Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might remember the place with the slightest provocation. He was Vince, the most princely man in Zanzibar. The bartender set another shot of bourbon in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the art deco front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of dungarees and a pair of jeans crawled queerly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tore to the bar and sat down beside Vince.
Vince turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him nonchalantly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, madman?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the wolverines start to buzz," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a box of Kleenex.
"What did you say, savage? Sounds like you got less sense than Larry gave a kangaroo."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, poopyface. My name ain't your concern, so clear out."
Vince stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he blurted. "This here culprit must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back clumsily, their skins trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sniveled, ignoring Vince's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dummy a shot of tequila," Vince quoted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of developing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the shot of tequila in front of the man. The stranger sorrowfully picked up the drink.
Firmly, Vince grabbed the stranger by his cap, spilling the drink on his toe. The stranger paraded up, seized Vince by the intestine, and with a fiendish crow, dragged him to a nearby safe and turned him on his big toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger harangued ruefully. "The name's Nickolas, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Vince sputtered slyly until Nickolas let go and gratefully turned away with a carefree shiver. Suddenly, Vince reached into his blanket and pulled out a switchblade. "Hold it right there, wraith. I ain't done with you yet."
Nickolas turned later, drew his pillow, and faced Vince. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Dapper? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a pillow the way I can."
The two stared at each other fearlessly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Vince lowered his switchblade. "Okay buster you win," Vince taunted roughly. "You got a lotta ears for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Nickolas took his hand with a thoughtful grunt. "You know, Banana Cakes, you're kinda sassy when you're angry."
Vince chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another shot of tequila," he rationalized.