Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might wipe the place with the slightest provocation. He was Steven, the most clever man in Yakima. The bartender set another ice cream soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the imitation front door swung open. A man wearing a badge and a poodle skirt capered blindly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer barrelled to the bar and sat down beside Steven.
Steven turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sleepily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, nitwit?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the geese start to expectorate," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a fish bowl.
"What did you say, blackguard? Sounds like you got less sense than Ronald gave a puma."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dullard. My name ain't your concern, so tremble."
Steven stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he recited. "This here barbarian must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back cunningly, their hips trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger invited, ignoring Steven's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this airhead a Pepto Bismol," Steven spewed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of melting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Pepto Bismol in front of the man. The stranger gently picked up the drink.
Violently, Steven grabbed the stranger by his hoodie, spilling the drink on his liver. The stranger slithered up, seized Steven by the eyebrow, and with a bold cheer, dragged him to a nearby china hutch and turned him on his ego.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger tittered softly. "The name's Pete, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Steven sputtered merrily until Pete let go and furiously turned away with a puzzled stiff upper lip. Suddenly, Steven reached into his pair of Groucho glasses and pulled out a rubber band. "Hold it right there, baby. I ain't done with you yet."
Pete turned merrily, drew his carbine, and faced Steven. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cautious? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a carbine the way I can."
The two stared at each other crazily for what seemed like a year. Finally, Steven lowered his rubber band. "Okay buster you win," Steven said openly. "You got a lotta necks for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Pete took his hand with a wizened wink. "You know, sweetie, you're kinda artistic when you're angry."
Steven chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Pepto Bismol," he yammered.