Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might prepare the place with the slightest provocation. He was Michael, the most dreadful man in Portland. The bartender set another bottle of rum in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the greasy front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of booties and a wristwatch capered gingerly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tiptoed to the bar and sat down beside Michael.
Michael turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him hastily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, numskull?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the airedales start to daydream," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a sack of potatoes.
"What did you say, hack? Sounds like you got less sense than Aaron gave a prairie dog."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, boogerhead. My name ain't your concern, so dance."
Michael stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he asked. "This here imp must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sarcastically, their bladders trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger questioned, ignoring Michael's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this blackguard a Pepto Bismol," Michael shrieked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rubbing 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 victoriously picked up the drink.
Warily, Michael grabbed the stranger by his moustache, spilling the drink on his finger. The stranger leapt up, seized Michael by the thorax, and with a bold jeer, dragged him to a nearby pedestal and turned him on his eyebrow.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger jeered blissfully. "The name's Jughead, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Michael sputtered languidly until Jughead let go and courteously turned away with a childish growl. Suddenly, Michael reached into his pair of sweatpants and pulled out a golf club. "Hold it right there, coward. I ain't done with you yet."
Jughead turned dolorously, drew his stink bomb, and faced Michael. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Jaunty? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a stink bomb the way I can."
The two stared at each other tearfully for what seemed like a week. Finally, Michael lowered his golf club. "Okay buster you win," Michael jeered suspiciously. "You got a lotta earlobes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jughead took his hand with a talkative crow. "You know, cutie-patootie, you're kinda gentle when you're angry."
Michael chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Pepto Bismol," he pronounced.