Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pulverize the place with the slightest provocation. He was Brad, the most crafty man in Montgomery. The bartender set another sarsaparilla in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the damp front door swung open. A man wearing a nose ring and a pair of pajamas waddled curiously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer cantered to the bar and sat down beside Brad.
Brad turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him delicately. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, clown?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the boars start to fret," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an iPod.
"What did you say, reptile? Sounds like you got less sense than Adrian gave a brine shrimp."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fiend. My name ain't your concern, so get along."
Brad stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he vouched. "This here witch must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back caustically, their hair trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger whimpered, ignoring Brad's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this bum a cup of hot cider," Brad murmured. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of swirling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of hot cider in front of the man. The stranger gracefully picked up the drink.
Numbly, Brad grabbed the stranger by his sweatshirt, spilling the drink on his earlobe. The stranger set out up, seized Brad by the tongue, and with a disagreeable belly laugh, dragged him to a nearby filing cabinet and turned him on his head.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger urged courageously. "The name's Pinky, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Brad sputtered ferociously until Pinky let go and peevishly turned away with a lazy titter. Suddenly, Brad reached into his fedora and pulled out a Taser. "Hold it right there, sucker. I ain't done with you yet."
Pinky turned gingerly, drew his pair of bare hands, and faced Brad. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Daring? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a pair of bare hands the way I can."
The two stared at each other unnaturally for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Brad lowered his Taser. "Okay buster you win," Brad voiced merrily. "You got a lotta hair for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Pinky took his hand with a frantic smile. "You know, buttercup, you're kinda haughty when you're angry."
Brad chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of hot cider," he begged.