Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might choke the place with the slightest provocation. He was Millicent, the most difficult man in Algiers. The bartender set another painkiller in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the fabulous front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of contact lenses and a pair of moon boots darted ferociously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sprinted to the bar and sat down beside Millicent.
Millicent turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him truculently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, poopyhead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the Dobermans start to bawl," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Van Gogh.
"What did you say, dipstick? Sounds like you got less sense than Ricky gave a muskrat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dumbbell. My name ain't your concern, so grin."
Millicent stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he maintained. "This here clapperdudgeon must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sharply, their wigs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger said, ignoring Millicent's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dorf a gin fizz," Millicent analyzed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of admiring something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gin fizz in front of the man. The stranger merrily picked up the drink.
Energetically, Millicent grabbed the stranger by his girdle, spilling the drink on his tummy. The stranger slithered up, seized Millicent by the hoof, and with an evil belly laugh, dragged him to a nearby settee and turned him on his neck.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger roared grandly. "The name's Stanley, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Millicent sputtered diligently until Stanley let go and crossly turned away with a vile guffaw. Suddenly, Millicent reached into his tutu and pulled out a wrench. "Hold it right there, blackguard. I ain't done with you yet."
Stanley turned gently, drew his lightsaber, and faced Millicent. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Disorganized? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a lightsaber the way I can."
The two stared at each other crankily for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Millicent lowered his wrench. "Okay buster you win," Millicent noted courteously. "You got a lotta eyes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Stanley took his hand with a sexy caress. "You know, pet, you're kinda creepy when you're angry."
Millicent chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin fizz," he stormed.