“You have a point,” Henrik said, eyes narrowed on the group of cops. “I still want to know the catch. If you succeed in getting me served by a bar full of men who want me behind bars, what am I giving up in return?”
“Ah, I think you know.” The atmosphere surrounding the group of four men altered, turned gray. “Us cons deal in information. I’m sure Bowen and Connor have already badgered the captain for access to your rap sheet.”
“Damn straight,” Connor said.
Bowen threw a dart, looking disgusted. “He stonewalled us.”
“It’s not a rap sheet,” Henrik drawled. “That implies there was more than one offense.”
Austin smiled as a little more of the picture became clear. “So it was one major transgression, bad enough to lose your badge. Interesting.”
Henrik’s expression remained impassive. “I don’t like you.”
“Welcome to the club.” Bowen snorted. “It’s a big one.”
“Yes. That is what the ladies say.” Austin stepped back from the group. “Try not to die of boredom while I’m gone, gents.”
The foursome of cops turned at Austin’s approach, as if they could sense him. The leader who had lunged at Austin upon arrival rocked back on his heels with a cocky look on his face. Still, Austin saw his grip tighten on the Coors Light bottle, his face grow splotchy. He was intimidated. Understandable.
“Gentlemen, I do believe we got off on the wrong foot. I’d like to buy you a round of drinks to make up for my insensitive comment.”
One of the background guys sucked his teeth. “You think we’d accept a drink from one of you assholes?”
Austin pretended to consider his question. “No, I suppose not. If we placed a friendly wager, however, and you won the round of drinks, it would ease the sting of accepting beer from an asshole such as myself. Would it not?”
Give him any group of four red-blooded American males in a sports bar, and—at the very least—one of them would find it impossible to turn down a wager. Every single time. As predicted, the leader felt compelled to step forward, although he was clearly wary. “What’s the bet?”
Austin placed the bottle cap on the bar and nodded at the bartender. “A brandy snifter and an ashtray, if you please, good sir.”
The bartender looked to the group for approval, doing what Austin asked only when he got the nod. Once the brandy snifter was set down beside the bottle cap, Austin turned the glass upside down, placing it on top of the bottle cap. To the right of the snifter, he positioned the dented metal ashtray.
“All you need to do is get the bottle cap into the ashtray, using only the snifter.” Austin grinned. “Shouldn’t be difficult for a man of constant action and daring such as yourself.”
“I don’t like this,” one of the cops muttered, but Austin kept his focus on the glass as the cop took hold of the glass stem…and quickly twisted the snifter on it’s side, attempting to scoop the bottle cap up. And failing. They always tried to scoop.
“Almost had it. I’ll give you one more go.” Austin sighed. “But if you fail this time and I succeed, you’ll send my friends and I the round of drinks instead. Sound fair?”
The leader grunted. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“No?” Austin sent a perplexed look toward the dart section, where Henrik, Bowen, and Connor watched him with quiet amusement. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll take my bottle cap back, then.” He held out his palm for a shake. “You gave it the college try, old chap.”
“Now, just wait a minute,” the leader said, right on cue. “I can get it in the damn ashtray this time. You’ll be buying the drinks, asshole. Not us.”
“You’re probably right.” Austin nodded toward the snifter. “You just needed a warm-up round. Now you’ve got it.”
He tried to scoop it. Again.
All pretenses dropped, Austin inserted himself between the men and took hold of the glass stem, swirling it faster and faster in a circular motion. Centrifugal force had the bottle cap rising higher and higher in the glass as it spun. When the metal piece reached the highest point inside the snifter, Austin lifted the glass quickly and let the cap drop into the ashtray.
“We’ll have two Budweisers, a Boddingtons…” Austin pointed at Henrik, lifting his voice to be heard above the cops’ irritated grumbling. “Henrik, what’s your poison?”
“Scotch. Top shelf.”
“Huh. I would have said whiskey.” Austin patted the disgruntled leader on the shoulder. “Much obliged, mate. Send them over when they’re ready.” Before the man could respond, Austin took his victory and sauntered back toward Bowen, Connor, and Henrik, who greeted him with a slow clap. “No autographs, please.”
“I can’t believe we’ve been paying for drinks this whole time,” Bowen said, flipping a dart over in his hand.
“Now.” Austin inclined his head. “Aren’t you glad your Erin talked you into inviting me?”
Connor appeared surprised by his astuteness. “She can be persuasive.”
Austin focused his attention on Henrik, who no longer looked quite so at ease as when he’d entered the bar. “Drinks are on the way. Now it’s your turn.”