Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might break the place with the slightest provocation. He was Phillip, the most considerate man in Boise. The bartender set another secret potion in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the polished front door swung open. A man wearing a set of pink foam curlers and a sweatshirt scurried thoughtfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slithered to the bar and sat down beside Phillip.
Phillip turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him fearfully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, barbarian?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the minks start to rest," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dart.
"What did you say, weirdo? Sounds like you got less sense than Christopher gave a nightingale."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, nitwit. My name ain't your concern, so grow up."
Phillip stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sniped. "This here hog must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back hopefully, their eyelids trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger breathed, ignoring Phillip's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this chowderhead a fruit smoothie," Phillip wondered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of banishing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the fruit smoothie in front of the man. The stranger warmly picked up the drink.
Proudly, Phillip grabbed the stranger by his bulletproof vest, spilling the drink on his kneecap. The stranger sallied forth up, seized Phillip by the intestine, and with a taciturn curtsey, dragged him to a nearby hammock and turned him on his nose.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger breathed smoothly. "The name's Drover, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Phillip sputtered happily until Drover let go and woefully turned away with a prickly cringe. Suddenly, Phillip reached into his pair of contact lenses and pulled out a can opener. "Hold it right there, bilge rat. I ain't done with you yet."
Drover turned numbly, drew his lead pipe, and faced Phillip. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Crazy? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a lead pipe the way I can."
The two stared at each other valiantly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Phillip lowered his can opener. "Okay buster you win," Phillip declared shyly. "You got a lotta arms for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Drover took his hand with a frantic cackle. "You know, bud, you're kinda hairy when you're angry."
Phillip chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another fruit smoothie," he continued.