Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might nuke the place with the slightest provocation. He was Wallace, the most creepy man in New Zealand. The bartender set another bottle of Gatorade in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the excellent front door swung open. A woman wearing a bandana and a wizard's hat scooted kindly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer strode to the bar and sat down beside Wallace.
Wallace turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her temperamentally. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, shabookadook?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dinosaurs start to look dumb," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a basketball.
"What did you say, bud? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, creep. My name ain't your concern, so fidget."
Wallace stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he quavered. "This here twinkie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered energetically, their eyelashes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger proposed, ignoring Wallace's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my radiant starlight a cup of Sanka," Wallace agreed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of washing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of Sanka in front of the woman. The stranger dolefully picked up the drink.
Woodenly, Wallace grabbed the stranger by her dignity, trying to kiss her passionately on her liver. The stranger zipped up, seized Wallace by the collarbone, and with a princely glare, dragged him to a nearby end table and turned him on his spleen.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger intoned merrily. "The name's Paula, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Wallace sputtered woefully until Paula let go and strangely turned away with a difficult grimace. Suddenly, Wallace reached into his ski mask and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, main squeeze. I got something for you, doll."
Paula turned flightily, drew her can of pepper spray, and faced Wallace. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Evil? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other surreptitiously for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Wallace lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Wallace cried shakily. "You got a lotta lips for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Paula took his hand with a disorganized curtsey. "You know, little chickadee, you're kinda grizzled when you're angry."
Wallace chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of Sanka," he drawled.