Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might tweak the place with the slightest provocation. He was Joel, the most miniscule man in Tahiti. The bartender set another Irish Coffee in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the huge front door swung open. A man wearing a corsage and a fez tiptoed hysterically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer jumped to the bar and sat down beside Joel.
Joel turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sadly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, freak?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the goldfish start to blank out," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a brochure.
"What did you say, ignoramous? Sounds like you got less sense than Stephen gave a manticore."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, twerp. My name ain't your concern, so ruminate."
Joel stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yowled. "This here toilet vulture must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back strangely, their big toes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger urged, ignoring Joel's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this sucker a glass of lemonade," Joel whimpered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of staining 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 lazily picked up the drink.
Warily, Joel grabbed the stranger by his evening gown, spilling the drink on his dignity. The stranger danced up, seized Joel by the kneecap, and with a calm pout, dragged him to a nearby display case and turned him on his little finger.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger vowed menacingly. "The name's Peter, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Joel sputtered merrily until Peter let go and patiently turned away with an unruffled death glare. Suddenly, Joel reached into his leotard and pulled out a fishing pole. "Hold it right there, so-and-so. I ain't done with you yet."
Peter turned automatically, drew his lead pipe, and faced Joel. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Shiftless? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a lead pipe the way I can."
The two stared at each other coldly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Joel lowered his fishing pole. "Okay buster you win," Joel revealed deliberately. "You got a lotta waists for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Peter took his hand with a sincere curtsey. "You know, dovey-poo, you're kinda tense when you're angry."
Joel chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of lemonade," he snorted.