No one else did.
Fuchs slapped Buchanan’s laughing face, hard. Shocked, Buchanan touched his bleeding lip, then reached for the laser on the bar. Fuchs was prepared for that. He clamped Buchanan’s hand to the bar with a viselike grip and pulled the screwdriver from his waistband with his right hand.
The laser cracked once. Fuchs’s aluminum goblet went spinning, leaking beer through a tiny hole, while Fuchs thumbed the screwdriver on and jammed it into Buchanan’s chest. Blood geysered and Buchanan looked terribly surprised, then slumped to the floor, gurgling briefly before he went silent forever.
Splashed with Buchanan’s blood, still holding the buzzing screwdriver in his right hand, Fuchs picked up the hand laser. Buchanan’s fall had wrenched the power cord out of the base of its grip.
He glanced down at the dead body, then looked at Buchanan’s two friends. Their eyes were wide, their mouths agape. Unconsciously, they both backed away from Fuchs.
Without another word, Fuchs turned around and strode out of the silent Pub.