"Shamrock" or Patrick McCree is a character created by Zach Betz in 2009. The information below has been provided by the creator with contributions by friends. The author wants it known that the characters in depicted in the stories of Shamrock are in no way real or based upon any actual persons. Oh and drink responsibly.
Patrick McCree was tired of being told he had made nothing of his life. He thought working in a bar was a respectable living that was enjoyable and decent. There were worst things you could do to stay afloat in Cork, and there was a decent view of these “bad things” from behind a bar. Night after night he saw people he knew to stay clear of. He knew their “type.” If a tussle broke out in the bar he would break it up and give out free drinks to calm everyone down, otherwise he stayed out of it.
One night Patrick was pouring a drink for one of his regulars Annie. She was a cute girl and boy was she putting the charm on him.
“Keep yer head straigh’ McCree…” he thought to himself. There was a lot of customers this night and he didn’t want to lose his pace. Falling behind in a bar is like confessing to a crime you haven’t committed. Everyone gets confused and angry at you.
An old man came into the bar and sat at an open stool. Patrick couldn’t see his face but the man’s posture and walk was that of a man who had seen plenty of winters. The stool he chose was empty on purpose. Everyone knew that was Burr’s seat. Burr was one of those “bad types.” A debt collector who was very good at his job, except for the fact that he collected debt from people who owed none. Patrick went to tell the old man he may want to consider standing but as he got near he noticed the scars on the man’s hands and face. He looked like he had been through hell about a thousand times and didn’t give a damn anymore.
“Ah Christ...” Patrick whispered under his breath. “Ta hell wit’ this. This man don’t look like he needs ta be tol’ nothin’ and I reckon’ I’m not gonna try it.”
Just when Patrick was going to ask him what he wanted to drink, as if on cue, Burr crashed through the door. He was laughing with some of his constituents when he noticed the old man. He looked angry as if he had no sympathy for his elders. He marched right up to the man and simply said “Move.”
The old man said nothing.
“Ya hear me? I was speakin’ clearly. Move.”
The old man spoke without moving a single muscle. “No.”
Burr pulled the stool out from under him and the old man fell to the floor. He lifted the stool above his head about to bring it crashing down upon him when suddenly there was glass and blood everywhere.
Patrick had smashed two bottles of whisky into the sides of Burr’s head. The glass shattered cutting Burr’s face to shreds before he collapsed on the ground. His so called friends ran out in a state of panic just like the rest of the bar.
Patrick jumped over the counter mumbling “Bloody mess..” to himself to see if the old man was okay.
“How ye feelin’?”
The old man looked at him with the brightest greenest eyes Patrick had ever seen. He reached out a hand to him and as he took it the man suddenly turned to dust.
Patrick stood there with his hand outstretched for a good while looking at the pile of dust before him. He was in shock, frozen to the spot. He called the police to arrest Burr and then left thinking perhaps he had imagined the whole dust incident thinking maybe the old man had left amongst the chaos.
He swore at himself for striking out at Burr knowing that Burr was connected. He struck his fist against the wall of an old building and suddenly the ground shook beneath him….
Patrick was beyond confused…. with no idea what was in store for him after his first heroic act.
It was three months after the incident involving the old man. McCree might have been foolish from time to time...but he wasn’t a fool. He could notice a trend... and appreciate it. Since the moment Patrick touched the old man’s hand everything was going his way. He hadn’t yet hit a red light, trip on his shoelaces, misplace his keys, get lost, drink a stale beer or even lose a bet.
He was riding high and he thought he understood why. The idea of people with strange gifts wasn’t completely new to him. The first week or so he was confused as all get out but now? He was enjoying it. It took no effort, he didn’t have to control it and there was no downside. He had hit the jackpot.
Things were going so well for Patrick that he was actually looking forward to meeting with his friend Liem “Cookie” Greene. Cookie earned his nickname after having everything going for him, much like how things worked for Patrick at this point. He was a great fütball player, a rising star who was likely to go very far. He wasn’t dim either though, he majored in philosophy and excelled in it while studying at Oxford. With his natural gifts, and habit of dropping pearls of philosophical wisdom, his friends took to calling him a “fortune cookie” which eventually was shorten to cookie... especially after he received his signing bonus upon joining the pros. How much he was exactly worth wasn’t discussed but the fact that each of his legs were insured for 5 million each was a constant topic of discussion. Sports and music stars had done it before but knowing someone who actually insured a specific part of their body? Who could resist.
