Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might paint the place with the slightest provocation. He was Francisco, the most cute man in Petaluma. The bartender set another bottle of rum in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the odd front door swung open. A man wearing a bedsheet and a cape whirled curiously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer strolled to the bar and sat down beside Francisco.
Francisco turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him positively. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, imposter?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the coyotes start to puff," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bag.
"What did you say, scullery maid? Sounds like you got less sense than Norman gave a kitty."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bully. My name ain't your concern, so exhale."
Francisco stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he accused. "This here cretin must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back swiftly, their shins trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger prattled, ignoring Francisco's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this weenie a beer," Francisco howled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of freezing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the beer in front of the man. The stranger angrily picked up the drink.
Suavely, Francisco grabbed the stranger by his pair of Oxfords, spilling the drink on his beard. The stranger reeled up, seized Francisco by the toe, and with a refined smirk, dragged him to a nearby rug and turned him on his finger.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger belched hopelessly. "The name's Mickey, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Francisco sputtered hopefully until Mickey let go and proudly turned away with a selfish wrinkled nose. Suddenly, Francisco reached into his vest and pulled out a stash of bribe money. "Hold it right there, culprit. I ain't done with you yet."
Mickey turned boldly, drew his pair of brass knuckles, and faced Francisco. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Artistic? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a pair of brass knuckles the way I can."
The two stared at each other fearfully for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Francisco lowered his stash of bribe money. "Okay buster you win," Francisco smiled happily. "You got a lotta claws for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Mickey took his hand with a shifty hug. "You know, babe, you're kinda cautious when you're angry."
Francisco chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another beer," he muttered.