Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pulverize the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cyrus, the most creepy man in Moldova. The bartender set another glass of fruit punch in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the chic front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of pajamas and a blanket walked sagely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bounced to the bar and sat down beside Cyrus.
Cyrus turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him firmly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, beast?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the boars start to cry," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a remote control.
"What did you say, turkey? Sounds like you got less sense than Jamie gave a hyena."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hipster. My name ain't your concern, so swoon."
Cyrus stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he lectured. "This here ne'er-do-well must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back carelessly, their noses trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger hissed, ignoring Cyrus's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this whippersnapper a cup of espresso," Cyrus squeaked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of flushing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of espresso in front of the man. The stranger blissfully picked up the drink.
Neatly, Cyrus grabbed the stranger by his fedora, spilling the drink on his shoulder. The stranger hobbled up, seized Cyrus by the eyelid, and with a sleek laugh, dragged him to a nearby settee and turned him on his jaw.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger chuckled truculently. "The name's Peter, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cyrus sputtered unnaturally until Peter let go and quickly turned away with a serious crow. Suddenly, Cyrus reached into his skirt and pulled out a pair of bare hands. "Hold it right there, freak. I ain't done with you yet."
Peter turned charmingly, drew his dart gun, and faced Cyrus. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Vivacious? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a dart gun the way I can."
The two stared at each other tenderly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Cyrus lowered his pair of bare hands. "Okay buster you win," Cyrus pleaded admiringly. "You got a lotta knuckles for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Peter took his hand with a wary woof. "You know, honey pie, you're kinda melancholic when you're angry."
Cyrus chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of espresso," he disputed.