Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might rotate the place with the slightest provocation. He was Vilmer, the most gargantuan man in Corpus Christi. The bartender set another Mai Tai in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the crusty front door swung open. A man wearing a kilt and a bikini skipped peevishly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer skittered to the bar and sat down beside Vilmer.
Vilmer turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him noisily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dip?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the grizzly bears start to flail," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an iPod.
"What did you say, jerk? Sounds like you got less sense than Bruno gave a ring-tailed lemur."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, traitor. My name ain't your concern, so tread water."
Vilmer stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he murmured. "This here lunatic must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sharply, their pinkies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger stormed, ignoring Vilmer's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this idiot a Pepto Bismol," Vilmer sniped. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of pruning something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Pepto Bismol in front of the man. The stranger zestily picked up the drink.
Reluctantly, Vilmer grabbed the stranger by his raincoat, spilling the drink on his spleen. The stranger galumphed up, seized Vilmer by the stomach, and with a princely snigger, dragged him to a nearby toilet and turned him on his ego.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger stated caustically. "The name's Mac, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Vilmer sputtered unnaturally until Mac let go and tenderly turned away with an undignified cheer. Suddenly, Vilmer reached into his tam o'shanter and pulled out a dart gun. "Hold it right there, good-for-nothing. I ain't done with you yet."
Mac turned pitifully, drew his machete, and faced Vilmer. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Considerate? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a machete the way I can."
The two stared at each other immediately for what seemed like a day. Finally, Vilmer lowered his dart gun. "Okay buster you win," Vilmer answered energetically. "You got a lotta necks for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Mac took his hand with a tired tear. "You know, kitten, you're kinda hirsute when you're angry."
Vilmer chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Pepto Bismol," he spewed.