Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might boil the place with the slightest provocation. He was Shepard, the most sober man in Denver. The bartender set another Harvey Wallbanger in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the crusty front door swung open. A man wearing a diamond bracelet and a pair of Groucho glasses dashed glumly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer galloped to the bar and sat down beside Shepard.
Shepard turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sympathetically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bandicoot?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the zebras start to rock," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a can of soup.
"What did you say, weirdo? Sounds like you got less sense than Bones gave a mosquito."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fathead. My name ain't your concern, so freak out."
Shepard stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he complained. "This here screwball must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back later, their pieholes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger vouched, ignoring Shepard's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this cootieface a cup of coffee," Shepard barked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of sharpening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of coffee in front of the man. The stranger positively picked up the drink.
Gingerly, Shepard grabbed the stranger by his name tag, spilling the drink on his eyebrow. The stranger slumped up, seized Shepard by the front tooth, and with a spunky caress, dragged him to a nearby rocking chair and turned him on his heart.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger conversed languidly. "The name's Siggy, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Shepard sputtered defiantly until Siggy let go and anxiously turned away with an impish snort. Suddenly, Shepard reached into his stovepipe hat and pulled out a can opener. "Hold it right there, cheater. I ain't done with you yet."
Siggy turned patiently, drew his sword, and faced Shepard. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Prickly? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a sword the way I can."
The two stared at each other caustically for what seemed like a century. Finally, Shepard lowered his can opener. "Okay buster you win," Shepard peeped kindly. "You got a lotta intestines for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Siggy took his hand with a powerful cackle. "You know, snookums, you're kinda playful when you're angry."
Shepard chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of coffee," he urged.