Chapter 1

Flogging Molly. Dropkick Murphys. Enter The Haggis. Young Dubliners.

Just some of my favorite Celtic Rock Bands. I got this idea when my wife and I were at a concert in Morganton, N.C., listening to my favorite local Celtic Rock band, Uncle Hamish and The Hooligans. It was three years ago, so I don’t know if they’re still playing. If they are, look them up, maybe you’ll become part of the Kilted Horde.

And thanks to the fortyish man in the camo kilt and the attractive young black woman in the short dress with him who sat beside us during the concert. They were obviously in love, and it made me feel good watching them. The main characters are patterned after them.

This is the first of three parts, in case you want to wait until they’re all posted before you start.

This is for the girl in the black bikini.

She got me good.

She had obviously been planning it for a while, and had gotten lots of advice. I truly never saw it coming.

Her timing was perfect. I had just completed twenty years with my company, had gotten a bonus of one months’ pay, plus my regular two-week paycheck. The next day she cleaned out all the accounts, had me served, claimed I was abusive and had a restraining order in place. She had her lover moved in the next day.

To make it worse, he worked where I did as a supervisor in a different department. He grinned at me the next day and it took three people to ‘persuade’ me to keep it away from work.

It hadn’t been love at first sight with Kim. She was one of those women who had been told they were pretty all their life, and had begun to believe her press. She was arrogant, egotistical and racist. We grew up and lived just outside Raleigh, North Carolina, and though she expected to live well, she had no clear plan on how to achieve it.

I met her at the company picnic. My boss was a bit of an odd duck, and invited many of his business associates as a mild thank you. His picnics were famous for their food and door prizes, and were very well attended. Kim worked for his accounting firm as a secretary and general helper. Her dad had called in a favor to get her the job. She actually had to take some courses at the community college before she was offered a permanent position. She wasn’t happy, expecting her life to be different.

People ate, and socialized, and generally had a good time, waiting for the prizes. Vendors had donated some, but he looked at projected attendance and bought enough prizes to ensure everyone would win something.

The four top prizes, the ones that would go last, were a twenty four bottle wine cooler in stainless steel with a glass front, a really nice gas grill, a day at a full service day spa for two, and a thousand dollars, cash.

People groaned at their prizes while their friends laughed, then laughed when they got something just as goofy. Many of the small prizes were selected with the laughter value in mind. As the small prizes disappeared, and the prizes got bigger, the laughter stopped.

It came down to me, Kim, a black girl named Sophie, and a guy from our legal firm.

The lawyer won the trip to the spa, and Kim won the gas grill.

She really wanted the wine cooler, and was complaining loudly. It was obvious she had made several trips to the free bar.

Sophie won the wine cooler, and that meant I won the thousand. As I was picking up the envelope I could hear Kim.

“What’s a nig--” was all she got out before her friend stamped on her foot.

“Ow! That hurt! But seriously, does she look like a wine drinker? Mad Dog, maybe. Everything else would be lost on her.”

People were staring and Sophie looked like she wanted to disappear. I knew her, knew she lived with her mom and her two small kids. No husband, no child support, money was tight.

I walked up and hugged her.

“Congratulations, Sophie. If you ever want to sell it, I’ll give you five hundred for it.”

She grinned instantly, grabbed my hand and shook it.

“Deal!”

I handed her five of the hundred dollar bills. Turning to the lawyer, I offered him two hundred for the spa trip. He laughed.

“My wife has a standing appointment there, so it wouldn’t be a thrill for her. It really is a nice place, but I think she would like the money better.”

His wife was standing beside him. Her prize had been a dozen golf balls.

“Deal!” she said. “I’ll donate this money in his name to the literacy council we help sponsor. I’ll even give you the golf balls as a thank you. But truthfully, you don’t look like a spa type to me.”

“Oh, I’m not. But I have a friend who could use a little pampering.” I turned and handed the certificate to Sophie.

“Here. You deserve this. Take your mother; I’m sure she’d enjoy it. I’ll even watch your kids if you need me to.”

