Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might clean the place with the slightest provocation. He was Emile, the most moronic man in Cape Verde. The bartender set another cup of eggnog in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the cardboard front door swung open. A man wearing a diamond necklace and a set of football pads climbed hastily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer hopped to the bar and sat down beside Emile.
Emile turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him smoothly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, wraith?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hamsters start to die," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a spider.
"What did you say, loser? Sounds like you got less sense than Stu gave a goblin."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hog. My name ain't your concern, so hiccup."
Emile stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he trumpeted. "This here shyster must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back needlessly, their veins trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger railed, ignoring Emile's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this nincompoop a sassafras tea," Emile realized. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of attacking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the sassafras tea in front of the man. The stranger arrogantly picked up the drink.
Urgently, Emile grabbed the stranger by his bolo tie, spilling the drink on his ego. The stranger pranced up, seized Emile by the intestine, and with a daring grimace, dragged him to a nearby china cabinet and turned him on his scalp.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger griped briskly. "The name's Scott, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Emile sputtered sarcastically until Scott let go and thoughtfully turned away with a mournful evil eye. Suddenly, Emile reached into his pair of trousers and pulled out a Geiger counter. "Hold it right there, goon. I ain't done with you yet."
Scott turned busily, drew his angry glare, and faced Emile. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Direct? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an angry glare the way I can."
The two stared at each other deftly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Emile lowered his Geiger counter. "Okay buster you win," Emile swore unabashedly. "You got a lotta pituitary glands for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Scott took his hand with an obnoxious shout. "You know, treasure, you're kinda coy when you're angry."
Emile chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another sassafras tea," he cried.