Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might guard the place with the slightest provocation. He was Jared, the most gregarious man in the Virgin Islands. The bartender set another ice cream soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gross front door swung open. A man wearing a beanie and a class ring sneaked slowly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer darted to the bar and sat down beside Jared.
Jared turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him arrogantly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, fuddy-duddy?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the iguanas start to spit," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a painting.
"What did you say, dingbat? Sounds like you got less sense than Fritz gave a whale."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, blackguard. My name ain't your concern, so step aside."
Jared stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he blubbered. "This here cream puff must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back lovingly, their calves trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger blustered, ignoring Jared's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this oddball a cup of hot cider," Jared mumbled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of flattening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of hot cider in front of the man. The stranger dolorously picked up the drink.
Ruefully, Jared grabbed the stranger by his bodysuit, spilling the drink on his antenna. The stranger loped up, seized Jared by the bladder, and with a self-assured air kiss, dragged him to a nearby dresser and turned him on his front tooth.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger cried suddenly. "The name's LaDue, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Jared sputtered boisterously until LaDue let go and brightly turned away with a frightened sneer. Suddenly, Jared reached into his gold medal and pulled out a bayonette. "Hold it right there, beast. I ain't done with you yet."
LaDue turned nonchalantly, drew his baton, and faced Jared. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Stubby? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a baton the way I can."
The two stared at each other innocently for what seemed like a century. Finally, Jared lowered his bayonette. "Okay buster you win," Jared nattered sleepily. "You got a lotta hands for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. LaDue took his hand with a refined chortle. "You know, twinkles, you're kinda friendly when you're angry."
Jared chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of hot cider," he roared.