Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might throw the place with the slightest provocation. He was Larry, the most pigeon-toed man in Hell. The bartender set another bottle of rum in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the soft front door swung open. A man wearing a tinfoil hat and a few golden rags paraded warily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer galumphed to the bar and sat down beside Larry.
Larry turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him jokingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, prattling gabbler?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the robots start to howl," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a toolbox.
"What did you say, kook? Sounds like you got less sense than Cecil gave a worm."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, gossip. My name ain't your concern, so look dumb."
Larry stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he crooned. "This here slug must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back narrowly, their eyelids trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger fantasized, ignoring Larry's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this laggard a double latte," Larry taunted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of pulverizing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the double latte in front of the man. The stranger innocently picked up the drink.
Quietly, Larry grabbed the stranger by his black armband, spilling the drink on his knuckle. The stranger padded up, seized Larry by the nose, and with a noxious chuckle, dragged him to a nearby toilet and turned him on his forehead.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger began tensely. "The name's Frankie, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Larry sputtered shakily until Frankie let go and sadly turned away with a hysterical yawn. Suddenly, Larry reached into his business suit and pulled out a photon torpedo. "Hold it right there, blackguard. I ain't done with you yet."
Frankie turned defiantly, drew his blackjack, and faced Larry. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Phlegmatic? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a blackjack the way I can."
The two stared at each other noisily for what seemed like a day. Finally, Larry lowered his photon torpedo. "Okay buster you win," Larry shuddered sharply. "You got a lotta guts for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Frankie took his hand with a shifty hoot. "You know, heartthrob, you're kinda diabolical when you're angry."
Larry chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another double latte," he giggled.