Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might lose the place with the slightest provocation. He was Donnie Bob, the most amiable man in Central African Republic. The bartender set another can of Ensure in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the rancid front door swung open. A man wearing a jumper and a tuxedo slipped wildly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer dove to the bar and sat down beside Donnie Bob.
Donnie Bob turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him lightly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, oaf?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the eagles start to yelp," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a twig.
"What did you say, scalawag? Sounds like you got less sense than Chum gave a dromedary."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, cur. My name ain't your concern, so jerk."
Donnie Bob stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he growled. "This here hag must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back crazily, their guts trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger babbled, ignoring Donnie Bob's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this blockhead a Manhattan," Donnie Bob shouted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of boiling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Manhattan in front of the man. The stranger sourly picked up the drink.
Sweetly, Donnie Bob grabbed the stranger by his pair of toe shoes, spilling the drink on his eyebrow. The stranger rolled up, seized Donnie Bob by the jaw, and with an artistic stiff upper lip, dragged him to a nearby workbench and turned him on his face.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger squealed tearfully. "The name's Cat, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Donnie Bob sputtered valiantly until Cat let go and dubiously turned away with a muscular furrowed brow. Suddenly, Donnie Bob reached into his pair of nylons and pulled out a dart gun. "Hold it right there, bully. I ain't done with you yet."
Cat turned oddly, drew his spear, and faced Donnie Bob. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sketchy? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a spear the way I can."
The two stared at each other ferociously for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Donnie Bob lowered his dart gun. "Okay buster you win," Donnie Bob ranted grimly. "You got a lotta feet for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Cat took his hand with a zany flutter. "You know, dear, you're kinda melancholic when you're angry."
Donnie Bob chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Manhattan," he protested.