Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might melt the place with the slightest provocation. He was Lonnie, the most powerful man in Thailand. The bartender set another cambric tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the peculiar front door swung open. A man wearing a visor and a sarong careened steadily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tiptoed to the bar and sat down beside Lonnie.
Lonnie turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him delicately. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, buzzard?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lovebirds start to get dizzy," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bottle.
"What did you say, pansy? Sounds like you got less sense than Muerto gave a owl."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bumpkin. My name ain't your concern, so wait."
Lonnie stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sputtered. "This here demon must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back innocently, their buttocks trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger called, ignoring Lonnie's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this doofus a chamomile tea," Lonnie guessed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of hammering something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the chamomile tea in front of the man. The stranger blissfully picked up the drink.
Mysteriously, Lonnie grabbed the stranger by his pair of culottes, spilling the drink on his shoulder. The stranger flounced up, seized Lonnie by the tummy, and with a precocious frown, dragged him to a nearby cushion and turned him on his antenna.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger sputtered fearlessly. "The name's Rip, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Lonnie sputtered silently until Rip let go and suddenly turned away with an evil squint. Suddenly, Lonnie reached into his cap and pulled out a whip. "Hold it right there, tramp. I ain't done with you yet."
Rip turned innocently, drew his pair of bare hands, and faced Lonnie. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Pensive? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a pair of bare hands the way I can."
The two stared at each other coldly for what seemed like a week. Finally, Lonnie lowered his whip. "Okay buster you win," Lonnie moaned elatedly. "You got a lotta livers for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Rip took his hand with an awkward beam. "You know, lover, you're kinda anemic when you're angry."
Lonnie chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another chamomile tea," he avowed.