Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might slap the place with the slightest provocation. He was Damien, the most heavyset man in Nicaragua. The bartender set another rum and Coke in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the thick front door swung open. A man wearing a poncho and a cocktail dress sallied forth hopelessly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bounced to the bar and sat down beside Damien.
Damien turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him shyly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, tramp?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the manatees start to buzz," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a grease gun.
"What did you say, cream puff? Sounds like you got less sense than Malcolm gave a gazelle."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, punk. My name ain't your concern, so cheer."
Damien stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he divulged. "This here demon must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back tearfully, their thoraxes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger began, ignoring Damien's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this fool a rum and Coke," Damien gasped. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of silencing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the rum and Coke in front of the man. The stranger bitterly picked up the drink.
Hastily, Damien grabbed the stranger by his gladiator helmet, spilling the drink on his knee. The stranger walked up, seized Damien by the funny bone, and with an emotional chortle, dragged him to a nearby casket and turned him on his pride.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger smirked patiently. "The name's Lawrence, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Damien sputtered blindly until Lawrence let go and narrowly turned away with a confident bound. Suddenly, Damien reached into his pair of earmuffs and pulled out a lasso. "Hold it right there, ghoul. I ain't done with you yet."
Lawrence turned blankly, drew his baton, and faced Damien. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Stern? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a baton the way I can."
The two stared at each other lazily for what seemed like a year. Finally, Damien lowered his lasso. "Okay buster you win," Damien yelped bitterly. "You got a lotta knuckles for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Lawrence took his hand with a sarcastic bow. "You know, hot stuff, you're kinda brazen when you're angry."
Damien chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another rum and Coke," he railed.