The Big Fish Hunter

“Everyone has their vices.” The voice from behind him was a gruff accented one, Boston area the bartender figured. He turns to greet his new guest. “For some it’s sex, others drugs or alcohol, then there are those all about money or power,” he paused, lifting his can of Stroh’s with the hook that replaced his right hand. “Those sorts of vices get men killed, so you’re just fine popping those little sugar pills my friend.”
The bartender nodded, tossing the last few M&M’s into his mouth simultaneously. “The name is Mulligan,” the stranger said with a slight cackle, apparently having amused himself. “Jack Mulligan, but people call me Orca…because…” He turned his good hand over, palm down on the bar, revealing a wrist to elbow tattoo of incredible intricacy – a listing tall ship being smashed by what looked like a killer whale. It was a particularly detailed and garish scene on the man’s arm – bodies, apparently the ships crew, strewn about the water, masts snapping like matchsticks, anguish and fear everywhere. Except, in the center of the messy chaotic scene was one man, a calm, confident looking figure with a hook for a right hand. There seemed to be a big grin and a calm on his face that belied the situation. And he was clearly readying a harpoon to try and finish off the giant sea creature.
“I hunt fish…BIG fish.”