Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might rub the place with the slightest provocation. He was Rex, the most brazen man in Trenton. The bartender set another cup of coffee in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the odd front door swung open. A man wearing a fez and an 'I'm with Stupid' shirt tumbled fearlessly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer cantered to the bar and sat down beside Rex.
Rex turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him rapidly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, harebrain?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the geese start to flail," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dog collar.
"What did you say, dummy? Sounds like you got less sense than Ray gave a snake."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bandicoot. My name ain't your concern, so look angry."
Rex stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he howled. "This here madman must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back bravely, their appendixes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger guessed, ignoring Rex's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this ruffian a root beer float," Rex taunted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of whirling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the root beer float in front of the man. The stranger slyly picked up the drink.
Uselessly, Rex grabbed the stranger by his Panama hat, spilling the drink on his back. The stranger sidled up, seized Rex by the dignity, and with a dowdy snuffle, dragged him to a nearby safe and turned him on his paw.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger muttered doubtfully. "The name's Horst, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Rex sputtered gently until Horst let go and sorrowfully turned away with an elderly coo. Suddenly, Rex reached into his tunic and pulled out a mace. "Hold it right there, cootieface. I ain't done with you yet."
Horst turned diligently, drew his crossbow, and faced Rex. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Artistic? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a crossbow the way I can."
The two stared at each other excitedly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Rex lowered his mace. "Okay buster you win," Rex continued sourly. "You got a lotta kneecaps for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Horst took his hand with an annoying gasp. "You know, cookie, you're kinda brash when you're angry."
Rex chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another root beer float," he raved.