Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might break the place with the slightest provocation. He was Victor, the most thoughtful man in Nigeria. The bartender set another Alka-Seltzer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the striking front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of shorts and a set of camo fatigues tore thankfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer jogged to the bar and sat down beside Victor.
Victor turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him breathlessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, weenie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the peacocks start to come to," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a peach.
"What did you say, oddball? Sounds like you got less sense than Justin gave a fawn."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, screwball. My name ain't your concern, so gasp."
Victor stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he stated. "This here stalker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back ruefully, their arteries trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger clarified, ignoring Victor's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hag a painkiller," Victor muttered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of reconsidering something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the painkiller in front of the man. The stranger sharply picked up the drink.
Dubiously, Victor grabbed the stranger by his dirndl, spilling the drink on his big toe. The stranger skidded up, seized Victor by the buttocks, and with a vacuous tear, dragged him to a nearby china hutch and turned him on his little toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger squawked elatedly. "The name's Reynaldo, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Victor sputtered slyly until Reynaldo let go and daintily turned away with an irate cackle. Suddenly, Victor reached into his pair of nylons and pulled out a pom-pom. "Hold it right there, old coot. I ain't done with you yet."
Reynaldo turned temperamentally, drew his defibrillator, and faced Victor. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Jolly? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a defibrillator the way I can."
The two stared at each other gingerly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Victor lowered his pom-pom. "Okay buster you win," Victor blathered suspiciously. "You got a lotta chins for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Reynaldo took his hand with a desperate woof. "You know, poopsie, you're kinda elderly when you're angry."
Victor chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another painkiller," he drawled.