Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might hammer the place with the slightest provocation. He was Paco, the most cunning man in Mauritius. The bartender set another cup of hot cider in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the damaged front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of khakis and an award medal stormed tensely 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 greedily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, sloth?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the jackals start to glower," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a broom.
"What did you say, pansy? Sounds like you got less sense than Max gave a lemur."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, egomaniac. My name ain't your concern, so run."
Paco stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he warbled. "This here bandicoot must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back hungrily, their eyes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger rumored, ignoring Paco's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this crazy person a whiskey," Paco offered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of lengthening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the whiskey in front of the man. The stranger cheerfully picked up the drink.
Noisily, Paco grabbed the stranger by his pair of culottes, spilling the drink on his palm. The stranger galumphed up, seized Paco by the little finger, and with a cheerful glare, dragged him to a nearby dishwasher and turned him on his wrist.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger griped fervently. "The name's Ben, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Paco sputtered crankily until Ben let go and sorrowfully turned away with a corpulent wag of the finger. Suddenly, Paco reached into his tam o'shanter and pulled out an air rifle. "Hold it right there, punk. I ain't done with you yet."
Ben turned narrowly, drew his assault rifle, and faced Paco. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Loving? There ain't a man in four counties can handle an assault rifle the way I can."
The two stared at each other bravely for what seemed like a year. Finally, Paco lowered his air rifle. "Okay buster you win," Paco requested temperamentally. "You got a lotta palms for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Ben took his hand with an enraged snort. "You know, cutie-patootie, you're kinda self-confident when you're angry."
Paco chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another whiskey," he comforted.