"This place had better be spotless in the morning or I'll box yer' ears and toss you back on the streets, so help me!" the ox-like barkeeper admonished as he hurried home to bed and wife, "An' if any more liquor goes missin, I'll kill ya, by God!"

"Good night to you too, asshole," Jim muttered at the slammed door. "Fucking Irish Bastard."

Jim looked at the sea of spilt beer, broken bottles and ashes that was his kingdom and asked himself for the millionth time what the fuck he had been thinking.

What Jim had been thinking was that he could learn much more by traveling Europe than by attending mythology classes back home in Iowa. And he had been right. He had learned that an unstable economy could wreak havoc on your budget, especially if you don't have one. He had learned that shooting craps was a foolish way to make up for monetary short falls. He had learned that you don't have as many friends as you seem to when you're buying a round. Finally, he had learned that a broke and stranded American expatriate is not nearly as attractive to the opposite sex as a wandering foreign 'scholar' with a full wallet.

Yes, it had been quite and education. Now he was doing an in depth study of beer and vomit stains in a dive bar on the outskirts of Belfast.

It was going on 2 in the morning when Jim heaved the huge dustbin full of detritus out behind the pub to the large dumpster. There was something back there, making a horrendous noise. Jim surmised that a drunk had passed out on the pile of burlap sacks behind the dumpster and was snoring with the ferocity of a true devotee of Irish whisky. Perhaps this was the very thief that had been steeling from the stock!

Jim quietly set down his load, reached back into the pub, and grabbed the stout wooden bat that was kept there for just such an occasion.Brandishing his weapon, he snuck around the dumpster, ready to strike. There sprawled on the sacking was a tiny person in disheveled clothing, less two feet tall. To his chest, with tiny arms, he clutched a whisky bottle and a black iron pot filled with bright yellow gold nuggets. It could only be a leprechaun.

It was a fantasy Jim had had since the day he entered Ireland, so he didn't pause a moment for thought. He reached out and snatched the pot of gold with a lightening motion that had it in his hands before the bat clattered to the ground.He looked to the leprechaun to see if he would wake.

Indeed, he did stir, eyes still closed, groping with his empty hand for the pot and instead grabbing his breast. His breast? Jim did a double take. The wee person was, in fact, female. A deeply ugly female, but a female nonetheless.

"A lady leprechaun?" Jim wondered aloud. All the stories of wee folk had always indicated they were men.

"An' howrya thinkin' leprechauns be makin' more leprechauns, ya bleedin' idyat?" she demanded, opening one bleary eye "Ya think the men folk fuck each other up their arses? Even when they do, ya don' get no babies that way!"

She snorted and chuckled drunkenly, then started, both eyes wide."Me pot o'... You bastard son of a goat-fucker--Give that back!"

"You have to grant me a wish first. It's tradition." Jim pointed out.

The little drunken fairy turned crimson. She leapt to her feet, stamped and grunted, steam literally coming out of her ears and nose.And then she started to grow.She rose up and expanded out, her flesh rippling and bulging grotesquely. Soon she was 8 feet tall and at least 500 lbs. of corded muscle. Her eyes glowed red. Her mouth was full of huge, sharp teeth. She roared and the stench emanating from that ugly maw made him remember her prior odor with fondness.His first instinct was to drop the gold and run, but he fought it.

Jim had never heard of a shape-changing leprechaun. Maybe it was peculiar to the female. Whatever, he was sure he had read that once you had their pot of gold, a Leprechaun couldn't take it from you by force, mendacity, or magic, only by trickery or barter. At least, he hoped that was what he had read. Swallowing hard, he stood his ground. If his thinking were wrong, staying would get him killed. But, of course, there was no guarantee running would save him.

"So, do you want to make a deal or what?" he asked the foul beast as nonchalantly as he could manage with it hulking over him.

The creature stared daggers at him, but then folded its arms crossly and shrunk down to become the drunken little leprechaun again.

"That's a pretty neat trick," said Jim, "Can you turn into anything else?""That be none of yer fucking business!" she declared "Just tell me what ye want fer me Pot O' Gold!"

"Well, I'm glad you've decided to be civil about it," Jim said, grinning. "Let me think a moment--a pot like this must be worth a bundle. It would have to be something of comparable value. And not something material. I don't want to be accused of steeling, as I know is prone to happen to folk that make deals with wee ones."

"Thas hardly our fault," she protested, "If'n a thievin' big demands somethin', they got no right saying' how we goes about gettin' it! If'n ye want somethin' legitimate, you'd best be earnin' it like any workin' slob!"

"Point taken," said Jim, "Still, I think I'd best forgo the material and ask for something more intangible. Magical, as it were. You do have access to magic, right?"

"Ay, as well you know. We wee folk can slip into any place in this world and others. If'n it's magic yer after, I might well be able to find it, assumin' you have the wits to use it. An what sort of maguk be ye thinkin' ye want?" asked the leprechaun. "If'n I had a face like yers, I'd be wantin' t'be able t'turn m'self invisible, thas fer sure! HA!"

