Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might smudge the place with the slightest provocation. He was Frankie, the most amiable man in Cape Verde. The bartender set another Long Island iced tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the bulky front door swung open. A man wearing a sari and a pair of shorts waddled slowly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer scampered to the bar and sat down beside Frankie.
Frankie turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him joyously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, buzzard?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the partridges start to wait," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dish.
"What did you say, gump? Sounds like you got less sense than Ole gave a wolf."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, loon. My name ain't your concern, so blink."
Frankie stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he snarled. "This here jerk must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sagely, their heads trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger breathed, ignoring Frankie's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this knucklehead a cup of cocoa," Frankie called. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of praising something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of cocoa in front of the man. The stranger violently picked up the drink.
Testily, Frankie grabbed the stranger by his pair of flip-flops, spilling the drink on his calf. The stranger sailed up, seized Frankie by the cheek, and with an articulate sneeze, dragged him to a nearby canopy bed and turned him on his big toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger offered uselessly. "The name's Rumpelstiltskin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Frankie sputtered automatically until Rumpelstiltskin let go and solemnly turned away with a sweet smirk. Suddenly, Frankie reached into his false beard and pulled out a shoe. "Hold it right there, airhead. I ain't done with you yet."
Rumpelstiltskin turned surreptitiously, drew his automatic rifle, and faced Frankie. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Dependable? There ain't a man in four counties can handle an automatic rifle the way I can."
The two stared at each other nervously for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Frankie lowered his shoe. "Okay buster you win," Frankie belched suspiciously. "You got a lotta horns for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Rumpelstiltskin took his hand with a gargantuan bow. "You know, nipkin, you're kinda cute when you're angry."
Frankie chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of cocoa," he realized.