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

“Wait just a moment,” Naomi stood suddenly. “Wasn’t that the name of the bar Penny mentioned? Remember, Miranda, when she was telling us that people who really wanted to get a hold of rush, they’d go and speak to a dealer that was always hanging around there?”

“She did say that.” I nodded. “Which means we now have two leads pointing us directly to this bar. Come on, Naomi.”

I jumped up, itching to get out and do some work. I hated sitting around, especially when I was in a bad mood like this. I could feel the blood pumping through my veins with anticipation.

“Alright,” Naomi agreed. “Let’s go.”

I got the address from Fiona before leaving the office and heading down to the parking lot. I jumped into the driver’s seat before Naomi could and stuck my tongue out at her childishly. As I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, I noticed that the sidewalks seemed busier than they had the past few days. It seemed people had gotten over the initial jolt of fear they’d felt at hearing about the dangerous new drug that was causing people to become violent, and it was back to business as usual.

“Tomorrow’s Halloween,” I remarked as I suddenly remembered myself. It had almost slipped my mind amid all the chaos.

“It is,” Naomi confirmed. “And it appears people are out and ready to party, deadly drug or not.”

“They don’t call it sin city for nothing.” I sighed. “To be honest, usually I’d be one of the people out getting drunk and having a good time, but our current case had put me off the partying mood.”

I watched the streets around us get sketchier as we got closer to our destination. The surrounding walls were adorned with graffiti, and I could see broken bottles and other bits of trash littering the sidewalks along the road on either side of us.

“We’re here,” Naomi announced in a foreboding voice as we pulled up to a run-down-looking bar. It was the middle of the day, and the sun was still beating down hot and bright upon the dilapidated building, but it still looked unpleasant and uninviting. The patches of grass along the front of the bar were overgrown and covered in weeds, and one of the windows to the right of the door was smashed in and covered with a thick sheet of cardboard.

“Nice place,” I remarked sarcastically as Naomi pulled the car to a stop in front of the building. A man in a dingy green hoodie looked up at us from where he was leaning against the wall. He scowled at us warily before turning back to his phone.

“The bartender’s name is Dillon O’Callaghan.” Naomi went over the details Fiona had given us. “The first attack was between two customers, but the second was against him. We should probably ask him about it.”

“Alright then,” I replied as I pushed open the car door and stepped outside. Naomi got out behind me, and together we made our way toward the entrance. We were almost to the door when the man leaning against the side of the building suddenly approached us.

“Hey,” the young man who’d been leaning against the side of the bar snapped as I approached. “Bar ain’t open yet. Come back at six.”

“I see,” I responded as I appraised the boy standing in front of me. He looked a little over five feet tall and skinny like he hadn’t had a decent meal in a while. “Is Dillon O’Callaghan around? We need to speak with him.”

“What about?” the boy eyed us cautiously.

I pulled my credentials out of my pocket and held them out in front of me.

“We’re with MBLIS,” I explained. “We need to speak with him about some crimes that were committed here recently.”

The boy’s eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped almost comically. I’d suspected that flashing my ID and throwing around scary terms would do the trick, but his reaction was more intense than I’d imagined.

“Hey!” a tall, red-haired man barked as he walked out through the front door. “What’s going on out here?”

His thick hair curled around his face like a lion’s mane, and an angry red scar stretched from one corner of his face to another. He puffed his chest out and postured like a peacock in a clear show of intimidation, and I had to focus intently not to roll my eyes at the display.

“They’re feds,” the boy practically squeaked, and for a moment, I felt sorry for him. “They’re asking for you.”

“So you’re Dillon O’Callaghan?” Naomi surmised.

“Aye,” the man responded as he crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “That’s me. I didn’t know the feds made a habit of harassing underage kids. Who did you say you worked for?”

“Military Border Liaison Investigative Services,” I responded without missing a beat. “And we weren’t harassing anyone. He’s the one who stopped us from coming in.”

“Well, it’s still a free country, isn’t it?” O’Callaghan retorted. “Just because you’re feds doesn’t mean you can just waltz in wherever you like.”

“You’re right,” Naomi replied in the voice she used when annoyed but wanted to remain diplomatic. “We can just speak out here, now that we’ve caught you.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” he interrupted her. “I haven’t broken any laws, so there’s no reason I have to speak with you.”

“Are you sure about that, Mr. O’Callaghan?” I asked. “Because we heard about a few things that happened here. A couple of assaults, one of which you were the victim of. Is that how you got that scar?”

O’Callaghan’s eyes went wide, clearly shocked that we even knew about the attacks. That confirmed our suspicion that something had been done to cover them up. The boy’s face had gone a sickly white, and his eyes were darting frantically between O’Callaghan and me as he waited for one of us to speak.

“That incident was handled internally,” he replied stoically. “And you aren’t welcome here.”

“You can’t just make things