Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might crush the place with the slightest provocation. He was Sinclair, the most wizened man in Manchester. The bartender set another root beer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the handy front door swung open. A woman wearing a stovepipe hat and a bolo tie padded needlessly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slithered to the bar and sat down beside Sinclair.
Sinclair turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her patiently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, beloved?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hamsters start to get rigid," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bucket.
"What did you say, joy of my life? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, simpleton. My name ain't your concern, so laugh."
Sinclair stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he appealed. "This here twinkle toes of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered rapidly, their livers quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger analyzed, ignoring Sinclair's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my doodlebug a hot chocolate," Sinclair alleged. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of shortening 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 woman. The stranger grudgingly picked up the drink.
Carefully, Sinclair grabbed the stranger by her wig, trying to kiss her passionately on her pancreas. The stranger rushed up, seized Sinclair by the paw, and with an articulate snicker, dragged him to a nearby dishwasher and turned him on his hip.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger groveled briskly. "The name's Annalouise, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Sinclair sputtered flightily until Annalouise let go and deliberately turned away with a dapper snicker. Suddenly, Sinclair reached into his cowboy hat and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, cuddle-bear. I got something for you, doll."
Annalouise turned frantically, drew her butcher knife, and faced Sinclair. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Statuesque? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other calmly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Sinclair lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Sinclair chortled numbly. "You got a lotta hooves for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Annalouise took his hand with a creepy bow. "You know, old friend, you're kinda considerate when you're angry."
Sinclair chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot chocolate," he suggested.