Big Bad

Riled Up

Fr. Charles, Mr. McDermott, and Mr. O'Connor sat together at a table at Terry's Pub towards the end of Main Street in Belford. The interior of the pub had a northeastern nautical theme with dark wood accents. The building sat on the edge of the boardwalk and outside the windows the colors of the sunset were visible painted over the horizon line of the water.

In one corner away from the wooden tables and pushed almost against the windows was a small wooden foosball table which Mr. Sullivan, who ran the bait shop, drooled over with Mr. Lombardi in his particularly inebriated state.

Fr. Charles was never very fond of the pub or the Hedonism that he saw it breed around his town, but Mr. O'Connor liked to meet there after their meetings. Fr. Charles greatly respected Mr. O'Connor and for that as well as the need to get out more he allowed himself to be lured out of his Church.

In front of Fr. Charles on his placemat was a foaming mug of beer that Mr. O'Connor had always purchased for him and he always neglected to drink. Fr. Charles had no problem with alcohol in moderation, of course he was a Catholic and wine was central to the Catholic rite, but such a substance had so much opportunity to be abused that he often avoided it himself aside from a glass once and a while with dinner.

"How's your wife, Duncan?" Mr. O'Connor asked Mr. McDermott.

"She's alright, been nagging me about trying to maximize profits at the Bakery... I suppose I ought to expect that though."

"Ain't that the truth," Mr. O'Connor joked.

"How's Damien faring, Jack?"

Mr. O'Connor shook his head to himself with a pitiful kind of smile.

"I swear, he'd lose his head if it wasn't screwed on for him!" The man's smile broadened to a grin. "You know I think he's nearly got himself, maybe she'll knock some sense into him?"

"Oh yeah?" Mr. McDermott raised an eyebrow. "Who's that?"

"Don't look at me like that! My boy may not be a scholar like Fr. Charles', but he's as good looking as his father was back in the day."

"I know, that's why I was confused as to how he managed to find himself a girlfriend," Mr. O'Connor shrugged.

"Oh, you're a real jokester. He's been hanging out with that Goodwin girl. Looks just like her mother did back in the day, you remember how pretty Mrs. Goodwin was, don't you Chuck?" Mr. O'Connor asked, turning to Fr. Charles with a smirk.

"He ought to!" Mr. McDermott called. "He dated her!"

"That was years and years ago," Fr. Charles lifted a hand to dismiss the thought. "And I certainly don't take stock in her appearance anymore."

"I know that, Father, but she still was quite the catch you let go. I always figured she would've married you if you hadn't..."

"I'm married to my work," Fr. Charles shrugged with a frown. "I never meant to hurt her, and I hope you're wrong about that... If not, I'm awfully sorry about it."

"Oh no, she's got herself a nice husband... when he's home," Mr. O'Connor frowned to himself. "Didn't mean to upset you, Chuck."

"How's Kit been? I saw him the other day walking past my bakery, he looked a little lost in thought, though I suppose he always does," Mr. McDermott asked.

"He's doing very well. Good grades... I think he's on track to be the Valedictorian, but of course I expect nothing less from him," Fr. Charles nodded.

"Yes, Kit! That's what I wanted to talk to you lot about," Mr. O'Connor remembered. "You remember those vagrants we saw hanging outside the church, the ones you thought might be looking for Kit?"