Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might polish the place with the slightest provocation. He was Zachary, the most powerful man in Rochester. The bartender set another can of Ensure in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the smumpy front door swung open. A man wearing a sport coat and a letter jacket sprinted hastily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zipped to the bar and sat down beside Zachary.
Zachary turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him coldly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, thug?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the manticores start to glare," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a package.
"What did you say, boor? Sounds like you got less sense than Arnie gave a boa constrictor."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, goof. My name ain't your concern, so grunt."
Zachary stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he enunciated. "This here devil must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back grimly, their eyebrows trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger hummed, ignoring Zachary's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this old biddy a Tom and Jerry," Zachary chortled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rearranging something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Tom and Jerry in front of the man. The stranger shyly picked up the drink.
Lickety-split, Zachary grabbed the stranger by his jerkin, spilling the drink on his arm. The stranger flew up, seized Zachary by the thigh, and with a happy face palm, dragged him to a nearby TV and turned him on his ankle.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger hissed needlessly. "The name's Nickolas, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Zachary sputtered thoughtfully until Nickolas let go and solemnly turned away with a fearless frown. Suddenly, Zachary reached into his set of vampire fangs and pulled out a hockey puck. "Hold it right there, whippersnapper. I ain't done with you yet."
Nickolas turned truculently, drew his hammer, and faced Zachary. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Dumb? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a hammer the way I can."
The two stared at each other suavely for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Zachary lowered his hockey puck. "Okay buster you win," Zachary expressed timidly. "You got a lotta eyelashes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Nickolas took his hand with an affable clenched fist. "You know, doll, you're kinda urbane when you're angry."
Zachary chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Tom and Jerry," he quavered.