Page 98 of Player

Finn

Iwas always a proud bloke. If Antonio didn’t break my spirit, no role can. Maybe that’s why playing the underdog is a role I do best. The bumbling oafs being a far cry from Finn McDuff. So why is it the hand-selected lineup for tonight’s fights isn’t sitting well with me?

“You’ll be fighting Stevie Ungerton first,” the white-haired organizer is telling me, gesturing to a lanky, green-behind-the-ears pup across the room. He’d pulled me aside seconds after setting eyes on me. Eager with news about tonight’s opponents. Motivated by something,someone,not currently present inside the club.

I scowl, offended. “That wee muppet? Has he won any fights?”

The old man turns red.

“Why him?”

“You want to fight or not? Keep asking questions and you’ll end up out on yer ear, hear me?”

I give him a puzzled expression then pretend to have a feckin’ light-bulb moment. “The fight is fixed, isn’t it.”

“Are you listening? Keep yer trap shut and win yer fights. Tony Flattery and Johnny Trehem will be next.” He nods to the two lads standing alongside Stevie. Believing our conversation is over, he spins on his heels, ready to go on with his business.

“How much did the South Africans wager on me?”

The old man turns toward me and shoots me a look like I’m the stupidest feck in Cork. “What in Christ’s sake does it matter if those foreigners bet a pretty penny on you?”

“So, they bet on me winning tonight?”

“Yeah, they did.” He squints like he’s pained, like too much light is blinding his eyes. “But if you lose, it’s not the South Africans you should be worried about.”

“O’Brien?” I murmur.

The old man rolls his eyes. “Let’s hope yer fists are stronger than yer noggin.”

“O’Brien is investing in the fights?”

“Ding.Ding.Ding. Give the eegit a medal,” the old man mutters.

“Will he come and watch?”

“No.” His response surprises me but I don’t show it. “He’ll be coming to collect on his investment in you.” He taps his head. “It sink in now?”

I nod.

“O’Brien is ensuring you’ll continue yer winning streak. But say nothing to no one about who you’ll be fighting, understood?” He arches an eyebrow, and I nod agreeably. “Don’t need every Tom, Dick, and Harry betting on you and ruining the odds. Any more bleedin’ questions?”

“No.”

“Good.” He marches off.

I scratch my head, wondering how pleased Sylvia Ogdenhayer is going to be when she hears O’Brien is investing in me. If she were Irish, she’d probably do the jig while plotting and conniving how to best outwit O’Brien. Little did I know when I made it my mission to be the center of attention so every tool from Antarctica to Africa would gamble on me.

My attention falls on my three would-be opponents who haven’t realized being quick fingered while playing video games isn’t the kind of preparation needed for these kinds of fights.

With a crack of my knuckles, I get on with the business of ensuring those three tykes don’t step a foot inside the ring tonight.