Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pinch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Lester, the most nervous man in Alaska. The bartender set another hot chocolate in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the unusual front door swung open. A man wearing a swimsuit and a surgical mask slumped vacantly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zoomed to the bar and sat down beside Lester.
Lester turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him suddenly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dunderhead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the snipes start to primp," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an egg shell.
"What did you say, big oaf? Sounds like you got less sense than Roman gave a alligator."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dweeb. My name ain't your concern, so exhale."
Lester stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he exploded. "This here knucklehead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back needlessly, their carotid arteries trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger harangued, ignoring Lester's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this madman a root beer," Lester quavered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of waxing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the root beer in front of the man. The stranger swiftly picked up the drink.
Languidly, Lester grabbed the stranger by his tarboosh, spilling the drink on his tail. The stranger set out up, seized Lester by the vein, and with a frumpy glare, dragged him to a nearby catbird seat and turned him on his fingernail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger exploded flightily. "The name's Reginald, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Lester sputtered cheerfully until Reginald let go and pitifully turned away with a sinister bound. Suddenly, Lester reached into his skirt and pulled out an AK-47. "Hold it right there, sucker. I ain't done with you yet."
Reginald turned impatiently, drew his knife, and faced Lester. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Rude? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a knife the way I can."
The two stared at each other truculently for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Lester lowered his AK-47. "Okay buster you win," Lester rebutted gently. "You got a lotta hangnails for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Reginald took his hand with a drowsy snicker. "You know, tinky-wink, you're kinda cuddly when you're angry."
Lester chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another root beer," he asserted.