Sophie was crying, and she and her mom gave me several nice hugs. I looked over at Kim.

“Ah, Miss Morris still want the cooler? I don’t need it, I have the twelve bottle model at home. If you want to trade, I don’t have a gas grill.”

She looked hard at me.

“You’ve shamed me, sir, something hard to accomplish. I accept your kind offer, IF you invite me over for a meal. I’ll even bring the wine.”

She sounded sincere, so I accepted. She also congratulated Sophie, wishing her a pleasant trip to the spa.

She came over, and complimented my cooking after we’d enjoyed a good meal. We drank one bottle of the wine she brought. I showed her my wines, and she was amazed at the volume.

“I got hooked on wine while I lived in Europe. Spent time in France, Germany, Portugal, and Italy touring the wine regions. A few of these bottles are from vineyards I had actually visited.”

“How long did you live overseas? What part did you live in while were you there? I’ve never been out of the country; I’m so jealous.”

I had loved living there, had quite a few fond memories, and some unpleasant ones.

“I lived in Scotland and England for three and a half years while I was in service. I took advantage of leave time to visit as many places as I could.”

I didn’t elaborate, and she changed the subject.

It was nice enough spending time with her that I asked her out. She accepted, and the rest, as they say, was history. We married. I hinted around about children, but she said she couldn’t bear children. I concentrated on her, spoiling her.

The sad thing about spoiling someone is that if you do it long enough they become rotten.

A fact that occurred to me while I read the divorce papers.

I was reeling, not making good decisions. It got worse, all three of our vehicles were in her name, because I was always working and she had time to do the paperwork, and she threatened to have me arrested if I didn’t give my truck to her. She was pushing hard for me to sign some papers, telling me she would see I was treated fairly, that I would get what she called a ‘good deal’ if I just let the divorce go through on her terms.

I finally recovered enough to get a lawyer. I had a good friend, a lot older, that helped me out of my funk.

“Snap out of it boy. She fucked you over pretty good. Now, are you gonna roll over like a good little bitch, or are you gonna finally remember you got a set of balls?”

I was coming out of my shock. Up until it happened I loved her deeply. Now I couldn’t wait to burn the bitch to the ground. I told him so.

“Good” he said, handing me a card. “Three o’clock Monday. Don’t be late.”

I looked at the card. Donovan, Harris, and McGill. THE divorce lawyers in this part of the state. Maggie McGill, the woman seeing me was supposedly a shark walking on two legs.

I showed up on time; and was ushered into a nice office, impressive with understated elegance. It said money with taste.

She was not what I was expecting. A third generation lawyer, granddaughter of one of the founders, she was twenty nine, tall, slender, with blue eyes and red hair that harkened to her heritage.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. MacLough, I just wish we had met under more pleasant circumstances. Uncle Will speaks highly of you, and he doesn’t do that for many people.”

Well, that explained how I happened to be here. She asked me to tell her the whole story before we planned our response.

“It was a surprise. We weren’t fighting, had a good social life. No kids, I guess now that was a good thing. We made love as often as we always did. She was never a bitch, never cut me off, never insulted me more than is normal in a marriage. We fussed, but nothing major. Five years, shot to hell.”

She looked at me.

“Your wife must have been a hell of an actress. When did she have time to cheat? I see by your job that you don’t take business trips. She works too, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, she’s a secretary at an accounting firm. Been there for years. We had to have two incomes to afford the house she wanted. I work ten hour shifts, so she’s alone about three hours in the afternoons. Plus I work on my hobby business Fridays, but I’m usually home by five. She has a girls night out on Thursdays, but she is usually home by ten. I bowl in a league during the winter, usually Mondays and Wednesdays. I’m home by nine thirty. Not a big window of opportunity, although her lover works an eight hour shift.”

She sighed.

“You’d be surprised. Unfortunately, I’ve seen it all. If they want too, spouses will always find a way. If you don’t suspect anything, they can almost do it in front of you and you wouldn’t notice.”

I looked at her hand, noticing what can only be described as a rock on her finger. She saw me look and smiled.

