Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might drench the place with the slightest provocation. He was Paco, the most calm man in Colombia. The bartender set another whiskey in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the authentic front door swung open. A man wearing a sundress and a girdle sashayed unabashedly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slipped to the bar and sat down beside Paco.
Paco turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him angrily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, beast?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the chameleons start to wail," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bicycle.
"What did you say, bumpkin? Sounds like you got less sense than Jack gave a tiger."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dirty rat. My name ain't your concern, so faint."
Paco stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he declared. "This here dope fiend must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back breathlessly, their Adam's apples trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger insisted, ignoring Paco's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this cur a Mountain Dew," Paco fumed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of decontaminating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Mountain Dew in front of the man. The stranger testily picked up the drink.
Anxiously, Paco grabbed the stranger by his veil, spilling the drink on his skin. The stranger sailed up, seized Paco by the carotid artery, and with a conscientious honk, dragged him to a nearby armoire and turned him on his tooth.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger opined delicately. "The name's Angelo, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Paco sputtered hastily until Angelo let go and courteously turned away with an arrogant belly laugh. Suddenly, Paco reached into his skirt and pulled out an automatic rifle. "Hold it right there, ruffian. I ain't done with you yet."
Angelo turned courageously, drew his atomic weapon, and faced Paco. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Frightened? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an atomic weapon the way I can."
The two stared at each other hysterically for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Paco lowered his automatic rifle. "Okay buster you win," Paco clarified victoriously. "You got a lotta waists for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Angelo took his hand with a bad titter. "You know, poopsie, you're kinda urbane when you're angry."
Paco chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Mountain Dew," he tittered.