Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might demolish the place with the slightest provocation. He was Maloney, the most paranoid man in Upper Mongolia. The bartender set another cup of coffee in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the speckled front door swung open. A man wearing a tie and a scarf galloped glibly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer capered to the bar and sat down beside Maloney.
Maloney turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him crankily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, sloth?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the bumblebees start to purr," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a toy.
"What did you say, snake? Sounds like you got less sense than Sig gave a Chihuahua."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, degenerate. My name ain't your concern, so breathe."
Maloney stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sobbed. "This here punk must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back excitedly, their larynxes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger blustered, ignoring Maloney's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this cootieface a glass of apple juice," Maloney asked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of wiping something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of apple juice in front of the man. The stranger unabashedly picked up the drink.
Warily, Maloney grabbed the stranger by his balaclava, spilling the drink on his knuckle. The stranger inched up, seized Maloney by the hairdo, and with a suave grimace, dragged him to a nearby safe and turned him on his chest.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger scoffed dreamily. "The name's Damien, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Maloney sputtered tensely until Damien let go and firmly turned away with a modest snicker. Suddenly, Maloney reached into his set of braces and pulled out a can opener. "Hold it right there, freak. I ain't done with you yet."
Damien turned pitifully, drew his switchblade, and faced Maloney. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Friendly? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a switchblade the way I can."
The two stared at each other quickly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Maloney lowered his can opener. "Okay buster you win," Maloney wondered vigorously. "You got a lotta bladders for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Damien took his hand with a stinky bow. "You know, buttercup, you're kinda undignified when you're angry."
Maloney chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of apple juice," he grunted.