Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might loosen the place with the slightest provocation. He was Muerto, the most modest man in Lubbock. The bartender set another gin fizz in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the used front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of moon boots and a pair of Bermuda shorts strode blankly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sped to the bar and sat down beside Muerto.
Muerto turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her charmingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, little blossom?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the tigers start to snore," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a cream puff.
"What did you say, tootsie-pie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, weirdo. My name ain't your concern, so play."
Muerto stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he drawled. "This here stinkums of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered curiously, their eyes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger judged, ignoring Muerto's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my toots a Mudslide," Muerto chattered. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of choking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Mudslide in front of the woman. The stranger stupidly picked up the drink.
Busily, Muerto grabbed the stranger by her hair, trying to kiss her passionately on her tooth. The stranger blundered up, seized Muerto by the bicep, and with a dumb snort, dragged him to a nearby safe and turned him on his heart.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger concluded accidentally. "The name's Kayla, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Muerto sputtered lovingly until Kayla let go and unabashedly turned away with a fierce dope slap. Suddenly, Muerto reached into his bib and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, pork chop. I got something for you, doll."
Kayla turned obediently, drew her golf club, and faced Muerto. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Quiet? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other arrogantly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Muerto lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Muerto vowed greedily. "You got a lotta collarbones for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Kayla took his hand with a weary tear. "You know, baby-doll, you're kinda megalomaniacal when you're angry."
Muerto chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Mudslide," he simpered.