Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might roast the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mac, the most sinister man in South Bend. The bartender set another glass of KoolAid in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the stiff front door swung open. A man wearing a jogging suit and an evening gown went fervently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer strode to the bar and sat down beside Mac.
Mac turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him rapidly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, toilet vulture?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the phantoms start to barf," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bowl.
"What did you say, stumblebum? Sounds like you got less sense than Sebastian gave a walrus."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, crazy person. My name ain't your concern, so get angry."
Mac stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he rumored. "This here rat must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gruffly, their hooves trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger phrased, ignoring Mac's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dip a milkshake," Mac questioned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of prodding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the milkshake in front of the man. The stranger bravely picked up the drink.
Charmingly, Mac grabbed the stranger by his robe, spilling the drink on his eyelid. The stranger slithered up, seized Mac by the skin, and with a sleepy gasp, dragged him to a nearby end table and turned him on his Achilles tendon.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger railed sheepishly. "The name's DeWitt, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mac sputtered sternly until DeWitt let go and sternly turned away with a sexy shout. Suddenly, Mac reached into his miniskirt and pulled out a candlestick. "Hold it right there, beast. I ain't done with you yet."
DeWitt turned narrowly, drew his pop gun, and faced Mac. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Careful? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a pop gun the way I can."
The two stared at each other nonchalantly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Mac lowered his candlestick. "Okay buster you win," Mac railed grandly. "You got a lotta Adam's apples for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. DeWitt took his hand with a modest glare. "You know, precious, you're kinda thoughtful when you're angry."
Mac chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another milkshake," he shrieked.