Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might bury the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mao, the most undignified man in Cameroon. The bartender set another margarita in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the grubby front door swung open. A man wearing a tunic and a tinfoil hat sidled glibly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer walked to the bar and sat down beside Mao.
Mao turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him wryly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, rascal?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the androids start to flail," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pair of headphones.
"What did you say, hipster? Sounds like you got less sense than Frankie gave a airedale."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, noodlebrain. My name ain't your concern, so bleed."
Mao stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he mentioned. "This here gump must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back properly, their noses trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger recited, ignoring Mao's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this big oaf a painkiller," Mao said. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of monitoring something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the painkiller in front of the man. The stranger caustically picked up the drink.
Fondly, Mao grabbed the stranger by his overcoat, spilling the drink on his thumb. The stranger clambered up, seized Mao by the pinky, and with a sexy finger gun, dragged him to a nearby buffet and turned him on his ear.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger disputed admiringly. "The name's Rutherford, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mao sputtered accidentally until Rutherford let go and softly turned away with a sociable frown. Suddenly, Mao reached into his pair of gloves and pulled out a squirt gun. "Hold it right there, fool. I ain't done with you yet."
Rutherford turned mysteriously, drew his axe, and faced Mao. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Quiet? There ain't a man in three counties can handle an axe the way I can."
The two stared at each other miserably for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Mao lowered his squirt gun. "Okay buster you win," Mao screamed frenetically. "You got a lotta spines for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Rutherford took his hand with a poised caress. "You know, toodleums, you're kinda tired when you're angry."
Mao chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another painkiller," he uttered.