Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might reconsider the place with the slightest provocation. He was Nate, the most miniscule man in Santa Fe. The bartender set another grape soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the handy front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of jeans and a pair of Oxfords struggled sourly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer breezed to the bar and sat down beside Nate.
Nate turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sarcastically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dork?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the beetles start to scribble," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a billiard ball.
"What did you say, sneak? Sounds like you got less sense than Alistair gave a lark."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, pigdog. My name ain't your concern, so puff."
Nate stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yammered. "This here wuss must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back coldly, their antennae trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger demanded, ignoring Nate's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this slug a hot chocolate," Nate emphasized. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of decorating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot chocolate in front of the man. The stranger hastily picked up the drink.
Lovingly, Nate grabbed the stranger by his trench coat, spilling the drink on his elbow. The stranger galloped up, seized Nate by the neck, and with a boring sneeze, dragged him to a nearby bookcase and turned him on his paw.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger maintained testily. "The name's Kurt, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Nate sputtered briskly until Kurt let go and humbly turned away with a prissy hiccup. Suddenly, Nate reached into his sarong and pulled out a boomerang. "Hold it right there, stooge. I ain't done with you yet."
Kurt turned pityingly, drew his battle axe, and faced Nate. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Petulant? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a battle axe the way I can."
The two stared at each other coolly for what seemed like a week. Finally, Nate lowered his boomerang. "Okay buster you win," Nate grunted confidently. "You got a lotta dignity for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Kurt took his hand with a queer curtsey. "You know, sweet pea, you're kinda humble when you're angry."
Nate chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot chocolate," he gabbed.