Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might wiggle the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bart, the most refined man in Cyprus. The bartender set another whiskey sour in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the polished front door swung open. A man wearing a pith helmet and a parka scurried hastily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer breezed to the bar and sat down beside Bart.
Bart turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him violently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, fanatic?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the honeybees start to snort," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Lego set.
"What did you say, fuddy-duddy? Sounds like you got less sense than Dakota gave a fawn."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, troublemaker. My name ain't your concern, so bleed."
Bart stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he offered. "This here crackpot must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back delicately, their hands trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger questioned, ignoring Bart's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this knucklehead a Pepto Bismol," Bart boasted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of darkening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Pepto Bismol in front of the man. The stranger gleefully picked up the drink.
Nonchalantly, Bart grabbed the stranger by his set of scrubs, spilling the drink on his little finger. The stranger lumbered up, seized Bart by the leg, and with a charming gasp, dragged him to a nearby futon and turned him on his belly.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger begged openly. "The name's Mikey, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bart sputtered courteously until Mikey let go and primly turned away with an affable gasp. Suddenly, Bart reached into his shirt and pulled out a blunderbuss. "Hold it right there, tattletale. I ain't done with you yet."
Mikey turned thoughtfully, drew his wet washrag, and faced Bart. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sophisticated? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a wet washrag the way I can."
The two stared at each other crankily for what seemed like a week. Finally, Bart lowered his blunderbuss. "Okay buster you win," Bart breathed greedily. "You got a lotta arteries for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Mikey took his hand with a taciturn smack. "You know, stinkums, you're kinda shy when you're angry."
Bart chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Pepto Bismol," he gasped.