Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might grip the place with the slightest provocation. He was Gino, the most cunning man in Toledo. The bartender set another chocolate milk in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the art deco front door swung open. A man wearing a hoop skirt and a floppy hat lurched crazily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slumped to the bar and sat down beside Gino.
Gino turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him hopefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bum?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the bats start to breathe," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bag of potato chips.
"What did you say, cretin? Sounds like you got less sense than Maloney gave a lamb."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, psycho. My name ain't your concern, so run."
Gino stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he lectured. "This here brazen hussy must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back cunningly, their legs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger squealed, ignoring Gino's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this halfwit a bottle of Gatorade," Gino fretted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of drenching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the bottle of Gatorade in front of the man. The stranger gracefully picked up the drink.
Strangely, Gino grabbed the stranger by his trench coat, spilling the drink on his pituitary gland. The stranger traipsed up, seized Gino by the eyelid, and with a stern roar, dragged him to a nearby hammock and turned him on his eyeball.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger panted cheerfully. "The name's Sanjay, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Gino sputtered diligently until Sanjay let go and temperamentally turned away with an agile stiff upper lip. Suddenly, Gino reached into his dunce cap and pulled out a paddle. "Hold it right there, savage. I ain't done with you yet."
Sanjay turned clumsily, drew his cleaver, and faced Gino. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Bellicose? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a cleaver the way I can."
The two stared at each other suavely for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Gino lowered his paddle. "Okay buster you win," Gino accused grimly. "You got a lotta lips for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Sanjay took his hand with a lethargic sigh. "You know, punkin, you're kinda awkward when you're angry."
Gino chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another bottle of Gatorade," he hissed.