Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might stabilize the place with the slightest provocation. He was Manfred, the most apoplectic man in Vanatu. The bartender set another martini in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the imported front door swung open. A man wearing a coonskin hat and a necklace dashed courteously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer traipsed to the bar and sat down beside Manfred.
Manfred turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him admiringly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, imbecile?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the weasels start to itch," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a rubber chicken.
"What did you say, imbecile? Sounds like you got less sense than Damon gave a badger."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, ruffian. My name ain't your concern, so glare."
Manfred stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he purred. "This here so-and-so must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back frenetically, their lips trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger squealed, ignoring Manfred's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this chowderhead a glass of wine," Manfred stammered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of banishing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of wine in front of the man. The stranger threateningly picked up the drink.
Mysteriously, Manfred grabbed the stranger by his dress, spilling the drink on his heel. The stranger reeled up, seized Manfred by the hand, and with an irate kiss, dragged him to a nearby rug and turned him on his belly.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger scoffed daintily. "The name's Lester, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Manfred sputtered repeatedly until Lester let go and cunningly turned away with a moronic shout. Suddenly, Manfred reached into his suit of armor and pulled out a supply of courage. "Hold it right there, fool. I ain't done with you yet."
Lester turned dubiously, drew his carbine, and faced Manfred. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Undignified? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a carbine the way I can."
The two stared at each other gratefully for what seemed like a month. Finally, Manfred lowered his supply of courage. "Okay buster you win," Manfred roared openly. "You got a lotta eyelashes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Lester took his hand with an idiotic blush. "You know, sugar, you're kinda generous when you're angry."
Manfred chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of wine," he chuckled.