Luck in the Walls
“They’re after me pot o’ gold!” The Orkin man watched the leprechaun scurry down the hall in a drunken weave. He sighed. The traps had come up empty. They were getting too smart for them. He tapped the wall of the apartment.
“Yellow stars! Blue diamonds!”
The sound of more scurrying behind the drywall. How large was this infestation? He’d have to bang a few holes and really poke around to see. But the signs were not good.
“You could have a full blown Ceilidh in there,” he informed the owners.
They hugged each other tightly, “The neighbours are starting to complain about the noise.”
The exterminator nodded sympathetically, “There really is such a thing as too much fiddle music.”
The leprechaun had reached the end of the hallway. It stumbled aimlessly into the wall, fell over, and wriggled under a shelving unit disappearing from sight.
“You might as well get started,” one of the owners said.
The Orkin Man nodded and urged the couple to leave the apartment to him. “Go and have a nice dinner or take a walk in the park while I spray.”
No one wanted to be around while he was hauling out the bodies. Little limbs frozen all akimbo. And so many green hats. For a moment the exterminator was reminded of his trip to the Holocaust Museum. And the powerful image of all of those shoes stacked silently. Hundreds of pairs. Thousands.
He swallowed hard and waved at the couple, “Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.”
He still had a job to do. And maybe this time he’d be lucky. Maybe this time he would find that pot of gold.