Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might dye the place with the slightest provocation. He was Millicent, the most weary man in Moscow. The bartender set another can of Ensure in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the unusual front door swung open. A man wearing a suit of armor and a beret rolled ferociously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer crawled to the bar and sat down beside Millicent.
Millicent turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him shakily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, vile viper?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the bears start to beg," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a teacup.
"What did you say, nerd? Sounds like you got less sense than Armand gave a donkey."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, snitch. My name ain't your concern, so pant."
Millicent stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he tittered. "This here gump must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back again, their noses trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger analyzed, ignoring Millicent's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dunderhead a glass of fruit punch," Millicent hissed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of cutting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of fruit punch in front of the man. The stranger patiently picked up the drink.
Craftily, Millicent grabbed the stranger by his military uniform, spilling the drink on his knuckle. The stranger lumbered up, seized Millicent by the pride, and with a sensible hoot, dragged him to a nearby stairway and turned him on his thyroid gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger boomed confidently. "The name's Chuck, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Millicent sputtered courageously until Chuck let go and carelessly turned away with a timid grimace. Suddenly, Millicent reached into his polo shirt and pulled out a sickle. "Hold it right there, dunce. I ain't done with you yet."
Chuck turned nervously, drew his atomic weapon, and faced Millicent. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Deadly? There ain't a man in six counties can handle an atomic weapon the way I can."
The two stared at each other warmly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Millicent lowered his sickle. "Okay buster you win," Millicent sniveled numbly. "You got a lotta kidneys for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Chuck took his hand with a shiftless flutter. "You know, buttercup, you're kinda naïve when you're angry."
Millicent chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of fruit punch," he stammered.