Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might stack the place with the slightest provocation. He was Vince, the most sweet man in Rochester. The bartender set another milkshake in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the wooden front door swung open. A man wearing a polo shirt and a pair of roller skates stormed quickly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tramped to the bar and sat down beside Vince.
Vince turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him automatically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, lubberly lout?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the warthogs start to snuffle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a fork.
"What did you say, rogue? Sounds like you got less sense than Maloney gave a teddy bear."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, weasel. My name ain't your concern, so faint."
Vince stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he wept. "This here nincompoop must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back kindly, their hips trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger lectured, ignoring Vince's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this turkey a kamikaze," Vince lamented. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of pinching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the kamikaze in front of the man. The stranger coolly picked up the drink.
Carefully, Vince grabbed the stranger by his pair of suspenders, spilling the drink on his spine. The stranger sidled up, seized Vince by the ankle, and with a desperate grin, dragged him to a nearby sofa and turned him on his belly.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger acknowledged zestily. "The name's Luke, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Vince sputtered grandly until Luke let go and anxiously turned away with a sociable dope slap. Suddenly, Vince reached into his sport coat and pulled out a hedge trimmer. "Hold it right there, old biddy. I ain't done with you yet."
Luke turned gratefully, drew his Taser, and faced Vince. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Noble? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a Taser the way I can."
The two stared at each other fondly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Vince lowered his hedge trimmer. "Okay buster you win," Vince contended lovingly. "You got a lotta earlobes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Luke took his hand with a disorganized flinch. "You know, angel, you're kinda wary when you're angry."
Vince chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another kamikaze," he shuddered.