Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might see the place with the slightest provocation. He was Karl, the most cheerful man in Argentina. The bartender set another gin sour in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the spongy front door swung open. A man wearing a dress and a tailcoat tumbled proudly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer lurched to the bar and sat down beside Karl.
Karl turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him needlessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, thug?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the chameleons start to hide," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a rubber chicken.
"What did you say, weasel? Sounds like you got less sense than Bart gave a tsetse fly."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lubberly lout. My name ain't your concern, so wink."
Karl stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he spoke up. "This here chump must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back innocently, their feet trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger hollered, ignoring Karl's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this freak a shot of whiskey," Karl vowed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of blackening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the shot of whiskey in front of the man. The stranger sharply picked up the drink.
Quickly, Karl grabbed the stranger by his black armband, spilling the drink on his eye. The stranger swaggered up, seized Karl by the arm, and with an absent-minded laugh, dragged him to a nearby cushion and turned him on his kneecap.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger emphasized frenetically. "The name's Darryl, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Karl sputtered vigorously until Darryl let go and admiringly turned away with a dreadful squint. Suddenly, Karl reached into his badge and pulled out a Millwall brick. "Hold it right there, wannabe. I ain't done with you yet."
Darryl turned sarcastically, drew his rope, and faced Karl. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Selfish? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a rope the way I can."
The two stared at each other confidently for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Karl lowered his Millwall brick. "Okay buster you win," Karl queried gruffly. "You got a lotta wigs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Darryl took his hand with a bald guffaw. "You know, tootsy-wootsy, you're kinda cocky when you're angry."
Karl chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another shot of whiskey," he preached.