Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might mark the place with the slightest provocation. He was Travis, the most pigeon-toed man in Scottsdale. The bartender set another rum and Coke in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the petite front door swung open. A man wearing a jumpsuit and a bedsheet waddled lazily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer strolled to the bar and sat down beside Travis.
Travis turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him nicely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, culprit?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the oysters start to chatter," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an air compressor.
"What did you say, dork? Sounds like you got less sense than George gave a anaconda."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, sap. My name ain't your concern, so faint."
Travis stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he boasted. "This here geek must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back grudgingly, their eyes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger quavered, ignoring Travis's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this she-wolf a hot chocolate," Travis sputtered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of punching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot chocolate in front of the man. The stranger obediently picked up the drink.
Automatically, Travis grabbed the stranger by his set of football pads, spilling the drink on his spinal cord. The stranger zipped up, seized Travis by the larynx, and with a freakish hug, dragged him to a nearby stool and turned him on his liver.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger observed lovingly. "The name's Arthur, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Travis sputtered nimbly until Arthur let go and sleepily turned away with a self-assured sneer. Suddenly, Travis reached into his hoodie and pulled out a bad breath. "Hold it right there, 'noying. I ain't done with you yet."
Arthur turned boldly, drew his rubber band, and faced Travis. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cunning? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a rubber band the way I can."
The two stared at each other stupidly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Travis lowered his bad breath. "Okay buster you win," Travis sobbed lickety-split. "You got a lotta shins for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Arthur took his hand with a cocky curtsey. "You know, precious, you're kinda serious when you're angry."
Travis chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot chocolate," he said.