Finders Keepers

At the end of the rainbow Claire found a pot of gold. It should’ve surprised her more, she thought later, but at the time she just knelt down in the mud, sifting through the coins. The pot looked like it belonged on a box of Lucky Charms.

She glanced around suspiciously, but she was alone. After a moment’s hesitation, she unzipped her backpack, dumped out its contents, and loaded it up with gold. Then Claire left for home, treasure in tow.

“Quick hike,” said her roommate.

“I forgot I had something to do,” Claire said evasively and shut herself in her room to examine the gold. She bit one coin because she’d seen it done in movies, but she didn’t actually know what was supposed to happen when you bite into real gold, so she put the bitten coin aside.

She didn’t know what else to do, so she went to a bank. She walked up to a teller and said she needed a gold expert.

To his credit he didn’t laugh. He brought her to his office and she shoved the bag towards him. “Is this real?”

The teller, Harold, eyed one coin with pursed lips.. “May I ask how you came by this gold?”

“I inherited it,” she lied. “From my … godfather.”

“Such unusual markings. Let me run some tests.” He left the room with the bag, returning several minutes later.

“So is it?” She asked.

“Oh, yes,” said Harold. “Very. I’d value it at about $20,000.”

Her jaw dropped. She asked him to repeat himself and he did.

“We can put it in a safe deposit box for you, if you like.”

“Sure,” Claire said, dazed. “Can I … exchange for dollars?”

“Certainly,” he said. “I can have it ready tomorrow. How does that sound?”

Like a fairytale, Claire thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

—

At the end of the rainbow Louie found a pot that once held gold but no longer did. He searched frantically for the coins he knew should’ve been there but it was futile. He sucked in deep breaths to calm himself. It didn’t work.

He didn’t want to call Scottie. He stared at his cellphone with immeasurable dread, wrestling with himself for a few minutes before dialing.

“What is it?” Scottie asked. From the background noise Louie could tell Scottie was watching the races. Louie hoped Last Hope was winning. He had a good sum of money on her. Part of that money was missing.

“I need an extension.”

“What for? You pinged us for the drop. Paddy’s heading to the beacon now.”

Louie twisted his fingers in his beard anxiously. “So here’s the thing. The money’s gone.”

Scottie went silent. The tinny sounds of cheering continued. “What happened?”

“It’s not my fault!”

“Louie,” said Scottie in a misleadingly calm voice, “I don’t care whose fault it is. You still owe, and you still owe now.”

“I just need a few more weeks,” Louie begged.

“No.”

“Days?”

The cheering abruptly stopped.

“Who won?” Louie asked.

“Not you,” Scottie said. “Looks like your tab just got a little bigger. Find that money, Louie. You’ve got one day — not a second more.” He hung up.

Louie put his phone down. “This is why you don’t drink,” he told a nearby earthworm shakily.

If only he hadn’t gone to the pub instead of babysitting the gold. He’d pinged Scottie early for the exchange, watching the cauldron sprout its rainbow. Then, feeling confident the drop point was secure, he went down to Brady’s for a pint.

He allowed himself a small pity party before turning back to the scene of the crime, noticing the scattered trash nearby.

“Gold doesn’t just walk off,” he said, “but humans do.”

He sifted through to find a tiny black notebook. In the front was exactly what he’d hoped to find: a name and address.

“Aha,” said Louie. He grinned. “Gotcha.”

—

In her room, Claire daydreamed of all the things $20,000 could buy. She could travel or buy a house. She could leave her dead-end waitressing job to focus on writing. She was twenty-four and the possibilities were endless.

She looked for her little notebook to brainstorm what she’d do with her windfall, but couldn’t find it anywhere. She was rummaging through her bag when she heard a small pop near her right ear.

She jerked her head up to come face to face with a small man. He had a bulbous nose with very visible pores, a patchy red beard, and faded green corduroy jacket.

“Are you Claire?”

Claire’s mouth moved but no words came out.

“You have something that belongs to me,” said the man in a thick Boston accent. Standing upright he was a few inches taller than Claire, but Claire was currently kneeling. He held a familiar notebook in his hand.

“You have my notebook!” She blurted.

“You have my gold.”

She froze. “You’re in my house. I could scream. My roommate would hear me.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

She scrambled to her feet and reached for the door, but before she could grasp the knob she heard a soft swooshing sound and suddenly found herself on her back with the air knocked out of her. The little man loomed above her, a lime green aura surrounding his free hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” Claire gasped for breath. “How did you do that?”

“Unlike humans we were blessed with magic,” said the leprechaun. “Your name is Claire. My name is Louie, and you have my gold.”

Claire stumbled back onto her hands and knees. “That doesn’t sound like a leprechaun name.”

“Take it up with my mother,” he shot back.

“I found the gold fair and square,” she said. “If you didn’t want someone finding it, you shouldn’t have left it in plain sight. Who wouldn’t take it? And why wouldn’t you just hand deliver it? Why leave it at the end of a rainbow?”

“I didn’t leave it at the end of the rainbow, you dunce. I left it and the rainbow came out of it so that Scottie could come get the money and we’d be squared away. The rainbow comes after, not before — I don’t know why I’m explaining this to you. Point is, I’ve found you, you have the gold, and I need it back.”

“You’re a leprechaun. I’m sure you’ve got a whole hoard squirreled away.”

