Irish Throwdown (What Happens In Vegas Book 4) by Matt Lincoln (short books for teens .TXT) 📕

“We’ll just have to deal with it,” I asserted. Ultimately, Junior was my partner, and I was going to have his back. We’d worry about everything else after we accomplished our current mission.

“Right,” Junior smiled sadly. He seemed relieved that I wasn’t angry at him, but I could tell he was upset by the turn of events.

We made our way down to the lobby, and I gulped down the rest of my coffee before disposing of the empty cup in a trash can. I didn’t like walking around without my hands free. It was a paranoid habit, but one that had saved my life on more than one occasion.

“The police station is only a five-minute walk away,” Junior informed me as he checked the address on his phone. I nodded in response and let him lead the way. The city looked different down here than it had up on the third floor of the hotel. From the ground, everything appeared to loom over me, though not in a threatening way. It was a little strange, as an American, to see so many massive buildings jammed so tightly together. It would make catching a suspect pretty easy, though, considering there were no alleyways or tiny crevices for them to slip into.

The architecture of the city was beautiful as well. I was so used to the drab gray and white concrete and steel of Las Vegas. Dublin was awash in color, as all the buildings were made of red and tan brick that speckled along the walls in alternating patterns. Once in a while, we would pass a storefront painted bright purple or red. Up on the higher floors, multicolored flags and plants hung out of windows or off brightly colored window sills. Even the smooth black cobblestones beneath our feet were more charming than the gray asphalt we had back at home.

We had to walk over the Ha’Penny Bridge to get to the police station, a pedestrian-only bridge constructed of wrought-iron and painted stark white.

“It used to cost half a penny to cross,” Junior informed me as we crossed the thin bridge. It was clearly a popular tourist destination, as the bridge was crowded with people stopping to take photos of the wide river on either side. “Back when it was built in the early eighteen-hundreds. Obviously, it’s free to cross now, but the name stuck.”

I chuckled a little at the thought of naming something after its own admission price and wondered what common American landmarks might be called today if the people who constructed them had done the same. Maybe instead of the Statue of Liberty, we’d have the “two-dollar statue,” or something like that.

“I think this is it,” Junior remarked uncertainly just a few minutes after we’d crossed the bridge. We were standing in front of what looked like a giant castle. The massive building spanned two entire blocks and was entirely made of large gray stones. The main entrance was located beneath a sloping stone arch, and there were spires and chimneys along the entire length of the roof.

“Pearse Street Garda Station,” I read off a sign posted by the entry. “This is definitely it.”

“Pretty impressive for a police station,” Junior remarked as he looked up at the towering building in awe. Even I had to admit that working in a castle every day did seem cool.

As we stepped inside, however, the illusion was quickly broken. The inside of the police station was, of course, just as modern as any other police station I’d ever been in.

After we stepped through its doors, it wasn’t immediately apparent where we should go. There wasn’t any reception area or even many people around, and I wondered if we’d come in through the wrong entrance. A uniformed officer finally crossed our paths as we ventured a little further into the station.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked cautiously. I didn’t blame him since, from his perspective, we were two unidentified men blindly roaming the police station.

“We’re Agents Chapman and Hills,” I answered as I pulled my badge out of my jacket pocket. “With the Military Border Liaison Investigative Services. We’re supposed to meet some officers here about collaborating on an international drug trafficking case.”

“Just one moment,” the officer held a finger up as if signaling us to wait. “I’ll go and get someone to help you.”

He rushed off, and Junior and I were left waiting in the hallway by ourselves. We weren’t waiting long, though, as a moment later, a booming voice echoed down the hallway as a different officer approached us.

“For goodness’ sake!” he exclaimed as he walked up to us. “I’m so sorry about that. I completely lost track of time. It’s a crazy time of year, you know, what with Halloween right around the corner. Folks are getting into trouble, and I need my officers ready to respond.”

“We understand,” Junior replied. The officer was a tall and muscular man, and the energy he was giving off was both frenetic and friendly.

“Excellent,” the officer beamed. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Sergeant Seamus O’Connor with the Garda Siochana. Me and my partner, Sergeant Callahan Bolger, will be accompanying you on your mission today. The two of you must be Agent Hills and Agent Chapman. Did I get those names right? Feel free to let me know if I say them wrong. I know my accent can be a little much for newcomers.”

“All of you is a little much for newcomers,” a second officer chimed in as he approached us in the hallway. I was secretly glad he’d interrupted Seamus’s stream of speech. He’d been shooting information at us so rapid-fire that it was making me feel disoriented.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Seamus frowned at the other man.

“Exactly what I said,” he deadpanned back. “You’re annoying. Just look at ‘em. They look about ready to bolt.”

“Aye, alright,” Seamus huffed. “No need to be such a little scut about it. Anyway, agents, this is my