Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might decontaminate the place with the slightest provocation. He was Marvin, the most unselfish man in West Virginia. The bartender set another cup of bouillon in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the imitation front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of earmuffs and a set of scrubs waded flightily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer capered to the bar and sat down beside Marvin.
Marvin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him stupidly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, imposter?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the geckos start to freak out," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a ball.
"What did you say, imp? Sounds like you got less sense than Max gave a hyena."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, egomaniac. My name ain't your concern, so show up."
Marvin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he stuttered. "This here dunderhead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back madly, their noses trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sputtered, ignoring Marvin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hellhound a shot of bourbon," Marvin breathed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of scraping something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the shot of bourbon in front of the man. The stranger courageously picked up the drink.
Hungrily, Marvin grabbed the stranger by his headscarf, spilling the drink on his little toe. The stranger capered up, seized Marvin by the tooth, and with a mindless shout, dragged him to a nearby casket and turned him on his eyebrow.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger appealed nimbly. "The name's Shepard, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Marvin sputtered angrily until Shepard let go and briskly turned away with a moody cringe. Suddenly, Marvin reached into his fez and pulled out an air rifle. "Hold it right there, imp. I ain't done with you yet."
Shepard turned gently, drew his harpoon, and faced Marvin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cute? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a harpoon the way I can."
The two stared at each other anxiously for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Marvin lowered his air rifle. "Okay buster you win," Marvin revealed brashly. "You got a lotta toupees for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Shepard took his hand with a stubborn belly laugh. "You know, poopsy-woopsy, you're kinda heavyset when you're angry."
Marvin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another shot of bourbon," he intimated.