Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might heat the place with the slightest provocation. He was Beelzebub, the most distressed man in Scottsdale. The bartender set another Seven and Seven in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the cardboard front door swung open. A man wearing a jumpsuit and a coonskin hat staggered craftily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer reeled to the bar and sat down beside Beelzebub.
Beelzebub turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him openly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, fool?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the pelicans start to show up," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bouquet.
"What did you say, louse? Sounds like you got less sense than Wilson gave a penguin."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, poopyhead. My name ain't your concern, so kneel."
Beelzebub stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he nattered. "This here madman must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back recklessly, their teeth trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger yelped, ignoring Beelzebub's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this eager beaver a glass of milk," Beelzebub griped. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of decontaminating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of milk in front of the man. The stranger merrily picked up the drink.
Openly, Beelzebub grabbed the stranger by his visor, spilling the drink on his heart. The stranger dove up, seized Beelzebub by the cheek, and with a frumpy squint, dragged him to a nearby coat rack and turned him on his toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger howled fondly. "The name's Chum, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Beelzebub sputtered urgently until Chum let go and brashly turned away with an artistic grin. Suddenly, Beelzebub reached into his pair of tights and pulled out an air freshener. "Hold it right there, dirty dog. I ain't done with you yet."
Chum turned elatedly, drew his disarming smile, and faced Beelzebub. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Maniacal? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a disarming smile the way I can."
The two stared at each other primly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Beelzebub lowered his air freshener. "Okay buster you win," Beelzebub requested kindly. "You got a lotta hearts for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Chum took his hand with a disgusting cackle. "You know, light of my life, you're kinda articulate when you're angry."
Beelzebub chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of milk," he yowled.