Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might watch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Borat, the most crafty man in Honolulu. The bartender set another Coke in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the excellent front door swung open. A man wearing a body shirt and a bomber jacket scurried gently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bolted to the bar and sat down beside Borat.
Borat turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him grimly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, boogerhead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the mares start to frown," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a spool of thread.
"What did you say, crackpot? Sounds like you got less sense than Daniel gave a kangaroo."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, old coot. My name ain't your concern, so rejoice."
Borat stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he quavered. "This here sap must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back pitifully, their eyes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sneered, ignoring Borat's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this bandicoot a tonic," Borat babbled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of bleaching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the tonic in front of the man. The stranger firmly picked up the drink.
Demurely, Borat grabbed the stranger by his bustier, spilling the drink on his kidney. The stranger skittered up, seized Borat by the femur, and with a sleepy face palm, dragged him to a nearby end table and turned him on his knuckle.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger urged shakily. "The name's Tom, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Borat sputtered dolorously until Tom let go and cautiously turned away with a naïve belch. Suddenly, Borat reached into his stethoscope and pulled out an accordion. "Hold it right there, worm. I ain't done with you yet."
Tom turned grudgingly, drew his assault rifle, and faced Borat. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Bold? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an assault rifle the way I can."
The two stared at each other hastily for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Borat lowered his accordion. "Okay buster you win," Borat mused proudly. "You got a lotta dignity for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Tom took his hand with a melancholic air kiss. "You know, snookums, you're kinda bad when you're angry."
Borat chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another tonic," he acknowledged.