The barman gathers the glassware from the bar.
Eugene loses his mind. Arms swinging, he charges Finn.
Finn’s ready, and easily sidesteps one punch and then another. He’s light on his feet. Skilled ... like he’s done this before.
“Money’s on the Northerner.”
“Mine, too. Hand it over to his missus for safekeeping.” Finn’s shirt is plucked from my hands and replaced with euros. It takes a few minutes to collect their bets.
And as soon as I’ve done so, the fight’s over.
Men curse, as the crowd parts.
I gasp.
Eugene is standing over Finn, a triumphant look on his face. My attention drops to Finn, there on the floor. His lip profusely bleeding.
“I want me money back. He did that on purpose.”
“He let Eugene hit him.”
“Feck off, you gobshites.” Eugene stalks over to me. “Maybe another night, eh, Yank?” Eugene takes the euros from my shaking hands. “Come and get your winnings, lads.”
No one steps forward.
“You wankers,” he hollers, stuffing the entire winnings into his pant pocket as he thunders off.
Finn stands on wobbly legs.
Every eye is on him, and I fear for his life.
“Pull that shite at the underground and they’ll be carting you out of there in a casket, you feck.”
Finn grabs his shirt, takes my hand, and hurries us outside. I catch his smile in the moonlight but for the life of me can’t imagine why he’d pull a stunt like that. Those men, they saw what I did.
They bet on a winner.
“Why?” I murmur.
“Everyone loves an underdog with potential. So I gave them one.”