Louie’s cheeks reddened. “I seem to have … misplaced it.”

“You lost a different pot of gold?” She asked incredulously.

“More like ... I bet on some ponies and the ponies ran off with it," he said. "Then you took the rest.”

“What do I get if I give it back?”

“My heartfelt thanks and appreciation. Oh, and this.” Louie held up the notebook.

She snorted. “That money could buy thousands of notebooks.”

“But would they have this?” Theatrically, he flipped to a random page and read, “Potatoes, celery, tissues, milk.”

“That’s a grocery list.”

He tried again. “The skies cry / For you and I.”

“I can write more poems,” said Claire.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Your poems are terrible anyway.”

“You could be a little nicer,” said Claire, “considering I’m the one with the gold.”

His green eyes glimmered with fury.

Claire crossed her arms. “See, from what I remember, leprechauns usually grant wishes to the people who catch them.”

“That’s genies,” said Louie unconvincingly. His eyes shifted around the room. “You could probably find one at your local pawn shop.”

“I’m happy to google it for you.”

“The internet is full of misinformation. Like how leprechauns should have Irish names. And anyway you haven’t caught me. I’m free as a bird.”

“A destitute bird,” Claire pointed out. “Three wishes.”

Louie sneered. “No.”

“Then no gold,” said Claire. “Do leprechaun loan sharks break legs or is that just human loan sharks?”

A flicker of worry crossed his expression. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Hey, I don’t know. Maybe they’d just kill you.”

Louie looked queasy. “They wouldn’t.”

“Three wishes.”

“No.”

“I’ll give you the one-time desperation discount of two wishes.”

Louie grit his teeth. “One. But I count the gold first.”

Claire stuck out her hand “Only if you give me the wish before I hand it over.”

They shook. “Let’s get this over with,” Louie said.

“Can’t. It’s at the bank.”

“I’m kinda in a time crunch.”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” said Claire.

“Ugh,” Louie said, flopping on her bed. He grabbed the edges of the blanket and rolled it tightly around him.

“You can’t sleep here,” Claire protested.

“Bite me,” came Louie’s muffled voice. He kicked her unceremoniously off the mattress. “You can sleep on the floor, gold thief.”

—

In the morning Louie shook her awake. “Get up, gold thief.”

She blinked blearily up at him. “Oh,” she said. “You’re still here.”

“Not for long. Let’s go.”

Claire grumbled as she wriggled into a sweater. “You’re a pain.”

They drove in stony silence. When they parked, Claire insisted on going alone.

“You’ll cause a commotion,” she said. “Leprechauns aren’t exactly commonplace. Be back in ten.”

“What’s to say you won’t run off?”

“And give up on a wish? Fat chance.” She left before he could argue.

As he waited, he thought about what she might wish for. A pony? True love? He hoped she wouldn’t ask for money — Louie was fresh out. Maybe he could convince her to ask for a book deal. That’s the ticket, Louie thought. He brightened considerably.

Then Claire was back. She unzipped the bag to reveal stacks of bills.

“What did you do to it?” He asked.

“Converted it,” she said. “Duh.”

“Where’s the rest?”

“The rest?” Claire’s forehead furrowed. “Are you accusing me of stealing?”

“I’ve been accusing you of stealing,” Louie pointed out, “an accusation that has proven correct. Let's see the rest.”

“This is it. $20,000.”

Louie, who had begun to count the stacks of bills, stopped. “Did you say $20,000?”

“Yes,” Claire said.

He reached for her throat but she dodged just in time.

“$20,000?” His voice climbed several octaves. “That gold is worth ten times that that. ”

Claire went white. “I—“

“We’re going back inside,” Louie said, snatching the bag out of her hands. “Now.”

—

For the third time in two days Claire walked into the bank, this time trailing after a small angry man. “It’s just a mistake,” she said. “It has to be.” Her head was still spinning.

Louie barged into Harold’s office, eyes blazing. Harold glanced up, surprised. He smiled; Louie didn’t.

“Where is it?” He demanded.

“You must be the godfather,” said Harold, seeming unperturbed. “What seems to be the problem?”

“The gold,” Claire said. “You said it was worth $20,000.”

“Which it isn’t,” snarled Louie. “You’re missing a whole decimal point.” His fingertips glowed green. Claire slowly backed away, just in case.

“Well, you know leprechaun gold,” said Harold mildly. “It has a nasty habit of disappearing.”

The lights flickered and the air turned bitingly cold.

“What did you say?” She whispered breathlessly, eyes huge.

Harold’s smile elongated to reach the very edges of his jaw, his teeth elongating into vicious points. A menacing pink aura surrounded him. “It’s a shame. You really should’ve been more careful.”

Louie seemed frozen in rage. Blood pounded in Claire’s ears.

“I tried to be nice,” said Harold, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I even let you keep some. But if you’re going to be like that, I’ll have to rethink my generosity.”

Harold waved his hand. Fuchsia air swirled around them like a tornado, ripping the bag of money from her hand.

“Thank you for banking with Citizen’s, Miss Gerard,” he said over the wind. “We appreciate your business, though we do hope to never see you again.”

The swirling pink air grew louder and brighter -- then suddenly it was gone, dumping them from Claire’s bedroom ceiling in an undignified heap of limbs.

“Well,” Claire said, rubbing her shoulder and staring at her empty hand, “do I still get my wish?”