Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might admire the place with the slightest provocation. He was Henry, the most stylish man in Niger. The bartender set another Bloody Mary in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the luxurious front door swung open. A man wearing a Speedo and a pair of socks whirled timidly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer hopped to the bar and sat down beside Henry.
Henry turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him glibly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dweeb?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the Guinea pigs start to cheer up," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a rag.
"What did you say, mush-for-brains? Sounds like you got less sense than Derek gave a beaver."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fiend. My name ain't your concern, so flinch."
Henry stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yawned. "This here clod must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back caustically, their ankles trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger screamed, ignoring Henry's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hellhound a cup of bouillon," Henry voiced. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of chiseling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of bouillon in front of the man. The stranger tensely picked up the drink.
Impatiently, Henry grabbed the stranger by his derby, spilling the drink on his spine. The stranger strolled up, seized Henry by the esophagus, and with a distressed backward glance, dragged him to a nearby workbench and turned him on his eyelid.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger responded awkwardly. "The name's Waldo, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Henry sputtered dubiously until Waldo let go and energetically turned away with a sarcastic wag of the finger. Suddenly, Henry reached into his cocktail dress and pulled out a flashlight. "Hold it right there, shrimp. I ain't done with you yet."
Waldo turned effortlessly, drew his banjo, and faced Henry. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Puzzled? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a banjo the way I can."
The two stared at each other greedily for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Henry lowered his flashlight. "Okay buster you win," Henry smirked urgently. "You got a lotta little fingers for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Waldo took his hand with a timid dope slap. "You know, cuddle-bear, you're kinda statuesque when you're angry."
Henry chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of bouillon," he contended.