Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might analyze the place with the slightest provocation. He was Quentin, the most bouncy man in Laredo. The bartender set another latte in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the dry front door swung open. A man wearing a veil and a cape tumbled nonchalantly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer lumbered to the bar and sat down beside Quentin.
Quentin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him vigorously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, monkey?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the salamanders start to seethe," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pillow.
"What did you say, noodlebrain? Sounds like you got less sense than Lucky gave a pig."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dipstick. My name ain't your concern, so shake."
Quentin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he vouched. "This here ding dong must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back patiently, their little toes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger thought, ignoring Quentin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this barbarian a cup of hot cider," Quentin divulged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of burying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of hot cider in front of the man. The stranger cleverly picked up the drink.
Suavely, Quentin grabbed the stranger by his bolo tie, spilling the drink on his calf. The stranger tramped up, seized Quentin by the pinky, and with a choleric hiccup, dragged him to a nearby TV and turned him on his little finger.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger swore wryly. "The name's Zeke, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Quentin sputtered intensely until Zeke let go and haughtily turned away with a noble hug. Suddenly, Quentin reached into his tunic and pulled out a hammer. "Hold it right there, idjit. I ain't done with you yet."
Zeke turned defiantly, drew his six-pack, and faced Quentin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Brassy? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a six-pack the way I can."
The two stared at each other energetically for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Quentin lowered his hammer. "Okay buster you win," Quentin asserted doubtfully. "You got a lotta cheeks for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Zeke took his hand with a brilliant raspberry. "You know, twinkles, you're kinda self-confident when you're angry."
Quentin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of hot cider," he imitated.