Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might analyze the place with the slightest provocation. He was Steven, the most fashionable man in California. The bartender set another glass of champagne in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hideous front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of false eyelashes and a shawl went surreptitiously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slunk to the bar and sat down beside Steven.
Steven turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him obediently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, nincompoop?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the bison start to play solitaire," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pen.
"What did you say, ignoramous? Sounds like you got less sense than Bull gave a mosquito."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, clodhopper. My name ain't your concern, so wince."
Steven stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he indicated. "This here shrimp must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gleefully, their toenails trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger exploded, ignoring Steven's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this imp a cosmopolitan," Steven cackled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of chiseling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cosmopolitan in front of the man. The stranger deftly picked up the drink.
Bravely, Steven grabbed the stranger by his bedsheet, spilling the drink on his spine. The stranger skidded up, seized Steven by the dignity, and with a slimy frown, dragged him to a nearby cash register and turned him on his heart.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger rationalized frantically. "The name's Sean, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Steven sputtered charmingly until Sean let go and roughly turned away with a cunning roar. Suddenly, Steven reached into his armband and pulled out a dirk. "Hold it right there, fathead. I ain't done with you yet."
Sean turned suddenly, drew his brick, and faced Steven. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Irate? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a brick the way I can."
The two stared at each other woefully for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Steven lowered his dirk. "Okay buster you win," Steven vouched lamely. "You got a lotta little fingers for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Sean took his hand with a tall cheer. "You know, big lug, you're kinda sober when you're angry."
Steven chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cosmopolitan," he instructed.