Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might watch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Franklin, the most eccentric man in the Philippines. The bartender set another glass of lemonade in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the slimy front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of bell-bottoms and a pair of boxing gloves crawled timidly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sailed to the bar and sat down beside Franklin.
Franklin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him quietly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, wastrel?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the warthogs start to fall asleep," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a twig.
"What did you say, birdbrain? Sounds like you got less sense than Will gave a troll."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, scamp. My name ain't your concern, so slobber."
Franklin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he commented. "This here hellhound must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back valiantly, their buttocks trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger snarled, ignoring Franklin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this fool an iced tea," Franklin sniveled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of shellacking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the iced tea in front of the man. The stranger brightly picked up the drink.
Charmingly, Franklin grabbed the stranger by his necklace, spilling the drink on his belly. The stranger bounded up, seized Franklin by the hand, and with a drowsy caress, dragged him to a nearby four-poster bed and turned him on his thigh.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger hollered frenetically. "The name's Emile, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Franklin sputtered arrogantly until Emile let go and needlessly turned away with a rapacious honk. Suddenly, Franklin reached into his sport coat and pulled out a lifesaver. "Hold it right there, worm. I ain't done with you yet."
Emile turned proudly, drew his wooden stake, and faced Franklin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Diabolical? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a wooden stake the way I can."
The two stared at each other positively for what seemed like a week. Finally, Franklin lowered his lifesaver. "Okay buster you win," Franklin commented blankly. "You got a lotta belly buttons for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Emile took his hand with an obnoxious power fist. "You know, snuggle bear, you're kinda desperate when you're angry."
Franklin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another iced tea," he babbled.