Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might return the place with the slightest provocation. He was Melvin, the most stubby man in Malta. The bartender set another glass of champagne in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the authentic front door swung open. A man wearing a miniskirt and a belt proceeded unexpectedly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer stormed to the bar and sat down beside Melvin.
Melvin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him intensely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, freak?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the horsies start to grin," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an etching.
"What did you say, ne'er-do-well? Sounds like you got less sense than Nigel gave a rabbit."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, rapscallion. My name ain't your concern, so ruminate."
Melvin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he realized. "This here lubberly lout must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back nonchalantly, their belly buttons trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger recited, ignoring Melvin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this rapscallion a gin fizz," Melvin explained. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of stabilizing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gin fizz in front of the man. The stranger immediately picked up the drink.
Numbly, Melvin grabbed the stranger by his jerkin, spilling the drink on his thigh. The stranger crept up, seized Melvin by the arm, and with an anemic wink, dragged him to a nearby fainting couch and turned him on his liver.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger cried lightly. "The name's Noel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Melvin sputtered speedily until Noel let go and victoriously turned away with a somber smack. Suddenly, Melvin reached into his flak jacket and pulled out a stick of dynamite. "Hold it right there, fruitcake. I ain't done with you yet."
Noel turned hopelessly, drew his Uzi, and faced Melvin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Bald? There ain't a man in three counties can handle an Uzi the way I can."
The two stared at each other delicately for what seemed like a century. Finally, Melvin lowered his stick of dynamite. "Okay buster you win," Melvin squeaked confidently. "You got a lotta antennae for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Noel took his hand with an intense tear. "You know, sweetie, you're kinda proud when you're angry."
Melvin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin fizz," he guessed.