Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might liquify the place with the slightest provocation. He was Robert, the most bald man in Moscow. The bartender set another Bloody Mary in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the striking front door swung open. A man wearing a Stetson hat and a skirt hopped irritably into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer stalked to the bar and sat down beside Robert.
Robert turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him glibly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, turkey?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lemurs start to come along," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a map.
"What did you say, punk? Sounds like you got less sense than Bradley gave a weasel."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, troglodyte. My name ain't your concern, so breathe."
Robert stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he contended. "This here knucklehead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back stupidly, their thighs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger wailed, ignoring Robert's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this savage a hot toddy," Robert jeered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of closing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot toddy in front of the man. The stranger temperamentally picked up the drink.
Primly, Robert grabbed the stranger by his flak jacket, spilling the drink on his shin. The stranger paraded up, seized Robert by the paw, and with a crafty squint, dragged him to a nearby bar stool and turned him on his leg.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger commented glibly. "The name's Ichabod, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Robert sputtered anxiously until Ichabod let go and accidentally turned away with a forgetful furrowed brow. Suddenly, Robert reached into his fur coat and pulled out a carbine. "Hold it right there, madman. I ain't done with you yet."
Ichabod turned perkily, drew his charm, and faced Robert. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Corpulent? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a charm the way I can."
The two stared at each other tenderly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Robert lowered his carbine. "Okay buster you win," Robert drawled offhandedly. "You got a lotta necks for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Ichabod took his hand with a cruel roar. "You know, little blossom, you're kinda moody when you're angry."
Robert chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot toddy," he interpreted.