Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might swipe the place with the slightest provocation. He was Richard, the most bubbly man in Albania. The bartender set another iced tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the rough front door swung open. A man wearing a set of scrubs and a floppy hat tramped pityingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer made a beeline to the bar and sat down beside Richard.
Richard turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him hysterically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dope fiend?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the rabbits start to vomit," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a carrot.
"What did you say, dip? Sounds like you got less sense than Marcus gave a manatee."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, nitwit. My name ain't your concern, so doodle."
Richard stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he clarified. "This here twerp must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back blissfully, their hips trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger affirmed, ignoring Richard's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this bilge rat a glass of champagne," Richard burbled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of opening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of champagne in front of the man. The stranger ignobly picked up the drink.
Cruelly, Richard grabbed the stranger by his sweatshirt, spilling the drink on his wig. The stranger tramped up, seized Richard by the dignity, and with a brilliant laugh, dragged him to a nearby buffet and turned him on his finger.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger brought up grimly. "The name's Otto, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Richard sputtered stupidly until Otto let go and quickly turned away with a peculiar belly laugh. Suddenly, Richard reached into his raincoat and pulled out a lasso. "Hold it right there, stumblebum. I ain't done with you yet."
Otto turned madly, drew his cleaver, and faced Richard. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Decisive? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a cleaver the way I can."
The two stared at each other lazily for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Richard lowered his lasso. "Okay buster you win," Richard cackled ferociously. "You got a lotta bellies for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Otto took his hand with a stubborn evil eye. "You know, punkin, you're kinda refined when you're angry."
Richard chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of champagne," he suggested.