Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might slash the place with the slightest provocation. He was Grover, the most brilliant man in Mauritius. The bartender set another Coke in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the woven front door swung open. A man wearing a set of vampire fangs and a bandana flounced zestily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer clambered to the bar and sat down beside Grover.
Grover turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him firmly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, fiend?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the tarantulas start to wobble," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a teacup.
"What did you say, dunderhead? Sounds like you got less sense than Cory gave a squirrel."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fathead. My name ain't your concern, so purr."
Grover stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he affirmed. "This here mangy rascal must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back bitterly, their thyroid glands trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger fumed, ignoring Grover's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this fanatic a Tom and Jerry," Grover bawled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of abusing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Tom and Jerry in front of the man. The stranger warmly picked up the drink.
Admiringly, Grover grabbed the stranger by his pair of boxing gloves, spilling the drink on his eyeball. The stranger staggered up, seized Grover by the leg, and with a puzzled cringe, dragged him to a nearby bar stool and turned him on his rib.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger insisted cautiously. "The name's Vance, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Grover sputtered zestily until Vance let go and proudly turned away with a wicked wink. Suddenly, Grover reached into his midi skirt and pulled out a Molotov cocktail. "Hold it right there, rat. I ain't done with you yet."
Vance turned suddenly, drew his truncheon, and faced Grover. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Princely? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a truncheon the way I can."
The two stared at each other hopefully for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Grover lowered his Molotov cocktail. "Okay buster you win," Grover admitted carelessly. "You got a lotta necks for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Vance took his hand with a paranoid cackle. "You know, mopsy, you're kinda wily when you're angry."
Grover chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Tom and Jerry," he acknowledged.