Page 37 of Dublin Debacle

Jack held onto Emily’s arm, keeping her from rushing forward.

“Let go of me,” she shouted. “Finn could be in there.”

“If you want to help him, call 999. Get the Garda here, tell them what’s happening. They’ll send enough people to make a difference.”

She pulled her phone from her pocket. With her hand shaking, she punched a nine and another.

Before she could enter the third nine, a giant forklift roared out from between the shipping containers, heading straight for the crowd of men fighting, honking its horn like a runaway freight train.

Emily watched in horror, imagining the carnage the forklift would cause when it plowed into the fight.

Shouts rang out. Men scattered. Some helped others to their feet and dove out of the path of the oncoming vehicle.

By the time the machine reached the center of the fight, everyone had dispersed, running in all directions.

The forklift driver stopped where the fight had begun, the driver turning the vehicle in a three-hundred-sixty-degree circle as if daring the men to come after him.

Once they were out of danger, half of the men started toward the forklift, shouting and waving their tire irons and fists. The other half formed a circle around the heavy machine, ready to defend the forklift and its driver.

The wail of sirens bounced off the walls of containers, growing louder.

The aggressors advancing on the forklift paused.

When the first Garda vehicle leaped past shipping containers into the open, the aggressors turned and ran, disappearing into the maze of metal boxes.

A second and a third patrol car joined the first and came to a squealing stop beside the forklift.

Only then did the forklift driver step out of the covered cab.

Emily gasped. “That’s Finn.” She shook free of Jack's grasp on her arm and ran toward the crowd of men and uniformed police.

Jack was right behind her.

Desperate to get to her brother, Emily pushed her way through the men until she came face to face with her brother.

Ignoring the officer talking to him, Emily flung her arms around Finn, her heart hammering against her chest. “Finn!” she cried, holding onto him, afraid to let go. He could have been killed. She could have lost her brother and broken her promise to her mother to look out for him.

“Em,” Finn pried her arms off his body and set her at arm’s length. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you. I—” She glanced around at the men surrounding him. Rory Gallagher and some of the guys she’d seen in the shelter glared at her and Finn. “What’s happening?”

Finn’s jaw hardened. “You need to leave.”

She shook her head. “Not unless you leave with me.” She touched a hand to his arm. “Come home, Finn.”

“Go, Emily. I have a new life. I don’t need you anymore. Go back to your flat, to your pub and leave me alone,”

Emily stared at her brother. He stood taller, his muscles were filling out, and he had a hardness to his face that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t belong here,” he said. “I don’t need you to pretend to be my mother. You may have turned away from your heritage like my father, but I haven’t. I’m here now,” he said, as he glared down at her. “I’m with my brothers.”

As if to emphasize Finn’s point, Rory and his men inched forward.

“But—” she started.

“We have nothing left to say to each other.” Finn physically set her aside and addressed the Garda. “You asked me what happened; I’ll tell you.”

A hand reached for hers and drew her out of the crowd. “Let’s go.”

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