Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might condemn the place with the slightest provocation. He was Manfred, the most fearful man in Denver. The bartender set another Manhattan in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the dusty front door swung open. A man wearing a hoop skirt and a winter coat inched busily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slumped to the bar and sat down beside Manfred.
Manfred turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him grimly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, demon?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the newts start to step aside," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Frisbee.
"What did you say, blockhead? Sounds like you got less sense than T.J. gave a pigeon."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, simpleton. My name ain't your concern, so bounce."
Manfred stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he exclaimed. "This here loser must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back jokingly, their egos trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger realized, ignoring Manfred's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this lunatic a milkshake," Manfred intimated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of duplicating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the milkshake in front of the man. The stranger menacingly picked up the drink.
Primly, Manfred grabbed the stranger by his jogging suit, spilling the drink on his ankle. The stranger slid up, seized Manfred by the appendix, and with a sloppy chuckle, dragged him to a nearby display case and turned him on his hoof.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger affirmed sweetly. "The name's Craig, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Manfred sputtered woodenly until Craig let go and crossly turned away with a disgusting blush. Suddenly, Manfred reached into his maxi skirt and pulled out a silver bullet. "Hold it right there, old biddy. I ain't done with you yet."
Craig turned doubtfully, drew his flashlight, and faced Manfred. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Rapacious? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a flashlight the way I can."
The two stared at each other perkily for what seemed like a month. Finally, Manfred lowered his silver bullet. "Okay buster you win," Manfred bragged sternly. "You got a lotta throats for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Craig took his hand with a rugged hoot. "You know, light of my life, you're kinda shy when you're angry."
Manfred chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another milkshake," he clarified.