“Yes, I’m married. Four years now. My last name is actually Stewart; I only use my maiden name in court, because of the family connection. Believe it or not, he’s a family law specialist too. He’s a firm believer in arbitration, and I love courtroom battles, the drama and intrigue. Between us, we’ve faced about every situation you could imagine, so we know all the pitfalls. Plus, we have an ironclad prenuptual, it would be very, very expensive and embarrassing to divorce, if you’re the cheater. And we never take our work home.”

“Now, what do you want? Any love left?”

It was my turn to sigh.

“None. I’m over the shock and grieving, and mostly over wanting to kill her. Now I just want shut of her and to get on with my life. Plus, I want my fair share of what we’ve accumulated together. I don’t want the house, but I want my share of the value. I want my share of the vehicles too, but I don’t want any of them. And everything else I can get.”

So for ninety minutes we went over my finances and options, and formed a plan. I felt better when it was over.

“All right, we’ll counter with adultery. It won’t mean anything except in the court of public opinion, but some judges take it into consideration. You can also sue him for alienation of affection in this state if you want. You won’t get anything, but it’ll cost him in lawyer fees and public embarrassment. We could use it for leverage. She has no proof of cruelty, so we can get the restraining order dropped. Anything of personal value you feel like you need to get out of the house now?”

This had really been bothering me.

“Yes, I need some clothes, and I’d like to get my tools, weapons, and most of all my musical instruments.”

She looked at me and grinned.

“Man toys. What do you have?”

I grinned back.

“My guitars, my tin whistles and flute, my accordions, and my pipes.”

“Pipes?”

“Bagpipes. Nae for nougth be me name MacLough.” I said in my best brogue.

She smiled.

“Part of my fee will be you playing for me sometime. I’ll start the paperwork, get you in the house by tomorrow. That work for you?”

For the first time I felt good about my situation. “That would be great. Thank you so much. Now, who do I give this to?”

I had a cashiers check for twenty five hundred for her. She seemed surprised.

“Can you afford this? This is kind of a favor for my Uncle, and I know she emptied your accounts.”

I smiled.

“She wasn’t as clever as she thought. That hobby I mentioned? I’m a wood carver. Not like a professional artist, just whimsical stuff. I get hardwood scraps from a furniture factory, and pine and spruce pieces from a local mobile home plant. Plus your Uncle lets me cruise his woods for usable pieces. I have two craft shops up in the mountains that sell my stuff on consignment. I’ve kept that money in a separate account. Ninety eight hundred, so far. I was gonna use it to take her on a nice vacation for our ten year anniversary. Don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“All right, I’ll take it, but she started this, so I’ll try my best to make our fees payable by her. If it works we’ll refund the money.”

I left feeling a lot better.

My wife was in for a set of shocks.

I met Maggie, Kim’s lawyer, and a deputy sheriff at ten the next morning. Kim was there, along with the asshole, and she was fit to be tied. She made it plain he was there for her protection. The lawyers and the deputy sheriff just looked at each other and shrugged. I laughed.

I loaded my clothes, then things got interesting. The lock was broken on my gun case, and both pistols and one shotgun was missing.

“Kim, where’s my weapons?”

She smiled. “Oops. We had a break in a few days ago. They were stolen.”

Maggie and the cop just looked at her. The cop was pissed. I don’t think her lawyer knew about it either. “Did you report the theft?”

She looked at the cop.

“Hadn’t got around to it yet.”

His eyes narrowed. “Anything else missing?”

“Just a few more things. His guitars and the rest of his instruments, some tools. I’ll make a list and report it soon, I promise.”

Maggie was furious and looked over at her lawyer. “Have a long talk with her, Bob. Tell her it would be in her best interests if those items could be recovered, quickly.”

Kim nearly had a fit when she found out how valuable everything was. The guns were around two thousand, the tools a few hundred, but the instruments were worth over ten grand.

I had everything on computer, including serial numbers, for insurance purposes. The cop filled out a report, and gave me a copy. I remarked it would be really interesting to see what our home owners insurance had to say when the claim was filed.

