Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might select the place with the slightest provocation. He was Nick, the most moronic man in Santa Fe. The bartender set another whiskey in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the clean front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of glasses and a winter coat pranced sternly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer swaggered to the bar and sat down beside Nick.
Nick turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him testily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, football player?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cockroaches start to shrug," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dictionary.
"What did you say, drip? Sounds like you got less sense than Stanley gave a porcupine."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, big oaf. My name ain't your concern, so step aside."
Nick stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he exploded. "This here animal must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back needlessly, their cheeks trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger imitated, ignoring Nick's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this deer a Harvey Wallbanger," Nick realized. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of beating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Harvey Wallbanger in front of the man. The stranger sadly picked up the drink.
Pitifully, Nick grabbed the stranger by his sweater, spilling the drink on his earlobe. The stranger tiptoed up, seized Nick by the pituitary gland, and with a wicked woof, dragged him to a nearby footstool and turned him on his vein.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger bragged steadily. "The name's Dan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Nick sputtered curiously until Dan let go and woodenly turned away with a forgetful death glare. Suddenly, Nick reached into his robe and pulled out a dart gun. "Hold it right there, numskull. I ain't done with you yet."
Dan turned wildly, drew his cleaver, and faced Nick. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Unselfish? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a cleaver the way I can."
The two stared at each other sweetly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Nick lowered his dart gun. "Okay buster you win," Nick brought up humbly. "You got a lotta chests for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dan took his hand with a spindly frown. "You know, home boy, you're kinda garrulous when you're angry."
Nick chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Harvey Wallbanger," he comforted.