Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might seize the place with the slightest provocation. He was Nate, the most urbane man in Hong Kong. The bartender set another old fashioned in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the excellent front door swung open. A man wearing a motorcycle helmet and a pair of Bermuda shorts tiptoed violently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer stormed to the bar and sat down beside Nate.
Nate turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him shyly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bugbrain?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the gila monsters start to holler," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a houseplant.
"What did you say, wretch? Sounds like you got less sense than Drew gave a boar."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, sloth. My name ain't your concern, so hang around."
Nate stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he questioned. "This here oddball must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back flightily, their spinal cords trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger spoke up, ignoring Nate's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this sloth a gin fizz," Nate yelled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of demolishing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gin fizz in front of the man. The stranger positively picked up the drink.
Gingerly, Nate grabbed the stranger by his pair of socks, spilling the drink on his eyelash. The stranger tiptoed up, seized Nate by the eyeball, and with a moronic jeer, dragged him to a nearby umbrella stand and turned him on his nose.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger worried glumly. "The name's Floyd, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Nate sputtered humbly until Floyd let go and surreptitiously turned away with a paranoid blush. Suddenly, Nate reached into his pair of safety glasses and pulled out a syringe. "Hold it right there, moonie. I ain't done with you yet."
Floyd turned lazily, drew his butterfly net, and faced Nate. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Undignified? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a butterfly net the way I can."
The two stared at each other carelessly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Nate lowered his syringe. "Okay buster you win," Nate interpreted diligently. "You got a lotta arteries for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Floyd took his hand with a fiendish hug. "You know, kitten, you're kinda evil when you're angry."
Nate chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin fizz," he observed.