She had miscalculated when she didn’t clean off the computer, and threw a fit when I took it. I pulled the receipt out of our file cabinet showing I had bought it, so she had no choice.

“I need to move some stuff to my laptop first” she said, looking desperate.

“I’ll see everything is emailed to you” said Maggie, with a smile.

“It’s personal and private.”

“Then it shouldn’t have been on HIS computer. If it makes you feel better, we’ll set it up at my office. Bring your laptop, and we’ll transfer anything you want. Call me when you’re ready. And if the court decides it’s community property, we’ll give you half the value.”

We left, and I followed her back to her office. Her lawyer stayed behind, saying he needed to consult with his client.

Maggie was almost giddy. “I hope you didn’t have anything embarrassing on your hard drive, I’m gonna have a guy take it to pieces.”

“Well, it’s just what you’ll find on any normal guy’s computer. A little porn. And I do spend some time reading stories on a site called Storiesonline. I always thought that stuff was just made up until a few weeks ago.”

Next, although all the vehicles were in her name, the insurance was in mine. I canceled the insurance on the two that were paid for, but kept it on the one we still owed on, and instructed the insurance company that when it came due in two months she was responsible for the bill. I neglected to tell her, and two weeks later the state sent a trooper to seize the tags. Kim almost got arrested, especially when he told her it was a hundred dollar fine and a two month penalty period before she could get her tags back.

I had bought a little Ford Ranger from Will. It had been for sale before my troubles started, and knowing my circumstances he gave me a really good deal. It was almost twenty years old, but was in pretty good shape, mechanically and cosmetically. I actually enjoyed driving it.

All that was legal for her to drive was the truck, and it had a manual transmission, and she didn’t know how to drive a stick. I recorded the screaming, profanity laced tirade I got from her on my phone.

Maggie had her experts take apart the computer, and it sank Kim.

Her whole affair was revealed in detail through emails. Her lawyer tried to prove we had invaded her privacy, but the computer was my property. She had sold my musical instruments on Ebay, and I got them all back in three months. The guy who bought my pipes really didn’t want to give them up, but was looking at charges of receiving stolen goods if he didn’t. Never got my weapons back, but she had to pay me the retail value. My tools turned up at a pawnshop two towns over, and surprise, surprise, they were traced back to her lovers’ brother. Another bargaining chip for me.

I could have charged her with theft and selling stolen goods, but agreed not to for more favorable terms in the divorce.

When the smoke cleared, she lost big time.

I didn’t want the house, so she and her lover had to buy me out or agree to sell it. They couldn’t afford it, so it was listed. She was living in it until it sold, something she didn’t think would happen soon. The real estate company actually managed to sell it pretty quick at almost the asking price. Kim tried to stall but had to sign the papers.

I got my choice of the vehicles, so I took her SUV and left her the truck(and the payment)and the Mustang. Returning half the money she had taken out of our accounts made her ill. She even had to pay my attorney fees, which she complained about bitterly. The free and easy lifestyle she and her lover conspired to have me finance evaporated, and they had to struggle to pay the bills.

Was I happy? No. I felt good about the divorce, but not that I had to have one. Reading her emails, how she belittled me, the scorn she felt for me, didn’t help at all. Apparently, I was just another dumb redneck with no ambition. I still didn’t understand, and she was damn sure not going to tell me.

I stayed in a funk for a few months. I got out, went to bars and parties, but stayed depressed.

I was in my woodworking shop, an old garage I had rented from Will, playing a dirge on my pipes when my friend Tony stopped by. He was behind me when I played, and I didn’t see him for a couple of minutes. I let the pipe drain of air.

“Damn, that was depressing. What was that?”

I grinned. “A dirge. Fittingly, it’s called ‘Maclough Comes No More’.”

He picked up my Martin, and we played a few reels, upbeat, happy stuff. When we stopped I was grinning. He grinned back.

“You know what? I think it’s time for Mad Tam to return.”

Mad Tam was my alter ego, a persona I had developed when I played in a band with Tony and some friends years ago. I had quit before I got married, after six years. Mostly good times, as I remembered.

