The Red Pilot

John and Mango walked up to an old Irish bar, its exterior worn and forgotten. The grass was unkempt, the cracked windows patched poorly but not repaired. Vines crept along the walls and tangled with the roof.

Despite the rundown look, the place was buzzing. People were almost pouring in and out of the building like it was the most popular club in Miami. John checked his phone. It was midday on a Wednesday.

“What are we doing here?” asked John. “And why is this bar so busy?”

Mango bit her lip and looked down nervously. She cleared her throat.

“Look,” she said. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I’m not the type who likes to talk about who I was… because I’m not that person anymore.”

John nodded slowly. “Ok…”

“I actually used to visit Ireland quite a lot… before I was placed into foster care.”

“Really?” said John, surprised. “What for?”

“You’ll see.”

She walked through the front door, and John followed. Inside, the bar was packed. Drunk patrons filled every seat and corner, from old women with long gray hair to teens who were clearly using fake IDs.

Whether the bartenders didn’t care or the place was simply too dependent on the money, no one was stopping them from underage drinking.

Mango scanned the crowd. “She’s in here somewhere…”

“Who?” asked John. “Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

Mango ignored him. John decided not to press any further. Whoever she was looking for clearly mattered. He realized that she had never once mentioned Ireland since their time together.

Maybe that was his fault. He’d never asked much about her past. She seemed like someone who didn’t want to revisit it, and they had never stopped to discuss the basic things couples often did.

Where are you from? What school did you go to? Camping or the beach? Books or movies? Do you have a crazy ex who may come back and try to kill me in revenge for taking you?

Trivial questions that you find on dating apps.

Yet somehow, they were completely intertwined without knowing much of anything about each other. He made a mental note to ask more things about her later. Just knowing her real name was not enough. He opened his mouth to say something, to ask her something, but before he could speak, Mango darted forward toward the bar.

John sighed and followed. A group of people surrounded someone seated at the bar. As they pushed through the crowd, Mango shoved some of them aside and pointed.

“There you are!” she called. “I knew you were close.”

John heard a woman’s voice reply sharply.

“Well, who the hell are you?” the woman said.

“You know damn well who I am,” Mango replied.

John caught up with Mango and finally saw who she was speaking to. His jaw nearly hit the floor. Standing in front of Mango was a woman who looked almost exactly like her. If not for the different hair colors, they could have been twins. This woman had long, vibrant red hair in a braid, but she carried the same bone structure and eyes as Mango. She was in a white polka-dotted dress that hugged her curves.

“It’s me, you redheaded idiot,” Mango said.

The redhead’s eyes widened. “What the hell?” she exclaimed. “There’s no way! You blonde bimbo!”

Without hesitation, the redhead rushed forward and hugged Mango tightly. Mango tightened her fist like she was about to hit her, but then she resisted the urge and left her hands at her side. Mango looked visibly uncomfortable but allowed the embrace.

John laughed. “This is who you were looking for?”

“Yes,” Mango replied hesitantly. “John, this is—”

“-I’m her cousin,” the redhead cut in quickly. “Noreen!”

“It’s so good to see you,” Noreen said to Mango. “How long has it been? I can’t believe you’re actually here!”

Mango pushed her off gently. “Yeah, well, neither can I. I’m only here because I need a favor.”

Noreen sighed. “Always in and out with you.” She turned to John and gave him a flirtatious look. She looked him up and down and then walked around him as if she were inspecting an animal to buy. “And who are you, handsome? You don’t seem like her usual catch.”

John raised an eyebrow and stroked his chin. “Oh, really? And who is her usual catch?”

Noreen snatched a shot glass from behind the bar, threw it back, then grew a big smile. “Let me tell you about this one guy named Max—”

“-Shut up,” Mango snapped, cutting her off immediately.

Noreen pouted like a scolded child. “You only come around when you need me,” she muttered. She looked back at John. “We used to hang out all the time when she came to Ireland as a kid. Then she vanished. Poof. Until three years ago.”

Her expression suddenly shifted from cheerful to cold. “And since then? She’s only shown up because I have a biplane. Isn’t that right, Michelle?”

Mango’s face flushed with frustration. “Are you serious right now? You act like I don’t pay you for those trips.”

Noreen waved her off. “It’s not always about money, you know. Besides, don’t act like that money’s yours. I know you’re just taking it from someone else.”

Mango shrugged. “And yet, you still cash it.”

“Well, not this time,” Noreen said. “This time, you’re going to earn your ride like a true Irish woman.”

Mango groaned. “We don’t have time for this. We’re on an important mission. Can we please just talk in private?”

Noreen’s smile returned as if nothing had happened. “Even better—you’re in a rush. That means you don’t have a lot of options.” She leaned in with a sly grin. “So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna accept my challenge… or back out in front of Mr. ‘Tall, dark and handsome’ here?”

Before Mango could respond, Noreen turned to John and leaned against his chest. His face instantly went red. Her breasts pressed against him through a thin white dress covered in red polka dots. Her nipples were clearly visible and hardened, a sign of both intoxication and shamelessness. “You know, you can let me know if she’s ever too much of a bother for you..” said Noreen.

Mango turned bright red, then stepped forward and yanked her cousin away by the back of her dress.

“Don’t do that,” she said through gritted teeth. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

John scratched his head. “Uh… what exactly is this challenge?”

Noreen let out a loud laugh and, despite Mango’s warning, wrapped her arm around John’s again.

He felt the warmth of her skin and couldn’t help but glance down before quickly looking away. He could feel Mango’s glare burning into him without looking.

“You’re in a bar, stupid,” Noreen said with a smile. “What do you think it is?”

She tugged him forward. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

************************************

John watched in both horror and awe as Mango and Noreen downed their 20th shot of straight Irish whiskey.

