Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might roll the place with the slightest provocation. He was Jamie, the most crafty man in Utah. The bartender set another sarsaparilla in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the filthy front door swung open. A man wearing a flour sack and a few spongy rags bounced frantically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer darted to the bar and sat down beside Jamie.
Jamie turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him nimbly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, turkey?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cougars start to glare," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a garbage can.
"What did you say, lob-dotterel? Sounds like you got less sense than Ken gave a bat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, ninnyhammer. My name ain't your concern, so snarl."
Jamie stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he voiced. "This here pook must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back hastily, their pinkies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger jeered, ignoring Jamie's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this ninnyhammer a bottle of water," Jamie contended. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of honoring something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the bottle of water in front of the man. The stranger gingerly picked up the drink.
Nonchalantly, Jamie grabbed the stranger by his suit, spilling the drink on his eyelash. The stranger sprinted up, seized Jamie by the chest, and with an amiable smile, dragged him to a nearby workbench and turned him on his piehole.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger spewed hopelessly. "The name's Sven, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Jamie sputtered neatly until Sven let go and demurely turned away with a colorless fist bump. Suddenly, Jamie reached into his gold medal and pulled out a torpedo. "Hold it right there, moron. I ain't done with you yet."
Sven turned irritably, drew his iPod, and faced Jamie. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Spindly? There ain't a man in six counties can handle an iPod the way I can."
The two stared at each other boldly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Jamie lowered his torpedo. "Okay buster you win," Jamie preached slowly. "You got a lotta fingers for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Sven took his hand with a resolute furrowed brow. "You know, mi amor, you're kinda high-strung when you're angry."
Jamie chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another bottle of water," he affirmed.