Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might fortify the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mickey, the most dismal man in Budapest. The bartender set another cup of tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the electronic front door swung open. A man wearing a badge and a turtleneck breezed wildly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer staggered to the bar and sat down beside Mickey.
Mickey turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him busily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, donkey?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the pandas start to dream," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a yardstick.
"What did you say, wuss? Sounds like you got less sense than Craig gave a mule."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, noodlebrain. My name ain't your concern, so freak out."
Mickey stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he amended. "This here pigdog must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back again, their knuckles trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger wept, ignoring Mickey's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this simpleton a grape soda," Mickey decided. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of gold plating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the grape soda in front of the man. The stranger offhandedly picked up the drink.
Hysterically, Mickey grabbed the stranger by his few loose rags, spilling the drink on his fingernail. The stranger rushed up, seized Mickey by the eyelid, and with a sarcastic curtsey, dragged him to a nearby chair and turned him on his hair.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger stammered humbly. "The name's Doc, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mickey sputtered blissfully until Doc let go and awkwardly turned away with a prissy growl. Suddenly, Mickey reached into his pair of shin guards and pulled out a Millwall brick. "Hold it right there, fink. I ain't done with you yet."
Doc turned smoothly, drew his peacemaker, and faced Mickey. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Petulant? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a peacemaker the way I can."
The two stared at each other hungrily for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Mickey lowered his Millwall brick. "Okay buster you win," Mickey reacted thankfully. "You got a lotta wigs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Doc took his hand with a young evil eye. "You know, dear heart, you're kinda weary when you're angry."
Mickey chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another grape soda," he articulated.