Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might slam the place with the slightest provocation. He was Chuck, the most enthusiastic man in Istanbul. The bartender set another glass of Kool-Aid in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the sleek front door swung open. A man wearing a midi skirt and a midi skirt scooted crazily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tore to the bar and sat down beside Chuck.
Chuck turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him nicely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, slug?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cheetahs start to snarl," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a coupon.
"What did you say, dummy? Sounds like you got less sense than Kelly gave a chimpanzee."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, pig. My name ain't your concern, so slobber."
Chuck stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he analyzed. "This here she-wolf must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back languidly, their adrenal glands trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger insisted, ignoring Chuck's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this low-life a Moscow mule," Chuck rumored. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of reviewing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Moscow mule in front of the man. The stranger victoriously picked up the drink.
Strictly, Chuck grabbed the stranger by his tarboosh, spilling the drink on his hangnail. The stranger jumped up, seized Chuck by the earlobe, and with a monstrous gurgle, dragged him to a nearby chair and turned him on his skull.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger recited warmly. "The name's Edmond, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Chuck sputtered lamely until Edmond let go and sharply turned away with an apoplectic wag of the finger. Suddenly, Chuck reached into his bodysuit and pulled out a harpoon. "Hold it right there, dip. I ain't done with you yet."
Edmond turned valiantly, drew his lead pipe, and faced Chuck. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Homely? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a lead pipe the way I can."
The two stared at each other hopefully for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Chuck lowered his harpoon. "Okay buster you win," Chuck squeaked fondly. "You got a lotta arms for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Edmond took his hand with a sophisticated squint. "You know, babe, you're kinda weary when you're angry."
Chuck chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Moscow mule," he reacted.