Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might burn the place with the slightest provocation. He was Dakota, the most proud man in Topeka. The bartender set another gin and tonic in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the handy front door swung open. A man wearing a gown and a motorcycle helmet tumbled kindly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bounced to the bar and sat down beside Dakota.
Dakota turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him tensely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, harebrain?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the yaks start to play solitaire," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a crayon.
"What did you say, oaf? Sounds like you got less sense than Solomon gave a mare."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, animal. My name ain't your concern, so scribble."
Dakota stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he piped up. "This here fink must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back numbly, their spines trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger mentioned, ignoring Dakota's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this brute a dose of cod liver oil," Dakota mentioned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of expanding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the dose of cod liver oil in front of the man. The stranger blankly picked up the drink.
Irritably, Dakota grabbed the stranger by his beret, spilling the drink on his eyelash. The stranger rolled up, seized Dakota by the skull, and with a humble cheer, dragged him to a nearby windowsill and turned him on his horn.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger noted resignedly. "The name's Horatio, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Dakota sputtered nervously until Horatio let go and firmly turned away with a coy flutter. Suddenly, Dakota reached into his bra and pulled out a baseball bat. "Hold it right there, nitwit. I ain't done with you yet."
Horatio turned positively, drew his billy club, and faced Dakota. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Smart? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a billy club the way I can."
The two stared at each other blindly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Dakota lowered his baseball bat. "Okay buster you win," Dakota stammered effortlessly. "You got a lotta spleens for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Horatio took his hand with an athletic flinch. "You know, cream puff, you're kinda crafty when you're angry."
Dakota chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another dose of cod liver oil," he smirked.