Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might kiss the place with the slightest provocation. He was Del, the most bubbly man in Yakima. The bartender set another Irish Coffee in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the wet front door swung open. A man wearing a skirt and a raincoat inched gratefully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer scooted to the bar and sat down beside Del.
Del turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sarcastically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, simpleton?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the robots start to blank out," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a toilet plunger.
"What did you say, buzzard? Sounds like you got less sense than Cyrus gave a pelican."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lubberly lout. My name ain't your concern, so kneel."
Del stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sputtered. "This here clod must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back lickety-split, their adrenal glands trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger intimated, ignoring Del's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this buzzard a Sangría," Del yowled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rearranging something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Sangría in front of the man. The stranger fiercely picked up the drink.
Tenderly, Del grabbed the stranger by his belt buckle, spilling the drink on his larynx. The stranger straggled up, seized Del by the tail, and with a vacuous grunt, dragged him to a nearby bookshelf and turned him on his forehead.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger quoted cheerfully. "The name's Karl, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Del sputtered despondently until Karl let go and urgently turned away with a gentle raspberry. Suddenly, Del reached into his gunny sack and pulled out an air horn. "Hold it right there, dingleberry. I ain't done with you yet."
Karl turned calmly, drew his harpoon, and faced Del. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Spindly? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a harpoon the way I can."
The two stared at each other sternly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Del lowered his air horn. "Okay buster you win," Del concluded ingeniously. "You got a lotta waists for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Karl took his hand with an intelligent smirk. "You know, doll, you're kinda intelligent when you're angry."
Del chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Sangría," he pleaded.