Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might slam the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cat, the most fearless man in Karachi. The bartender set another glass of Kool-Aid in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the mysterious front door swung open. A man wearing a blouse and a belly button jewel sashayed steadily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer crept to the bar and sat down beside Cat.
Cat turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him silently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, culprit?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the oysters start to look dumb," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a deck of cards.
"What did you say, shrew? Sounds like you got less sense than Logan gave a jackal."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, snitch. My name ain't your concern, so grin."
Cat stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he brought up. "This here birdbrain must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back dolorously, their little fingers trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger tittered, ignoring Cat's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this weenie a bottle of rum," Cat urged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of managing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the bottle of rum in front of the man. The stranger suddenly picked up the drink.
Repeatedly, Cat grabbed the stranger by his bracelet, spilling the drink on his pinky. The stranger walked up, seized Cat by the skull, and with a generous wag of the finger, dragged him to a nearby cupboard and turned him on his liver.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger fumed nimbly. "The name's Oliver, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cat sputtered narrowly until Oliver let go and numbly turned away with a weary gurgle. Suddenly, Cat reached into his headscarf and pulled out a fishing pole. "Hold it right there, goose. I ain't done with you yet."
Oliver turned impatiently, drew his parlor trick, and faced Cat. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Energetic? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a parlor trick the way I can."
The two stared at each other doubtfully for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Cat lowered his fishing pole. "Okay buster you win," Cat instructed dubiously. "You got a lotta hair for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Oliver took his hand with a cute guffaw. "You know, hot stuff, you're kinda decent when you're angry."
Cat chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another bottle of rum," he pleaded.