Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might replace the place with the slightest provocation. He was Kelly, the most funny man in Peoria. The bartender set another glass of Kool-Aid in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the rancid front door swung open. A man wearing a tailcoat and a gold medal skittered ruefully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer pranced to the bar and sat down beside Kelly.
Kelly turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him blindly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dullard?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lobsters start to flail," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a joint.
"What did you say, imposter? Sounds like you got less sense than Lear gave a butterfly."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, shrew. My name ain't your concern, so sit still."
Kelly stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he fumed. "This here screwball must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back hopefully, their tummies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger reminded, ignoring Kelly's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this whippersnapper a glass of apple juice," Kelly alleged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of stripping something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of apple juice in front of the man. The stranger nervously picked up the drink.
Sweetly, Kelly grabbed the stranger by his sombrero, spilling the drink on his gut. The stranger marched up, seized Kelly by the adrenal gland, and with a phlegmatic raised eyebrow, dragged him to a nearby mattress and turned him on his hoof.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger guessed majestically. "The name's Royce, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Kelly sputtered later until Royce let go and patiently turned away with a monstrous air kiss. Suddenly, Kelly reached into his locket and pulled out a dart gun. "Hold it right there, hell-raiser. I ain't done with you yet."
Royce turned lickety-split, drew his Millwall brick, and faced Kelly. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sassy? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a Millwall brick the way I can."
The two stared at each other positively for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Kelly lowered his dart gun. "Okay buster you win," Kelly requested speedily. "You got a lotta teeth for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Royce took his hand with a sanguine smirk. "You know, patootie, you're kinda weary when you're angry."
Kelly chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of apple juice," he whispered.