Smiling broadly, his eyes twinkling, Rafferty tightened his grip as if reluctant to break off the greeting. “I think we’ll probably become friends, Sean, so call me Mick. Besides, we’re in a pub and the ‘Mr.’ doesn’t seem to work.”

Sean was pleased at Rafferty’s friendliness toward him. We’re both Irish, he thought, so it’s natural he’d want to accept me. But then again, as busy as this place is today, he doesn’t have much choice if he feels like talking.

Moving about behind the bar, Rafferty continued to make himself look busy. Eventually, when Sean’s beer neared the end of its lifetime, the barkeep again wiped his hands with a towel and stood facing him.
“Ready for another?” he asked. “It’s on me this time and I’d advise a yes answer because it won’t happen very often.”
Nodding, Sean couldn’t hold back a smile. “One time is good enough for me,” he said. “At least it is today.”

After setting Sean’s second pint in front of him, Rafferty put both hands on the smooth wooden bar and looked into Sean’s eyes. “Seeing as how you’re an Irishman and a member of the queen’s bloody Royal Navy, I suppose you’re a damned Prod bastard, are you not?”
Taken aback by the question, Sean’s neck and face flushed pale pink as his temper shot up a notch.

“You’d be supposing wrong, Mr. Rafferty,” he replied. “Very, very wrong. I’ve a number of reasons for being here and among them is trying to get away from that sort of shit. Also, you’ll be better off knowing that one pint of Guinness won’t be enough to have me tell you my other reasons, either.”

Seeing and hearing Sean’s reaction caused Rafferty to throw his head back and break into a hearty laugh. “Hold on, hold on, lad. There’s no need to get riled. I was just probing the lay of the land. If you’ll dampen that fiery temper for a moment and think, it may happen that you’ll remember we both have the same employer. And in time, you may even realize we also have some of the same reasons, like hopes for better things.”