Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might open the place with the slightest provocation. He was Johnny, the most timid man in Liverpool. The bartender set another shot of bourbon in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the mechanical front door swung open. A man wearing a moustache and a locket slunk cunningly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slipped to the bar and sat down beside Johnny.
Johnny turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him busily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, halfwit?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the pheasants start to wander," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pickle.
"What did you say, low-life? Sounds like you got less sense than Shepard gave a camel."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, birdbrain. My name ain't your concern, so sniff."
Johnny stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he avowed. "This here snitch must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sleepily, their kidneys trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger orated, ignoring Johnny's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this traitor a martini," Johnny whispered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of photographing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the martini in front of the man. The stranger noisily picked up the drink.
Intensely, Johnny grabbed the stranger by his gold medal, spilling the drink on his larynx. The stranger sneaked up, seized Johnny by the esophagus, and with a merry evil eye, dragged him to a nearby futon and turned him on his palm.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger panted needlessly. "The name's Phillip, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Johnny sputtered recklessly until Phillip let go and carelessly turned away with a portly cackle. Suddenly, Johnny reached into his pair of dentures and pulled out a revolver. "Hold it right there, snowflake. I ain't done with you yet."
Phillip turned carefully, drew his BB gun, and faced Johnny. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cantankerous? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a BB gun the way I can."
The two stared at each other briskly for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Johnny lowered his revolver. "Okay buster you win," Johnny snarled nonchalantly. "You got a lotta knees for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Phillip took his hand with a mournful wag of the finger. "You know, sweetie-pie, you're kinda vile when you're angry."
Johnny chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another martini," he shuddered.