Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might unlock the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bum, the most undignified man in Corpus Christi. The bartender set another sassafras tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the brightly-colored front door swung open. A man wearing a parka and a balaclava blundered cruelly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer dove to the bar and sat down beside Bum.
Bum turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him rapidly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, vixen?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the manticores start to growl," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a trash can.
"What did you say, goose? Sounds like you got less sense than José gave a bear."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, moonie. My name ain't your concern, so grumble."
Bum stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sniped. "This here troublemaker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back swiftly, their calves trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger avowed, ignoring Bum's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dullard a glass of apricot juice," Bum divulged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of catching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of apricot juice in front of the man. The stranger thoughtfully picked up the drink.
Daringly, Bum grabbed the stranger by his hoodie, spilling the drink on his Adam's apple. The stranger careened up, seized Bum by the arm, and with a portly sneeze, dragged him to a nearby wooden crate and turned him on his head.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger screeched daringly. "The name's Keith, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bum sputtered sadly until Keith let go and fondly turned away with a mean snicker. Suddenly, Bum reached into his pair of pantaloons and pulled out a torpedo. "Hold it right there, hound dog. I ain't done with you yet."
Keith turned gently, drew his wrench, and faced Bum. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Frumpy? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a wrench the way I can."
The two stared at each other craftily for what seemed like a year. Finally, Bum lowered his torpedo. "Okay buster you win," Bum spat fiercely. "You got a lotta cheeks for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Keith took his hand with a bizarre sniffle. "You know, tinky-wink, you're kinda childish when you're angry."
Bum chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of apricot juice," he whimpered.