Could-a been the whisky, might-a been the gin

Could-a been the three or four six packs, I don't know

But won't you look at the mess I'm in

A head like a football, I think I'm going to die

But tell me, a-me oh, me oh my

Wasn't that a party

Someone had a grapefruit, wore it like a hat

I saw someone under my kitchen table, talking to an old tomcat

He were talking about football

The cat was talking back

Along about then everything went black

Wasn't that a party - Tom Paxton

The call of the chamber pot woke me and holy crap did I feel like crap. SinfulClaire was draped over me in the sticky summer heat. My body stuck to the sheets in a manner that told me we’d had a lot of fun last night.

But I needed that chamber pot and I needed it now. I didn’t slip out of bed. I merely pushed her to the side while I rolled to my feet and went to visit the chamber pot. With my bladder regulated once again to its unobtrusive role as an internal organ, I found the washing bowl, filled it from the pitcher, and cleaned my face.

I pulled on my trousers and made my way downstairs. It was time for a coffee, cigarette and a quick cold shower. Cook was actually in the kitchen this time and I requested a cup of coffee be delivered to the porch, then headed out to the tent and the shower within.

There was enough water left in the delivery system that I didn’t need to pump. After a quick clean-off, I was on the porch in my reluctant rocker enjoying a coffee and a cigarette in the morning sunlight. Well, that enjoyment didn’t come easy, so I decided I need some hair of the dog to ease the morning pain a bit. I went inside and behind the bar, to see what I could find.

My idea was simple: hair of the dog, a decent breakfast, and a long nap was all it would take to make me right with the world again. Thankfully, I found a bottle of Byrne’s Bourbon. That would work perfectly for my plan. Yeah, right. The best laid plans of mice and men and all that.

The cook caught me; she wanted a word. Well, this could only head in one direction, but that wasn’t necessarily bad. Either I was in down here in St. Charles, or I was out and this was part of being in. If it was cheap, as expected, then I was in. I told her to grab a pot of coffee and join me on the porch. I took the bourbon with me.

We took our seats at the small table on the porch. I added a serving of whiskey to my coffee cup before I let her pour. She accepted my offered dram and then filled our coffee cups to finish the mixture. It was tasty and right on time. I knew this had to do with worries of job security and money somehow, so I reached into my pocket to see what I had. Times had been hard around here and I doubted that she had been adequately paid yet. I understood hard times and knew how build loyalty.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

On the other hand, her heavy Irish brogue was a bit difficult to fully understand. I assumed it was worsened due to the stress of the conversation. So I kicked things off.

“I assume you’ve not been paid yet,” I casually said as I placed two dollar coins down in front of her. The look of relief on her face was instantaneous.

“I also assume we need better supplies,” I counted out three more dollars. That was now five weeks wages setting in front of her.

“Well, yes sir,” she replied.

I took the lead again, “Now I also assume you have a husband at home who hasn’t had work in months.”

Immediate embarrassment.

“I also expect you are behind on your rent.” That poor woman was shrinking in her chair.

I pushed her drink toward her and said, “Drink up. Then run and fetch your man.”

With that, I lit a cigarette and drank my coffee. I was rolling the dice again and hoped it worked out. These tiny expenditures were getting out of control and I needed to bring something to market soon. My mind drifted back to patents and I contemplated the idea of getting up to the patent office before winter set in. It would mean a boat ride down to New Orleans and a ship round and up the coast, yet it might be a journey well worth the making. I needed a talk with the Banker soon. We'd need a structure to support what I was about to try to pull off.

Before I knew it Cook was back with a fresh pot of coffee and a reluctant Irish fellow in tow. Obviously, this was her husband. It was best to keep this man-to-man, so I sent her to wake the house and start breakfast. Once she was gone, I looked the stout, curly-haired man in the eye and asked him his name.

“Most folks just call me ‘Mick’ or ‘You,’” was his gruff reply.

“So should I just call you ‘Mr. You’?” was my smiling retort.

That shit made him laugh, “Nah, Mr. Narrator, you can just call me Mickey. It’s what me mates called me.”

“Call me Zach.” I chuckled.

“Now, I need you to watch over this place and your good wife tells me that you are well-suited. Tell me what you’ve done and can you handle yourself in a fight?” Yeah, a different type of job interview but ya gotta roll with the times.

“Well, now sir, it’s pretty simple you see. I was just a lad from the town of Kilkee in Clare on the coast there. My family was the land-working sort. I was mostly doing anything to get by: peat work, shearing the sheep and odd jobs, ya know.

“It come to pass that me and the lads decided to go up to Ennis town to have a bit of a tear up. We had a little extra in our pockets and thought we’d go look at the girls. We was just having some innocent fun when some local lads took exception to us dancing with the girls. Next thing ya know there was trouble.

“Me friend Colin got jumped by a couple of them, so I helped him a little. I used what I could find to hand to convince those boys to leave him alone. I think I convinced them a little too hard. Them red coats tossed me into the town gaol and was talking about the noose.”

“That didn’t last long. Seems the King's Navy came round and scooped me up. I ended up on a sloop with a fifteen year call. I decided that the drink wasn’t going to help me so I straightened up and was doing right well, until some Frenchie gunner decided I need a little chain shot on me left leg while I was aloft and shortening sail. There was a bit of prize money from that fight and it was enough to get me and me girl here. Now here I sit.”

I thought that was a heck of a story and I’m sure there was a lot more to hear, but it was enough for a start. Besides, I had the last of hangover to deal with and still needed something to eat.