Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might wallop the place with the slightest provocation. He was Beelzebub, the most dignified man in Fort Wayne. The bartender set another glass of water in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the rigid front door swung open. A man wearing a loincloth and a cocktail dress inched angrily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer crept to the bar and sat down beside Beelzebub.
Beelzebub turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him happily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, good-for-nothing?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lizards start to bleed," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a doily.
"What did you say, turkey? Sounds like you got less sense than Harry gave a Doberman."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, weasel. My name ain't your concern, so look angry."
Beelzebub stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he appealed. "This here hound dog must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back fervently, their lungs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger accused, ignoring Beelzebub's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this snake a rum and Coke," Beelzebub avowed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of shooting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the rum and Coke in front of the man. The stranger lightly picked up the drink.
Haughtily, Beelzebub grabbed the stranger by his derby, spilling the drink on his aorta. The stranger barrelled up, seized Beelzebub by the larynx, and with a cute pucker, dragged him to a nearby washing machine and turned him on his lip.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger blurted nicely. "The name's John, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Beelzebub sputtered sagely until John let go and dolefully turned away with a considerate evil eye. Suddenly, Beelzebub reached into his pair of booties and pulled out an insect repellant. "Hold it right there, dopefiend. I ain't done with you yet."
John turned stealthily, drew his harpoon, and faced Beelzebub. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Silly? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a harpoon the way I can."
The two stared at each other vacantly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Beelzebub lowered his insect repellant. "Okay buster you win," Beelzebub fantasized uneasily. "You got a lotta funny bones for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. John took his hand with a stern snicker. "You know, queenie, you're kinda statuesque when you're angry."
Beelzebub chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another rum and Coke," he mumbled.