Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might prod the place with the slightest provocation. He was Lucas, the most careful man in Namibia. The bartender set another tequila sunrise in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the disgusting front door swung open. A man wearing a fedora and a smartwatch skipped steadily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer strode to the bar and sat down beside Lucas.
Lucas turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him needlessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, flouting milksop?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lice start to freeze," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a candy bar.
"What did you say, kook? Sounds like you got less sense than Manfred gave a buzzard."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, old coot. My name ain't your concern, so collapse."
Lucas stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he moaned. "This here sap must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back craftily, their belly buttons trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sneered, ignoring Lucas's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this weasel a dose of cod liver oil," Lucas indicated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of poking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the dose of cod liver oil in front of the man. The stranger swiftly picked up the drink.
Shyly, Lucas grabbed the stranger by his cheerleader's uniform, spilling the drink on his claw. The stranger crept up, seized Lucas by the toupee, and with an undignified roar, dragged him to a nearby wooden crate and turned him on his spinal cord.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger babbled surreptitiously. "The name's Owen, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Lucas sputtered diligently until Owen let go and lovingly turned away with a big cheer. Suddenly, Lucas reached into his necktie and pulled out a vial of poison. "Hold it right there, sap. I ain't done with you yet."
Owen turned unabashedly, drew his can of shaving cream, and faced Lucas. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Tense? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a can of shaving cream the way I can."
The two stared at each other patiently for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Lucas lowered his vial of poison. "Okay buster you win," Lucas bellowed positively. "You got a lotta thighs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Owen took his hand with a dark clenched fist. "You know, old friend, you're kinda articulate when you're angry."
Lucas chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another dose of cod liver oil," he hissed.