Irish Throwdown (What Happens In Vegas Book 4) by Matt Lincoln (motivational novels TXT) 📗

as Junior leaned forward to sign the documents. The man thanked us and led us through a door in the back of the office.

“Here she is,” the man announced once we’d reached the car. It was an unassuming blue sedan, save for a tiny detail I hadn’t thought about until that moment.

“Oh,” Junior blinked as he looked at the car. “Right. The steering wheel is on the right side.”

“Well, of course it is,” the rental clerk beamed. “We drive on the left side of the road here. You did know that, didn’t you? I’d rather not have you boys wrecking my cars, now.”

“Of course we do,” Junior hurried to reassure him. “It just slipped my mind.”

“I’m just pulling your leg,” the man chuckled. “Anyway, safe travels then. Just drop her off at any of our branch locations whenever you’re finished.”

The store clerk walked away, and I turned back to the car. As federal agents, we both had international driver’s licenses that allowed us to drive while in foreign countries, but that didn’t mean we actually had the skills necessary to do so. Driving on the left side of the road seemed daunting enough, but doing so while sitting on the wrong side of the car sounded even more difficult.

“Not it,” Junior called as he climbed into the passenger seat.

“What?” I demanded as I snapped out of my own thoughts.

“I’m not driving this thing,” Junior shrugged. “I don’t want to be the reason we die on this mission. And my arm’s hurt, remember? Ow, I can barely move it.”

I leveled him an unimpressed glare. I couldn’t really blame him for being apprehensive, though. Regardless, we needed to get back to Dublin, and we couldn’t keep relying on other people to give us rides, especially after the way Felton and the fire chief had acted so cryptically.

“Fine,” I huffed as I climbed into the driver’s seat. It was disorienting to be sitting on the right side of the car, especially since the gearshift and center console were all on my left now. I wasn’t about to let something this insignificant get the better of me, though. Everything else was still in the same position, including the foot pedals, so I would just have to get used to driving on the left side of the road.

It ended up being a lot easier than I thought, especially since the roads out in the countryside were almost entirely empty. It wasn’t until we made it back to Dublin that I began to get nervous. On several occasions, I had other drivers honk or stick their heads out of their windows to swear at me when I would suddenly come to a stop or hesitate before making a turn. I just tuned it all out. Being harassed by drivers experiencing road rage was something I dealt with pretty frequently in Las Vegas, so I could easily brush it off.

I was driving so carefully that it was completely dark out by the time we made it to the parking garage closest to our hotel. I chose a spot on the ground floor close to the door and released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding as soon as I was finished parking.

“That’s the slowest I’ve ever seen you drive,” Junior quipped as we climbed back out of the car.

“You can drive next time if you want,” I retorted as I took a moment to stretch the tension out of my shoulders. I hadn’t let the situation beat me, but I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been nerve-racking. I’d been worried I’d accidentally turn onto the wrong side of the road and accidentally crash into someone the entire time.

“No, thanks,” Junior replied easily as he led the way out of the parking garage. The evening air was cool and pleasant, and even though night had fallen, the city was aglow with soft, warm light as street lamps and storefronts illuminated the street.

“Should we head back to the hotel and call it a day?” I asked. “It’s pretty late. We’re also at kind of a dead-end without those files.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Junior muttered.

It was frustrating to think that something so important had managed to slip out of our grasp so easily, and it must have been important if it suddenly disappeared so mysteriously.

“You know what? Let’s go get a drink first.” I clapped Junior on the back. “We’re in Ireland, right? It would be a waste not to hit a pub while we’re here.”

“Alright,” Junior agreed readily.

We wandered around for a few minutes as we decided which bar to try. It seemed that there was another one every few feet, and the choices were overwhelming.

“How about that one?” Junior suggested as he nodded toward a pub located at the corner of two narrow streets.

It was painted a bright, shiny red, and the words “The Temple Bar” were emblazoned across the front of it in yellow letters. A neon sign in the front window advertised traditional Irish music, and even from the street, I could hear the sound of stringed instruments and singing voices.

“Let’s go,” I shrugged as I ducked into the bar.

The inside was extremely crowded and extremely loud. Somewhere toward the back of the bar, I could hear a band playing, but their voices were faint against the noise of the crowd. People were gathered in clusters around tables and against the bar, and all their voices merged together into an excited din that rang throughout the pub.

The bar at the front looked like something out of an old western movie, down to the darkly stained bar top and wooden stools and the bottles of amber-colored liquid stacked precariously against the wall. I shoved my way through to the front and quickly ordered two beers. The bartender worked quickly and prepared the drinks with expert precision before thrusting them toward me. I paid and turned to look for Junior, who had disappeared into the thick crowd.

“Charlie!” I heard someone yell over the thrum of noise,