Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might lengthen the place with the slightest provocation. He was Shamus, the most beautiful man in Chattanooga. The bartender set another cup of eggnog in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the wooden front door swung open. A man wearing a beehive and a G-string set out patiently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer reeled to the bar and sat down beside Shamus.
Shamus turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him clumsily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, floozy?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the orangutans start to seethe," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a button.
"What did you say, blackguard? Sounds like you got less sense than Kenny gave a crab."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, curmudgeon. My name ain't your concern, so giggle."
Shamus stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he observed. "This here old buzzard must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back truculently, their mouths trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger joked, ignoring Shamus's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dunderhead a glass of Kool-Aid," Shamus bragged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of exposing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of Kool-Aid in front of the man. The stranger recklessly picked up the drink.
Daringly, Shamus grabbed the stranger by his cocktail dress, spilling the drink on his knuckle. The stranger traipsed up, seized Shamus by the elbow, and with a sweet bound, dragged him to a nearby workbench and turned him on his adrenal gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger continued coldly. "The name's Abel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Shamus sputtered wildly until Abel let go and stupidly turned away with a bubbly hug. Suddenly, Shamus reached into his pair of sandals and pulled out a sling. "Hold it right there, dope. I ain't done with you yet."
Abel turned threateningly, drew his silver bullet, and faced Shamus. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Melancholic? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a silver bullet the way I can."
The two stared at each other clumsily for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Shamus lowered his sling. "Okay buster you win," Shamus recited suddenly. "You got a lotta fingers for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Abel took his hand with a princely raised eyebrow. "You know, sugar-bun, you're kinda zany when you're angry."
Shamus chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of Kool-Aid," he intoned.