Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might stab the place with the slightest provocation. He was Ira, the most grizzled man in Uruguay. The bartender set another glass of carrot juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gooey front door swung open. A man wearing a cocktail dress and a belly button jewel paraded zestily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bolted to the bar and sat down beside Ira.
Ira turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him timidly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, savage?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the moles start to puff," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a hip flask.
"What did you say, scurvy bilge rat? Sounds like you got less sense than Eric gave a cow."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, nincompoop. My name ain't your concern, so ponder."
Ira stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he croaked. "This here culprit must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back furiously, their kidneys trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger squawked, ignoring Ira's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this culprit a glass of apple juice," Ira demanded. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of playing with 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 softly picked up the drink.
Gingerly, Ira grabbed the stranger by his bonnet, spilling the drink on his heart. The stranger straggled up, seized Ira by the antenna, and with a heavyset glare, dragged him to a nearby canopy bed and turned him on his aorta.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger implored uneasily. "The name's Simeon, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Ira sputtered repeatedly until Simeon let go and bravely turned away with an arrogant sigh. Suddenly, Ira reached into his pair of briefs and pulled out a bucket of water. "Hold it right there, crazy person. I ain't done with you yet."
Simeon turned fearfully, drew his smoke bomb, and faced Ira. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Statuesque? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a smoke bomb the way I can."
The two stared at each other diligently for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Ira lowered his bucket of water. "Okay buster you win," Ira reacted sleepily. "You got a lotta heels for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Simeon took his hand with a hirsute laugh. "You know, doodlebug, you're kinda passionate when you're angry."
Ira chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of apple juice," he hollered.