Cal has professional experience of shitbirds like this, whose lies take up so much space that people believe them just because disbelieving all of that would be too much work. He has no certainty that, when he says his own piece, the guys will be swayed. He’s sharply aware that he’s a stranger, no less than Rushborough, and one who’s given them trouble before.
“But this”—Rushborough seizes the bottle of gold and clasps it between his hands, like he can’t keep away—“this is proof. My grandmother, God bless her—I’ll have to, I don’t know, lay flowers on her grave or light a candle in the church, to beg her forgiveness for doubting her. She led me straight as a, what am I looking for? not a die, a, an arrow, that’s it, straight as an arrow to the spot—”
“Jaysus, man,” Johnny says, laughing and clapping Rushborough on the shoulder. “You’re bouncing off the walls here. You need something to settle you, before you give yourself a heart attack. Barty! Get this fella a brandy.”
“And the same for all of us!” Rushborough calls over his shoulder, laughing. “I know, I know, I’m excited, but do you blame me? It’s the gold at the end of the rainbow!”
The other thing that strikes Cal is how much the guy is putting into it. This is some Hallmark-level emotion he’s got going on. For it to be worth this amount of effort, he and Johnny must be planning to take Ardnakelty for everything it’s got.
The brandy goes down with a toast to Rushborough’s granny and a scattering of cheers. Cal holds his, but doesn’t drink it; he’s not going to take anything from this guy. He sees Rushborough’s eye slide over him again, noting.
“Well, chaps,” Rushborough says, putting down his glass and stifling a yawn, “or lads, I should say, shouldn’t I? Lads, I’m afraid I’m going to have to call it a night. I hate to break up a lovely party, and I don’t know whether it’s the adrenaline or simply my shameful city lifestyle taking its toll, but I’m exhausted.”
There’s plenty of protest, but not the kind that risks making Rushborough change his mind and stick around. Just like Cal expected, the men want some time to themselves.
“Would you mind,” Rushborough says a little shyly, putting a finger on the bottle of gold dust, “if I kept this? I’ll get it properly weighed and pay each of you for your share, of course. But—I know it’s sentimental, but…the first fruits, don’t you know. I’d like to have something made out of this. A new setting for my grandmother’s nugget, maybe. Would that be all right?”
Everyone thinks this is a wonderful idea, so Rushborough pockets the bottle and jabbers himself out. The place is starting to fill up; people turn to nod and lift their glasses as he goes by, and he doles out smiles and waves in exchange.
“He went for it,” Con says, leaning forward over the table, as soon as the pub door closes behind him. “He did, didn’t he? He went for it.”
“Et it up with a spoon,” Senan says. “The fuckin’ sap.”
“Ah, here,” Johnny says, pointing at him. “ ’Twouldn’t take a sap. Ye were only magnificent, every one of ye. I almost believed ye myself. That’s what done it. Not him being a sap. The lot of ye playing a fuckin’ blinder.” He raises his pint to them all.
“Don’t be getting all modest on us, young fella,” Mart says, smiling at him. “Credit where credit’s due: you did the heavy lifting. You’re very convincing altogether, when you wanta be. Hah?”
“I know Rushborough,” Johnny assures him. “I know how to handle the man. I won’t let ye down.”
“What now, so?” Francie demands. Francie is looking stubbornly skeptical. His face naturally inclines that way, being bony and thin-lipped, heavy on the eyebrows, but its usual cast has intensified.
“Now,” Johnny says, relaxing back on the banquette, his face shining with glee, “we’ve got him. That fella’ll do whatever it takes to get stuck into the serious digging. All we haveta do is take the cash and let him at it.”
“If there’s anything worth having on my land,” Francie says, “and I’m not saying there is, I don’t fancy waking up one morning and finding out I’ve handed over the rights to millions for a coupla grand.”
“Fuck’s sake, Francie,” Johnny says, exasperated. “What is it you want, at all? If you think there’s millions on your land, then ask Rushborough can you buy into his company and get your share. If you believe there’s nothing there, then take the few grand for the mining rights, and let him dig his wee heart out. You can’t have it both ways. Which is it?”
Cal is becoming clearer on the next step in Johnny and Rushborough’s plan. He stays quiet, letting things play out a little longer. The more Johnny says, the more the guys will have to chew on, after Cal throws his grenade.
“It’s none a your business, is what it is,” Francie tells Johnny. “Ye can all do whatever you want. I’m only saying, he can’t walk onto my land and take what he likes.”
“Jesus fuck, you’re some dose, d’you know that?” Sonny explodes at Francie. “Here’s everything going great guns, and you sitting there with a puss on you that’d sour milk, looking for holes to pick. Would you not shut your gob just for the one evening, and let the rest of us enjoy ourselves?”
“He’s thinking a-fuckin’-head,” Senan snaps. “You should try it yourself sometime.”
“He’s being a fuckin’ moan.”
“Arrah, shut the fuck up, wouldja, and let the men with sense do the talking—”
All of them are too loud and too quick off the mark. Cal can feel the electric charge jittering through the air. Someone is liable to get his ass kicked tonight. Cal is aware that, once he says his piece, there’s a fair-to-middling chance it could be him.
“D’you know something?” Bobby demands suddenly, of Senan. “You’re awful fond of telling people to shut up. No one made you king of this place. Maybe you oughta shut up yourself, once in a while.”
Senan stares at Bobby like he just grew another head. Bobby, terrified by his own new daring but not about to back down, pulls himself up to his full height and stares back. Mart looks like he’s having the night of his life.
“Sweet fuck,” Senan says. “If this is what just the smell of gold does to you, I’d hate to see what you’ll be like if anything’s found on your land. You’ll lose the run of yourself altogether. You’ll be swanning around with a tiara and a big diamond ring on you, expecting people to kiss it—”
“I’m only saying,” Bobby tells him, with dignity. “He’s as much right to an opinion as you have.”
“Sir Bobby, will it be? Or Your Lordship?”
“Ah, lads, lads,” Johnny says soothingly, raising his hands to quell the argument and bring everyone back on track. “Listen to me. Francie here’s got a point. The man just wants to be sure he’ll get value. What’s wrong with that? Don’t we all?”
“Fuckin’ right,” Senan says.
“Sure, I wouldn’t want your man walking away with the lot, either,” Con says. “Not off my land.”
A shift runs through the other men, a low mutter of assent.