Irish Throwdown (What Happens In Vegas Book 4) Matt Lincoln (e book reader for pc TXT) 📖

away as he spoke with the attendant and moved toward the back of the store where I’d last seen Junior.

“Hey,” he turned to look at me as I found him in a back corner of the store. “Do you think cheese and onion sound like a good combination?”

I paused as I considered the question.

“Maybe?” I shrugged. “I don’t really like onions at all, so I’m probably not the right person to ask.”

“They have so many things in cheese and onion flavor,” Junior explained. “Every different brand of chips I found had it. I want to try it, but I’m not sure which one I should get.”

I looked down at the packages cradled in his arms and realized that they were all cheese and onion-flavored potato chips. He was also carrying a small basket with his elbow filled with chocolate.

“Get this one,” I suggested as I pointed to the unfamiliar brand. “You probably won’t be able to find it outside of Ireland, so you might as well try it while you can.”

“Good point,” he nodded as he began to return the other bags of chips.

“Are you going to buy all that candy, too?” I asked, wondering if he was having a similar issue picking a single one to try.

“Oh, no,” he shook his head. “They’re for Fiona. There are a lot of candies that you can’t get in the United States because there are toys inside, and the FDA thinks they’re a choking hazard.”

“Aren’t they?” I raised an eyebrow at him as I took one of the chocolates from the basket to examine it.

“Maybe,” Junior shrugged. “Fiona’s an adult, though, and I’m pretty sure I can trust her not to asphyxiate herself accidentally. I’ve heard stories of people getting stopped at airport security and having them confiscated. We don’t have to deal with that as federal agents, though.”

“Lucky for you,” I snorted. I wasn’t all that hungry myself, so I just grabbed a bottle of water and followed Junior to the front counter. The old man was still flipping lazily through the magazine and barely glanced up at us as he rang up our purchases.

Once we were finished inside, we headed back out to the car. I took a long swig of water before setting the bottle into the cupholder between the two seats. Junior carefully placed the bag of chocolates in the backseat before pulling open the bag of chips. The smell of onions filled the small space of the car immediately, and I rolled the windows down as Junior popped one into his mouth.

“It’s pretty good,” he shrugged as he held one out toward me. “Do you want one?”

“No,” I replied quickly. I didn’t really mind the smell of onions as much as I did the taste, but if the scent coming from the bag was this powerful, I could only imagine how strong the taste would be.

We were on the road for another hour before we finally made it to the police station in Larne, Northern Ireland, where we would be meeting with the police officers who would be accompanying us to the address.

Larne was a bustling port town on the edge of the Irish Sea and close enough to the neighboring country of Scotland that someone could take a ferry there in less than an hour. The city architecture was similar to Dublin’s, so there was a mixture of historical buildings and more modern ones that looked more like what I would have seen in Las Vegas.

I parked the car in a spot near the door and finished off the last of my water before opening the driver’s side door and stepping out. The Larne police station was a huge, imposing building made of brick and steel. An iron fence wrapped around the perimeter, which gave it the appearance of a prison rather than a police station. I waited until Junior, Seamus, and O’Haines were out of the car before climbing the short set of steps up to the station’s main entrance.

The inside of the building was just as imposing. Unlike the Dublin Garda station, which was chaotic but still buzzed with a friendly and inviting atmosphere, the interior of the Larne police station consisted of harsh lines and stark lighting as the fluorescent lights overhead seemed to glare angrily down at us.

“Can I help you?” a gruff, uniformed man sitting behind a desk near the main entrance asked as we approached.

“Aye,” Seamus replied cheerfully. “We’re here to see Captain O’Leary. He should be expecting us.”

“Right away,” the officer replied before picking up a phone on the desk and letting someone on the other end know that Captain O’Leary’s guests were there.

We were only waiting for a few minutes before I heard a heavy set of footsteps approaching us from the main hallway, accompanied by a booming voice not unlike Seamus’s.

“Seamus, you old dog!” a man in a black uniform bellowed as he walked up to us. “I’d know that ugly mug anywhere. You haven’t changed a lick since I last saw you.”

“I don’t know who you’re calling ugly, you great beast,” Seamus laughed as he pulled the other man into a hug before turning to introduce us. “Agents, this is Captain Tom O’Leary. Tom, this is Agent Hills and Agent Chapman with MBLIS.”

“Of course, of course,” O’Leary said as he moved forward to shake our hands. “Heard all about you and what you’re here for. So, you two ready to do this, then?”

I was a little taken aback by the sudden question, but I’d have been lying if I told him I hadn’t been ready and raring to go since I’d woken up this morning.

“Of course,” I nodded.

“Excellent,” O’Leary smiled. “I’ve got a team of men ready to go whenever you want.”

“How many men?” Junior interjected. “Not to offend you or anything, but the last time we did something like this, we found ourselves woefully unprepared, and we ended up getting ambushed. I want to make sure we’re really ready this time.”

“Don’t you worry, lad,” O’Leary