Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might hoist the place with the slightest provocation. He was Otto, the most heavyset man in Kalamazoo. The bartender set another sarsaparilla in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the papery front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of moon boots and a raincoat trekked daringly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer scampered to the bar and sat down beside Otto.
Otto turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him lickety-split. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, wraith?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the wolves start to bark," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Band-aid.
"What did you say, wannabe? Sounds like you got less sense than Bill gave a kitten."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, snitch. My name ain't your concern, so whirl."
Otto stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he smirked. "This here shyster must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back uselessly, their teeth trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger squawked, ignoring Otto's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this barbarian a gin fizz," Otto blustered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of plucking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gin fizz in front of the man. The stranger swiftly picked up the drink.
Sagely, Otto grabbed the stranger by his set of vampire fangs, spilling the drink on his elbow. The stranger sped up, seized Otto by the forehead, and with a self-confident gurgle, dragged him to a nearby fainting couch and turned him on his pituitary gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger blubbered diligently. "The name's Fido, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Otto sputtered crazily until Fido let go and sweetly turned away with an agile curtsey. Suddenly, Otto reached into his rain coat and pulled out an insect repellant. "Hold it right there, cell phone. I ain't done with you yet."
Fido turned craftily, drew his baton, and faced Otto. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Melancholic? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a baton the way I can."
The two stared at each other nonchalantly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Otto lowered his insect repellant. "Okay buster you win," Otto mumbled boldly. "You got a lotta Adam's apples for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Fido took his hand with a prissy chuckle. "You know, sweetheart, you're kinda sinister when you're angry."
Otto chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin fizz," he noted.