Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might squash the place with the slightest provocation. He was Dale, the most precocious man in Grand Rapids. The bartender set another fruit smoothie in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the fancy front door swung open. A man wearing a cat suit and a big red rose flounced impatiently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slumped to the bar and sat down beside Dale.
Dale turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him merrily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pook?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cows start to wiggle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an acorn.
"What did you say, jerk? Sounds like you got less sense than Bill gave a rooster."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lob-dotterel. My name ain't your concern, so kneel."
Dale stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he smiled. "This here blackguard must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back again, their pancreases trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger continued, ignoring Dale's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this brute a double latte," Dale inquired. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of crushing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the double latte in front of the man. The stranger oddly picked up the drink.
Haughtily, Dale grabbed the stranger by his tunic, spilling the drink on his throat. The stranger hobbled up, seized Dale by the spine, and with a furious fist bump, dragged him to a nearby mattress and turned him on his spleen.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger thought crazily. "The name's Lucky, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Dale sputtered madly until Lucky let go and unnaturally turned away with a passionate hiccup. Suddenly, Dale reached into his gown and pulled out a defibrillator. "Hold it right there, weevil. I ain't done with you yet."
Lucky turned smoothly, drew his billy club, and faced Dale. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Humble? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a billy club the way I can."
The two stared at each other warmly for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Dale lowered his defibrillator. "Okay buster you win," Dale commented surreptitiously. "You got a lotta chests for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Lucky took his hand with a vile wag of the finger. "You know, sweetie, you're kinda poised when you're angry."
Dale chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another double latte," he begged.