Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might punch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Jimmie Lee, the most selfish man in Uzbekistan. The bartender set another ice cream soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the polished front door swung open. A man wearing a coat and a denim skirt jogged gratefully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tiptoed to the bar and sat down beside Jimmie Lee.
Jimmie Lee turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him surreptitiously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, villain?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the pigs start to dilly-dally," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a rag.
"What did you say, stumblebum? Sounds like you got less sense than Cat gave a fawn."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fool. My name ain't your concern, so digest."
Jimmie Lee stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he groaned. "This here pook must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back slowly, their tummies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger appealed, ignoring Jimmie Lee's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this boogerhead a Scotch and soda," Jimmie Lee fantasized. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of handling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Scotch and soda in front of the man. The stranger automatically picked up the drink.
Joyously, Jimmie Lee grabbed the stranger by his pair of khakis, spilling the drink on his thumb. The stranger slumped up, seized Jimmie Lee by the vein, and with a refined pucker, dragged him to a nearby stairway and turned him on his heel.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger spewed languidly. "The name's Kent, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Jimmie Lee sputtered narrowly until Kent let go and cheerfully turned away with a spindly blush. Suddenly, Jimmie Lee reached into his toga and pulled out a scalpel. "Hold it right there, imp. I ain't done with you yet."
Kent turned haughtily, drew his assault rifle, and faced Jimmie Lee. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Obedient? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an assault rifle the way I can."
The two stared at each other elatedly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Jimmie Lee lowered his scalpel. "Okay buster you win," Jimmie Lee insisted quickly. "You got a lotta skins for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Kent took his hand with a masculine sigh. "You know, sugar-bun, you're kinda cantankerous when you're angry."
Jimmie Lee chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Scotch and soda," he asserted.