Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might unfasten the place with the slightest provocation. He was Doc, the most intrepid man in Prague. The bartender set another V8 in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the large front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of sandals and a bib tumbled effortlessly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zoomed to the bar and sat down beside Doc.
Doc turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him ferociously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, nitwit?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the airedales start to dream," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a notebook.
"What did you say, boogerhead? Sounds like you got less sense than Hugh gave a hornet."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, vile viper. My name ain't your concern, so suffer."
Doc stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he enunciated. "This here hell-raiser must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back glibly, their little toes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger intimated, ignoring Doc's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this kook a hot toddy," Doc commented. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of softening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot toddy in front of the man. The stranger properly picked up the drink.
Anxiously, Doc grabbed the stranger by his pair of sandals, spilling the drink on his cheek. The stranger flew up, seized Doc by the kneecap, and with a desperate evil eye, dragged him to a nearby sofa and turned him on his thyroid gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger muttered gracefully. "The name's Vernon, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Doc sputtered frantically until Vernon let go and delicately turned away with a playful laugh. Suddenly, Doc reached into his polo shirt and pulled out a potato masher. "Hold it right there, dingbat. I ain't done with you yet."
Vernon turned vacantly, drew his aspersion, and faced Doc. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Perky? There ain't a man in six counties can handle an aspersion the way I can."
The two stared at each other daringly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Doc lowered his potato masher. "Okay buster you win," Doc peeped brightly. "You got a lotta bladders for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Vernon took his hand with a peculiar grin. "You know, stinkums, you're kinda moronic when you're angry."
Doc chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot toddy," he chuckled.