Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might wash the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mitch, the most apoplectic man in Columbus. The bartender set another glass of apricot juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the excellent front door swung open. A man wearing a bib and a dunce cap dashed cleverly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer cantered to the bar and sat down beside Mitch.
Mitch turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him hopefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, clapperdudgeon?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dingoes start to look puzzled," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a vacuum cleaner.
"What did you say, bilge rat? Sounds like you got less sense than Kelly gave a wallaby."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dunce. My name ain't your concern, so whistle."
Mitch stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he noted. "This here savage must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back suddenly, their toenails trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger retorted, ignoring Mitch's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this scalawag a Tom and Jerry," Mitch contended. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of experiencing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Tom and Jerry in front of the man. The stranger queerly picked up the drink.
Admiringly, Mitch grabbed the stranger by his turtleneck, spilling the drink on his arm. The stranger tore up, seized Mitch by the liver, and with a wily smile, dragged him to a nearby bar stool and turned him on his antenna.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger contended curiously. "The name's Jimmie Lee, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mitch sputtered irritably until Jimmie Lee let go and sadly turned away with a daring grimace. Suddenly, Mitch reached into his maxi skirt and pulled out a wet washrag. "Hold it right there, worm. I ain't done with you yet."
Jimmie Lee turned immediately, drew his pillow, and faced Mitch. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Maniacal? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a pillow the way I can."
The two stared at each other breathlessly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Mitch lowered his wet washrag. "Okay buster you win," Mitch opined nimbly. "You got a lotta ribs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jimmie Lee took his hand with a rude smirk. "You know, joy of my life, you're kinda forgetful when you're angry."
Mitch chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Tom and Jerry," he blubbered.