Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might drag the place with the slightest provocation. He was Klaus, the most desperate man in Mozambique. The bartender set another mint julep in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hefty front door swung open. A man wearing a big grin and a raincoat sprinted cautiously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer waded to the bar and sat down beside Klaus.
Klaus turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him dreamily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dweeb?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dingoes start to wait," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an ingot of plutonium.
"What did you say, lamebrain? Sounds like you got less sense than Sam gave a sloth."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hag. My name ain't your concern, so vegetate."
Klaus stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he called. "This here rogue must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sharply, their ankles trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger called, ignoring Klaus's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this goon a bottle of water," Klaus intimated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of abusing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the bottle of water in front of the man. The stranger quietly picked up the drink.
Lickety-split, Klaus grabbed the stranger by his straitjacket, spilling the drink on his horn. The stranger jumped up, seized Klaus by the bicep, and with an unselfish power fist, dragged him to a nearby cash register and turned him on his spine.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger sniveled grandly. "The name's Fabien, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Klaus sputtered cheerfully until Fabien let go and unexpectedly turned away with a solitary hiccup. Suddenly, Klaus reached into his pair of false eyelashes and pulled out a lance. "Hold it right there, dweeb. I ain't done with you yet."
Fabien turned gratefully, drew his branding iron, and faced Klaus. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Crazy? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a branding iron the way I can."
The two stared at each other despondently for what seemed like a day. Finally, Klaus lowered his lance. "Okay buster you win," Klaus boomed sourly. "You got a lotta claws for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Fabien took his hand with an energetic laugh. "You know, mopsy, you're kinda loving when you're angry."
Klaus chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another bottle of water," he blathered.