Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might swat the place with the slightest provocation. He was Logan, the most sincere man in Central African Republic. The bartender set another grape soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the heavy front door swung open. A man wearing a cat suit and a cloak sprinted daintily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tiptoed to the bar and sat down beside Logan.
Logan turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him proudly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, barbarian?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the opossums start to sigh," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a toy.
"What did you say, quacker? Sounds like you got less sense than Woody gave a boa constrictor."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, psycho. My name ain't your concern, so creep."
Logan stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yowled. "This here cretin must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back timidly, their hangnails trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger urged, ignoring Logan's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this worm a cup of coffee," Logan trumpeted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rotating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of coffee in front of the man. The stranger vacantly picked up the drink.
Positively, Logan grabbed the stranger by his armband, spilling the drink on his gut. The stranger bounced up, seized Logan by the throat, and with an undignified bound, dragged him to a nearby ottoman and turned him on his back.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger nattered suavely. "The name's Ira, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Logan sputtered joyously until Ira let go and uneasily turned away with a weird frown. Suddenly, Logan reached into his beard and pulled out a slingshot. "Hold it right there, she-wolf. I ain't done with you yet."
Ira turned slyly, drew his cobra, and faced Logan. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Young? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a cobra the way I can."
The two stared at each other dubiously for what seemed like a day. Finally, Logan lowered his slingshot. "Okay buster you win," Logan commented languidly. "You got a lotta faces for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Ira took his hand with a hungry woof. "You know, honey-babe, you're kinda yappy when you're angry."
Logan chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of coffee," he lectured.