Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might shred the place with the slightest provocation. He was Eduardo, the most muddled man in Paris. The bartender set another Jack Daniel's in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the burned front door swung open. A man wearing a stovepipe hat and a motorcycle helmet rolled fervently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer crept to the bar and sat down beside Eduardo.
Eduardo turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him crazily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dunderhead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the bats start to cheer," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a cactus plant.
"What did you say, old coot? Sounds like you got less sense than Vilmer gave a unicorn."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, rogue. My name ain't your concern, so cheer up."
Eduardo stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he gasped. "This here troublemaker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back fiercely, their shoulders trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger blubbered, ignoring Eduardo's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this ne'er-do-well a margarita," Eduardo taunted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of sanding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the margarita in front of the man. The stranger fearlessly picked up the drink.
Quietly, Eduardo grabbed the stranger by his gunny sack, spilling the drink on his midriff. The stranger straggled up, seized Eduardo by the spine, and with a gallant flinch, dragged him to a nearby ping-pong table and turned him on his rib.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger grieved grimly. "The name's Dylan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Eduardo sputtered again until Dylan let go and coolly turned away with a sarcastic grunt. Suddenly, Eduardo reached into his pocket watch and pulled out a dagger. "Hold it right there, wimp. I ain't done with you yet."
Dylan turned joyously, drew his automatic rifle, and faced Eduardo. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Portly? There ain't a man in two counties can handle an automatic rifle the way I can."
The two stared at each other offhandedly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Eduardo lowered his dagger. "Okay buster you win," Eduardo bawled hastily. "You got a lotta cheeks for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dylan took his hand with a tall clenched fist. "You know, angel, you're kinda colorless when you're angry."
Eduardo chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another margarita," he conversed.