"Hmmm, tempting but... Wait a minute. Let me think."

"My God, man! If we be waitin' on yer brain, you'll be dead of old age an I'll be gettin' sober, God forbid!"

"Jim glowered at the tiny person, then grinned wickedly."I know what I want!" he announced.

"Miracle of miracles!" she declared.

"Shove the attitude and just listen up. The sooner you get me what I want, the sooner you can take your pot and be gone. What I want is a love spell..."

"HA! I should've guessed it, I should! Surely it'll take maguk t'make a woman capable o' bearin' yer stank! One love potion comin' up!"

She made as if to disappear.

"Wait!" Jim cried.

"What?!" the imp demanded.

"I don't want just any love potion! I've got qualifications!"

"Oh, Lard!" said the leprechaun, holding her head, "I'll be here in this alley 'til the end o' time at this rate! A love potion is a love potion! I know just where I can get one!"

"Yeah, yeah," said Jim, "And who ever I give it to will probably go all fatal attraction on me or something! I know how this works--you're gonna screw me if I let you!"

"Oh God, what a nasty image!" declared the wee one. "Screw yerself and leave me out of it!"

"Ok, just listen to my specifications. I'm not particularly enjoying your company either, you know. Let's just do this," he said. "Now this is the sort of magic I want. It should work fast, like in a matter of seconds, and be in some sort of form that I can administer quickly and forcibly, like a powder I can blow in her face or a liquid I can spray or splash on her. None of this slipping it in her drink crap. In stories, that always seems to go wrong somehow or another."

"Ay, an I doubt they're be a lass in all o' Ireland that'd have a drink with a mealy-mouthed cocksucker like yerself!" she observed.

Jim glowered at her but clutched her pot of gold even closer. He couldn't let her distract him from his plan.

"Moreover, it should be permanent," he continued. "But the most vital requirement has to be the type of love I want the magic to induce. It should be obsessive but submissive. It should make her worship me like a god, do anything I ask, endure any humiliation for my sake. She should be willing to share me with other women if I want and even help me get other women. She should be my submissive, adoring love slave for as long as she lives! Do you think you can get me something that will do that?"

The tiny creature seemed to sober and stared with even deeper contempt at the young American.

"Yer a right bastard, ain't ye?" she said.

"Yes, I suppose I am, but I'm a bastard with a pot of gold at the moment, so tell me if you can trade me what I want for it," Jim demanded.

"Ay, that I can and I suppose I will, but it's a right nasty thing t'do to a girl. Bad enough t'make a person love a waste of flesh like yerself, but t'make her worship you... nothin' good will come of this."

"Well, just get it for me, we'll make the trade, and you'll never have to worry about what I do with it later."

"Very well, very well," said the leprechaun. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

She took a long swig from her bottle, squinted and belched.

"An keep yer grubby fingers off the nuggets while I'm gone!"

Then screwing up her face, she turned around and slipped out of the world, leaving Jim alone in the alley clutching her treasure.Jim looked around. No one was watching. Was this really happening or had he finally lost it? Only the kettle of golden lumps reassured him that the tiny drunken woman had ever been there. It took only a moment to set his trap. The waiting was the hard part.After a minute-long eternity alone in the alley, the leprechaun returned with a pop.

"Took you long enough," said Jim.

"We can't all be as fast as yer slut of a mother, now, can we?" said the churlish leprechaun. "Now stick yer comments in yer bung hold and give me my pot of gold. I got yer demonic potion right here."

She held a little heart-shaped glass vial with a glass stopper clutched to her breast. There was a pale green liquid that glinted inside. She held her empty hand towards Jim, insisting on her cast iron treasury.

"How does it work?" Jim asked, taking equal pains to keep the pot out of reach of the wee one.

"Tis simple enough that even one o' yer limited cranial capacity can use. If ye can manage to get just a drop e'er two in the eyes of the poor girl ye want t'get yer grimy hands on, she'll fall madly in love with ye an' worship ye like a god an' do anything ye be askin' her t'do. Fate worse than death, if ye be askin' me."

Jim looked at the vial, or rather its glass stopper, and grinned. He couldn't have hoped for a better container."Now give me me pot o' gold!" the leprechaun demanded.

"Not so fast!" Jim insisted to her consternation. "First, I want your word. Swear to me that the vile and potion do what you said and only what you said. And swear that you're not going to seek revenge on me, directly or indirectly, for making this bargain with you. Swear it on your treasure."

The little woman turned an angry shade of mauve and stamped her little foot.

"I swear, on me pot-o-gold," she spat the oath, "That this here potion has the properties I just described and none other, that the vial ain't nothin' but what it appears, and that I ain't gonna do nothin' to yer sorry, skinny ass by way o' payback fer being a smarmy bastard who stole me pot-o-gold. Now give it back this instant!"

"Well, of course!" said Jim, extending the little kettle towards her. "Sorry to have inconvenienced you."