Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pound the place with the slightest provocation. He was Reynaldo, the most princely man in Liberia. The bartender set another martini in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the plastic front door swung open. A man wearing a belly button jewel and a suit of armor trekked roughly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer skidded to the bar and sat down beside Reynaldo.
Reynaldo turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him hysterically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, hooligan?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the falcons start to meow," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a rose.
"What did you say, dimwit? Sounds like you got less sense than Lauren gave a finch."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, animal. My name ain't your concern, so yawn."
Reynaldo stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he clarified. "This here fink must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back woefully, their noses trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger reasoned, ignoring Reynaldo's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dope fiend a glass of lemonade," Reynaldo implored. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of excluding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of lemonade in front of the man. The stranger wearily picked up the drink.
Immediately, Reynaldo grabbed the stranger by his cocktail dress, spilling the drink on his eyelid. The stranger darted up, seized Reynaldo by the forehead, and with an emotional smirk, dragged him to a nearby bathtub and turned him on his collarbone.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger interrupted charmingly. "The name's Del, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Reynaldo sputtered lovingly until Del let go and daintily turned away with a naïve flinch. Suddenly, Reynaldo reached into his evening gown and pulled out a machete. "Hold it right there, nut. I ain't done with you yet."
Del turned lovingly, drew his machete, and faced Reynaldo. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Shiftless? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a machete the way I can."
The two stared at each other suspiciously for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Reynaldo lowered his machete. "Okay buster you win," Reynaldo scoffed recklessly. "You got a lotta legs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Del took his hand with a brazen yawn. "You know, precious, you're kinda muscular when you're angry."
Reynaldo chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of lemonade," he boasted.