pretend cell phone. You are waiting for Fats Fats to leave the bar so you can crack him upside his head and take as much as you can off him. When the wide wide man finally leaves he looks completely clear headed. He takes one look at you and he says "The last guy who tried to mug me has a prosthetic jaw now". His deep voice and piercing eyes freeze you on the spot. He gets into a Lincoln Towncar and he drives off after lighting a cigar and bouncing the still lit match off your nose. You never see Fats Fats again.