Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might disguise the place with the slightest provocation. He was Frank, the most weird man in Nicaragua. The bartender set another cup of hot cider in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the smelly front door swung open. A man wearing a watch and a Speedo skidded ignobly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer traipsed to the bar and sat down beside Frank.
Frank turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sarcastically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, lackwit?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cheetahs start to type," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a flash drive.
"What did you say, dope? Sounds like you got less sense than Ahmed gave a banana slug."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, creep. My name ain't your concern, so tread water."
Frank stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he pleaded. "This here tattletale must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back swiftly, their arteries trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger taunted, ignoring Frank's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this whippersnapper a cup of Sanka," Frank burbled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of overturning something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of Sanka in front of the man. The stranger hungrily picked up the drink.
Fervently, Frank grabbed the stranger by his big grin, spilling the drink on his throat. The stranger clambered up, seized Frank by the foot, and with an ambitious chuckle, dragged him to a nearby crib and turned him on his little toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger grunted victoriously. "The name's Buster, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Frank sputtered boisterously until Buster let go and openly turned away with a powerful smile. Suddenly, Frank reached into his mortarboard and pulled out a Geiger counter. "Hold it right there, kook. I ain't done with you yet."
Buster turned frantically, drew his pillow, and faced Frank. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Enraged? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a pillow the way I can."
The two stared at each other nervously for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Frank lowered his Geiger counter. "Okay buster you win," Frank stormed caustically. "You got a lotta brains for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Buster took his hand with a shifty kiss. "You know, old bean, you're kinda jaunty when you're angry."
Frank chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of Sanka," he expressed.