The Devil's Pet

Chapter 12

Tuesday June 23, 2008

Maybe it wasn’t the proper choice after having visited with an angel of God, but Sean stopped in at Mack’s bar for a drink on the way home from St. Anthony’s Bingo anyway. It was only Nine O’clock and all he’d do at home is sit alone and stew in his thoughts.

Although he never shied from social drinking, since the night of the attack he found himself wanting to drink more often, and not just more but each successive day he began drinking earlier than the one before. Why not? Sam said he risked death by telling anyone about his plight and even if he did the whole thing was so unbelievable he was sure no one would buy it anyway. If he had to stew silently he might as well have a strong sauce. Besides, Sam sure liked it and he was shaping up to be the most important figure in Sean’s new life.

Tuesday night was mostly empty at Mack’s. Sean hadn’t been there for a few years but noticed Kirk was still bartending. It was hard not to remember him since he was wider than a barn door, not fat but sturdy, as might be expected from looking at him he was the local arm wrestling champion. One more reason to be remembered was his long, well-cared for black hair laid across his shoulders. He was gifted with velvety smooth thick flowing hair that would make a model jealous. Sean remembered more than one woman commenting on his beautiful hair. Kirk seemed to appreciate the compliments.

Funny how none of the men made comments about Kirk’s hair, not in front of him anyway. He may have had model quality flowing hair and a handsome face but Kirk was a young man built like a brick wall with a reputation for possessing a quick temper. No one thought that poking fun at him was worth the consequences.

Kirk recognized him and struck up a conversation but he was polite and only briefly touched on Sean’s recent popularity with the news media. He appreciated Kirk’s respect for his privacy and tipped him well. Two other people occupied the opposite end of the bar so Kirk spent his time shuttling back and forth making sure to give Sean a wide berth only coming by if he needed a refill on his beer.

After a while the inevitable happened and he left for the bathroom. Upon returning, Sam was seated on the bar stool next to his looking impatient. He was dressed in the same black outfit as each time before. Sean sat down and was about to ask why he was there when Sam began talking,

“Can you believe that cunt had the audacity to try and go around me? The prick I knew would contact you, but her? Boy, they’re pulling out all the stops now. I bet she was all apple pie and cream to you, did she offer you a blowjob? I bet not, what fucking good is she anyway?”

Then Sam looked into Sean’s eyes and asked, “Well, what did she talk to you about, for that matter what did The Prick say to you?”

Sam’s question was an unexpected development, the priest had told him their conversations would be private, that Sam wouldn’t know. This proved to be a half-truth. Sam didn’t know what was said, but he did know they had talked. The Priest neglected to mention that tidbit of information providing Sean with yet one more reason to question their motives.

Now he was left on the hook for an answer to the increasingly impatient vessel of Satan sitting next to him. His mind conjured up images of being vaporized in a fit of anger. He had to say something, but what? Unbelievable situations like this were happening almost daily to Sean, so in order to maintain some semblance of sanity he had taken to joking about it to himself. Because of that he decided that being cavalier was the best approach right now so he said,

“Hey I’m just the goldfish here, if you piranha’s want to send messages back and forth you’ll have to do it with each other and not through me. If you’re not allowed to talk directly then I suggest learning Morse code.”