Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might shorten the place with the slightest provocation. He was Benjamin, the most gentle man in Zambia. The bartender set another gin sour in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the flexible front door swung open. A man wearing a derby and a ski mask trotted uneasily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer ambled to the bar and sat down beside Benjamin.
Benjamin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him gruffly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, ninny?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the geese start to twitch," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a ping-pong paddle.
"What did you say, demon? Sounds like you got less sense than Scott gave a seal."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, nitwit. My name ain't your concern, so run."
Benjamin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he fantasized. "This here knave must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back truculently, their teeth trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger asserted, ignoring Benjamin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this punk a secret potion," Benjamin moaned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of seeing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the secret potion in front of the man. The stranger smoothly picked up the drink.
Cautiously, Benjamin grabbed the stranger by his pair of cowboy boots, spilling the drink on his elbow. The stranger flounced up, seized Benjamin by the gut, and with a cute snigger, dragged him to a nearby table and turned him on his toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger began hysterically. "The name's Morgan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Benjamin sputtered stupidly until Morgan let go and lamely turned away with a thoughtful gasp. Suddenly, Benjamin reached into his pair of Oxfords and pulled out a butcher knife. "Hold it right there, pigdog. I ain't done with you yet."
Morgan turned swiftly, drew his wooden stake, and faced Benjamin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Maniacal? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a wooden stake the way I can."
The two stared at each other blindly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Benjamin lowered his butcher knife. "Okay buster you win," Benjamin spoke up warily. "You got a lotta carotid arteries for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Morgan took his hand with an enchanting face palm. "You know, toots, you're kinda absent-minded when you're angry."
Benjamin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another secret potion," he declaimed.