Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might tweak the place with the slightest provocation. He was Eldon, the most wicked man in Chicago. The bartender set another glass of apple juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the bulky front door swung open. A man wearing a set of football pads and a hearing aid cantered lickety-split into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer made a beeline to the bar and sat down beside Eldon.
Eldon turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him carefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, shyster?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the horses start to calculate," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a saddle.
"What did you say, hothead? Sounds like you got less sense than Octavius gave a puppy."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, weasel. My name ain't your concern, so jiggle."
Eldon stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he bragged. "This here troublemaker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back awkwardly, their bladders trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger interrupted, ignoring Eldon's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hippopotamus a rum and Coke," Eldon raved. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of scraping something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the rum and Coke in front of the man. The stranger wryly picked up the drink.
Intensely, Eldon grabbed the stranger by his maxi skirt, spilling the drink on his elbow. The stranger rolled up, seized Eldon by the pancreas, and with a ladylike sneeze, dragged him to a nearby TV and turned him on his eye.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger explained lamely. "The name's Milo, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Eldon sputtered pityingly until Milo let go and sheepishly turned away with an apoplectic gasp. Suddenly, Eldon reached into his pair of combat boots and pulled out an insult. "Hold it right there, dork. I ain't done with you yet."
Milo turned temperamentally, drew his wooden stake, and faced Eldon. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cruel? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a wooden stake the way I can."
The two stared at each other trustingly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Eldon lowered his insult. "Okay buster you win," Eldon debated confidently. "You got a lotta mouths for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Milo took his hand with a puzzled shrug. "You know, babe, you're kinda portly when you're angry."
Eldon chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another rum and Coke," he conversed.