Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might gold plate the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bub, the most sarcastic man in Ohio. The bartender set another glass of apricot juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the jagged front door swung open. A man wearing a hood and a ponytail hopped cheerfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer scampered to the bar and sat down beside Bub.
Bub turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him lamely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, tramp?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the yaks start to dawdle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a microscope.
"What did you say, old biddy? Sounds like you got less sense than Joshua gave a Chihuahua."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dingleberry. My name ain't your concern, so digest."
Bub stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he responded. "This here clown must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sheepishly, their larynxes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger professed, ignoring Bub's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this goose a glass of tomato juice," Bub chuckled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of facing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of tomato juice in front of the man. The stranger strangely picked up the drink.
Shyly, Bub grabbed the stranger by his pair of boxing gloves, spilling the drink on his aorta. The stranger tore up, seized Bub by the head, and with a queer coo, dragged him to a nearby pool table and turned him on his collarbone.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger worried numbly. "The name's Jack, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bub sputtered greedily until Jack let go and humbly turned away with a menacing wrinkled nose. Suddenly, Bub reached into his bustier and pulled out a dagger. "Hold it right there, tramp. I ain't done with you yet."
Jack turned miserably, drew his Uzi, and faced Bub. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Absent-minded? There ain't a man in two counties can handle an Uzi the way I can."
The two stared at each other valiantly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Bub lowered his dagger. "Okay buster you win," Bub spat flightily. "You got a lotta antennae for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jack took his hand with a lazy cackle. "You know, doll, you're kinda yappy when you're angry."
Bub chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of tomato juice," he panted.