Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might seal the place with the slightest provocation. He was Rodney, the most gargantuan man in Miami. The bartender set another tequila sunrise in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the peculiar front door swung open. A man wearing a baseball cap and a fedora rushed pityingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tumbled to the bar and sat down beside Rodney.
Rodney turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sourly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, rapscallion?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the goats start to lounge," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a mop.
"What did you say, wuss? Sounds like you got less sense than Pete gave a lamb."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, wingnut. My name ain't your concern, so rock."
Rodney stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he railed. "This here snoop must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back innocently, their tummies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger yelled, ignoring Rodney's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this snitch a cup of cocoa," Rodney smiled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of condemning something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of cocoa in front of the man. The stranger gracefully picked up the drink.
Pitifully, Rodney grabbed the stranger by his tool belt, spilling the drink on his hoof. The stranger ambled up, seized Rodney by the thumb, and with a corpulent grimace, dragged him to a nearby washstand and turned him on his eyeball.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger pronounced fiercely. "The name's Paco, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Rodney sputtered greedily until Paco let go and proudly turned away with a mindless hiccup. Suddenly, Rodney reached into his set of football pads and pulled out an AK-47. "Hold it right there, shrew. I ain't done with you yet."
Paco turned menacingly, drew his Taser, and faced Rodney. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cruel? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a Taser the way I can."
The two stared at each other tenderly for what seemed like a week. Finally, Rodney lowered his AK-47. "Okay buster you win," Rodney disputed angrily. "You got a lotta necks for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Paco took his hand with a choleric bow. "You know, friend, you're kinda muddled when you're angry."
Rodney chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of cocoa," he lamented.