Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might unfold the place with the slightest provocation. He was DeWitt, the most elderly man in Oslo. The bartender set another Mojito in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the luxurious front door swung open. A man wearing a watch and a body shirt dashed tensely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer galloped to the bar and sat down beside DeWitt.
DeWitt turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him quietly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, low-life?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the flamingoes start to fidget," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pencil.
"What did you say, clod? Sounds like you got less sense than Eric gave a dog."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hipster. My name ain't your concern, so jerk."
DeWitt stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he conversed. "This here savage must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back deliberately, their thumbs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger grunted, ignoring DeWitt's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this goon a glass of papaya juice," DeWitt blustered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of praising something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of papaya juice in front of the man. The stranger peevishly picked up the drink.
Fiercely, DeWitt grabbed the stranger by his tinfoil hat, spilling the drink on his dignity. The stranger sailed up, seized DeWitt by the esophagus, and with a bold death glare, dragged him to a nearby hope chest and turned him on his chin.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger peeped nimbly. "The name's Grover, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
DeWitt sputtered humbly until Grover let go and fiercely turned away with a furious smile. Suddenly, DeWitt reached into his Eton jacket and pulled out a brick. "Hold it right there, mink. I ain't done with you yet."
Grover turned warmly, drew his hand sanitizer, and faced DeWitt. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Bouncy? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a hand sanitizer the way I can."
The two stared at each other blindly for what seemed like a month. Finally, DeWitt lowered his brick. "Okay buster you win," DeWitt railed crossly. "You got a lotta bellies for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Grover took his hand with an evil power fist. "You know, old bean, you're kinda moody when you're angry."
DeWitt chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of papaya juice," he grunted.