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“I don’t know that one.”
“Me either.”
Zev began to sing “Twist and Shout”. Badly.
Dermot rolled his eyes. They were in Ireland, for God’s sake. You were supposed to be able to hold your goddamn liquor.
They marched through the woods for a few more minutes, Zev singing the entire time. Dermot was just about to bash him over the head with the lantern, bury him in a shallow grave, and turn him into another Irish myth when he heard a rustling from the trees.
“Shhhh!” he said.
Zev and Greg fell silent.
The three men stood there, listening.
Nothing.
“False alarm,” Dermot said. Zev resumed his singing…and the rustling started again. Dermot waved his hand for silence. As soon as Zev shut up, the rustling stopped.
Greg walked over to the source of the rustling and peeked through the leaves and branches. “I can’t see if there’s anything in there or not.”
“Sing some more,” Dermot told Zev
.
Zev resumed his abysmal rendition of “Twist and Shout”. Moments later, something burst out of the shrubs and danced in the path in front of them.
A little green man, only three feet tall. Dressed entirely in green, with a red beard, a pipe, and a hat. He danced around in time with Zev’s singing.
“Keep singing!” Dermot ordered.
The leprechaun, if this truly was a leprechaun, continued dancing around.
Dermot crept forward, waving for Greg to stay where he was. The lawyer nodded and watched the leprechaun in amazement.
If the legends were true, and at this point there was no damn reason to believe that they weren’t, he could capture the leprechaun by holding his gaze. He kept moving closer and closer, watching the little green man happily dance around, trying to catch his eye.
The leprechaun made eye contact.
Dermot didn’t look away.
The leprechaun stopped dancing and stared at him.
“I’ve got him!” said Dermot, forcing himself to hold the leprechaun’s stare. “Everybody stay cool!” He took a few more steps forward and crouched down, putting himself nearly nose-to-nose with the creature. “Are you a leprechaun?” he asked.
The little green man laughed at him. “Well, of course I’m a leprechaun! What did ye think I was, a unicorn?”
“Then I demand that you take us to your gold.”
The leprechaun looked pained. “Me gold? Now, what would a fancy lad such as ye be needin’ with me gold?”
Dermot realized that the other two men were moving closer, but didn’t dare break eye contact to tell them to scram. “You must take us to your gold.”
The leprechaun nodded, sadly. “Aye, lad, I must. Unless ye wish to strike a bargain.”
“No bargains.”
“Well, aren’t ye an impatient one? Perhaps ye should listen to the offer before ye get all huffy about me gold. There are few things finer than gold, save but for a nice pair o’ shoes…and, perhaps, wishes?”
