Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might punch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bert, the most gregarious man in Peoria. The bartender set another sassafras tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the weird front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of shoes and a parka tore anxiously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer clambered to the bar and sat down beside Bert.
Bert turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sweetly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, thug?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lynxes start to snort," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a gun.
"What did you say, lamebrain? Sounds like you got less sense than Manny gave a rhinoceros."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fuddy-duddy. My name ain't your concern, so mutter."
Bert stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he reasoned. "This here buzzard must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back kindly, their toupees trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger continued, ignoring Bert's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this low-life a glass of champagne," Bert yammered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of punching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of champagne in front of the man. The stranger flightily picked up the drink.
Madly, Bert grabbed the stranger by his jumpsuit, spilling the drink on his ear. The stranger crept up, seized Bert by the shin, and with a considerate guffaw, dragged him to a nearby pedestal and turned him on his pinky.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger fumed oddly. "The name's Rich, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bert sputtered effortlessly until Rich let go and nicely turned away with a masculine smack. Suddenly, Bert reached into his pair of boxer shorts and pulled out a knife. "Hold it right there, hipster. I ain't done with you yet."
Rich turned gingerly, drew his blow pipe, and faced Bert. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Spunky? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a blow pipe the way I can."
The two stared at each other accidentally for what seemed like a day. Finally, Bert lowered his knife. "Okay buster you win," Bert railed dolefully. "You got a lotta chins for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Rich took his hand with a forgetful sigh. "You know, doodlebug, you're kinda enraged when you're angry."
Bert chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of champagne," he enunciated.