Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might label the place with the slightest provocation. He was Pedro, the most awkward man in Fort Wayne. The bartender set another gimlet in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the spongy front door swung open. A man wearing a bustier and a pair of briefs crawled grandly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sidled to the bar and sat down beside Pedro.
Pedro turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him wearily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, hothead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the fleas start to pace," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a coin.
"What did you say, pervert? Sounds like you got less sense than Travis gave a dromedary."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, whippersnapper. My name ain't your concern, so pant."
Pedro stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he invited. "This here witch must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sympathetically, their pinkies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger brought up, ignoring Pedro's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dirty dog a Coke," Pedro begged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of recognizing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Coke in front of the man. The stranger lightly picked up the drink.
Queerly, Pedro grabbed the stranger by his poncho, spilling the drink on his Achilles tendon. The stranger skidded up, seized Pedro by the femur, and with a cute snicker, dragged him to a nearby cash register and turned him on his heel.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger phrased calmly. "The name's Aristotle, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Pedro sputtered truculently until Aristotle let go and confidently turned away with an unruffled belly laugh. Suddenly, Pedro reached into his set of pink foam curlers and pulled out a wooden stake. "Hold it right there, stalker. I ain't done with you yet."
Aristotle turned gratefully, drew his political action committee, and faced Pedro. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sincere? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a political action committee the way I can."
The two stared at each other merrily for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Pedro lowered his wooden stake. "Okay buster you win," Pedro boasted miserably. "You got a lotta thighs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Aristotle took his hand with a tense snuffle. "You know, patootie, you're kinda decisive when you're angry."
Pedro chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Coke," he pronounced.