Page 40 of Dublin Debacle

Emily rolled her eyes. “Ignore Daphne, she’s an incurable flirt.” She turned to the other woman. “Feeling better, Briget?”

The petite brunette nodded. “Much. I’m sorry I put you in a spot by callin’ in sick last night.”

“No worries,” Emily said with a gentle smile. “I’d rather you called in sick last night than game night. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I’m right as rain.” Briget’s brow creased. “I heard what happened last night. Is your uncle all right?”

Emily nodded. “He’ll be fine with a little rest and back behind the bar before you know it.”

Briget sighed. “I hope so. What is the city comin’ to with masked attackers pickin’ on old men? Why can’t people be kind and civil?”

Jack had given up asking that question after witnessing the ravages of war. Someone would always hate someone else who was a little different than themselves.

By the time the game started, the entire pub was packed, with no empty seats in the place. Some customers stood. Jack scrounged folding chairs from a store room next to the office and set them out in any available space with a view of the video monitors.

As the game progressed, the high score alternated between the teams, cheered on by different groups throughout the pub. For the first half of the game, moods were jovial. Supporters of the different teams threw good-natured insults across the room. The tension built, the atmosphere in the pub became edgier, the laughter died down and shouts erupted when one team fouled the other.

The waitresses delivered drinks, Jack cleared the empties and Emily worked the bar. Whenever she needed something from the kitchen or storeroom, Jack would get it. He told her to let him do the fetching to keep her at the bar, mixing drinks and filling glasses of beer. His real reason for retrieving items from the back was to keep her from going there alone. He worried that she would take out a bag of trash only to be jumped by the attackers who’d been there the night before.

For all Jack knew, the same attackers could be among the customers watching the game, waiting for their opportunity to catch Emily alone. The ski masks of the night before had done the job of hiding their identities.

Jack’s phone vibrated in his pocket as he carried a large tray of empty glasses to the bar. He set the tray down before he pulled his cell phone out and checked the name on the screen.

Lucie.

He answered immediately, holding the phone to one ear while clamping his hand over the other.

“Jack, I’m glad I caught you,” Lucie said.

The barroom erupted into angry shouts.

Jack couldn’t hear what Lucie was saying. “I can’t hear you. Let me move into another room.”

He left the bar, pushed through several men waving their fists at the monitor, then shouting at others across the room.

Knowing Lucie, she preferred to text. If she called, it had to be important and immediate.

Jack ducked into the office and closed the door behind him, muffling some of the noise from the barroom, but not all.

“I think I can hear you now,” he said. “Shoot.”

“Jack,” Lucie said, her voice tight, tense. “Someone just posted a call to arms for the Travellers to meet violence with violence against the Radical Nationalists.”

“Isn’t that what they were doing anyway?” Jack asked.

“This time, they’re encouraging their people to collect weapons and be ready to take back their liberty and homeland.”

“That’s a little more specific than just spreading hatred,” Jack said.

“That’s not all,” Lucie said. “You’re at the Tap & Tankard Pub as we speak, am I right?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, not too concerned that she was following his phone’s coordinates. If he should run into trouble, the Brotherhood Protectors could find his last coordinates and send help. “Yes, I am.”

“The message was sent five minutes ago through the IP address belonging to the Tap & Tankard,” Lucie said, something Jack had already deduced. “He could still be there.”

“On it.” Jack ended the call, shoved his phone into his pocket and flew out of the room.

By that time, the noise in the barroom was an eardrum-rattling roar.

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