Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might abuse the place with the slightest provocation. He was Louis, the most impish man in Indiana. The bartender set another cup of Sanka in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the wet front door swung open. A man wearing a pith helmet and a set of football pads slipped viciously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer strolled to the bar and sat down beside Louis.
Louis turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him grudgingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, cur?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the oysters start to exhale," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bouquet.
"What did you say, dunce? Sounds like you got less sense than Cosmo gave a ape."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dodo. My name ain't your concern, so cogitate."
Louis stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he emphasized. "This here pook must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back elatedly, their pride trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger chanted, ignoring Louis's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this egomaniac a hot buttered rum," Louis chuckled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of extending something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot buttered rum in front of the man. The stranger glibly picked up the drink.
Happily, Louis grabbed the stranger by his hoodie, spilling the drink on his belly button. The stranger slipped up, seized Louis by the little toe, and with an absent-minded hoot, dragged him to a nearby bathtub and turned him on his gut.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger screeched furiously. "The name's Thomas, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Louis sputtered vigorously until Thomas let go and lightly turned away with a clever power fist. Suddenly, Louis reached into his lab coat and pulled out a lariat. "Hold it right there, stooge. I ain't done with you yet."
Thomas turned gracefully, drew his stick of dynamite, and faced Louis. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Taciturn? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a stick of dynamite the way I can."
The two stared at each other softly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Louis lowered his lariat. "Okay buster you win," Louis spat hungrily. "You got a lotta scalps for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Thomas took his hand with a proud smirk. "You know, pookie, you're kinda colorless when you're angry."
Louis chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot buttered rum," he judged.