The naked red-haired man, his skin nearly fluorescing in the dark corner into which he had retired to nurse his Molson's, drew a quick breath as the bearded giant entered, There was no doubt about it...this was Malcolm Dundee. The red-haired man had studied this bluff, ruddy countenance many times in numerous suspect photos provided him by the RCMP. An under cover Mountee himself, he had even mastered the Uillean Pipes in an effort to infiltrate the Folk Circles that Dundee liked to frequent.
Undercover RCMP Detective Curtis York lowered his voice an octave as he ordered another beer, in an effort to avoid Dundee recognizing him. How Dundee would know anything about him, York was unclear on. And in fact Dundee seemed to take no notice of him but only unslung his bodhran, dropped his pants (which caused a collective gasp and flinch among all of those present), stared at the snarling dog and gave three tremendous barks which caused Bannock to seek quick shelter behind his master's right leg.
Dundee then gave a near-deafening roar of laughter and said "Irish Whiskey!" The bartender quickly poured a glass, which Dundee quaffed in a single gulp, slammed down, and said "I'll have the bottle". At which the bartender quickly handed the bottle over. Dundee gripped it, strode over to the circle of musicians, stood the bottle on the floor, sat down and said "I assume ye all know Whiskey in the feckin Jar?" Several of them nodded."Well, play the damn thing then!" he laughed.
York opened the bag that held his Uillean Pipes, glimpsed the handcuffs in a side pocket, and decided it was going to take more than that to get Malcolm Dundee to Toronto.