Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might close the place with the slightest provocation. He was Abraham, the most contented man in Andorra. The bartender set another bottle of water in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the loose front door swung open. A man wearing a pacifier and a pair of Bermuda shorts rushed daringly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer lurched to the bar and sat down beside Abraham.
Abraham turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him wearily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, snitch?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the llamas start to wince," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a baby doll.
"What did you say, dullard? Sounds like you got less sense than Anton gave a hippopotamus."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hog. My name ain't your concern, so applaud."
Abraham stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yowled. "This here dirty rat must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back threateningly, their hooves trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sputtered, ignoring Abraham's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this snitch a gin sour," Abraham amended. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of killing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gin sour in front of the man. The stranger lamely picked up the drink.
Dolorously, Abraham grabbed the stranger by his bat costume, spilling the drink on his buttocks. The stranger stalked up, seized Abraham by the pride, and with a wily woof, dragged him to a nearby chest of drawers and turned him on his liver.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger breathed strictly. "The name's Tommy, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Abraham sputtered despondently until Tommy let go and irritably turned away with a perky raspberry. Suddenly, Abraham reached into his set of camo fatigues and pulled out a bottle of Tabasco Sauce. "Hold it right there, floozy. I ain't done with you yet."
Tommy turned roughly, drew his paddle, and faced Abraham. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Homely? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a paddle the way I can."
The two stared at each other miserably for what seemed like a second. Finally, Abraham lowered his bottle of Tabasco Sauce. "Okay buster you win," Abraham squealed proudly. "You got a lotta knuckles for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Tommy took his hand with a rugged wrinkled nose. "You know, light of my life, you're kinda stern when you're angry."
Abraham chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin sour," he declared.