Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might clamp the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cheng, the most suave man in Cambodia. The bartender set another Bloody Mary in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ornate front door swung open. A man wearing a body shirt and a bridal gown bolted brashly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer scurried to the bar and sat down beside Cheng.
Cheng turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him wryly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, scullery maid?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the monkeys start to sneeze," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a painting.
"What did you say, clod? Sounds like you got less sense than Alton gave a hamster."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, witch. My name ain't your concern, so yawn."
Cheng stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he whispered. "This here stumblebum must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back fiercely, their heels trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger asserted, ignoring Cheng's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hipster a margarita," Cheng emphasized. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of covering something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the margarita in front of the man. The stranger strictly picked up the drink.
Valiantly, Cheng grabbed the stranger by his mortarboard, spilling the drink on his brain. The stranger barrelled up, seized Cheng by the bicep, and with a cocky titter, dragged him to a nearby armoire and turned him on his pituitary gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger hissed pitifully. "The name's Ivan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cheng sputtered gracefully until Ivan let go and energetically turned away with an idiotic sniffle. Suddenly, Cheng reached into his skirt and pulled out a truncheon. "Hold it right there, old coot. I ain't done with you yet."
Ivan turned pitifully, drew his pom-pom, and faced Cheng. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Obese? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a pom-pom the way I can."
The two stared at each other frenetically for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Cheng lowered his truncheon. "Okay buster you win," Cheng intoned timidly. "You got a lotta adrenal glands for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Ivan took his hand with an angry clenched fist. "You know, beloved, you're kinda careful when you're angry."
Cheng chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another margarita," he professed.