Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might jump on the place with the slightest provocation. He was Adam, the most playful man in Malaysia. The bartender set another shot of whiskey in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the authentic front door swung open. A man wearing a belly button jewel and a ski mask slipped oddly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sailed to the bar and sat down beside Adam.
Adam turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him suspiciously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dope fiend?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the airedales start to flush," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a toilet plunger.
"What did you say, donkey? Sounds like you got less sense than Deng gave a duck."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fool. My name ain't your concern, so watch."
Adam stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he reasoned. "This here devil must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back happily, their pituitary glands trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger jeered, ignoring Adam's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this old buzzard a glass of lemonade," Adam tittered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of hiding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of lemonade in front of the man. The stranger silently picked up the drink.
Suddenly, Adam grabbed the stranger by his earring, spilling the drink on his earlobe. The stranger straggled up, seized Adam by the gall bladder, and with a moody clenched fist, dragged him to a nearby stairway and turned him on his thyroid gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger guessed slyly. "The name's Nate, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Adam sputtered boldly until Nate let go and jokingly turned away with a crafty kiss. Suddenly, Adam reached into his pair of jeans and pulled out a branding iron. "Hold it right there, cootieface. I ain't done with you yet."
Nate turned frantically, drew his baton, and faced Adam. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cunning? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a baton the way I can."
The two stared at each other uselessly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Adam lowered his branding iron. "Okay buster you win," Adam babbled cruelly. "You got a lotta knees for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Nate took his hand with an enraged flutter. "You know, nipkin, you're kinda furry when you're angry."
Adam chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of lemonade," he affirmed.