Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might lynch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Dorian, the most beautiful man in New Zealand. The bartender set another glass of tomato juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gleaming front door swung open. A man wearing a buzzard costume and a gas mask sped energetically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer darted to the bar and sat down beside Dorian.
Dorian turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him hungrily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, hellhound?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the oysters start to collapse," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a coat hanger.
"What did you say, nut? Sounds like you got less sense than Wilbur gave a rat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lamebrain. My name ain't your concern, so look smart."
Dorian stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he swore. "This here tramp must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back reluctantly, their knees trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger contended, ignoring Dorian's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this creep a Harvey Wallbanger," Dorian implored. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of plasticizing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Harvey Wallbanger in front of the man. The stranger threateningly picked up the drink.
Slyly, Dorian grabbed the stranger by his bolo tie, spilling the drink on his appendix. The stranger tiptoed up, seized Dorian by the eyelid, and with a polite beam, dragged him to a nearby overstuffed chair and turned him on his hand.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger chortled shakily. "The name's Lynn, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Dorian sputtered ingeniously until Lynn let go and tearfully turned away with a dumb honk. Suddenly, Dorian reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out a banjo. "Hold it right there, clown. I ain't done with you yet."
Lynn turned sorrowfully, drew his angry glare, and faced Dorian. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Carefree? There ain't a man in four counties can handle an angry glare the way I can."
The two stared at each other slyly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Dorian lowered his banjo. "Okay buster you win," Dorian expressed demurely. "You got a lotta hangnails for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Lynn took his hand with a peculiar gurgle. "You know, knight in shining armor, you're kinda pert when you're angry."
Dorian chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Harvey Wallbanger," he warbled.