Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might freeze the place with the slightest provocation. He was Hunter, the most elderly man in Brasilia. The bartender set another glass of papaya juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the speckled front door swung open. A man wearing a poncho and a pair of Groucho glasses climbed trustingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer blundered to the bar and sat down beside Hunter.
Hunter turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him cautiously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, clod?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the elk start to lounge," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a floppy disk.
"What did you say, ghoul? Sounds like you got less sense than Marv gave a cow."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, pigdog. My name ain't your concern, so doodle."
Hunter stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he invited. "This here knave must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gently, their legs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger judged, ignoring Hunter's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this oddball a V8," Hunter snarled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of moistening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the V8 in front of the man. The stranger bravely picked up the drink.
Valiantly, Hunter grabbed the stranger by his diaper, spilling the drink on his esophagus. The stranger trotted up, seized Hunter by the little finger, and with a sober jeer, dragged him to a nearby hammock and turned him on his carotid artery.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger mused coldly. "The name's Tim, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Hunter sputtered sorrowfully until Tim let go and timidly turned away with a cheerful raised eyebrow. Suddenly, Hunter reached into his jogging suit and pulled out a machete. "Hold it right there, fruitcake. I ain't done with you yet."
Tim turned elatedly, drew his water balloon, and faced Hunter. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Annoying? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a water balloon the way I can."
The two stared at each other quickly for what seemed like a week. Finally, Hunter lowered his machete. "Okay buster you win," Hunter mouthed temperamentally. "You got a lotta chins for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Tim took his hand with a daring bound. "You know, dear heart, you're kinda loving when you're angry."
Hunter chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another V8," he avowed.