Saint Patrick – he was a con but not a leprechaun, in fact he lived and breathed being one. And with every treacherous act he had committed there came a valuable exchange – money. He kept all the coins he snatched from the day he learned to pilfer in an enormous coal-colored cauldron secreted inside his threadbare basement.
Routinely, he gathers all his coins out on his patio and scrubs them clean; this day wasn’t unlike any other. In the scorching heat, as the sun made his coins glint like diamonds, he had spotted another prey – a plump little girl about wee size. The child’s eyes and his met and he motioned his hands for the child to come near him. I’m sure this kid has at least a few dimes or quarters in her satchel, she seems to be well fed if I’m not mistaken, perhaps even a few dollar bills. The girl pranced towards him and with her bright blue eyes and lollipop smile she asked, “What is it, mister?” and Saint Patrick replied with poise, “Don’t you know me?” trying but failing to hide his devilish smile.
“I’m sorry,” she scoffed, shaking her head and staring at his all green ensemble.
“Don’t worry; a lot of people don’t know me, but I can let you in on my secret.”
“Secret?” she was more eager to learn who he truly was.
“Do you see those clovers over there?” he replied, pointing to a patch of clover leaves a few yards away as she nods, “Well, those are lucky four-leaved clovers and if you get one then you’ll be able to make four wishes.”
“Really? I don’t believe you and you didn’t even tell me who you were anyway.”
“Try it out yourself. I’m Saint Patrick by the way.”
“If this doesn’t work…” her bravado faded as she left her satchel on the patio floor and proceeded to the patch of clovers.
Imbeciles. Now on to my deed. He probed for some coins and found a couple of nickels and pennies. And as he touched the metallic surface of those coins he felt a connection with it but other than that he felt power. All these coins are mine, mine, and only mine! He cradled it like a baby on his sweaty palms. Disgruntled, the child dashes back. “Liar, liar, pants on fire!” failing to see the purloined coins, she fumed away, gripping tightly on her satchel. Hck, just pure imbeciles.
The child comes back, now with her mother just as infuriated as she was. No. Saint Patrick thought about the situation carefully, they have now found his stash of sinful coins and there’s no running away. The sweat dripped from his forehead more rapidly. No! These are my coins, mine! They can’t have it, no, I can’t allow it. And when he thought he ran out of thoughts, he fathomed one that was beyond his own measures. Now, where did I put my gun?