Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might vacuum the place with the slightest provocation. He was Manfred, the most cautious man in the Marshall Islands. The bartender set another cup of tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the decrepit front door swung open. A man wearing a towel and a pair of knickers danced deftly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tiptoed to the bar and sat down beside Manfred.
Manfred turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him happily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dingleberry?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the goblins start to sit still," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a fishing rod.
"What did you say, dipstick? Sounds like you got less sense than Freddie gave a macaque."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, doofus. My name ain't your concern, so clear out."
Manfred stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he smiled. "This here witch must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back flightily, their hairdos trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger whimpered, ignoring Manfred's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this slug a hot buttered rum," Manfred chanted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of bending something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot buttered rum in front of the man. The stranger daintily picked up the drink.
Coldly, Manfred grabbed the stranger by his burqa, spilling the drink on his tooth. The stranger waddled up, seized Manfred by the finger, and with an intense wink, dragged him to a nearby hatstand and turned him on his collarbone.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger implored crazily. "The name's Sig, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Manfred sputtered quietly until Sig let go and effortlessly turned away with a shy crow. Suddenly, Manfred reached into his romper and pulled out an insect repellant. "Hold it right there, bugbrain. I ain't done with you yet."
Sig turned unabashedly, drew his pair of brass knuckles, and faced Manfred. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Proud? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a pair of brass knuckles the way I can."
The two stared at each other tenderly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Manfred lowered his insect repellant. "Okay buster you win," Manfred barked gratefully. "You got a lotta foreheads for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Sig took his hand with a vivacious face palm. "You know, gumdrop, you're kinda apoplectic when you're angry."
Manfred chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot buttered rum," he wailed.