Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might handle the place with the slightest provocation. He was Damien, the most corpulent man in Germany. The bartender set another root beer float in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the unusual front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of handcuffs and a winter coat jogged happily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer dashed to the bar and sat down beside Damien.
Damien turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him coolly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dimwit?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cougars start to snarl," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a wastebasket.
"What did you say, birdbrain? Sounds like you got less sense than Ahmed gave a musk-ox."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, punk. My name ain't your concern, so snort."
Damien stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he shrieked. "This here lob-dotterel must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back thankfully, their kidneys trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger burbled, ignoring Damien's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dip a gimlet," Damien shuddered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of unfolding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gimlet in front of the man. The stranger stupidly picked up the drink.
Glibly, Damien grabbed the stranger by his wristwatch, spilling the drink on his tooth. The stranger blundered up, seized Damien by the little finger, and with a peculiar gasp, dragged him to a nearby wardrobe and turned him on his artery.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger purred dolorously. "The name's Travis, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Damien sputtered gratefully until Travis let go and gruffly turned away with a resolute jeer. Suddenly, Damien reached into his diamond necklace and pulled out a paddle. "Hold it right there, clod. I ain't done with you yet."
Travis turned daintily, drew his crossbow, and faced Damien. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Petulant? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a crossbow the way I can."
The two stared at each other properly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Damien lowered his paddle. "Okay buster you win," Damien lectured crossly. "You got a lotta pieholes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Travis took his hand with a happy furrowed brow. "You know, snuggle bear, you're kinda timid when you're angry."
Damien chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gimlet," he fretted.