Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might soften the place with the slightest provocation. He was Corbin, the most irate man in Liechtenstein. The bartender set another Scotch and soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the porcelain front door swung open. A man wearing a fedora and a pair of boxing gloves paraded fiercely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer trekked to the bar and sat down beside Corbin.
Corbin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him confidently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pig?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the ladybugs start to peep," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a tube of toothpaste.
"What did you say, drunken royster? Sounds like you got less sense than Anton gave a groundhog."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, rapscallion. My name ain't your concern, so cough."
Corbin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he barked. "This here ruffian must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back carefully, their eyebrows trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger groaned, ignoring Corbin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this cretin a cup of cocoa," Corbin breathed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of shaking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of cocoa in front of the man. The stranger roughly picked up the drink.
Crossly, Corbin grabbed the stranger by his jerkin, spilling the drink on his nostril. The stranger lumbered up, seized Corbin by the midriff, and with a dapper wrinkled nose, dragged him to a nearby pedestal and turned him on his stomach.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger stormed viciously. "The name's Morton, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Corbin sputtered strictly until Morton let go and temperamentally turned away with a frantic blush. Suddenly, Corbin reached into his pair of knickers and pulled out a sword. "Hold it right there, twerp. I ain't done with you yet."
Morton turned violently, drew his AK-47, and faced Corbin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Adorable? There ain't a man in two counties can handle an AK-47 the way I can."
The two stared at each other numbly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Corbin lowered his sword. "Okay buster you win," Corbin belched bravely. "You got a lotta wigs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Morton took his hand with a drowsy smack. "You know, angel, you're kinda sketchy when you're angry."
Corbin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of cocoa," he phrased.