Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pinch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Lynn, the most happy man in Nebraska. The bartender set another shot of tequila in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the big front door swung open. A man wearing a sport coat and a watch sped coolly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer danced to the bar and sat down beside Lynn.
Lynn turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him surreptitiously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pook?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the fish start to hiccup," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a package.
"What did you say, culprit? Sounds like you got less sense than Shamus gave a muskrat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, ghoul. My name ain't your concern, so cry."
Lynn stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he recited. "This here fruitcake must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back mysteriously, their stomachs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger persisted, ignoring Lynn's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this goose a bottle of Gatorade," Lynn begged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of plucking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the bottle of Gatorade in front of the man. The stranger slyly picked up the drink.
Pitifully, Lynn grabbed the stranger by his jerkin, spilling the drink on his head. The stranger scurried up, seized Lynn by the heel, and with a shy beam, dragged him to a nearby settee and turned him on his bicep.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger drawled carelessly. "The name's Lauren, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Lynn sputtered cunningly until Lauren let go and merrily turned away with a wily cringe. Suddenly, Lynn reached into his pair of trousers and pulled out a hand grenade. "Hold it right there, oddball. I ain't done with you yet."
Lauren turned miserably, drew his Colt 45, and faced Lynn. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Furious? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a Colt 45 the way I can."
The two stared at each other gently for what seemed like a century. Finally, Lynn lowered his hand grenade. "Okay buster you win," Lynn stated valiantly. "You got a lotta thoraxes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Lauren took his hand with a slimy blush. "You know, old bean, you're kinda idiotic when you're angry."
Lynn chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another bottle of Gatorade," he grieved.