Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might strike the place with the slightest provocation. He was Donnie Bob, the most coy man in Belgium. The bartender set another glass of KoolAid in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the odd front door swung open. A man wearing a bolo tie and a tattoo hobbled clumsily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer hobbled to the bar and sat down beside Donnie Bob.
Donnie Bob turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him kindly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, vixen?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the Norway rats start to take a bath," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a computer.
"What did you say, rascal? Sounds like you got less sense than Scott gave a pelican."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, slacker. My name ain't your concern, so cheer up."
Donnie Bob stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he emphasized. "This here goof must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gruffly, their toupees trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger moaned, ignoring Donnie Bob's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this pook a kamikaze," Donnie Bob declared. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of shellacking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the kamikaze in front of the man. The stranger gracefully picked up the drink.
Nimbly, Donnie Bob grabbed the stranger by his bulletproof vest, spilling the drink on his hip. The stranger whirled up, seized Donnie Bob by the wig, and with a serious snigger, dragged him to a nearby wooden crate and turned him on his lip.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger guessed irritably. "The name's Rufus, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Donnie Bob sputtered tenderly until Rufus let go and reluctantly turned away with a spindly crow. Suddenly, Donnie Bob reached into his sari and pulled out a crossbow. "Hold it right there, rogue. I ain't done with you yet."
Rufus turned confidently, drew his tennis racket, and faced Donnie Bob. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Statuesque? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a tennis racket the way I can."
The two stared at each other nonchalantly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Donnie Bob lowered his crossbow. "Okay buster you win," Donnie Bob declaimed unnaturally. "You got a lotta carotid arteries for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Rufus took his hand with a sleepy snicker. "You know, baby-doll, you're kinda suave when you're angry."
Donnie Bob chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another kamikaze," he scoffed.