The Orion Assignment by Austin S. Camacho

their cups half full from the small tap. He let them rest and settle while he served another customer, then topped them each twice. When a big mug landed in front of him, Morgantook a deep pull. It was warm, thick, and malty.
    â€œI’ll tell you something, Max,” Morgan said, wiping froth from his mouth. “I’ve had light beer, dark beer, ale and malt liquor all over the world. I got to admit, Guinness Stout is the pinnacle of the brewer’s art.”
    â€œYou mean they get this stuff over in the states?” Grogan asked.
    â€œWell, yeah, but unless you’ve had it fresh from the tap, in country, you haven’t really tasted it.”
    â€œThanks for standing me the drink, handsome,” Felicity said, sipping foam from the top of her mug. She slid onto the stool on Grogan’s left, opposite Morgan. “My Uncle Sean’s off moping in the corner, but I’m grateful for the both of us.”
    â€œYour uncle?”
    â€œYes, of course,” she said, offering her hand. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Felicity O’Brien. Your fighting partner there is my business partner, Morgan Stark. He learned to fight like that in Vietnam and parts east.”
    â€œBusiness partner, eh?”
    â€œSure. Are you here alone?” she asked with that sparkling smile that can make a man forget his own name.
    â€œWell, maybe not.” Grogan covered Felicity’s hand and wrist with one massive paw.
    While they talked and drank, Morgan examined Grogan, trying to see what his partner could find so attractive in this hulk. His ears were jug handles. His skin was a mass of freckles so dense that at first glance he appeared red faced. His eyes were set deep and wide, with huge bushy eyebrows above them. His face was somehow weathered, but with no lines around the eyes or on his forehead. His smile was big enough, easy and sincere. A smile most people would trust. He probably had a simple view of life and lacked the intelligence to feel either ambition or dissatisfaction.
    In a corner, someone started singing. Morgan didn’trecognize the song, but he was sure it was an old Irish folk ballad. A minute later someone drew a harmonica out of their pocket and joined in, accompanying the song. A few old timers started stamping their boots on the wooden floor, slapping their thighs in counter time to the music. It got faster, and a Jew’s harp picked up the rhythm. Paddy pulled out a banjo, and all of a sudden, everyone was on the floor. Grogan was twirling Felicity to a dance that Morgan figured she was born knowing. He was watching her feet flashing across the floor when he felt a warm hand on his arm.
    â€œCome on, big boy,” Maureen said, nodding her head toward the center of the room. “Give a girl a twirl, why don’t you?”
    â€œI think I’ll sit this one out, ma’am. You can do better.” Morgan smiled into her confused face before letting his eyes drift back to the dancing crowd. The truth was that he could execute the most complex karate kata, perform a gymnastic tumbling floor routine and walk a high wire, but one thing he could not do was dance. He just never had that type of coordination.
    Besides, he didn’t like folk music much.
    Felicity collapsed on her stool ahead of her dance partner. Her cheeks were filled with color, her hair loose and flowing. Morgan could see her as ten years younger. One thing he loved about this girl was her ability to feel, and show, complete and total happiness. He wondered when and where he lost it.
    â€œHaving fun?” Morgan asked.
    â€œHe’s putty in me hands,” she whispered back. “By the end of the night I’ll know all there is to know about his mysterious boss, this Mister O’Ryan. Then we can discuss the situation.”
    â€œGood girl,” Morgan said, patting her shoulder. He withdrew his arm just in time, before Grogan crashed into the space between