“That was a different world. I’m forty now, I’d look kind of silly.”

“You’re a well preserved forty. You could still rock an audience if you felt like it.”

I thought about it. He pushed.

“Tell you what, dude; bring your stuff over to Dave’s barn this Saturday. We’re cooking out, and we could jam some, just for fun. What else you got to do?”

The short answer was nothing, so Saturday at six, I was parked in their driveway. Dave was another old band mate. I had lost contact, and heard he got married.

We were all around forty, except for Dave’s wife, a cute little dynamo of thirty four, and a young couple, her nephew and his wife. We ate, socialized and had a few beers, before Dave ushered us into his barn. He had knocked out the stall walls, leaving a big open space. There was even a little band stand on one end.

It was fun. Seems the nephew could play drums, and his wife was a damn fine fiddle player and singer.

We had played mostly traditional songs, and during a break Robbie, the drummer, bitched.

“Could we play something that I can actually stay awake for all the way through?”

I put down my pipes and picked up my accordion, whispering to Dave and Tony. I asked Molly(how Irish is that? She even had red hair)if she knew the piece. She instantly lit up.

“Count it off, Robbie.”

Salty Dog, by Flogging Molly. It was fast, loud, and a ball to play. We were a little rough at first, but by the third time we ran through it we were almost perfect. Then we went off into the Young Dubliners, Waxie Dargle. My tin whistle and her fiddle complimented each other.

Dave’s wife, Amy, was a killer keyboard player, and after an hour it was like we had been playing together forever. We didn’t run out of steam until after one in the morning.

The older couples were grinning, but Robbie and Molly were walking on air.

“We gotta do this again!” he gushed, while Molly laughed and step-danced across the floor. I surprised her by getting up, with my pipes, and doing a little sword dancing, and finishing with the hornpipe while Molly played her fiddle.

“Where did you learn that?” she said, after we finished.

“From my grandfathers, Fergus and Ewen MacLough, may their souls rest in peace. And from some friends I met while I was in service. Where did you learn step dancing?”

“My mom teaches. I’m first generation Irish American, she came from County Dare when she was seventeen and never went back, except for her honeymoon and her twenty year anniversary.”

It was late; everyone had a bit of a buzz, so Dave put us all up for the night. I got an air mattress in the barn, but slept surprisingly well. Amy and Molly fed us all a big breakfast before sending us home with a solemn promise to come back the next Friday.

I was in a great mood all week. Many of my friends commented, saying they were glad I was back. I actually saw Asshole twice, and grinned at him both times. Word of what happened had gotten back to the owner of the company, and her lovers’ chances of advancement evaporated. Everyone knew his days were numbered; the owner liked me and hated cheaters, especially ones in his employ. Hearing they were having to live tight to afford the new house made me smile.

I had landed in a nice apartment, one of several duplexes owned by Uncle Will. With my new-found freedom I had very few bills, and could actually work in my shop at night without guilt. My pieces were selling well, and the two shops kept urging me to do more. I did, for a little while, before I backed off to my old level. It was getting to be more of a job than a hobby.

Friday nights at the barn occurred every other week, and more and more people were starting to attend. One night they had a little ceremony and presented me with a new tam. Molly had seen old pictures of me with one on and had ordered it for my forty-first birthday. I had let my hair grow longer than I had in years, and it looked good with it. At least the girls thought so.

It had been eight months since Kim had dropped the bomb on me, and I was surprised at how little I missed her now. I had no trouble recalling her deceit and treachery, but our married life seemed to fade into fuzzy memories that just didn’t seem real. Maybe I hadn’t loved her as much as I thought, or maybe she had managed to kill that love so completely it had no meaning in my memories. Regardless, I had seen her once or twice and it didn’t really bother me. As long as she lived in her world and left me alone, I was fine.

Molly and Robbie were friends with the owners of a pub/dance hall called O’Douls who were thinking about bringing in some Celtic inspired bands to pick up more business on Fridays and Saturdays. They had invited them out to the barn to listen to us play, and before the night was over we were committed to the following Saturday.

