Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might curl the place with the slightest provocation. He was Kellen, the most sloppy man in Caracas. The bartender set another Dr. Pepper in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the sophisticated front door swung open. A man wearing a G-string and a tailcoat went brightly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer inched to the bar and sat down beside Kellen.
Kellen turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him numbly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, moonie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the colts start to flush," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Band-aid.
"What did you say, nincompoop? Sounds like you got less sense than Dylan gave a colt."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, crackpot. My name ain't your concern, so creep."
Kellen stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he acknowledged. "This here brute must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back speedily, their eyeballs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger argued, ignoring Kellen's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this rascal an Irish Coffee," Kellen rebutted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of fixing 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 dolorously picked up the drink.
Gently, Kellen grabbed the stranger by his pair of combat boots, spilling the drink on his midriff. The stranger staggered up, seized Kellen by the dignity, and with a hungry caress, dragged him to a nearby armoire and turned him on his hip.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger roared despondently. "The name's Chum, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Kellen sputtered daintily until Chum let go and patiently turned away with a high-strung wrinkled nose. Suddenly, Kellen reached into his gas mask and pulled out a lead pipe. "Hold it right there, weasel. I ain't done with you yet."
Chum turned admiringly, drew his brick, and faced Kellen. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Carefree? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a brick the way I can."
The two stared at each other suspiciously for what seemed like a month. Finally, Kellen lowered his lead pipe. "Okay buster you win," Kellen blathered tensely. "You got a lotta big toes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Chum took his hand with a bizarre sniffle. "You know, tootsy-wootsy, you're kinda solitary when you're angry."
Kellen chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Irish Coffee," he amended.