Patrick waited outside a pub smoking a cigarette as he waited for his life long pal. The time had just turned from evening to night and the tapping of the slight drizzle on the window accompanied the sound of the terrible band from inside.
“T’ose t’ings will kill yah Patty.”
Patrick smiled and turned to a familiar face. They both shared their perfect smiles and a friendly embrace.
“Don’t worry boyo. Both me lungs are insured for 20k.” Pat said back with a smirk. He stepped on his half smoked cigarette and the two walked inside.
“Guinness please”
“Smithicks t’anks, yah look good Patty.”
“Always for you Cookie.”
“Buy a girl dinner first before the big lines boyo.”
“Yah call t’at a big line? All t’at groupie luv has made you forget how to woo properly!”
The two fell into their old routine. Exaggerated stories, impromptu secret handshakes, jokes at their own expenses. It went on well into morning before Patrick finally dropped a bomb on him. He told him the entire story of what happened three months ago.
“Jaysus Pat... How are yah still alive? Burr and his lads should have both yah’ t’umbs in yah’ own heart by now.”
“T’ats the thing Cook. Everything goes me way now. Fortune’s smilin’ on me... look..”
He took out his pocket change... about twelve coins and threw them on the ground... they all turned up heads.
“Bullshite.”
Patrick laughed. “Here I can prove it. Shuffle t’ese as much as yah like and when I say a card it’ll be what you turn over.”
Cookie entertained him, examining the cards first before shuffling them thoroughly..
“Two, seven, t’ree, Jack, Jack, Queen, ten, five, Jack.”
Cookie looked up at Patrick with a wide jaw and squinting eyes as if to say “how?”
Patrick performed dozens of feats and each time he did Cookie would ask him to tell him the story of the old man again. McCree enjoyed every moment of it. To the world this man was Liem Greene, the next great athlete, but at this moment he was in envy of Patrick... but his parade was rained on when Liem’s smile faded.
“Yah realize Pat t’at you can’t just let this happen over an’ over again. Anytime t’ings go right for you somet’ing goes wrong for...”
“Oh spare me tah fortune cookie nonsense.”
“It’s not nuttin’ Pat! Seriously t’ink about it! You need to control t’is or eventually you’re going to be responsible for somet’ing you don’t want on ya hands.”
Pat smirked at him, his eyes flashed green and he simply said “Seeing how t’at would be unfortunate... it won’t happen.”
The rain stopped right in the middle of Patrick’s sentence adding the perfect level of emphasis to the last three words.
“...did you make that happen?” Cookie asked.
“I don’t make anything happen. I don’t have to try Liem. I’ll never have to try again.”
Liem frowned at him and let it go. He didn’t want their night to be spoiled. Or morning that was. Besides Patrick was likely to be late to his opening shift at the pub so it was time to say goodbye anyway.
As the two went off in different directions Patrick smiled knowing somehow he was going to get there before his boss.
An hour and a half later his boss, Willis McCormick walked in. He was very late but just slightly later than Patrick. He looked quite solemn as he entered and when his eyes met Patrick’s he took his hat off of his head.
“Pat... I’m so sorry boyo. Do yah need a day off?”
“What’cha talkin’ ‘bout Willis?” It was tired joke but it didn’t get any response this time.
“Patrick... do yah... Jaysus turn on the news lad.”
As Patrick turned on the television a chilling moment happened. In the movies when someone turns on the tele something of immediate importance to them is the topic. It wasn’t something Patrick McCree ever thought, or hoped, would happen to him.
“Again for those of you just joining us, Liem Greene was struck by a car early this morning and has been rushed to Cork General Hospital in critical condition. The details behi.....”
The rest of the sentance seemed to fade away as if being said underwater... Patrick gripped the rail of the bar as Willis McCormick steadied him, pulling him close with an arm around him.
“T’ere t’ere boyo.. yer alrigh’.. I’m so sorry. Damn shame...”
Patrick has to steady his breathing wondering how this could have happened... how could his fortune turn like this? Surely if everything went his way then his friend getting struck by a car wasn’t meant to occur.
“Its the strangest t’ing... happened while I was drivin’ in. Righ’ on me route. With the people recognizing the man it backed traffic up somet’in fierce.”
Patrick froze before slowly looking up at Willis, his eyes already swelling with tears.
“Weren’t you wondering why I was late?”
