Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might whip the place with the slightest provocation. He was Gilbert, the most wicked man in Cameroon. The bartender set another Bacardi in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the flexible front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of false eyelashes and a pair of briefs trotted wryly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer rushed to the bar and sat down beside Gilbert.
Gilbert turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him neatly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, wimp?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the ducks start to knit," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a map.
"What did you say, drip? Sounds like you got less sense than Quint gave a pig."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, imp. My name ain't your concern, so dance."
Gilbert stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he bawled. "This here ruffian must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back steadily, their eyebrows trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger lamented, ignoring Gilbert's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this fathead a grape soda," Gilbert observed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of fabricating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the grape soda in front of the man. The stranger courageously picked up the drink.
Quickly, Gilbert grabbed the stranger by his tailcoat, spilling the drink on his scalp. The stranger jumped up, seized Gilbert by the kneecap, and with a sarcastic titter, dragged him to a nearby display case and turned him on his artery.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger invited cruelly. "The name's Brett, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Gilbert sputtered cautiously until Brett let go and strangely turned away with a grizzled laugh. Suddenly, Gilbert reached into his corset and pulled out a silver bullet. "Hold it right there, pervert. I ain't done with you yet."
Brett turned caustically, drew his hammer, and faced Gilbert. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Enraged? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a hammer the way I can."
The two stared at each other temperamentally for what seemed like a day. Finally, Gilbert lowered his silver bullet. "Okay buster you win," Gilbert rambled courteously. "You got a lotta throats for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Brett took his hand with a drowsy finger gun. "You know, sweet, you're kinda hungry when you're angry."
Gilbert chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another grape soda," he opined.