“Where is it?” O’Flannery asked. In dew-soaked trousers, he spoke to the clover spread below.

His drinking companions stood watch. They elbowed each other’s ribs to stay awake.

A big man, wool sweater riding up his belly, belched.

O’Flannery sprang up, moving face-to-face with the man. Liquor hung heavy on both men’s breath.

“Have you seen it?” O’Flannery asked.

Before the big man could push him away, O’Flannery let go.

He couldn’t tell the others to run. That it was too late.

He’d finally lost his four-leaf clover. And, with it gone, his bad luck was finally come-calling.