Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might mend the place with the slightest provocation. He was Pete, the most excitable man in Singapore. The bartender set another margarita in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the large front door swung open. A man wearing a dog collar and a pair of socks sprinted crankily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer galumphed to the bar and sat down beside Pete.
Pete turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him suspiciously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, mangy rascal?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hornets start to purr," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a blow gun.
"What did you say, wuss? Sounds like you got less sense than Siggy gave a unicorn."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, toilet vulture. My name ain't your concern, so fidget."
Pete stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he whispered. "This here vile viper must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back fearlessly, their necks trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger imitated, ignoring Pete's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this big oaf a glass of apple juice," Pete chimed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of walloping 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 wearily picked up the drink.
Cheerfully, Pete grabbed the stranger by his babushka, spilling the drink on his big toe. The stranger struggled up, seized Pete by the ankle, and with an irate snigger, dragged him to a nearby hope chest and turned him on his larynx.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger sighed shakily. "The name's Dick, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Pete sputtered doubtfully until Dick let go and swiftly turned away with a big titter. Suddenly, Pete reached into his hoop skirt and pulled out a stick of dynamite. "Hold it right there, bugbrain. I ain't done with you yet."
Dick turned excitedly, drew his lightsaber, and faced Pete. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Bad? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a lightsaber the way I can."
The two stared at each other fondly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Pete lowered his stick of dynamite. "Okay buster you win," Pete spoke up obediently. "You got a lotta fingers for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dick took his hand with a proud wag of the finger. "You know, bunny, you're kinda comely when you're angry."
Pete chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of apple juice," he rumored.