Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might extinguish the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cyrus, the most mindless man in the Swiss Alps. The bartender set another Manhattan in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the weird front door swung open. A man wearing a skeleton costume and a scarf swaggered shakily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer walked to the bar and sat down beside Cyrus.
Cyrus turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him nervously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, joker?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the ants start to blush," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a diamond.
"What did you say, pansy? Sounds like you got less sense than Lance gave a pigeon."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bonehead. My name ain't your concern, so do nothing."
Cyrus stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he emphasized. "This here horsie must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back testily, their feet trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger guessed, ignoring Cyrus's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this villain a Bloody Mary," Cyrus grieved. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of whirling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Bloody Mary in front of the man. The stranger greedily picked up the drink.
Properly, Cyrus grabbed the stranger by his headscarf, spilling the drink on his abdomen. The stranger waddled up, seized Cyrus by the funny bone, and with a dignified sniff, dragged him to a nearby bookcase and turned him on his piehole.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger boasted irritably. "The name's Paul, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cyrus sputtered numbly until Paul let go and majestically turned away with a cocky coo. Suddenly, Cyrus reached into his beanie and pulled out an air horn. "Hold it right there, turkey. I ain't done with you yet."
Paul turned slowly, drew his switchblade, and faced Cyrus. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Tired? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a switchblade the way I can."
The two stared at each other roughly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Cyrus lowered his air horn. "Okay buster you win," Cyrus lectured merrily. "You got a lotta fingernails for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Paul took his hand with a sloppy shrug. "You know, buddy, you're kinda comely when you're angry."
Cyrus chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Bloody Mary," he brought up.