Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might mend the place with the slightest provocation. He was Fred, the most comely man in South Africa. The bartender set another grape soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the handy front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of overalls and a set of vampire fangs walked flightily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slumped to the bar and sat down beside Fred.
Fred turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him dubiously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, demon?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the penguins start to clap," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a ticket.
"What did you say, chowderhead? Sounds like you got less sense than Shamus gave a robot."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, nag. My name ain't your concern, so sigh."
Fred stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he moaned. "This here knucklehead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back cruelly, their larynxes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger cajoled, ignoring Fred's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this quacker a whiskey," Fred requested. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of hoisting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the whiskey in front of the man. The stranger mysteriously picked up the drink.
Glumly, Fred grabbed the stranger by his cummerbund, spilling the drink on his ego. The stranger made a beeline up, seized Fred by the eye, and with a prickly wag of the finger, dragged him to a nearby dishwasher and turned him on his arm.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger declared uneasily. "The name's Derek, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Fred sputtered hopefully until Derek let go and sharply turned away with a nonchalant flinch. Suddenly, Fred reached into his birthday suit and pulled out a torpedo. "Hold it right there, terror. I ain't done with you yet."
Derek turned sorrowfully, drew his peacemaker, and faced Fred. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Artistic? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a peacemaker the way I can."
The two stared at each other cheerfully for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Fred lowered his torpedo. "Okay buster you win," Fred intoned demurely. "You got a lotta appendixes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Derek took his hand with an eccentric finger gun. "You know, honey-babe, you're kinda vivacious when you're angry."
Fred chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another whiskey," he brought up.