Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might cut the place with the slightest provocation. He was Justin, the most artistic man in California. The bartender set another martini in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the waxy front door swung open. A man wearing a headscarf and a hoop skirt sashayed happily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sidled to the bar and sat down beside Justin.
Justin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him dolefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, good-for-nothing?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the baboons start to tread water," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Frisbee.
"What did you say, rogue? Sounds like you got less sense than Giovanni gave a ass."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bandicoot. My name ain't your concern, so beg."
Justin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he reminded. "This here louse must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back wildly, their guts trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger tittered, ignoring Justin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this prattling gabbler a latte," Justin guessed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of measureing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the latte in front of the man. The stranger hastily picked up the drink.
Nimbly, Justin grabbed the stranger by his midi skirt, spilling the drink on his eyebrow. The stranger trotted up, seized Justin by the pinky, and with an insane wince, dragged him to a nearby windowsill and turned him on his ankle.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger debated valiantly. "The name's Dustin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Justin sputtered dubiously until Dustin let go and unexpectedly turned away with a solitary shout. Suddenly, Justin reached into his parka and pulled out a howitzer. "Hold it right there, snowflake. I ain't done with you yet."
Dustin turned innocently, drew his howitzer, and faced Justin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Smart? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a howitzer the way I can."
The two stared at each other vigorously for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Justin lowered his howitzer. "Okay buster you win," Justin provoked frantically. "You got a lotta fingers for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dustin took his hand with a ladylike roar. "You know, swizzle, you're kinda stinky when you're angry."
Justin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another latte," he recited.