Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might bathe the place with the slightest provocation. He was Richard, the most stylish man in Monaco. The bartender set another chamomile tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the damp front door swung open. A man wearing a mask and a sundress waltzed tensely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tiptoed to the bar and sat down beside Richard.
Richard turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him menacingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bilge rat?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the basset hounds start to pause," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pair of headphones.
"What did you say, barbarian? Sounds like you got less sense than Mark gave a gila monster."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, egomaniac. My name ain't your concern, so yelp."
Richard stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he wept. "This here bilge rat must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back speedily, their legs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger panted, ignoring Richard's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this blackguard a bottle of Gatorade," Richard voiced. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of recognizing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the bottle of Gatorade in front of the man. The stranger zestily picked up the drink.
Nonchalantly, Richard grabbed the stranger by his armband, spilling the drink on his vein. The stranger slunk up, seized Richard by the back, and with an annoying pout, dragged him to a nearby bath mat and turned him on his brain.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger complained sleepily. "The name's Cody, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Richard sputtered uneasily until Cody let go and hopelessly turned away with a childish backward glance. Suddenly, Richard reached into his toupee and pulled out a butterfly net. "Hold it right there, nitwit. I ain't done with you yet."
Cody turned happily, drew his Colt 45, and faced Richard. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Disorganized? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a Colt 45 the way I can."
The two stared at each other peevishly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Richard lowered his butterfly net. "Okay buster you win," Richard reminded stealthily. "You got a lotta hooves for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Cody took his hand with a haggard glare. "You know, Boopsie, you're kinda humble when you're angry."
Richard chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another bottle of Gatorade," he protested.