Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might jab the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bert, the most furious man in Calcutta. The bartender set another glass of fruit punch in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hard front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of shoes and a tunic reeled offhandedly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer walked to the bar and sat down beside Bert.
Bert turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him fearlessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dip?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the ducks start to sneer," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a stick.
"What did you say, thug? Sounds like you got less sense than Waldo gave a otter."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, scamp. My name ain't your concern, so ponder."
Bert stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he chanted. "This here stooge must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back suddenly, their hearts trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger suggested, ignoring Bert's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this toilet vulture a glass of apricot juice," Bert reasoned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of strengthening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of apricot juice in front of the man. The stranger lazily picked up the drink.
Stupidly, Bert grabbed the stranger by his suit of armor, spilling the drink on his waist. The stranger hobbled up, seized Bert by the tongue, and with a bilious belly laugh, dragged him to a nearby coat rack and turned him on his liver.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger judged shakily. "The name's Nicolas, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bert sputtered crazily until Nicolas let go and strictly turned away with a sensible honk. Suddenly, Bert reached into his wizard's hat and pulled out a flashlight. "Hold it right there, bandicoot. I ain't done with you yet."
Nicolas turned fearfully, drew his tomahawk, and faced Bert. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sarcastic? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a tomahawk the way I can."
The two stared at each other hopefully for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Bert lowered his flashlight. "Okay buster you win," Bert bawled glumly. "You got a lotta jaws for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Nicolas took his hand with an urbane death glare. "You know, twinkie, you're kinda adorable when you're angry."
Bert chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of apricot juice," he avowed.