Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might paint the place with the slightest provocation. He was DeWitt, the most self-confident man in Chad. The bartender set another beer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the slimy front door swung open. A woman wearing a dunce cap and a trench coat set out hastily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sashayed to the bar and sat down beside DeWitt.
DeWitt turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her courageously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, sparky?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cobras start to chew," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a knitting needle.
"What did you say, shmoopsie-poo? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, nerd. My name ain't your concern, so chew."
DeWitt stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he blubbered. "This here shabookadook of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered kindly, their buttocks quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger winked, ignoring DeWitt's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my cuddle-bear a tequila sunrise," DeWitt hummed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of mending something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the tequila sunrise in front of the woman. The stranger intensely picked up the drink.
Sagely, DeWitt grabbed the stranger by her elbow, trying to kiss her passionately on her face. The stranger waddled up, seized DeWitt by the gall bladder, and with a conceited giggle, dragged him to a nearby carpet and turned him on his tail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger added thoughtfully. "The name's Michelle, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
DeWitt sputtered sagely until Michelle let go and uneasily turned away with a decisive growl. Suddenly, DeWitt reached into his cloak and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, bugsy. I got something for you, doll."
Michelle turned lightly, drew her Colt 45, and faced DeWitt. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Obese? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other angrily for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, DeWitt lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," DeWitt imitated dolefully. "You got a lotta femurs for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Michelle took his hand with a stubborn shout. "You know, pork chop, you're kinda dapper when you're angry."
DeWitt chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another tequila sunrise," he boasted.