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

“Where’s Agent Chapman?” I asked O’Leary.

“He told me to go on ahead,” he replied. “Didn’t think he could run with that broken rib of his.”

“Will you quit your yammering and just go?!” Seamus yelled.

I nodded to O’Leary, and the two of us took off again.

“He’s this way,” he informed me. “We moved him into a secluded cell to keep anyone from finding him. Garda Dowd wasn’t one of the ones told of his location, but it wouldn’t surprise me if word made its way to him.”

I followed him down several hallways and even up a flight of stairs before we finally made it to a deserted hall. I could tell without even asking O’Leary which cell was Gallagher’s because the door was wide open, and I could hear shouting from inside.

“You always had to take all the glory, didn’t you?” O’Sullivan was yelling. “The drugs were a good plan! A brilliant plan! But as soon as things went south, all of a sudden, I was a fool for having come up with it!”

“Damn,” O’Leary grunted. “They’re already here.”

From outside the doorway, I could see Gallagher sitting calmly on a chair. O’Sullivan and a uniformed Garda were standing just in front of him, their backs to us.

“Freeze!” O’Leary shouted as he lifted his gun and pointed it toward the men. I did the same and waited anxiously to see how O’Sullivan would react.

“This isn’t your business!” he roared as he spun around to face us, his gun held aloft.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” O’Leary scoffed. “You’re brandishing a gun in a Garda station, for goodness’ sake. And you, Dowd, I’ll get to you in a minute.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?” the Garda officer sneered. “I have the family’s protection! You can’t do anything to me!”

“The family?” I scoffed. “You mean the mafia? Are you an idiot? Do you really think you’re going to win this? Just look at the situation you’re in!”

The young man began to shake either with fear or with rage at my words, and I realized an instant before he moved what he was about to do.

“No!” I yelled as the man lifted his gun and aimed it at me.

Before he could pull the trigger, O’Leary pulled his, and the Garda crumpled to the floor.

O’Sullivan roared and turned his gun on O’Leary.

I lifted my own gun, but by the time I had fired, he had already shot the Sergeant, who fell to the ground with a thud. O’Sullivan fell just a second later, downed by my bullet.

He dropped his gun as he fell, and it clattered and skittered across the ground before coming to a stop right in front of Gallagher.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned him. My eyes flitted over to O’Leary, who was struggling to get back onto his feet. He was, thankfully, still wearing the bulletproof vest he’d worn out on the mission. Nevertheless, he’d been shot at near-point-blank range, so he was sure to have similar injuries to Junior. His life wasn’t in danger, though.

I looked back to Gallagher, who was staring at the gun on the ground. Several tense moments passed before he looked up at me, a sly smirk on his face.

Just a moment later, I heard footsteps racing toward us, accompanied by a welcome and familiar voice.

“O’Leary!” Seamus barked. “Agent Hills! What’s going on?”

“We’re here!” I called back without taking my eyes off Gallagher. “We need medical attention. Dowd and O’Sullivan are down, and O’Leary’s been shot!”

Seamus’s footsteps quickened, and a moment later, he was standing beside me, looking down at the scene in the room.

“Up against the wall!” he yelled at Gallagher, who immediately did as he was told, the insufferable smirk still in place. Seamus rushed forward to retrieve the fallen gun before turning to check on his partner. “You alright?”

“Never better,” O’Leary huffed as he carefully got to his feet. “What’s a bullet to the chest here and again?”

“Oh, quit your whining,” Seamus replied, though there was less humor in his voice than usual.

He moved forward to cuff Gallagher’s hands behind his back before leaning down to check on Dowd and O’Sullivan.

“Aye.” He shook his head. “They’re gone.”

“A bullet to the chest will do that,” Gallagher chuckled darkly. “When you’re not wearing a vest, that is.”

“Shut your mouth.” Seamus scowled as he shoved Gallagher roughly out of the room. “We need to have words.”

“Why?” He asked with mock confusion. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Cut the crap,” I retorted. “I heard O’Sullivan talking about the drugs. We’re going to have another chat, and no bull this time.”

“Well, I suppose I do owe you.” He grinned maliciously before looking down at O’Sullivan’s lifeless form. “You did me a favor, after all.”

I bristled at his voice and the mocking tone in which he said them and watched with disgust as Seamus led him away.

The next half-hour passed by in a blur. Paramedics came for O’Sullivan and Dowd, though there was nothing to do at that point. They also examined O’Leary, who ended up having to head to the hospital to get more thoroughly checked out. After catching Junior up on what had happened and making a quick call back to headquarters to Wallace, we headed down to the interrogation room where Seamus was waiting with Gallagher.

It was the same room we’d initially meant to use for O’Sullivan’s interrogation. Gallagher was sitting calmly at the table as we entered, his ever-present smile fixed firmly in place.

“Alright,” I sighed as I took a seat opposite him. “Let’s cut to the chase. What did you and O’Sullivan have to do with the drug that’s been circulating around Las Vegas?”

“We created it,” Gallagher replied. “A new designer drug. Gives you energy, creates a sense of euphoria, even numbs pain and inhibitions. It was a fairly popular and successful drug until it started causing people to lose their minds. It quickly lost its appeal at that point.”

“You told him to pull it off the market,” I surmised. “That’s why there was a