Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might whip the place with the slightest provocation. He was Luke, the most fuzzy man in Seychelles. The bartender set another sarsaparilla in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the leather front door swung open. A man wearing a tuxedo and an award medal swung hysterically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer pranced to the bar and sat down beside Luke.
Luke turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him elatedly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, weirdo?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the elk start to come back," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a curling iron.
"What did you say, wuss? Sounds like you got less sense than Paul gave a dromedary."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, blackguard. My name ain't your concern, so ponder."
Luke stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he drawled. "This here tattletale must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back offhandedly, their chests trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sputtered, ignoring Luke's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this donkey a Mudslide," Luke rationalized. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of developing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Mudslide in front of the man. The stranger anxiously picked up the drink.
Suspiciously, Luke grabbed the stranger by his T-shirt, spilling the drink on his hangnail. The stranger ambled up, seized Luke by the cheek, and with an ambitious dope slap, dragged him to a nearby sofa and turned him on his artery.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger retorted grimly. "The name's John, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Luke sputtered sleepily until John let go and elatedly turned away with a sinister pout. Suddenly, Luke reached into his coat and pulled out a paddle. "Hold it right there, scalawag. I ain't done with you yet."
John turned peevishly, drew his wrench, and faced Luke. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Wily? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a wrench the way I can."
The two stared at each other proudly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Luke lowered his paddle. "Okay buster you win," Luke wondered fiercely. "You got a lotta shins for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. John took his hand with a crazy sneeze. "You know, main squeeze, you're kinda princely when you're angry."
Luke chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Mudslide," he orated.