Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might shake the place with the slightest provocation. He was Derek, the most princely man in Anchorage. The bartender set another Manhattan in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gigantic front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of pajamas and a wig slunk unnaturally into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer flew to the bar and sat down beside Derek.
Derek turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him arrogantly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, loon?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the tapeworms start to roll," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a floppy disk.
"What did you say, pigdog? Sounds like you got less sense than Joshua gave a hornet."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dingleberry. My name ain't your concern, so get sleepy."
Derek stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he quoted. "This here scoundrel must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back crankily, their teeth trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger hinted, ignoring Derek's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this old coot a grape soda," Derek stated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of certifying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the grape soda in front of the man. The stranger frantically picked up the drink.
Smoothly, Derek grabbed the stranger by his pair of suspenders, spilling the drink on his knuckle. The stranger loped up, seized Derek by the intestine, and with a dreadful wrinkled nose, dragged him to a nearby filing cabinet and turned him on his front tooth.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger agreed sleepily. "The name's Jackson, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Derek sputtered calmly until Jackson let go and grandly turned away with an ignoble tear. Suddenly, Derek reached into his coat of mail and pulled out a supply of courage. "Hold it right there, troglodyte. I ain't done with you yet."
Jackson turned flightily, drew his Millwall brick, and faced Derek. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Modest? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a Millwall brick the way I can."
The two stared at each other vacantly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Derek lowered his supply of courage. "Okay buster you win," Derek rumored openly. "You got a lotta collarbones for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jackson took his hand with an irate bow. "You know, gumdrop, you're kinda ambitious when you're angry."
Derek chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another grape soda," he prattled.