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I gave him that scar.
"Boss," a thug calls out.
Oscar turns. "What the fuck are ya doing in my pub, Tynan?"
I grin. "Long time no see, Oscar. Did ya miss me?"
He shoots me daggers with his glare. "I should kill ya now."
I don't blame the guy. The last time I saw him, I left him a bloody mess. It was a long time ago, but I can't say I expect him to forgive me.
Not that I'm asking for penance. If I had the chance to do it again, I would, except this time, I'd finish him off. I don't doubt he wants to do the same to me.
My saving grace is the state the O'Learys are in. He'd be an idiot to call my bluff about O'Connors surrounding his pub. But I can't let my guard down.
"I come in peace. All I'm here to do is to pay off Malachy's debt. I'm not looking for the O'Connors to destroy your pub or for a blood bath. I think we've had enough of that lately, don't ya agree?"
He stays quiet, his eyes in small dark slits pinned on me.
"I only have five minutes. If I'm not back outside, your pub will be filled with O'Connors. It won't matter that there's women here. And I'd hate for them to get hurt," I lie.
More hatred fills Oscar's expression. He takes another moment, then turns to Malachy. "How dare ya bring an O'Connor into my pub."
Malachy whines, "I didn't have a choice. He took my daughter."
A flood of loathing fills Oscar's scowl. He refocuses his gaze on me but directs his question at Malachy. "He took your daughter?"
I interject, "He bet his daughter, and I won. Ya know how this game goes."
Oscar turns toward Malachy. "I told ya to bring your daughter, not him."
Malachy blurts out, "He wouldn't let me bring her. I told her you'd kill her if she didn't come, and he still wouldn't let me bring her."
My insides turn to fire. I boom, "You ever mention killing my wife again, and you'll have the wrath of the O'Connors on you and all your families."
Oscar's head jerks backward. "Wife?"
"Aye. I married her last night after he bet her and lost. So now everyone knows Maeve is no longer an O'Leary, and this is the last time I'll pay her da's debt. Are we clear?" I toss the bag on the table.
Oscar's eyes dart to Malachy, then back to me, then the bag of money.
"Open it. You'll find it's more than what he owes ya. As I said, I come in peace. And we both know Malachy has nothing left to bet, so don't let him, because he's on his own from now on. Are we clear?"
Oscar nods toward one of his men. He picks up the bag and dumps the money on the table, examining the bills to ensure the money isn't counterfeit.
I know the drill. We do the same thing with our junkies when they come in to pay off their debts. Counterfeit money is big in Ireland, as it is everywhere else. Some men are desperate enough to try to give us fake bills, even though they know we'll examine it.
I continue, "You'll find there's more than what he owes ya."
"There's been interest added to his debt," Oscar states.
"How much?" I question, my gut sinking. Who knows how long he's had a debt out on the street.
Oscar declares, "Enough that it's now 90,000."
I point out, "You've got 120 there. Consider the excess a gift of peace for us to part ways and save more bloodshed for both our families."
Oscar nods to the man to continue counting the money.
