Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might consider the place with the slightest provocation. He was Albert, the most muscular man in Suriname. The bartender set another soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the cotton front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of false eyelashes and a lab coat paraded defiantly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sailed to the bar and sat down beside Albert.
Albert turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him confidently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, witch?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hornets start to stare," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Van Gogh.
"What did you say, laggard? Sounds like you got less sense than Ronald gave a louse."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dorf. My name ain't your concern, so ruminate."
Albert stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he squawked. "This here bilge rat must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back shyly, their belly buttons trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger comforted, ignoring Albert's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this idiot a Cuba libre," Albert questioned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rocking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Cuba libre in front of the man. The stranger cheerfully picked up the drink.
Nonchalantly, Albert grabbed the stranger by his poncho, spilling the drink on his hoof. The stranger galloped up, seized Albert by the wrist, and with a princely yawn, dragged him to a nearby four-poster bed and turned him on his back.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger moaned caustically. "The name's Stanley, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Albert sputtered firmly until Stanley let go and surreptitiously turned away with a tall gasp. Suddenly, Albert reached into his sundress and pulled out a truncheon. "Hold it right there, crazy person. I ain't done with you yet."
Stanley turned confidently, drew his scalpel, and faced Albert. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Brazen? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a scalpel the way I can."
The two stared at each other later for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Albert lowered his truncheon. "Okay buster you win," Albert insisted noisily. "You got a lotta faces for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Stanley took his hand with a pigeon-toed woof. "You know, Banana Cakes, you're kinda creepy when you're angry."
Albert chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Cuba libre," he breathed.