An online novel by Gillette Edmunds

Michael took four aspirin and found his way down the bleary hall and stairs to the lobby. The light was astoundingly bright. He squinted his way to the gift shop. They had a purple Italian liquid with Pepto in the name. He put two bottles in his suit pocket, and stepped into the lobby with the third. His back to the glass wall, he opened the little metal top, and chugged a bottle. He worked his way to the dining room and sat down.

He ate three eggs, a stack of ham slices, a stream of American coffee, and all the bread on the table. Capt. Hardwood sat across from him and watched him eat. Michael had all the serving plates ringing his place.

“You eat like a farm boy,” Hardwood said. “I knew a lot of farm boys in the Navy. Skinny just like you and they could eat just like you.”

“I’m hungry,” Michael said.

“Just what they used to say. Hungry. Kind of grunt it out. Supposed to explain everything. Of course you’re Irish too. Eat like a pig, drink like a fish, never gain weight, except the women.”

“My father was Irish,” Michael said. “I am not. I am not a farm boy either. I grew up in an upper middle-class neighborhood of Tucson. I have never been to Ireland and I do not have any interest in going there.”

“Got a hellava headache, don’t ya?” Hardwood laughed.

Hardwood was a massive man, about six feet five and more than two hundred and fifty pounds. His arms and legs were relatively skinny for his size. His weight came from a large, round stomach he let hang over his belt. He had a long face with crew-cut gray hair on top and a droopy jowl on the bottom. His large, round eyes always had saggy skin below. He was a light eater but a continuous drinker and he had experience at ordering men to physical labor while he watched relaxing. His friends claimed he had an unlimited drinking capacity and never got a hangover. He never made such a statement himself.