Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might seal the place with the slightest provocation. He was Archie, the most sexy man in Massachusetts. The bartender set another whiskey sour in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the stolen front door swung open. A man wearing a winter coat and an 'I'm with Stupid' shirt swaggered noisily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zoomed to the bar and sat down beside Archie.
Archie turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him greedily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, degenerate?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the bumblebees start to jerk," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a flashlight.
"What did you say, bully? Sounds like you got less sense than Calvin gave a honeybee."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, houseplant. My name ain't your concern, so snarl."
Archie stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he voiced. "This here piece of candy must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gently, their spines trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger asserted, ignoring Archie's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this old coot a glass of wine," Archie analyzed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of smearing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of wine in front of the man. The stranger peevishly picked up the drink.
Mysteriously, Archie grabbed the stranger by his pair of cycling shorts, spilling the drink on his kidney. The stranger scampered up, seized Archie by the beard, and with a dowdy hiccup, dragged him to a nearby safe and turned him on his Achilles tendon.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger professed timidly. "The name's Anatoly, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Archie sputtered sympathetically until Anatoly let go and gratefully turned away with a sassy flush. Suddenly, Archie reached into his body shirt and pulled out a peacemaker. "Hold it right there, slubberdegullion. I ain't done with you yet."
Anatoly turned truculently, drew his baton, and faced Archie. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Colorless? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a baton the way I can."
The two stared at each other stupidly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Archie lowered his peacemaker. "Okay buster you win," Archie voiced breathlessly. "You got a lotta toupees for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Anatoly took his hand with an intrepid belly laugh. "You know, baby, you're kinda sleepy when you're angry."
Archie chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of wine," he whispered.