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

the explosion that occurred this morning at the train station. You’re saying that was connected to the mob?”

A beat of silence passed between us before the man began to snicker and then outright laugh uncontrollably.

“Saints preserve us,” the man chuckled. “You’ve really got no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do ya? Well, as I do owe you a favor, I suppose it’s only fair that I fill you in, then. You’ve gotten yourself way in over your head, lad.”

The man’s raucous laughter was unnerving, and I felt a deep sense of dread settling into the pit of my stomach. There was more to this than we realized.

27

Charlie

“Here you are, boys,” Seamus beamed as he set two large cartons of food in front of us. “Couldn’t let you leave Ireland without having some fish and chips, could I? It’s a staple of the Irish diet, after all.”

“Thanks,” I replied cheerfully as I dug into the food. The fish was flaky and white and covered in a thick, crispy fried batter. The fries were similarly crunchy with a smooth, soft center. We’d retreated to another small bar after I was discharged from the hospital. Junior and I were both dead on our feet, and by the time I’d been rescued from the roof by the fire department with a ladder, I’d been about ready to collapse.

The day wasn’t over yet, though. We still needed to interrogate the man I’d saved from falling to his death and figure out how the Irish mob of all things was connected to the bomb. Seamus had insisted we at least take a break for lunch in a move that had once again reminded me of Harry.

The bar was located right by the Ha’Penny Bridge and had outdoor seating that allowed us a nice view of the river as we ate. Despite the earlier panic over the explosion, the city still appeared to be bustling with tourists.

“I’m surprised the streets are so crowded,” I remarked as I took another bite of my food. “Considering all the commotion this morning.”

“It’s probably because of the commotion that people are out and about,” Seamus replied. “Bunch of nosy busybodies wanting to get a close-up look at what’s happening. Your little stunt on the roof probably helped with that. Then there’s Halloween tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah,” Junior interjected. “I almost forgot. Tomorrow is the thirty-first, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Seamus nodded. “And it’ll be a complete mess, too. A street full of drunk eejits. It’s all good fun, though. You two will get to watch the parade. It’s a real treat, one of the biggest Halloween celebrations in the world. We’ve got some pretty impressive floats as well.”

I smiled at how proud Seamus sounded as he spoke. It was really clear how much he loved Dublin.

“I hope we can,” I replied. “Depending on what the suspect tells us, we might not even be in Dublin tomorrow.”

“Ah, that would be a shame,” Seamus responded sadly. “Well, let’s worry about that later. Just eat up and replenish some of your strength for now, boys.”

We spent another hour or so talking and eating, and by the time we climbed back into the car to head back to the station, I was feeling significantly more refreshed.

It was raining by the time we made it back to the station, and the gray sky cast a gloomy atmosphere over the entire building. I’d noticed that the rain seemed to start and stop suddenly and at random points throughout the day, and by that point, I’d grown used to it.

Seamus stepped forward to speak to an officer as we entered the station.

“Alright,” he announced to us a few moments later. “The suspect’s ready for us. They want a Garda in there since he’s claiming to be affiliated with the mob, but I’ll let you do all the talking. I don’t want to distract from your case. His name is Patrick Gallagher. Apparently, he’s been very forthcoming and hasn’t resisted or given anyone a hard time.”

I remembered what the man had said about not resisting since he owed me for saving his life. I was a little surprised to hear he’d been true to his word.

“Gallagher?” Junior repeated. “So he’s the one we’re looking for, then? That was the name on the note.”

“I suppose so,” Seamus shrugged. “Though Gallagher is a pretty common name in Ireland. And if he’s telling the truth about being in the mob, there’s probably a number of fellows named Gallagher. They tend to keep it in the family, you know?”

“I see,” Junior responded. “Why don’t you be the one to conduct the interrogation, Charlie? You’ve already built a rapport with him. You might be able to leverage that save over him for information.”

“I agree.” I nodded. “Let’s go, Seamus.”

He led us in the direction of the interview room. It was nicer than the one we had back at the office, with a little seating area behind a two-way mirror that multiple people could watch the interview from and speakers built into the wall that allowed officers to communicate without having to open the door.

I could see Gallagher sitting inside, calmly reading a book.

“Now hold up a moment,” Seamus frowned. “How on earth did he get that?”

It took a moment for it to click in my head. A detained suspect shouldn’t have anything with them, even something as innocuous as a book. Seamus charged into the room, and I hurried in after him.

Patrick looked up and smiled when he caught my eye.

“Well, if it isn’t--” he started to say before he was abruptly cut off.

“Where’d you get that, you wee little scoundrel?” Seamus barked as he snatched the book out of Patrick’s hand. Patrick just smiled at him calmly.

“A friend gave it to me,” he answered simply.

“A friend, eh?” Seamus repeated. “And how exactly did this friend get into the Garda station and back into this room?”

“Who knows?” Patrick shrugged. “I don’t pry into his business. I just said thank you for the book. He could