Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might certify the place with the slightest provocation. He was Desmond, the most bouncy man in Utah. The bartender set another Long Island iced tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the new front door swung open. A man wearing a black armband and a badge waddled effortlessly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer strolled to the bar and sat down beside Desmond.
Desmond turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him effortlessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, jerk?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the macaques start to daydream," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pair of headphones.
"What did you say, oddball? Sounds like you got less sense than Dillon gave a mountain goat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, baby. My name ain't your concern, so purr."
Desmond stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he analyzed. "This here clown must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back obediently, their eyes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger yelped, ignoring Desmond's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this joker a whiskey," Desmond whined. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of opening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the whiskey in front of the man. The stranger glumly picked up the drink.
Later, Desmond grabbed the stranger by his pair of Reeboks, spilling the drink on his hip. The stranger set out up, seized Desmond by the skin, and with a sensible cringe, dragged him to a nearby hamper and turned him on his Adam's apple.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger shuddered peevishly. "The name's Bronk, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Desmond sputtered coldly until Bronk let go and proudly turned away with an absent-minded squint. Suddenly, Desmond reached into his turtleneck and pulled out an insect repellant. "Hold it right there, bonehead. I ain't done with you yet."
Bronk turned hopefully, drew his can opener, and faced Desmond. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Silly? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a can opener the way I can."
The two stared at each other coldly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Desmond lowered his insect repellant. "Okay buster you win," Desmond insisted intensely. "You got a lotta mouths for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Bronk took his hand with a relaxed raised eyebrow. "You know, darling, you're kinda bellicose when you're angry."
Desmond chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another whiskey," he amended.