Whiskey in the Jar-O

As I was going over the Cork and Kerry mountains, I saw Captain Farrell. He was smoking his pipe, his purse full of coins hanging off his belt. My eyes glittering, I went up to him, and said, "Good morning, Captain, fancy meeting you here."

"Molly," he said, looking me square in the bosom, "I didn't expect to see you here, and so early. What brings you out today?"

"Me," I said, "I'm just carrying some whiskey home to my Daddy-O," I showed him the gallon jug of whiskey, "would you like a sip to get you started for the day, Captain?" I batted my eyes at him.

"He makes YOU carry that gallon jug while he loafs 'round," Captain Farrell's eyebrows shot up, as he took the jug from me and helped himself to a swig of whiskey, "'tis a real oaf you got there, Molly."

"Don't I know it, Captain Farrell," I said, taking the jug back, "fancies himself a highway man. Robbing from the rich to give to the poor and all that. But really all he does is laze about and not look for work."

"You oughta get rid of him, Molly," Captain Farrell said, "get yourself a proper man," again, he looked me square in the bosom.

"But he gets cross something awful every time I throw him out," I complained, "downright angry, " I took the Captain's arm, "walk me home, Captain, I've an idea how to get rid of him for good, but I need your help. I can't do it alone, see." I batted my eyes at him and leaned in close.

The idea I had was for my would-be highwayman of a Daddy-O to come upon Captain Farrell counting his money, steal it, and then come home to me. Thinking he got away with this theft, Daddy-O would get drunk to celebrate, and when he was good and drunk, Captain Farrell would burst into the house and kill him for the theft, thereby getting rid of him FOR ME. And then, I explained to Captain Farrell, I would be free to take a new fellow. And since Captain Farrell had gotten rid of Daddy-O for me, it would only be natural that HE SHOULD be that new fellow. Captain Farrell liked this plan, and why wouldn't he. It got him my bosom that he'd been staring at the whole way home.

I arrived at home and plopped the jug of whiskey on the table. "Guess who I saw," I told Daddy-O, who was just then coming awake, having smelled whiskey.

"Seamus O'Rourke," he guessed, "fat as anything and headed to breakfast somewhere."

"No," I laughed, "that tub of lard is probably on his third lunch by now. I saw Captain Farrell, with a fat purse hanging off his belt. Headed for the Cork & Kerry mountains he was. Get up, Daddy-O, he was alone."

"Alone, you say?" He got up, his eyes glittering, grabbed for the whiskey on the table, took a big swig, and said, "all right, goddamn it, that fat purse of his will be mine. Ours." He went to piss, came out doing up his belt, got his rapier and his pistol, hung them off his belt, said, "Kiss me for luck, Molly," which I of course did, and stormed out the door like a man going off to war.

I sat down, meanwhile, and fixed myself a cup of whiskey tea. I knew this couldn't go wrong. I wasn't there to see, but I could picture it in my mind. I imagined Daddy-O finding Captain Farrell where I said he would be, charging up to him and saying, "Stand and deliver, for I am a bold deceiver," producing his pistol and then the rapier, taking the Captain's fat purse, and making away with it.

Soon enough, Daddy-O came rolling home, the Captain's fat purse in his hot little hands. "Molly," he called to me, barring the door behind him, "Molly, we're rich, d'you hear me!"

"I hear you, Daddy-O," I said, standing in the bedroom door wearing only my corset. "There's whiskey in the jar. Bring it and come show me." He strode, with that and the Captain's purse, into the bedroom.

"Come on, girl," he said, "I want to pour all these coins down your bodice," he laughed. In the bedroom, he did just that, poured all the coins down my bodice, and it felt glorious. Then I opened the whiskey and held it to his mouth while he tilted his head back and drank.

"My big, brave highwayman," I cooed in his ear, groping his member through his trousers, "tell me how you got the money from corrupt old Captain Farrell." I opened his shirt and started to kiss his chest while he told me how he overpowered the Captain in the mountains. I fed him more whiskey, removed his belt, keeping the pistol and the rapier on my side of the bed, and made love with him one last time to make sure he was good and sleepy. Then when he was in a good stupor, Captain Farrell came crashing in.

"Thief!" The Captain shouted, "I know you're in here! Show yourself."

"Daddy-O," I nudged him out of his stupor, "Captain Farrell is here."

"Huh?" He looked at me with glazed-over eyes.

Just then the Captain came crashing into our very bedchamber.

"Here, quick, take this," I put the pistol into Daddy-O's hand, my own hand helping him to hold it. As the Captain was about to pull his own pistol and kill Daddy-O, like the Captain and I had planned, Daddy-O, with my help, fired on and killed the Captain, like I, unbeknownst to either of them, had planned all along. I then took my hand off Daddy-O's and left him in his stupor holding the pistol, with Captain Farrell dead and bleeding all over the floor.

The coins I scooped up and replaced in the Captain's purse, and the purse I hid in my closet.

The Constable arrived to find me naked in bed, screaming.

"Mother of Christ," the Constable muttered, "what the hell happened here?"

"There's whiskey," Daddy-O muttered.

"He shot Captain Farrell," I sobbed.

"What?" The Constable looked ossified.

"He's drunk," I said, "he's always drunk. All I know is one minute we were in here, having sport, and then Captain Farrell came charging in shouting that he's a thief. And then he shot the Captain."

"I shot the Captain," Daddy-O muttered, "and whiskey in the jar."

"Sounds like a confession to me," the Constable decided, grabbing Daddy-o up out of the bed, "Molly, will you testify before the Magistrate?"

"Of course, Constable. And Constable," I said, "make sure you take his pistol and rapier out of this house. I know he didn't use the rapier to kill Captain Farrell, but I don't want it in my house, it's dangerous."

"I'll take it, Molly. A lady shouldn't have that laying around the house. It's dangerous, you might cut yourself."

After the Constable left with Daddy-o and his pistol and rapier, the undertaker came for Captain Farrell. When they had all gone, I poured a tumbler of whiskey and sat down on the bedroom floor to count the late Captain Farrell's coins. 'Twas a pretty penny, indeed.