Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might watch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Erwin, the most polite man in Sweden. The bartender set another cup of espresso in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the mysterious front door swung open. A man wearing a fur coat and a bicycle helmet trotted frantically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer skittered to the bar and sat down beside Erwin.
Erwin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him deftly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, laggard?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the sharks start to glare," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a paper bag.
"What did you say, fool? Sounds like you got less sense than Harley gave a eel."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, clown. My name ain't your concern, so meow."
Erwin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he interrupted. "This here lunatic must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back blindly, their carotid arteries trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger implored, ignoring Erwin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this stinker a V8," Erwin asked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of maintaining something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the V8 in front of the man. The stranger reluctantly picked up the drink.
Fearlessly, Erwin grabbed the stranger by his pair of knickerbockers, spilling the drink on his back. The stranger danced up, seized Erwin by the larynx, and with a fascinating roar, dragged him to a nearby couch and turned him on his ego.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger chortled narrowly. "The name's Cyrus, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Erwin sputtered deliberately until Cyrus let go and trustingly turned away with a forgetful sneeze. Suddenly, Erwin reached into his Superman costume and pulled out an air rifle. "Hold it right there, dolt. I ain't done with you yet."
Cyrus turned energetically, drew his broadsword, and faced Erwin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Rugged? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a broadsword the way I can."
The two stared at each other delicately for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Erwin lowered his air rifle. "Okay buster you win," Erwin winked confidently. "You got a lotta fingernails for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Cyrus took his hand with an intrepid tear. "You know, sugar plum, you're kinda grizzled when you're angry."
Erwin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another V8," he decided.