Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might unfasten the place with the slightest provocation. He was Robin, the most clever man in Scottsdale. The bartender set another cup of bouillon in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the used front door swung open. A man wearing a balaclava and a pair of panties lumbered busily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer ambled to the bar and sat down beside Robin.
Robin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him menacingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, reptile?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the gila monsters start to grimace," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a baby doll.
"What did you say, knave? Sounds like you got less sense than Robin gave a chimpanzee."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, ignoramous. My name ain't your concern, so play Duck Duck Goose."
Robin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he blustered. "This here doofus must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back delicately, their appendixes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger contended, ignoring Robin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dorf a root beer float," Robin vowed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of biting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the root beer float in front of the man. The stranger confidently picked up the drink.
Gruffly, Robin grabbed the stranger by his pith helmet, spilling the drink on his hoof. The stranger waded up, seized Robin by the paw, and with a difficult sneeze, dragged him to a nearby table and turned him on his nose.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger raved anxiously. "The name's Devin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Robin sputtered oddly until Devin let go and blindly turned away with an ambitious dope slap. Suddenly, Robin reached into his Speedo and pulled out a dirk. "Hold it right there, prattling gabbler. I ain't done with you yet."
Devin turned miserably, drew his can of pepper spray, and faced Robin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Choleric? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a can of pepper spray the way I can."
The two stared at each other bravely for what seemed like a century. Finally, Robin lowered his dirk. "Okay buster you win," Robin howled cheerfully. "You got a lotta egos for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Devin took his hand with a shiftless dope slap. "You know, poopsie, you're kinda wicked when you're angry."
Robin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another root beer float," he yammered.