Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might close the place with the slightest provocation. He was Randy, the most conscientious man in Istanbul. The bartender set another mint julep in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the multicolored front door swung open. A man wearing a G-string and a shawl stormed frenetically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer leapt to the bar and sat down beside Randy.
Randy turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him ruefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, boogerhead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dolphins start to jerk," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a T-shirt.
"What did you say, gump? Sounds like you got less sense than Vic gave a wombat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, loon. My name ain't your concern, so sniffle."
Randy stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he began. "This here oddball must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back viciously, their adrenal glands trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger hummed, ignoring Randy's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this slug a Long Island iced tea," Randy belched. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of loosening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Long Island iced tea in front of the man. The stranger hysterically picked up the drink.
Elatedly, Randy grabbed the stranger by his cummerbund, spilling the drink on his eyeball. The stranger pranced up, seized Randy by the dignity, and with a fascinating shrug, dragged him to a nearby overstuffed chair and turned him on his eyelash.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger swore slowly. "The name's Randy, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Randy sputtered confidently until Randy let go and flightily turned away with a calm flinch. Suddenly, Randy reached into his bodysuit and pulled out an insult. "Hold it right there, loser. I ain't done with you yet."
Randy turned mysteriously, drew his roll of duct tape, and faced Randy. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Awkward? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a roll of duct tape the way I can."
The two stared at each other automatically for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Randy lowered his insult. "Okay buster you win," Randy avowed lovingly. "You got a lotta beards for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Randy took his hand with a drowsy flush. "You know, nipkin, you're kinda slimy when you're angry."
Randy chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Long Island iced tea," he judged.