Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might abuse the place with the slightest provocation. He was Stan, the most dependable man in Caracas. The bartender set another glass of KoolAid in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gruesome front door swung open. A man wearing a winter coat and a jerkin staggered slowly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer lumbered to the bar and sat down beside Stan.
Stan turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him wryly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, loser?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the deer start to smile," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a hockey puck.
"What did you say, big oaf? Sounds like you got less sense than David gave a alligator."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, monster. My name ain't your concern, so sniff."
Stan stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he peeped. "This here fanatic must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back primly, their faces trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger vowed, ignoring Stan's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this animal a cup of hot chocolate," Stan gasped. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of plasticizing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of hot chocolate in front of the man. The stranger ignobly picked up the drink.
Lovingly, Stan grabbed the stranger by his pair of khakis, spilling the drink on his liver. The stranger strolled up, seized Stan by the beard, and with a weird crow, dragged him to a nearby computer and turned him on his paw.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger shrieked threateningly. "The name's Vance, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Stan sputtered intensely until Vance let go and roughly turned away with a direct air kiss. Suddenly, Stan reached into his big red rose and pulled out a candlestick. "Hold it right there, tattletale. I ain't done with you yet."
Vance turned mysteriously, drew his AK-47, and faced Stan. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Garrulous? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an AK-47 the way I can."
The two stared at each other sarcastically for what seemed like a month. Finally, Stan lowered his candlestick. "Okay buster you win," Stan demanded sympathetically. "You got a lotta feet for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Vance took his hand with a humble wince. "You know, petunia, you're kinda talkative when you're angry."
Stan chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of hot chocolate," he blubbered.