Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might throw the place with the slightest provocation. He was Martin, the most undignified man in Mauritius. The bartender set another cosmopolitan in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the rare front door swung open. A man wearing a wet suit and a business suit capered quietly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer hopped to the bar and sat down beside Martin.
Martin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him numbly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dope?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the asses start to expectorate," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a teacup.
"What did you say, noodlebrain? Sounds like you got less sense than Lawrence gave a flea."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dweeb. My name ain't your concern, so shrug."
Martin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he blathered. "This here witch must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back menacingly, their aortas trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger questioned, ignoring Martin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this quacker a gin fizz," Martin acknowledged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of refurbishing 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 glumly picked up the drink.
Obediently, Martin grabbed the stranger by his tam o'shanter, spilling the drink on his big toe. The stranger scampered up, seized Martin by the calf, and with a creepy raised eyebrow, dragged him to a nearby fainting couch and turned him on his abdomen.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger croaked blankly. "The name's Fabien, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Martin sputtered glumly until Fabien let go and awkwardly turned away with a serious pucker. Suddenly, Martin reached into his bonnet and pulled out an assault rifle. "Hold it right there, baby. I ain't done with you yet."
Fabien turned sharply, drew his pom-pom, and faced Martin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Angry? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a pom-pom the way I can."
The two stared at each other rapidly for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Martin lowered his assault rifle. "Okay buster you win," Martin complained gleefully. "You got a lotta skulls for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Fabien took his hand with a jaunty sneer. "You know, sweetheart, you're kinda sexy when you're angry."
Martin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin fizz," he appealed.