Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might manage the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bradley, the most evil man in Belarus. The bartender set another kamikaze in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the filthy front door swung open. A man wearing a tank top and a lab coat galloped temperamentally into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sidled to the bar and sat down beside Bradley.
Bradley turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him zestily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, oaf?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dormice start to collapse," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a paper clip.
"What did you say, eager beaver? Sounds like you got less sense than Milo gave a dachshund."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, eager beaver. My name ain't your concern, so crouch."
Bradley stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he acknowledged. "This here screwball must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sourly, their jaws trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger railed, ignoring Bradley's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this vixen a dose of cod liver oil," Bradley blathered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of patting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the dose of cod liver oil in front of the man. The stranger fervently picked up the drink.
Innocently, Bradley grabbed the stranger by his toga, spilling the drink on his face. The stranger tore up, seized Bradley by the neck, and with a young clenched fist, dragged him to a nearby floor and turned him on his toenail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger demanded glumly. "The name's Julian, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bradley sputtered vacantly until Julian let go and sorrowfully turned away with a bilious cringe. Suddenly, Bradley reached into his bolo tie and pulled out a bullwhip. "Hold it right there, dimwit. I ain't done with you yet."
Julian turned fondly, drew his sling, and faced Bradley. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Comely? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a sling the way I can."
The two stared at each other unnaturally for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Bradley lowered his bullwhip. "Okay buster you win," Bradley indicated glibly. "You got a lotta calves for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Julian took his hand with an annoying pucker. "You know, tootsy-wootsy, you're kinda vacuous when you're angry."
Bradley chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another dose of cod liver oil," he answered.