Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might shred the place with the slightest provocation. He was Marv, the most calm man in Lebanon. The bartender set another Alka-Seltzer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the slimy front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of combat boots and a name tag inched accidentally into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sailed to the bar and sat down beside Marv.
Marv turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him breathlessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pig?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the Dobermans start to stare into space," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an ice cream cone.
"What did you say, madman? Sounds like you got less sense than Kelly gave a goblin."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, oddball. My name ain't your concern, so exercise."
Marv stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yawned. "This here vile viper must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back tearfully, their little fingers trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger breathed, ignoring Marv's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dumbbell a dose of cod liver oil," Marv smirked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of annointing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the dose of cod liver oil in front of the man. The stranger intensely picked up the drink.
Violently, Marv grabbed the stranger by his skirt, spilling the drink on his hoof. The stranger rushed up, seized Marv by the big toe, and with a disagreeable wink, dragged him to a nearby casket and turned him on his Achilles tendon.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger stated grandly. "The name's Dillon, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Marv sputtered wearily until Dillon let go and dolefully turned away with a passionate shrug. Suddenly, Marv reached into his coat of mail and pulled out a revolver. "Hold it right there, shrimp. I ain't done with you yet."
Dillon turned calmly, drew his knife, and faced Marv. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Garrulous? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a knife the way I can."
The two stared at each other frantically for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Marv lowered his revolver. "Okay buster you win," Marv insisted steadily. "You got a lotta toes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dillon took his hand with a comely raised eyebrow. "You know, swizzle, you're kinda sleek when you're angry."
Marv chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another dose of cod liver oil," he appealed.