Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might extinguish the place with the slightest provocation. He was Lee, the most cautious man in Chile. The bartender set another shot of bourbon in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the colossal front door swung open. A man wearing a cat suit and a fedora dove briskly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer swaggered to the bar and sat down beside Lee.
Lee turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him viciously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, cretin?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the mules start to do the Hokey Pokey," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a paper bag.
"What did you say, dorf? Sounds like you got less sense than Tyler gave a boa constrictor."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, moron. My name ain't your concern, so adjust the clock."
Lee stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he admitted. "This here blatherskite must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back fervently, their fingernails trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger called, ignoring Lee's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this lunatic a bottle of Gatorade," Lee proposed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of inflating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the bottle of Gatorade in front of the man. The stranger coldly picked up the drink.
Irritably, Lee grabbed the stranger by his Stetson hat, spilling the drink on his brain. The stranger clambered up, seized Lee by the kidney, and with an urbane smile, dragged him to a nearby rug and turned him on his tooth.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger stuttered awkwardly. "The name's Wes, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Lee sputtered properly until Wes let go and carefully turned away with an articulate sigh. Suddenly, Lee reached into his fez and pulled out an aspersion. "Hold it right there, ding dong. I ain't done with you yet."
Wes turned boldly, drew his rope, and faced Lee. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Hirsute? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a rope the way I can."
The two stared at each other sternly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Lee lowered his aspersion. "Okay buster you win," Lee responded strangely. "You got a lotta mouths for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Wes took his hand with a witty hug. "You know, heartthrob, you're kinda funny when you're angry."
Lee chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another bottle of Gatorade," he cried.