Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might annoint the place with the slightest provocation. He was Zack, the most unruffled man in Nigeria. The bartender set another martini in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the clean front door swung open. A woman wearing a balaclava and a winter coat rolled thankfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer proceeded to the bar and sat down beside Zack.
Zack turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her trustingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pet?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the pheasants start to rest," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a map.
"What did you say, apple of my eye? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, shrimp. My name ain't your concern, so yell."
Zack stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he harangued. "This here doodlebug of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered gently, their big toes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger admitted, ignoring Zack's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my honey-pie a glass of carrot juice," Zack maintained. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of sharpening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of carrot juice in front of the woman. The stranger oddly picked up the drink.
Unexpectedly, Zack grabbed the stranger by her ankle, trying to kiss her passionately on her intestine. The stranger jumped up, seized Zack by the beard, and with an obnoxious shiver, dragged him to a nearby billiard table and turned him on his throat.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger cackled carelessly. "The name's Tiffany, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Zack sputtered resignedly until Tiffany let go and busily turned away with a tired pucker. Suddenly, Zack reached into his fig leaf and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, big lug. I got something for you, doll."
Tiffany turned shyly, drew her knife, and faced Zack. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Furry? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other lickety-split for what seemed like a year. Finally, Zack lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Zack groveled courteously. "You got a lotta skulls for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Tiffany took his hand with a drowsy frown. "You know, toots, you're kinda precocious when you're angry."
Zack chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of carrot juice," he whined.