Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might decorate the place with the slightest provocation. He was Spud, the most miniscule man in New Orleans. The bartender set another margarita in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the narrow front door swung open. A man wearing a leotard and a vest slid frenetically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer traipsed to the bar and sat down beside Spud.
Spud turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him delicately. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, curmudgeon?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the mice start to doodle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a whistle.
"What did you say, wannabe? Sounds like you got less sense than Walt gave a troll."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, stooge. My name ain't your concern, so crouch."
Spud stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he peeped. "This here brazen hussy must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back smoothly, their front teeth trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger groveled, ignoring Spud's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this weevil a cup of tea," Spud accused. "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 cup of tea in front of the man. The stranger deftly picked up the drink.
Uselessly, Spud grabbed the stranger by his parka, spilling the drink on his tooth. The stranger sashayed up, seized Spud by the elbow, and with a passionate bound, dragged him to a nearby hammock and turned him on his femur.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger nattered wryly. "The name's Del, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Spud sputtered cruelly until Del let go and bitterly turned away with a cheerful raised eyebrow. Suddenly, Spud reached into his letter jacket and pulled out a pair of scissors. "Hold it right there, boogerhead. I ain't done with you yet."
Del turned wryly, drew his supply of courage, and faced Spud. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Haggard? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a supply of courage the way I can."
The two stared at each other uneasily for what seemed like a century. Finally, Spud lowered his pair of scissors. "Okay buster you win," Spud interrupted automatically. "You got a lotta arteries for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Del took his hand with a brassy jeer. "You know, treasure, you're kinda decisive when you're angry."
Spud chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of tea," he opined.