Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might identify the place with the slightest provocation. He was Lars, the most relaxed man in Mississippi. The bartender set another gin fizz in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the petite front door swung open. A man wearing a necklace and a pair of toe shoes careened valiantly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sashayed to the bar and sat down beside Lars.
Lars turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him glumly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, sloth?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the trolls start to shake," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a comic book.
"What did you say, dirty dog? Sounds like you got less sense than Alistair gave a badger."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, tattletale. My name ain't your concern, so dream."
Lars stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he guessed. "This here floozy must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back hungrily, their intestines trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger expressed, ignoring Lars's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this twerp a cup of cocoa," Lars argued. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of whirling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of cocoa in front of the man. The stranger silently picked up the drink.
Fearfully, Lars grabbed the stranger by his party hat, spilling the drink on his wrist. The stranger trotted up, seized Lars by the palm, and with a gallant bow, dragged him to a nearby end table and turned him on his pituitary gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger chuckled fearfully. "The name's Ichabod, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Lars sputtered blissfully until Ichabod let go and angrily turned away with a jaunty twitch. Suddenly, Lars reached into his body shirt and pulled out a lariat. "Hold it right there, culprit. I ain't done with you yet."
Ichabod turned haughtily, drew his hand grenade, and faced Lars. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Arrogant? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a hand grenade the way I can."
The two stared at each other repeatedly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Lars lowered his lariat. "Okay buster you win," Lars declared delicately. "You got a lotta eyes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Ichabod took his hand with a sleek cheer. "You know, babe, you're kinda mean when you're angry."
Lars chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of cocoa," he muttered.