We held a short meeting. Dave, Tony and I had been down this road before, so we knew what we were getting into. For Molly, Robbie, and Amy it was a new adventure.

“All right” I said, “if we do this, let’s do it right. This can be a lot of fun, but I really mean this, the first time it becomes a job, or you don’t feel like playing, it’s over, at least for me. I’ve discovered life is too short to do things you don’t enjoy. Agreed?”

They all nodded assent.

“Right then, let’s decide. What kind of band do we want to be?”

I saw confusion in the three who hadn’t done this before. I explained.

“Do we want to do just rock tinged pieces? Do we want to do some traditionals, some acoustic sets? My suggestion, do them all. It’ll give us a broader base, and more opportunities to play.”

“And we need to develop a show. Any fool can stand there and sing while they play an instrument, but if that’s all they do, they might as well be furniture. They’ll be forgotten by the time the patrons get home. If you put on a show, add some humor, develop a hook that people will remember, they’ll talk about it. That way, the next time they decide to go out, and see us advertised in the entertainment section of the paper or the internet site of the bar, chances are that we’ll be the ones they come out for. That will make the bar owners happy, which will mean we get more bookings, and more money.”

I paused. “And it probably wouldn’t hurt if we had a name.”

This led to a long debate. Celtic and Gaelic names were discussed, but we opted for something simpler, something easy to remember.

Robbie came up with the winning name. In the late nineties a British party band called Chumbawamba had a hit with a song called Tubthumping. I really liked it, and had played it once for him and he had looked them up, adding it to his favorites.

“How about The Tub Thumpers? It’s a party sounding name, while sounding old fashioned at the same time. It’s catchy, and easy to remember.”

We all agreed it was great.

We talked about a hook, and Tony and Dale suggested I wear one of my kilts.

It’ll be unusual, and it’ll get attention” Molly giggled, “after all, what’s sexier than a man in a skirt, playing the accordion?”

They broke up laughing but talked me into it.

Show time. It was a brand new experience for three of us, and it had been a long time for the rest. I held a pep talk before we went out.

“I won’t tell you to relax, or not be nervous. That’s natural, the first few times. I will tell you to remember we’re getting paid to be on that stage, so be professional, and do your best. Ready to rock these people?”

They were.

We came out, all but me. They started out playing, and I strutted onto the stage in full dress, kilt, sash, white shirt, vest, knee socks, and a sporran. And of course, my tam. The only thing nontraditional was my black Rocky combat boots.

We did a rocked out version of Scotland the Brave, probably the most recognized bagpipe piece in the world. In a few minutes they were clapping and some were dancing. When it ended a few just stared at me. I mugged for the crowd.

“What? Is me slip showing?” I said, using my best brogue.

That brought a round of laughs. I put down the pipes and strapped my accordion on.

“Flogging Molly” I said, and we ripped into an extended version of Salty Dog. The crowd was getting into it, dancing, clapping. trying to jig along.

We switched and did a Corrs song, Angel, with Molly and Amy singing in harmony. I played my tin whistle as a counterpoint to Molly’s fiddle. The crowd was actually cheering. We did a few traditional jigs and reels, fast paced and fun, before doing a slow ballad. We finished up the set with All Around My Hat, an old Steeleye Span song, with tight harmonies and a blasting rock guitar. By then we were soaked in sweat and breathing hard. The fifteen minutes were appreciated.

I was too wired to sit down, so I worked the crowd. One girl, already a little tipsy, asked what the standard garb under a kilt was.

“Nothing” I said, looking her in the eye. “Where do you think ‘going commando’ comes from?”

I left her with her mouth hanging open and her friends laughing as I jumped back on stage.

We finished the show with a Dropkick Murphys song, Going Out In Style, about an Irish wake. We rocked it, and the crowd soon figured out the words and sang along.

We got handshakes, hugs, our backs patted, and questions about where the songs came from. I had gone over this with them all, be nice, answer questions if you can, engage them in conversation for a bit. Word of mouth advertising was priceless.

The owners were ecstatic. We were booked again for two weeks out, they already had another group scheduled for the next.