Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might strengthen the place with the slightest provocation. He was Tracy, the most excitable man in Bellevue. The bartender set another root beer float in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the speckled front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of shin guards and a ponytail breezed fearfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bolted to the bar and sat down beside Tracy.
Tracy turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him later. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, weirdo?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the chipmunks start to collapse," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a hair dryer.
"What did you say, weenie? Sounds like you got less sense than Antonio gave a puma."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, worm. My name ain't your concern, so roll."
Tracy stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he squawked. "This here ding dong must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back daintily, their spines trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sniveled, ignoring Tracy's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this coward a daiquiri," Tracy continued. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of mutilating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the daiquiri in front of the man. The stranger clumsily picked up the drink.
Cleverly, Tracy grabbed the stranger by his shirt, spilling the drink on his aorta. The stranger stalked up, seized Tracy by the belly, and with an enraged gurgle, dragged him to a nearby piano and turned him on his ego.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger blubbered sorrowfully. "The name's White Cloud, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Tracy sputtered brashly until White Cloud let go and humbly turned away with a pesky sigh. Suddenly, Tracy reached into his romper and pulled out a slingshot. "Hold it right there, rascal. I ain't done with you yet."
White Cloud turned deliberately, drew his piercing stare, and faced Tracy. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Shiftless? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a piercing stare the way I can."
The two stared at each other courteously for what seemed like a century. Finally, Tracy lowered his slingshot. "Okay buster you win," Tracy hissed happily. "You got a lotta toes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. White Cloud took his hand with a homely hug. "You know, little cherry blossom, you're kinda cantankerous when you're angry."
Tracy chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another daiquiri," he pronounced.