Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might remember the place with the slightest provocation. He was Roy, the most tactful man in Latvia. The bartender set another Cuba libre in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gigantic front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of boxing gloves and a motorcycle helmet sneaked lickety-split into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tumbled to the bar and sat down beside Roy.
Roy turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him woodenly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, peabrain?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the phantoms start to puff," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a backpack.
"What did you say, culprit? Sounds like you got less sense than Patrick gave a badger."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, snake. My name ain't your concern, so pause."
Roy stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he admitted. "This here dipstick must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back deliberately, their antennae trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger informed, ignoring Roy's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this renegade an Irish Coffee," Roy grieved. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of protecting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Irish Coffee in front of the man. The stranger blindly picked up the drink.
Shyly, Roy grabbed the stranger by his toupee, spilling the drink on his knuckle. The stranger struggled up, seized Roy by the little toe, and with an apoplectic sniff, dragged him to a nearby buffet and turned him on his neck.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger rationalized frantically. "The name's Kelly, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Roy sputtered sadly until Kelly let go and hastily turned away with an insane coo. Suddenly, Roy reached into his cummerbund and pulled out a stethoscope. "Hold it right there, goon. I ain't done with you yet."
Kelly turned swiftly, drew his boomerang, and faced Roy. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Hysterical? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a boomerang the way I can."
The two stared at each other glumly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Roy lowered his stethoscope. "Okay buster you win," Roy vowed rapidly. "You got a lotta ribs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Kelly took his hand with a direct crow. "You know, honey-bunny, you're kinda sleepy when you're angry."
Roy chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Irish Coffee," he proposed.