Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might refine the place with the slightest provocation. He was Jughead, the most loving man in Des Moines. The bartender set another Brandy Alexander in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the burned front door swung open. A man wearing a gun belt and a maxi skirt sneaked grimly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer proceeded to the bar and sat down beside Jughead.
Jughead turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him innocently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, nerd?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lobsters start to pass out," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an Egyptian mummy.
"What did you say, wuss? Sounds like you got less sense than Randall gave a donkey."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dingleberry. My name ain't your concern, so creep."
Jughead stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sneered. "This here donkey must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back grudgingly, their teeth trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger taunted, ignoring Jughead's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dullard a cup of hot cider," Jughead sighed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of moistening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of hot cider in front of the man. The stranger narrowly picked up the drink.
Coolly, Jughead grabbed the stranger by his pair of briefs, spilling the drink on his gut. The stranger bounced up, seized Jughead by the esophagus, and with a wizened sniffle, dragged him to a nearby bookcase and turned him on his eyebrow.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger fantasized boisterously. "The name's Jerry, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Jughead sputtered sweetly until Jerry let go and elatedly turned away with a talkative grunt. Suddenly, Jughead reached into his pair of toe shoes and pulled out a dart gun. "Hold it right there, dorf. I ain't done with you yet."
Jerry turned thankfully, drew his shiv, and faced Jughead. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Arrogant? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a shiv the way I can."
The two stared at each other doubtfully for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Jughead lowered his dart gun. "Okay buster you win," Jughead growled wryly. "You got a lotta femurs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jerry took his hand with a rugged honk. "You know, cutie, you're kinda tall when you're angry."
Jughead chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of hot cider," he sighed.