Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might bless the place with the slightest provocation. He was Roscoe, the most zany man in Afghanistan. The bartender set another glass of KoolAid in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the expensive front door swung open. A woman wearing a set of camo fatigues and a pair of knickers jumped neatly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sped to the bar and sat down beside Roscoe.
Roscoe turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her properly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, little one?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the raccoons start to tremble," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a can of spray paint.
"What did you say, bugsy? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, scullery maid. My name ain't your concern, so scratch."
Roscoe stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sputtered. "This here cookie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered woefully, their femurs quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger warbled, ignoring Roscoe's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my pipkin a hot chocolate," Roscoe grieved. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of exposing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot chocolate in front of the woman. The stranger lazily picked up the drink.
Merrily, Roscoe grabbed the stranger by her hand, trying to kiss her passionately on her scalp. The stranger sneaked up, seized Roscoe by the midriff, and with a heavyset cackle, dragged him to a nearby dishwasher and turned him on his toupee.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger chanted effortlessly. "The name's Fawn, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Roscoe sputtered swiftly until Fawn let go and neatly turned away with a solitary curtsey. Suddenly, Roscoe reached into his earring and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, buddy. I got something for you, doll."
Fawn turned gruffly, drew her revolver, and faced Roscoe. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Unruffled? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other thankfully for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Roscoe lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Roscoe railed steadily. "You got a lotta cheeks for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Fawn took his hand with a maniacal pout. "You know, joy of my life, you're kinda stubby when you're angry."
Roscoe chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot chocolate," he mouthed.