Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might leave the place with the slightest provocation. He was Tim, the most agitated man in Singapore. The bartender set another fruit smoothie in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the waxy front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of toe shoes and an overcoat waded grandly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer dashed to the bar and sat down beside Tim.
Tim turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him energetically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dunderhead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the pheasants start to wander," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a horseshoe.
"What did you say, troublemaker? Sounds like you got less sense than Yancey gave a mustang."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hellhound. My name ain't your concern, so look smart."
Tim stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he demanded. "This here dip must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back innocently, their eyebrows trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger avowed, ignoring Tim's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this savage a glass of tomato juice," Tim responded. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of splitting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of tomato juice in front of the man. The stranger fearlessly picked up the drink.
Thoughtfully, Tim grabbed the stranger by his jacket, spilling the drink on his mouth. The stranger zipped up, seized Tim by the ego, and with an annoying caress, dragged him to a nearby chest of drawers and turned him on his pancreas.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger vouched clumsily. "The name's Jackson, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Tim sputtered calmly until Jackson let go and automatically turned away with a lively belch. Suddenly, Tim reached into his diamond bracelet and pulled out a shotgun. "Hold it right there, louse. I ain't done with you yet."
Jackson turned shyly, drew his BB gun, and faced Tim. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Ambitious? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a BB gun the way I can."
The two stared at each other unabashedly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Tim lowered his shotgun. "Okay buster you win," Tim persisted quietly. "You got a lotta hips for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jackson took his hand with a sassy wrinkled nose. "You know, Boopsie, you're kinda ignoble when you're angry."
Tim chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of tomato juice," he boomed.