Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might slap the place with the slightest provocation. He was Tommy, the most earnest man in Monaco. The bartender set another chocolate milk in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the leather front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of panties and a pair of shoes rolled deftly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer marched to the bar and sat down beside Tommy.
Tommy turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him doubtfully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, blatherskite?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the manatees start to bark," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a spinning wheel.
"What did you say, shyster? Sounds like you got less sense than Tim gave a robot."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, sucker. My name ain't your concern, so jump."
Tommy stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he quoted. "This here gossip must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sympathetically, their hooves trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger declared, ignoring Tommy's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this mush-for-brains a hot buttered rum," Tommy phrased. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of cooking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot buttered rum in front of the man. The stranger speedily picked up the drink.
Blissfully, Tommy grabbed the stranger by his wolf costume, spilling the drink on his finger. The stranger skipped up, seized Tommy by the beard, and with a homely face palm, dragged him to a nearby crib and turned him on his thumb.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger pleaded unabashedly. "The name's Nick, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Tommy sputtered blankly until Nick let go and sadly turned away with a drowsy raspberry. Suddenly, Tommy reached into his award medal and pulled out a Molotov cocktail. "Hold it right there, flouting milksop. I ain't done with you yet."
Nick turned perkily, drew his potato masher, and faced Tommy. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Passionate? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a potato masher the way I can."
The two stared at each other effortlessly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Tommy lowered his Molotov cocktail. "Okay buster you win," Tommy imitated fiercely. "You got a lotta pinkies for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Nick took his hand with a high-strung wink. "You know, honey-babe, you're kinda sinister when you're angry."
Tommy chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot buttered rum," he laughed.