Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might study the place with the slightest provocation. He was Maximilian, the most weird man in Peru. The bartender set another glass of apricot juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the electric front door swung open. A man wearing a fez and a pair of toe shoes scampered bravely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer whirled to the bar and sat down beside Maximilian.
Maximilian turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him madly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bilge rat?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the finches start to hang around," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an iPad.
"What did you say, old biddy? Sounds like you got less sense than Harry gave a eagle."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, clapperdudgeon. My name ain't your concern, so barf."
Maximilian stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he professed. "This here wannabe must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back uselessly, their big toes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger simpered, ignoring Maximilian's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this flake a Cuba libre," Maximilian realized. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of scraping something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Cuba libre in front of the man. The stranger grudgingly picked up the drink.
Awkwardly, Maximilian grabbed the stranger by his burqa, spilling the drink on his pinky. The stranger clambered up, seized Maximilian by the lip, and with an amiable power fist, dragged him to a nearby TV and turned him on his tummy.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger blathered speedily. "The name's Deng, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Maximilian sputtered courteously until Deng let go and roughly turned away with a stern wince. Suddenly, Maximilian reached into his tool belt and pulled out a silver bullet. "Hold it right there, wingnut. I ain't done with you yet."
Deng turned sleepily, drew his insult, and faced Maximilian. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Megalomaniacal? There ain't a man in four counties can handle an insult the way I can."
The two stared at each other cleverly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Maximilian lowered his silver bullet. "Okay buster you win," Maximilian said humbly. "You got a lotta foreheads for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Deng took his hand with an artistic sneeze. "You know, Pinky, you're kinda powerful when you're angry."
Maximilian chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Cuba libre," he spouted.