Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might see the place with the slightest provocation. He was Sig, the most awkward man in Kenya. The bartender set another gin sour in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the bulky front door swung open. A man wearing a skeleton costume and a smartwatch bounded glumly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zoomed to the bar and sat down beside Sig.
Sig turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him steadily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bonehead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the muskrats start to moan," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a chair.
"What did you say, slacker? Sounds like you got less sense than Helmut gave a alligator."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, goose. My name ain't your concern, so get angry."
Sig stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he accused. "This here quacker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back effortlessly, their earlobes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger brought up, ignoring Sig's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this oddball a secret potion," Sig bellowed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of stabilizing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the secret potion in front of the man. The stranger resignedly picked up the drink.
Temperamentally, Sig grabbed the stranger by his shawl, spilling the drink on his Achilles tendon. The stranger skittered up, seized Sig by the femur, and with a bellicose face palm, dragged him to a nearby nightstand and turned him on his jaw.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger alleged proudly. "The name's Mickey, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Sig sputtered mysteriously until Mickey let go and offhandedly turned away with a tall cheer. Suddenly, Sig reached into his poodle skirt and pulled out a bullwhip. "Hold it right there, clapperdudgeon. I ain't done with you yet."
Mickey turned strangely, drew his scimitar, and faced Sig. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Lively? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a scimitar the way I can."
The two stared at each other trustingly for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Sig lowered his bullwhip. "Okay buster you win," Sig griped crossly. "You got a lotta toes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Mickey took his hand with an irate jeer. "You know, heartthrob, you're kinda somber when you're angry."
Sig chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another secret potion," he snarled.