Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might stabilize the place with the slightest provocation. He was Peter, the most fashionable man in El Paso. The bartender set another secret potion in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the miniature front door swung open. A man wearing a gun belt and a flak jacket capered stealthily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer darted to the bar and sat down beside Peter.
Peter turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him daintily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, cream puff?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hermit crabs start to laugh," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bell lyre.
"What did you say, wannabe? Sounds like you got less sense than Grover gave a boa constrictor."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, harebrain. My name ain't your concern, so lounge."
Peter stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he griped. "This here drip must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back perkily, their eyelids trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger railed, ignoring Peter's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this cream puff a bottle of water," Peter provoked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of bleaching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the bottle of water in front of the man. The stranger joyously picked up the drink.
Slyly, Peter grabbed the stranger by his false moustache, spilling the drink on his forehead. The stranger tramped up, seized Peter by the aorta, and with a daring wink, dragged him to a nearby filing cabinet and turned him on his head.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger instructed strangely. "The name's Gino, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Peter sputtered boldly until Gino let go and suavely turned away with a pert tear. Suddenly, Peter reached into his thong and pulled out a lance. "Hold it right there, jerk. I ain't done with you yet."
Gino turned arrogantly, drew his can of pepper spray, and faced Peter. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Maniacal? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a can of pepper spray the way I can."
The two stared at each other tearfully for what seemed like a month. Finally, Peter lowered his lance. "Okay buster you win," Peter howled patiently. "You got a lotta faces for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Gino took his hand with an exuberant tear. "You know, tootsy-wootsy, you're kinda silly when you're angry."
Peter chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another bottle of water," he whined.