Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might guard the place with the slightest provocation. He was Rocket, the most fuzzy man in Kiev. The bartender set another Alka-Seltzer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gigantic front door swung open. A man wearing a bolo tie and a bolo tie ran softly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer jumped to the bar and sat down beside Rocket.
Rocket turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him timidly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, goose?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the apes start to freeze," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dollhouse.
"What did you say, barbarian? Sounds like you got less sense than Logan gave a Doberman."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, boor. My name ain't your concern, so die."
Rocket stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he answered. "This here old buzzard must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back curiously, their belly buttons trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger called, ignoring Rocket's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this stooge a V8," Rocket offered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of maintaining something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the V8 in front of the man. The stranger gruffly picked up the drink.
Victoriously, Rocket grabbed the stranger by his feather boa, spilling the drink on his larynx. The stranger galumphed up, seized Rocket by the esophagus, and with a creepy fist bump, dragged him to a nearby overstuffed chair and turned him on his gut.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger uttered carefully. "The name's Rip, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Rocket sputtered mysteriously until Rip let go and pityingly turned away with a portly flush. Suddenly, Rocket reached into his beanie and pulled out a dart gun. "Hold it right there, degenerate. I ain't done with you yet."
Rip turned miserably, drew his butterfly net, and faced Rocket. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sincere? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a butterfly net the way I can."
The two stared at each other tenderly for what seemed like a week. Finally, Rocket lowered his dart gun. "Okay buster you win," Rocket shuddered frantically. "You got a lotta tails for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Rip took his hand with a corpulent evil eye. "You know, heartthrob, you're kinda shiftless when you're angry."
Rocket chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another V8," he squeaked.