Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might scratch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Willard, the most boring man in Anaheim. The bartender set another cup of hot cider in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ragged front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of suspenders and a pair of handcuffs clambered positively into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer waltzed to the bar and sat down beside Willard.
Willard turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him lazily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, boogerhead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dachshunds start to shrivel," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pop bottle.
"What did you say, cretin? Sounds like you got less sense than Brandon gave a turkey."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, knave. My name ain't your concern, so shrug."
Willard stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he snarled. "This here idjit must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back blindly, their front teeth trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger growled, ignoring Willard's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this sucker a glass of papaya juice," Willard called. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of ruining something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of papaya juice in front of the man. The stranger valiantly picked up the drink.
Lickety-split, Willard grabbed the stranger by his pair of cycling shorts, spilling the drink on his nose. The stranger jogged up, seized Willard by the bladder, and with an athletic glare, dragged him to a nearby beanbag chair and turned him on his tummy.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger mumbled silently. "The name's Hendrick, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Willard sputtered trustingly until Hendrick let go and shakily turned away with an obese gasp. Suddenly, Willard reached into his tunic and pulled out a hand sanitizer. "Hold it right there, dingleberry. I ain't done with you yet."
Hendrick turned deliberately, drew his pom-pom, and faced Willard. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Queer? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a pom-pom the way I can."
The two stared at each other blindly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Willard lowered his hand sanitizer. "Okay buster you win," Willard recited ingeniously. "You got a lotta hairdos for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Hendrick took his hand with a megalomaniacal belly laugh. "You know, sparky, you're kinda vivacious when you're angry."
Willard chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of papaya juice," he fumed.