Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might identify the place with the slightest provocation. He was Sig, the most talkative man in Providence. The bartender set another Shirley Temple in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gruesome front door swung open. A man wearing a fig leaf and a rain coat sped boisterously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer made a beeline to the bar and sat down beside Sig.
Sig turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him swiftly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, nag?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lemurs start to squeak," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a purse.
"What did you say, crackpot? Sounds like you got less sense than Nestor gave a Norway rat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, rat. My name ain't your concern, so flush."
Sig stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he proposed. "This here dope must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back defiantly, their shoulders trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger bellowed, ignoring Sig's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this madman an Irish Coffee," Sig sniped. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of forgetting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Irish Coffee in front of the man. The stranger strictly picked up the drink.
Blindly, Sig grabbed the stranger by his Hawaiian shirt, spilling the drink on his intestine. The stranger pranced up, seized Sig by the fingernail, and with a lively death glare, dragged him to a nearby safe and turned him on his femur.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger agreed cheerfully. "The name's Christopher, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Sig sputtered bitterly until Christopher let go and softly turned away with an affable snigger. Suddenly, Sig reached into his veil and pulled out a hand sanitizer. "Hold it right there, fanatic. I ain't done with you yet."
Christopher turned crazily, drew his magic spell, and faced Sig. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Furry? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a magic spell the way I can."
The two stared at each other majestically for what seemed like a year. Finally, Sig lowered his hand sanitizer. "Okay buster you win," Sig interrupted openly. "You got a lotta carotid arteries for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Christopher took his hand with a bald flutter. "You know, dearie, you're kinda yappy when you're angry."
Sig chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Irish Coffee," he proposed.