“Hey, Mitch, Long time no see.”

“Hi Henry. Yeah, it's been a while”

Henry gestured with an empty pint glass and raised eyebrow.

“Yeah. Thanks, Henry, I'll have the usual.”

Mitch undid his bow tie and unbuttoned the purple velvet vest he was wearing under the tuxedo jacket. He leaned heavily on the dark walnut bar, his head hanging tiredly above slumped shoulders. Mitch absent-mindedly rubbed his neck, working at a knot that had been there for at least the past three hours. After a moment he looked up, and finally glanced around the bar.

Empty. Mitch glanced at his watch, and noted the time. Well, it is 3 in the afternoon on a Sunday. Not time for the dinner crowd yet, I guess. Still... “Seems strange that the parking lot is full but you don't have any customers, Henry.”

“I thought you remembered, Mitch. The annual charity golf thing that Jack sponsors each year was today. Until you walked in, I thought you were there with the rest of them. They chartered a bus this year, so everybody parked here and then rode down together. Jack had a couple of kegs put on the bus just for the 4 mile drive down to the golf course. That's on top of the beer that he usually gets for the guys playing in the tournament, so if the chance to play golf on a pro course wasn't enough of an incentive...” Henry let his voice trail off as he finished topping off the pint of Guinness, placing the glass on the bar to settle.

Seeing a cold beer was enough to encourage Mitch to settle in. He threw the tuxedo jacket over the back of a neighboring barstool, and finally sat down.

Henry eyed the jacket, and the purple vest and matching tie, and just stood there smirking. After a few seconds, Mitch met his gaze and said, “Yeah, yeah, Hank. Go ahead and say it.”

“Nice monkey suit, Mitch. I'd say it's a bit fancy for a joint like this, but if you've got a hot date with some guy later-- or maybe you and the other Murph-tones have a gig playing at some bar mitzvah?”

“The purple is a bit much, isn't it?” He chuckled. It was a deep, warm sound that seemed to rumble in his barrel chest for a long second before bubbling up and out. He pulled the bow tie out of his collar and threw it down on the bar next to a stack of beer coasters. “I was at a wedding this morning. I'd rather have been golfing, I tell you, but I wasn't given a whole lot of input when it came time to pick a date.” Another chuckle. “Come to think of it, my brother wasn't given a whole lot of input either.”

“Which brother this time?” Henry asked.

“It was Seth. Finally got around to marrying that doctor of his,” Mitch said.

“Good for him. They've been dating forever it seems. Doc Kate is a nice chick, too”

“Kate would probably hit you if she heard you call her a chick. But yeah, you're right. I'm happy for them”

Henry turned to look at the door. Someone was standing briefly in the doorway, but then turned to go sit on the bar's patio. On of the bored waitresses pulled herself away from the conversation she was having to get the newcomer a menu and take their drink order. The cook and a couple of other bar staff still lingered at the door leading into the kitchen, though Mitch couldn't quite make out the words. Usual bar politics, I'm sure. Someone cutting out on their shifts or whatever other gossip.

Henry turned back to Mitch after the new customer seemed settled. “Honeymoon?” he asked.

“Costa Rica. Six weeks. They already left; I dropped them off at the airport on the way here.” Mitch said.

“So no reception, Huh?”

“We had a nice lunch. I think Seth and Kate really prefer it this way.”

Henry let loose a low whistle. “Still, six weeks? I wish I could take six weeks off.”

“Well, she is a doctor. And Seth is doing that computer thing, whatever it is. Six weeks off won't even dent their newly combined bank account, I'm guessing. They're going to have very spoiled children, I think”

“Maybe not so many as your folks,” Henry said. “Your poor mother. How many did she have?”

“Seven. All boys. And none of us are exactly small.”

Henry laughed at that. “You guys are a freaking offensive line. I've only met, what, four?”

“Let me think. Yeah. I've dragged in Seth & Kate a couple of times, and you've also met Tim, he's the oldest, and Steve and Johnny.”

“I think I mistook Tim for your Dad that one time.”

“Yep, he's a good 12 years older than me. I'm my mama's baby boy.”

“Why don't you drag them in more often?” Henry asked, flicking a dismissive hand toward the otherwise empty bar. “I could use the business.”

“Most of my family still lives up north. Boston, chunks of Ohio. Hell, a lot of it is still back in Ireland, or wherever my cousins live now. New Zealand, Canada, who knows. Dad keeps track of stuff like that, but I haven't seen any of my uncles in years.”

“I'd like to get all of you guys in here, just the one time. I bet you guys could really throw down.”

Mitch smiled. “Just my brothers and uncles would be 14 Connaughts. We'd drink all of your Guinness in about a half hour. And that's just the men; my grandmother will take down your single malts single-handedly.”

Henry looked stunned. He was doing the math. “You have six brothers,” he said.

“And my dad has six. There are a lot of us. We'd take up a whole village, somewhere, if we weren't all spread to hell and points west.” Mitch looked down, and surprised, noticed he had finished his first beer. Henry already had the next pint poured, and set the cloudy glass down next to its empty brother. “Good Man, Henry. Good Man.”

“Did any of the family make it into town for the wedding?”

“My folks, of course. Mom didn't feel well, so Dad took her back to the hotel so she could take a nap. We had 5 of the 7 make it, and we were the groomsmen. Johnny is in Iraq, couldn't make it. David is working for the CDC now, and I think he's in South America or something researching water borne illnesses or some such. Yeah, Seth and I were the two youngest, so we always were close. More like friends. He was my only ally down here, and now that he and Kate have finally hitched, it looks like it's just me.”

Mitch shrugged. could be worse, I guess, he thought. He took a long draw from the fresh glass of Guinness, and heard what had to be the golfers beginning to trickle in. “Looks like you're about to be busy now, Henry.”

“About time, really. Hey guys, who won?”

A chorus of voices answered, “Who cares?”

##

It was a couple of hours and five pints later, and Mitch picked up a menu to figure out what to eat for dinner, if anything, when he heard the shouting. He could just barely see through the open doorway leading out to the patio, but he could clearly hear the waitress was yelling. “If all you're going to do is sit there and drink water, then I'll just get you a pitcher. If you want something else, then you'll have to go order from the bar.” She was still talking to herself as she walked into the bar, but she was cooling off rapidly and Mitch could only catch about one word in five. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard the word cheapskate and also every ten minutes and if he wants to know the damn time he should get a watch. Mitch tried asking the waitress, Jenny, just what was up, but all she said was “That damn guy who came in at three, right after you. Still hasn't ordered a damn thing.” She was having trouble getting a hold of herself, and Mitch didn't want to aggravate the situation any further if he didn't have to.

He leaned forward in his seat, but all he could see was shadows and empty tables.

Mitch tossed the menu aside. “What, no dinner, Mitch?” Henry asked.

“Nah. I've eaten here too often this past week. Nothing looks good tonight.” Mitch began to get his stuff together, putting on the tuxedo jacket and stuffing the bow tie into a pocket.

“See you Tuesday, Mitch?”

“Yeah Henry, Tuesday”

He quickly settled the tab and started walking to his car. Mitch had parked a few blocks away because of the golfers in the parking lot, but it wasn't that long of a hike. As he got to the corner and turned to walk down the cross street to his waiting Volvo, he felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder, followed immediately by a dull, growing coldness. He twisted and tried to reach whatever it was, but withdrew a bit when his hand encountered a sticky wetness.

Red. Blood. Shit, Mitch thought, I guess I'm not getting the deposit back on this tux.

##
Busted Seventh: a novel experiment
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