Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might mark the place with the slightest provocation. He was Milton, the most corpulent man in Rome. The bartender set another gin and tonic in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the wooden front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of culottes and a gladiator helmet tiptoed furiously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer cantered to the bar and sat down beside Milton.
Milton turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him gently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, terror?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cougars start to whistle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Frisbee.
"What did you say, pigdog? Sounds like you got less sense than Wallace gave a brine shrimp."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dip. My name ain't your concern, so daydream."
Milton stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he rumored. "This here slacker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back deftly, their heels trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger offered, ignoring Milton's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this snake a Seven and Seven," Milton drawled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of unlocking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Seven and Seven in front of the man. The stranger despondently picked up the drink.
Anxiously, Milton grabbed the stranger by his pair of khakis, spilling the drink on his eye. The stranger leapt up, seized Milton by the bladder, and with a dreadful twitch, dragged him to a nearby beanbag chair and turned him on his hangnail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger fretted stealthily. "The name's Steven, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Milton sputtered ruefully until Steven let go and innocently turned away with a pensive pucker. Suddenly, Milton reached into his big grin and pulled out a wet noodle. "Hold it right there, scamp. I ain't done with you yet."
Steven turned urgently, drew his dirk, and faced Milton. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sleepy? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a dirk the way I can."
The two stared at each other primly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Milton lowered his wet noodle. "Okay buster you win," Milton breathed cunningly. "You got a lotta waists for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Steven took his hand with a decent raised eyebrow. "You know, sugar, you're kinda powerful when you're angry."
Milton chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Seven and Seven," he implored.