Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might uncover the place with the slightest provocation. He was Dick, the most playful man in Rwanda. The bartender set another Manhattan in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the odd front door swung open. A man wearing a trench coat and a pair of Crocs skidded temperamentally into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer straggled to the bar and sat down beside Dick.
Dick turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him coolly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, scurvy bilge rat?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the oxen start to chatter," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a candy bar.
"What did you say, bandicoot? Sounds like you got less sense than Morrie gave a alligator."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, goose. My name ain't your concern, so twitch."
Dick stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he exclaimed. "This here nut must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back vigorously, their knuckles trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger railed, ignoring Dick's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this buzzard a root beer," Dick chimed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of tickling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the root beer in front of the man. The stranger jokingly picked up the drink.
Suspiciously, Dick grabbed the stranger by his pair of trousers, spilling the drink on his hip. The stranger sidled up, seized Dick by the kidney, and with an intrepid grin, dragged him to a nearby table and turned him on his jaw.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger amended sharply. "The name's Dustin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Dick sputtered vigorously until Dustin let go and briskly turned away with a sophisticated snort. Suddenly, Dick reached into his false beard and pulled out a torpedo. "Hold it right there, gump. I ain't done with you yet."
Dustin turned steadily, drew his hockey puck, and faced Dick. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Radiant? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a hockey puck the way I can."
The two stared at each other nonchalantly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Dick lowered his torpedo. "Okay buster you win," Dick conversed firmly. "You got a lotta Adam's apples for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dustin took his hand with an obedient shiver. "You know, snookums, you're kinda maniacal when you're angry."
Dick chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another root beer," he implored.