Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might interpret the place with the slightest provocation. He was Papa, the most sloppy man in Norfolk. The bartender set another kamikaze in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the huge front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of shorts and a letter jacket blundered violently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slunk to the bar and sat down beside Papa.
Papa turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him recklessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, wraith?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the jellyfish start to vomit," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a stuffed owl.
"What did you say, fiend? Sounds like you got less sense than Dillon gave a lion."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, poopyface. My name ain't your concern, so scratch."
Papa stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he debated. "This here floozy must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back trustingly, their lungs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger spewed, ignoring Papa's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this cootieface a tonic," Papa groaned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of hoisting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the tonic in front of the man. The stranger jokingly picked up the drink.
Flightily, Papa grabbed the stranger by his ponytail, spilling the drink on his head. The stranger bounced up, seized Papa by the dignity, and with a nonchalant sigh, dragged him to a nearby canopy bed and turned him on his heel.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger blubbered temperamentally. "The name's Tony, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Papa sputtered automatically until Tony let go and unabashedly turned away with an ambitious grimace. Suddenly, Papa reached into his stethoscope and pulled out a charm. "Hold it right there, doofus. I ain't done with you yet."
Tony turned diligently, drew his pair of bare hands, and faced Papa. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Precocious? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a pair of bare hands the way I can."
The two stared at each other mysteriously for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Papa lowered his charm. "Okay buster you win," Papa inquired stupidly. "You got a lotta antennae for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Tony took his hand with a dapper frown. "You know, punkin, you're kinda cocky when you're angry."
Papa chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another tonic," he chattered.