He had just finished his second bowl of tobacco and was in the process of debating whether or not to load another when a familiar-looking lorry backed onto the docks and pulled over to the slips by the commercial tugs. Doing his best to ignore the arthritic pains that throbbed in his joints, the grizzled fisherman climbed off his boat and proceeded over to the parked lorry.
Much to his utter surprise and delight, he spotted Sean sitting in the truck’s passenger seat. Before he could call out to his son. Dr. Blackwater greeted Liam. Pulling him off to one side, the physician explained what they were doing down here.
Ever mindful of the interest of the United States Navy, Dr. Blackwater was preparing to convey Liam’s treasure over to Port Glasgow. Needless to say, Liam was thrilled with this news, for soon he’d have his anticipated reward.
Just as exciting was the fact that Sean was already on his feet. Though his shoulder was still bandaged, the lad didn’t seem any worse for wear as he super283 vised the unloading of the pallet the piece of the satellite was chained to. Tightly covered by a full-length black tarp, the pallet was lifted onto the deck of an oceangoing tug. Throughout this entire process. Dr.
Blackwater, Sean, and a funny-looking stranger with an eyepatch and a ponytail were extremely attentive.
Once, when the winch they were using slipped, Dr.
Blackwater ran out to steady the rocking pallet, which was eventually loaded into the tug without further incident.
Liam watched this operation intently. Sean was so busy that he only had time to give his father a curt hello before returning to work. Hopeful that they’d get to spend some time together once the satellite was returned to its proper owners, Liam looked on as Sean, Dr. Blackwater, and the one-eyed stranger climbed onto the tug. This stranger must have been the vessel’s pilot, for he proceeded to climb up into the wheelhouse and start its diesel engine.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go along?”
Liam shouted from the pier.
“I’m certain you can keep plenty busy thinking up ways to spend your reward money, Liam,” replied the physician.
“See you soon!”
With this, the lines holding the tug to the pier were released, and the boat steamed out into the harbor with a resonant blast of its air horn.
Liam was torn between returning home to inform Annie of how splendidly Sean was getting along, and going to the Rose-and-Thistle to celebrate. After the briefest of deliberations, he chose the latter.
Eamon McGilligan, the bearded owner of the pub, was outside, taping the afternoon’s lunch selection to the window, when Liam came sauntering down the sidewalk.
“Eamon, old friend… how are you doing on this splendid spring morning?” asked the fisherman.
The potbellied bartender had to do a double-take to properly identify the speaker of these upbeat words.
“My heavens, Liam, you’ve been hitting the Guinness already at my competitor’s, and it’s not even noon yet.”
“Whatever makes you say such a thing, Eamon?
Why, I’m as sober as a judge. Though I intend to change that as soon as humanly possible.”
“I haven’t seen you this cheerful so early in the day since your long shot came in first in the Derby. And that was three years ago. Don’t tell me that you’ve gone and won the lottery!”
“In a matter of speaking, Eamon. Now, is there anyone inside to serve me a pint, or am I going to have to perish from thirst?”
“I’ll be in shortly, Liam. Meanwhile, Billy Kelly arid Henry Morrison are inside, and I’m sure they’ll be able to keep you occupied until I get my menus taped up. Kitty’s gone and cooked up a fresh pot of corned beef and cabbage. And I can personally attest to its excellence.”
“Perhaps in a wee bit, Eamon,” replied the jolly fisherman as he strode through the pub’s double doors.
It was dark inside, and the room smelled of cabbage and cigarettes. Perched at their usual places at the bar were his two weathered associates. Liam climbed onto a stool beside them as Henry Morrison was in the midst of one of his infamous stories.
“… Why, I heard it from the lips of Roddy O’Neill himself. He saw it come out of the water with his very own eyes. And then he looked on in amazement as a group of seaman climbed out of a hatch and scurried over to the propeller shaft to cut them free. Before Roddy could go and call the Coast
Guard, they succeeded in their efforts, and the thing sank back down into the black depths from which it had come. And there was old Roddy, awestruck at his helm, and out his best net to boot.
“I tell you, it’s an insult to the Republic to have such a thing happen in our own territorial waters.
And it’s not only the Brits who are responsible, but the Yanks and the commies as well. What do you think about those damned submarines that have been fouling our nets recently, Liam?”
Liam waited until he was finished packing his pipe with tobacco before voicing himself.
“Personally, Henry, I think it’s all balderdash. What in the world would a submarine be doing in Ireland’s waters? We don’t have any sensitive military installations to speak of, and there’s plenty of places more important for them to go poking their noses in. If you ask me, old Roddy just made up the story to explain to his wife how he went and lost his new net. We all know the real reason was because he drank too much of that poteen that he’s so famous for.”
“I beg to differ with you, Liam Lafferty,” countered the storyteller with a shake of his bald head.
“I say it’s submarines, and if we don’t do something about them soon, none of us will be able to make a decent living anymore. Why, even as we speak, there’s those supposed American naval exercises going on off our coast. And now they say we’ll be arrested just for fishing there.”
“First it’s chemicals falling out of the heavens, and now it’s submarines coming up out of the depths, and naval exercises. If it’s getting so dangerous out there, why do you even bother going out to sea anymore, Henry?” queried Liam as he put a match to his pipe.
The bald fisherman finished off his pint before answering.
“Liam Lafferty, I’m ashamed at you for even asking such a question. You know that danger doesn’t mean a thing to me. I love the sea, just like you and Billy do, and I’ll keep working her till my dying day.”
Billy Kelly could sense an argument brewing, and he did his best to change the subject.
“Whatever are you doing gracing us with your presence this early in the afternoon, Liam? I thought you were going to properly overhaul that carburetor of yours today.”
Tempted to tell his friends the real reason behind his decision to stop at the pub, Liam decided to wait until the Doc was back with the reward.
“My bones were hurting something fierce, Billy, and I thought that a little Guinness would be just the tonic to take away the pain. But now I’m beginning to wonder if they even serve the stuff in here anymore.”
Just then Eamon McGilligan slipped behind the bar and got to work preparing three pints.
“And make sure to make ‘em good ones, Eamon,” warned Liam, who supervised the bartender’s efforts as carefully as if Eamon was a bank teller counting out his change.
It took several minutes for the creamy head of the stout to settle so that the bartender was able to fill the pint glasses as full as possible. Satisfied that Eamon did his job properly, Liam held up his glass before him.
“Here’s to old friends and full pints,” he toasted.
He appreciatively sipped the rich Guinness and added, “You know I was just wondering, gents, if you fellows were really to hit it big, like a lottery jackpot or something of the sort, how would you go about spending the money?”
Billy Kelly was the first to respond.
“That’s a very interesting question, Liam. If such a godsend were to come my way, I’d buy me a big estate down south in County Cork, and raise thoroughbreds for suckers like you fellows to bet on. And then I’d travel to Kentucky each and every spring to replenish my stock, and stop off at Broadway and Hollywood along the way.”