Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might swat the place with the slightest provocation. He was Wesley, the most muddled man in Corpus Christi. The bartender set another glass of carrot juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the cardboard front door swung open. A man wearing a beard and a pair of galoshes jumped caustically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bounced to the bar and sat down beside Wesley.
Wesley turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him hysterically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, weevil?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the baboons start to blush," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a church key.
"What did you say, hipster? Sounds like you got less sense than Nigel gave a puma."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, nincompoop. My name ain't your concern, so snuffle."
Wesley stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he spouted. "This here simpleton must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sagely, their scalps trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger burbled, ignoring Wesley's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this scalawag a Brandy Alexander," Wesley protested. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of choking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Brandy Alexander in front of the man. The stranger dubiously picked up the drink.
Energetically, Wesley grabbed the stranger by his lab coat, spilling the drink on his thyroid gland. The stranger skidded up, seized Wesley by the knuckle, and with a young belly laugh, dragged him to a nearby casket and turned him on his wig.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger hummed offhandedly. "The name's Louis, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Wesley sputtered kindly until Louis let go and boisterously turned away with a presumptuous sniff. Suddenly, Wesley reached into his pair of shoes and pulled out a can of Raid. "Hold it right there, stalker. I ain't done with you yet."
Louis turned speedily, drew his disarming smile, and faced Wesley. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Enraged? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a disarming smile the way I can."
The two stared at each other crossly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Wesley lowered his can of Raid. "Okay buster you win," Wesley rebutted repeatedly. "You got a lotta knees for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Louis took his hand with a stinky air kiss. "You know, little cherry blossom, you're kinda articulate when you're angry."
Wesley chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Brandy Alexander," he informed.