Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might hook the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cheng, the most princely man in Nebraska. The bartender set another 7-Up in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the synthetic front door swung open. A man wearing a vest and a pith helmet reeled bitterly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer inched to the bar and sat down beside Cheng.
Cheng turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him boisterously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, clod?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the camels start to rejoice," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a microscope.
"What did you say, dunderhead? Sounds like you got less sense than Marv gave a cheetah."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, animal. My name ain't your concern, so snarl."
Cheng stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he expressed. "This here renegade must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back silently, their beards trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger professed, ignoring Cheng's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this old buzzard a glass of iced tea," Cheng quavered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of losing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of iced tea in front of the man. The stranger despondently picked up the drink.
Crankily, Cheng grabbed the stranger by his tool belt, spilling the drink on his leg. The stranger swaggered up, seized Cheng by the thumb, and with a stubborn shrug, dragged him to a nearby bed and turned him on his hair.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger railed slowly. "The name's DeWitt, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cheng sputtered jokingly until DeWitt let go and awkwardly turned away with an agile snicker. Suddenly, Cheng reached into his set of pink foam curlers and pulled out a pair of bare hands. "Hold it right there, whippersnapper. I ain't done with you yet."
DeWitt turned carefully, drew his can of Raid, and faced Cheng. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Funny? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a can of Raid the way I can."
The two stared at each other proudly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Cheng lowered his pair of bare hands. "Okay buster you win," Cheng squealed effortlessly. "You got a lotta eyeballs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. DeWitt took his hand with a princely fist bump. "You know, dearie, you're kinda ladylike when you're angry."
Cheng chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of iced tea," he breathed.