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Finn

“You Finn McDuff?” a voice asks from the darkness. I sway on me feet, three sheets to the wind but not pissed enough to miss the accent.

“Who wants to know?”

Gravel crunches as one of the South Africans approaches me from behind. I let him jump me, push me about, then pitch me into the back of a parked car. Another fella is in the backseat, waiting for me.

So, this is a quick courtesy call, is all.

I relax, having expected something like this. “Where are we going?”

A punch in the side is the only answer I get.

“Easy,” I hiss. “You hurt the merchandise, and I won’t be in any condition to toss a fight.”

“He knows?” the man hovering in the door and blocking my exit demands.

“Mrs. O. wants us to remind him of their agreement. You hear us, asshole. You go down and let Vidal win.”

“Now why would I be doing that?”

I cough after another punch hits my side. “Merchandise.”

He stuffs a thick envelope in the elastic waist of me joggers. “An advance to whet your appetite.”

“Take the money and do as she asks,” the other fella adds. “Because she’s not leaving this country without giving O’Brien the stiff middle finger. He deserves to lose money after stealing from her.”

“What did he take, her nail polish?” Now, I admit women are the stronger sex and the nail-polish comment is something a sexist prig might say. But a lad’s got to say what a lad’s got to say to get these shite-for-brains talking.

And they do.

“Lowballed her during negotiations and tried to rob her blind.”

“That arrogant Irish fuck ignored the signed agreement they’d made. Tore the paper up in Mrs. O’s face then tossed it in the air.”

I snort. “Throwing shapes, was he?” I imagine O’Brien, red-faced and breathing fire, getting his jollies from taking the piss out of Mrs. Ogdenhayer.

“I gather this is about revenge.”

They don’t say anything. Answer enough, which I seize on. “Vindictive, is she?”

“Very. Mr. Ogdenhayer would never tolerate this petty bullshit.”

“And he’s home in ... Cape Town?” I ask, guessing wildly at where Hayden might be able to find this lovely couple and their nefarious business.

“Yeah.”

I grin. Africa’s a huge continent, South Africa an enormous country. Cape Town might be a large city, but Hayden will still be pleased our search has narrowed.

I decide to throw them a bone then deal with the repercussions later. “Tell her an order is an order.”

Reenter the fight scene. Earn O’Brien’s interest. Get rid of the reporter. Yeah, orders are orders, but some take priority over others.

“Told you he’d do it.”

“Good call,” says the bloke whose been beating on me. He pats the envelope pressed against me stomach. “Tit for tat, right?”

Now it might be the drink or the enlightening news about Cape Town, or it might be the devil inside, but, whatever it is, it doesn’t stop me from slamming my fist into the gobshite sitting next to me kidney.