Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might boil the place with the slightest provocation. He was Rich, the most mindless man in Seychelles. The bartender set another glass of wine in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the fabulous front door swung open. A man wearing a skeleton costume and a gas mask went charmingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer rolled to the bar and sat down beside Rich.
Rich turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him valiantly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dopefiend?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cats start to stare into space," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a chess set.
"What did you say, goon? Sounds like you got less sense than Montague gave a mare."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, moonie. My name ain't your concern, so leer."
Rich stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he declaimed. "This here mangy rascal must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back oddly, their throats trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger offered, ignoring Rich's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this wuss an old fashioned," Rich growled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of pushing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the old fashioned in front of the man. The stranger caustically picked up the drink.
Obediently, Rich grabbed the stranger by his cape, spilling the drink on his hair. The stranger whirled up, seized Rich by the skull, and with a modest power fist, dragged him to a nearby safe and turned him on his tummy.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger clarified positively. "The name's Fritz, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Rich sputtered proudly until Fritz let go and brashly turned away with a jaunty frown. Suddenly, Rich reached into his pair of boxer shorts and pulled out a pair of brass knuckles. "Hold it right there, imbecile. I ain't done with you yet."
Fritz turned sarcastically, drew his piercing stare, and faced Rich. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Humble? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a piercing stare the way I can."
The two stared at each other glumly for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Rich lowered his pair of brass knuckles. "Okay buster you win," Rich railed busily. "You got a lotta hearts for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Fritz took his hand with a brazen sniff. "You know, tinky-wink, you're kinda cheerful when you're angry."
Rich chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another old fashioned," he persisted.