D-Mac was caught by surprise when two very well dressed European looking gents approached him, tapped on his decking with a nasty looking umbrella and asked in a foreign accent if ‘eez bort four eye’r?’ D-mac didn’t care because once again he was lured away from rational thought with the thought of CASH! This was his weakness and he was proud of it. He boasted quite regularly at the local hotel once he was as full as a goog that he would do anything for cash. The whole town knew it. And in most cases if things got done or trashed the local police went straight to D-Mac first because of his artful boastings while under the influence of anything with bubbles in a pub.
‘Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t?’ said D-Mac trying to untangle a rope poorly that held the anchor in place whilst docked and trying not to appear too keen for the cash.
‘Wee av Kesh,’ said this strange accented man.
‘Well then it appears that I have been hired by two devilishly handsome men from....er where did you say you guys were from?’
At the same time these two men said two completely different names. One said Turkey, the other one said Egypt. So it sounded like Turgyptey. Then they both looked at each and pretty much hit each in the arms at the same time because they said the wrong place.
D-Mac wasn’t the sharpest bowling ball in the bowling alley but he picked up that these two guys could be trusted because they had cash. So while these two men drank from small flasks that they had in their long black overcoats, D-Mac drew up the agreement for the hiring of his time; that is, he took 500 dollars a man for the hire of his bort. Satisfied the money was of legal tender he dropped it into a bottle with a weight and then into a crab pot with one of the biggest crabs he had ever potted from the Loch. It was as big as a rubbish bin lid and just as ugly, just so the guys didn’t get restless and want their money back. D-Mac was a crafty businessman when he had to be. They would have to be on drugs, drunk or be wearing a metal glove if they tried to get the money back while that crab sat on it. Now to what the boys were after.
‘Duz dis bort av nuts,’ said one of the guys who D-Mac called Sorehead, actually his name was Surhad but to him it sounded like Sorehead, so Sorehead it was.
‘Yes my esteemed brown skinned boss,’ with all the dignity he could muster from his black salty fish gutted heart.
‘Duz dis bort gor vust?’ said the other guy who D-mac called Verandah. Actually this guy’s name was Varandaha but once again D-Mac took it frenetically and it sounded like Verandah, so Verandah it was.
‘Yes matey she will have you hanging on to your lunch, your life, your balls and all the gold in Tim Buck McTwo,’ said D-mac dribbling with excitement as he had never gotten more than 5 knots out of the thing before in his life.
The two looked at each and once again swigged some more fluid from the coat flasks and laughed....badly. They tilted their heads back and then at the same time stopped and snapped them forward and said together, ‘Gut dis bort seewood.’
‘No problem there, you guys just sit back and relax.’
It was while he was undoing the ropes from the pier he heard Sorehead yell out in gut wrenching agony loudly ...‘Dat fut uglee Fugging see fugging monsta nearly fugging took my fugging hand fugging!!!!’
D-Mac figured they were trying to sneak back a refund from Gotcha the crab from the Loch ...unsuccessfully too I might add. D-Mac started the old fishing boat laughing to himself and it groaned into life and slowly plodded its way out into the Loch.
All that D-Mac knew was he had a cash job and Gotcha was sitting on all of it.