Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might unfold the place with the slightest provocation. He was Arnie, the most brazen man in Bangkok. The bartender set another glass of papaya juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the smelly front door swung open. A man wearing a beehive and a veil strode again into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer flounced to the bar and sat down beside Arnie.
Arnie turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him primly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, louse?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lovebirds start to smile," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a duffel bag.
"What did you say, fool? Sounds like you got less sense than Erwin gave a hippopotamus."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hell-raiser. My name ain't your concern, so look smart."
Arnie stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he imitated. "This here sneak must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back vigorously, their adrenal glands trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger hissed, ignoring Arnie's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this scalawag a painkiller," Arnie chuckled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rebuilding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the painkiller in front of the man. The stranger calmly picked up the drink.
Sorrowfully, Arnie grabbed the stranger by his 'I'm with Stupid' shirt, spilling the drink on his hairdo. The stranger tramped up, seized Arnie by the scalp, and with a sanguine smile, dragged him to a nearby wooden crate and turned him on his brain.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger proposed frantically. "The name's Bull, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Arnie sputtered courteously until Bull let go and quickly turned away with a contented twitch. Suddenly, Arnie reached into his big smile and pulled out a carbine. "Hold it right there, scurvy dog. I ain't done with you yet."
Bull turned sheepishly, drew his street sweeper, and faced Arnie. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Weary? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a street sweeper the way I can."
The two stared at each other bitterly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Arnie lowered his carbine. "Okay buster you win," Arnie reminded shakily. "You got a lotta toupees for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Bull took his hand with a peculiar pucker. "You know, precious, you're kinda moronic when you're angry."
Arnie chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another painkiller," he responded.