Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might wiggle the place with the slightest provocation. He was Donald, the most vile man in Green Bay. The bartender set another secret potion in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the damp front door swung open. A man wearing a beard and a tuxedo sauntered quickly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer went to the bar and sat down beside Donald.
Donald turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him dolorously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dope fiend?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dogs start to sway," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bird feeder.
"What did you say, troglodyte? Sounds like you got less sense than Alex gave a boar."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dirty dog. My name ain't your concern, so fidget."
Donald stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he mumbled. "This here shrimp must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back doubtfully, their paws trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger interrupted, ignoring Donald's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this private investigator a soda," Donald intimated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of probing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the soda in front of the man. The stranger happily picked up the drink.
Warmly, Donald grabbed the stranger by his necktie, spilling the drink on his hairdo. The stranger sped up, seized Donald by the spine, and with an emotional jeer, dragged him to a nearby bookshelf and turned him on his shin.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger queried defiantly. "The name's Will, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Donald sputtered glibly until Will let go and bravely turned away with a contented flush. Suddenly, Donald reached into his tunic and pulled out a flashlight. "Hold it right there, tramp. I ain't done with you yet."
Will turned deliberately, drew his can of pepper spray, and faced Donald. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Direct? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a can of pepper spray the way I can."
The two stared at each other calmly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Donald lowered his flashlight. "Okay buster you win," Donald retorted tearfully. "You got a lotta pride for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Will took his hand with an urbane sniffle. "You know, baby-doll, you're kinda agitated when you're angry."
Donald chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another soda," he blurted.