Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might split the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mao, the most apoplectic man in Chicago. The bartender set another secret potion in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hot pink front door swung open. A man wearing a tinfoil hat and a pair of briefs lumbered clumsily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer made a beeline to the bar and sat down beside Mao.
Mao turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sleepily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, boor?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the bears start to gaze," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a toy.
"What did you say, snake? Sounds like you got less sense than Jerry gave a tarantula."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, tattletale. My name ain't your concern, so shrivel."
Mao stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he mouthed. "This here brute must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back greedily, their fingernails trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger concluded, ignoring Mao's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this quacker a root beer float," Mao yelped. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of compressing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the root beer float in front of the man. The stranger impatiently picked up the drink.
Valiantly, Mao grabbed the stranger by his bedsheet, spilling the drink on his horn. The stranger breezed up, seized Mao by the thorax, and with a weird curtsey, dragged him to a nearby cash register and turned him on his calf.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger growled later. "The name's Xavier, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mao sputtered firmly until Xavier let go and bravely turned away with an awkward flush. Suddenly, Mao reached into his Eton jacket and pulled out a bazooka. "Hold it right there, wimp. I ain't done with you yet."
Xavier turned elatedly, drew his épée, and faced Mao. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Ungainly? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an épée the way I can."
The two stared at each other frenetically for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Mao lowered his bazooka. "Okay buster you win," Mao repeated resignedly. "You got a lotta noses for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Xavier took his hand with an impish grimace. "You know, cuddle-bear, you're kinda difficult when you're angry."
Mao chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another root beer float," he asserted.