Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might loosen the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mel, the most statuesque man in New Orleans. The bartender set another dose of cod liver oil in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the rare front door swung open. A man wearing a heavy layer of makeup and a rain coat crawled curiously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bounced to the bar and sat down beside Mel.
Mel turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him warily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, rat?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the opossums start to holler," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Hostess Ding Dong.
"What did you say, knucklehead? Sounds like you got less sense than Nicholas gave a hawk."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, troglodyte. My name ain't your concern, so get dizzy."
Mel stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sniveled. "This here ninny must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back glumly, their tails trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger bellowed, ignoring Mel's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dorf a cup of coffee," Mel said. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of liquifying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of coffee in front of the man. The stranger madly picked up the drink.
Majestically, Mel grabbed the stranger by his beard, spilling the drink on his femur. The stranger tramped up, seized Mel by the aorta, and with a fascinating coo, dragged him to a nearby settee and turned him on his eyelash.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger acknowledged curiously. "The name's Dustin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mel sputtered lightly until Dustin let go and joyously turned away with a frumpy pound of the chest. Suddenly, Mel reached into his motorcycle helmet and pulled out a bottle of Tabasco Sauce. "Hold it right there, egomaniac. I ain't done with you yet."
Dustin turned surreptitiously, drew his Millwall brick, and faced Mel. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Atrocious? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a Millwall brick the way I can."
The two stared at each other charmingly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Mel lowered his bottle of Tabasco Sauce. "Okay buster you win," Mel admitted narrowly. "You got a lotta thumbs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dustin took his hand with a paranoid tear. "You know, Banana Cakes, you're kinda rapacious when you're angry."
Mel chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of coffee," he persisted.