in his element.
Two pints in and we’re surrounded by men. Finn has the attention of the entire crowd, taking “the craic” while looking gorgeous in a new, green Northern Ireland Football League jersey. Its white stripes accentuate his broad shoulders, and the snug fit over his muscled body leaves no doubt about his masculinity.
He’s an outsider who quickly fits in. Trading jokes and insults at a speed that leaves me dizzy. I’m fascinated and afraid to look away for fear I’ll miss something.
“You sound like a bloke from Belfast who swallowed a Yankee,” the foolish man standing at the bar quips, poking fun of Finn’s American accent.
I stare at Finn with new insight. So, he’s from Northern Ireland but spent time in the States, enough time that his countrymen can detect an accent?
Finn answers without pausing. “You sound like a Corker stroking himself at Sunday mass. Those feckin’ high notes are killers, eh?”
“He’s got a point,” a man within earshot says.
“Eugene does grunt a lot when speaking,” another is eager to add.
“That high-pitched tone of his,” a third joins in, “is worse than any highfalutin prick’s.”
Eugene clenches his jaw. Pissed off and ready to explode.
“Nothing a pint of Irish Champagne can’t cure,” Finn exclaims, waving the bartender over and ordering a round of Guinness.
Hands slap Eugene on the back.
The man smiles.
I stare aghast at Finn. What a player. One second, he’s ready to knock him on his ass, the next he’s pulling him in for a hug. Yes, I knew this about him . . . but seeing him in action . . .
“Heard this one?” Finn demands, gesturing for everyone to pull in close. “This fella, Murphy, applies for a job at a Dublin firm. Also keen on getting hired is Bob, the Yankee. The boss has them take this test, being there’s one job but both men are equally qualified. The results come in and, wouldn’t you know, Murphy and Bob have exactly the same answers.”
“Yankee cheated,” Eugene interrupts.
“Of course he did . . . damn Yanks.”
Finn shakes his head, then lowering his voice, continues. “So, the boss goes up to Murphy to break the bad news.”
“I feckin’ knew it.”
“Let ’em finish, you eegit.”
“ ‘Murphy, thanks for coming,’ ” Finn continues, “ ‘but we’re giving the American the job.’ ”
The crowd leans in.
“ ‘That’s unpatriotic, Murphy complains. This is Ireland, and my being Irish should count for something. Besides, we both got nineteen out of bleedin’ twenty questions correct. I don’t see the problem. How could one incorrect answer be better than the other?’ Murphy asks.”
There’s a pause. One second. Two. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I can’t take my eyes off of Finn and am as eager as everyone else to hear the punch line.
“The boss shakes his head. ‘We’ve made our decision based on the question you missed.’
“ ‘And just how would one incorrect answer be better than the other?’ Murphy asks.
“ ‘Simple. On question number seven, the American wrote down, I don’t know.’
“ ‘So?’ is Murphy’s response.
“ ‘You wrote down, ‘Neither do I.’ ”
The floors of the pub shake with laughter.
Finn turns to me and winks before sipping his beer.
The crowd hovers, eager for more.
Prime pickings.
I clear my throat. “So, Cork City seems like a nice place to live. Does everybody know everybody here? I bet it’d be difficult getting away with any sorts of crime.”
The men laugh.
Finn leans in close and whispers, “I wasn’t finished with my pint yet.”
I frown. But before our conversation can continue, we’re interrupted.
“This city is the next best thing to heaven.”
“Didn’t they catch Eugene’s own mother stealing the neighbor’s chicks?”
“True story, that.”
My eyes go wide. Oh, no.
“Shut your gob, McLeighton,” Eugene snaps.
Finn clears his throat then waits for their undivided attention. I’ve never seen a person able to command attention the way he does. “The underground scene still a bunch of patsies?” he demands.
Eugene comes up to a full stand.
My ears perk up. Underground scene?
“You participated before?” someone asks Finn.
“A few times,” is Finn’s reply.
I raise my eyebrows at him. Participated in what, exactly?
“Close yer trap, McLeighton. His larkin doesn’t know.”
Everyone looks at me as I frown at Finn.
“She’ll come around once the euros roll in.” He moves away from the bar and steps into the middle of the crowd.
“You good, eh?”
Finn shrugs. “Stubborn, is all.”
“You think you can show Eugene a move or two?”
“Nah.”
They stare at Finn in disbelief.
I inhale sharply, watching the gleam of mischief in his eyes.
“He’s had his fair