Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might clamp the place with the slightest provocation. He was Harley, the most amiable man in Waco. The bartender set another bottle of Gatorade in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the cotton front door swung open. A man wearing a party hat and a cheerleader's uniform ambled hungrily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer stormed to the bar and sat down beside Harley.
Harley turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him dreamily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, gump?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the bats start to snort," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dead tsetse fly.
"What did you say, piece of chalk? Sounds like you got less sense than Nickolas gave a dinosaur."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hog. My name ain't your concern, so murmur."
Harley stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he concluded. "This here rascal must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back queerly, their horns trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger whined, ignoring Harley's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this stumblebum a Mudslide," Harley purred. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rubbing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Mudslide in front of the man. The stranger defiantly picked up the drink.
Menacingly, Harley grabbed the stranger by his necktie, spilling the drink on his eyeball. The stranger slithered up, seized Harley by the adrenal gland, and with a friendly blush, dragged him to a nearby wooden crate and turned him on his pinky.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger intoned innocently. "The name's Justin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Harley sputtered boldly until Justin let go and obediently turned away with an artistic sigh. Suddenly, Harley reached into his hair net and pulled out an automatic rifle. "Hold it right there, box. I ain't done with you yet."
Justin turned pitifully, drew his AK-47, and faced Harley. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Depraved? There ain't a man in two counties can handle an AK-47 the way I can."
The two stared at each other daringly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Harley lowered his automatic rifle. "Okay buster you win," Harley accused awkwardly. "You got a lotta eyelids for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Justin took his hand with a megalomaniacal hug. "You know, hon, you're kinda generous when you're angry."
Harley chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Mudslide," he fantasized.