“See?” Mango said, slamming her glass onto the table. “I can keep up with anyone.”

“Oh, yeah?” Noreen replied, smirking. “You’re Irish-American, not Irish. Just remember that.”

She immediately followed up with two more shots.

“I prefer the term Irish 2.0,” Mango said, then mirrored her by taking two shots of her own.

That made 22 each, and neither of them was slurring. To be fair, Noreen started already half-wasted, so technically Mango was still catching up. John had never seen harder-working livers in his entire life. A part of him thought it was a prank and they must’ve been drinking water. Either way, something had to be done.

John approached, concerned. “We have a mission, remember?” he said to Mango. “You can’t afford to get too hammered.”

Mango scoffed. “And I can’t use the biplane without beating her.”

John sighed. He needed a way to stop this before Mango became too drunk to function.

Then he remembered something back during the Sumo incident. That was his opening.

He turned and walked over to the bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked. He was a grumpy-looking man with a thick, curly red mustache and a long beard.

“Do you have any raw pork?” John asked.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Uh… yeah, but we don’t really sell that.”

John pulled some money from his jacket and placed it on the counter. “I’ll just take a small piece. Don’t need much. Also… you got a lighter?”

The bartender shook his head. “Nope. But I got this mini blowtorch.” He reached under the bar and pulled it out.

John nodded. “That’ll do. Let me borrow it for a sec.”

The bartender narrowed his eyes. “You better bring that back. Or I’ll find you.”

John took the small slice of raw pork and the torch, then returned to the table. By now, Mango and Noreen had taken three more shots. 25 in total for each, and they both finally started to sway in their chairs. He had to end this now.

“Hey, Noreen,” John said casually.

“What, cutie?” She replied, her speech looser. She blinked asymmetrically at him.

“Is there a bathroom in here?”

“Course there is,” Noreen said, pointing to the right of the bar. “Over there.”

“Perfect,” John said. “Mango is gonna need it. Can I have a knife?”

Mango gave him a suspicious look but handed over a knife to him. John then placed the raw slice of pork on it and began clicking the blowtorch to life, aiming the flame at the meat right on the table.

Noreen laughed and scratched the back of her neck. She hiccupped. “What are you doing?”

“Me?” John said. “I’m heating up this raw pork.”

“Yeah, but why?” Mango asked, giggling. “You’re so random sometimes, you know that?”

She turned to Noreen. “Did you know this guy is not only a Black guy, but he’s also Italian?”

Noreen’s eyebrows nearly flew off her face. “Really? No kidding? I didn’t even know there were Black Italians.”

John sucked his teeth but said nothing. He kept torching the pork, waiting for it to cook just enough to start smelling. Once it started to sizzle slightly, he quickly moved it toward Mango’s face.

Mango leaned back in disgust. “What are you doing? Get that gross thing away from me.”

The surrounding patrons erupted in laughter.

“Why?” John asked, waving the cooked pork under her nose. “Doesn’t this smell remind you of something?”

Mango shook her head vigorously. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Are you sure?” John grinned. “Just take a quick whiff. One deep breath and I’m sure you’ll think of our sumo friend back in Tokyo.”

Mango resisted, but mid-sentence, she involuntarily sniffed the air. Her expression changed instantly from the flushed red of intoxication to the sickly green of someone who’d eaten a gas station hotdog before riding the world’s fastest rollercoaster. John could see the memory of her almost throwing up at the smell replay through her eyes. Only this time, she couldn’t be as strong.

“You son of a—!” Mango shouted before bolting toward the bathroom.

“Finally,” John said, tossing the pork aside. “We can move on from this ridiculous game.”

He turned toward Noreen. “Now, Noreen, I have something to ask you—”

But he froze as he saw her face shift to the same nauseous shade of green. She was gritting her teeth, trying to stop herself from getting up.

“Why’d you have to do that?” Noreen groaned, then clutched her mouth and ran for the bathroom too.

John casually turned off the torch. Everyone in the bar was staring at him with a mix of confusion and judgment. Feeling awkward, he tossed the pork into the nearest trash bin, handed the bartender back his torch and walked toward the bathroom. He put the knife in his pocket.

BELCH!

From outside the door, he could hear the violent sounds of vomiting. He sighed. It wasn’t ideal, but at least it would sober them up. More importantly, it would stop the stalling.

He knocked lightly. “You okay in there, Mango?”

Noreen opened the door, her eyes red and watery. “Who the hell is Mango?” she snapped. “You keep saying that like we’re supposed to know who that is.”

“It’s me!” Mango’s voice called out from deeper in the bathroom, followed by another loud retching sound. “Tell him not to come in!”

Noreen poked John in the chest. “Yeah, you can’t come in. This is all your fault! You ruined our fun.”

John held up a hand, trying to reason. “Look, if you give us the biplane, I’ll personally get you the strongest American moonshine money can buy. Easily imported.”

Noreen scoffed, lifting her nose defiantly. She crossed her arms like a child, and John couldn’t help but chuckle. She acted just like Mango when she was mad. It must run in the family.

“And why would I believe that?” Noreen said. “Customs would never let you bring that in.”

John reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open, flashing his CIA badge.

Noreen’s eyes widened, and she immediately backed up a step. “I-I didn’t know–”

“I don’t have to worry about customs,” John said with a sly grin. “You can have as much moonshine as you want.”

A wicked smile crept across Noreen’s face as she rubbed her hands together like a villain. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! You’ve got yourself a plane! I’m the best there is! I can’t wait to sell this stuff around here!”

“Sell it? I’m surprised. A woman like you sounds like she’d rather enjoy it herself.”

Noreen shrugged. “Maybe one jar... but nothing stands between a businesswoman and a dollar. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

She slammed the door shut, and John heard them continue to vomit.