Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might polish the place with the slightest provocation. He was Kirby, the most cautious man in Mozambique. The bartender set another bottle of Gatorade in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the soft front door swung open. A man wearing a cummerbund and a blazer bolted irritably into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer swung to the bar and sat down beside Kirby.
Kirby turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him grandly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dullard?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hermit crabs start to lie around in bed," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a beach ball.
"What did you say, harebrain? Sounds like you got less sense than Doug gave a grasshopper."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, degenerate. My name ain't your concern, so get along."
Kirby stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he enunciated. "This here terror must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back lovingly, their wrists trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger harangued, ignoring Kirby's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dingleberry a glass of iced tea," Kirby informed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rattling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of iced tea in front of the man. The stranger sweetly picked up the drink.
Crankily, Kirby grabbed the stranger by his pair of handcuffs, spilling the drink on his palm. The stranger sped up, seized Kirby by the tail, and with a daring titter, dragged him to a nearby credenza and turned him on his mouth.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger hinted cunningly. "The name's Logan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Kirby sputtered joyously until Logan let go and unexpectedly turned away with a generous pout. Suddenly, Kirby reached into his sweatshirt and pulled out a mace. "Hold it right there, dingleberry. I ain't done with you yet."
Logan turned woefully, drew his pop gun, and faced Kirby. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Spindly? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a pop gun the way I can."
The two stared at each other sharply for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Kirby lowered his mace. "Okay buster you win," Kirby answered angrily. "You got a lotta adrenal glands for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Logan took his hand with a sociable gurgle. "You know, little cherry blossom, you're kinda jolly when you're angry."
Kirby chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of iced tea," he snarled.