The beer stein holding contest didn't have the confrontational passion and explosiveness of arm wrestling.
It was more like a war of attrition. The noisy atmosphere in the bar gradually quieted down, with only occasional cheers from the surrounding crowd.
Time passed second by second.
"Jack, hold steady! You're a man who can carry cement boards all day!"
"Shane, don't slack, steady your glass!"
"It's only been two minutes, still early."
When the hands of the clock on the wall moved past four minutes, the situation started to become subtle.
Jack's thick arm, held straight out, began to show slight tremors, and ripples appeared on the surface of the beer in his glass.
Sweat started to bead on his forehead, sliding into his eyes, causing him discomfort.
His attention was no longer on his own glass, but he first glanced at Shane—
Because according to his past experience, let alone four minutes, anyone who could last three and a half minutes with him could be considered a tough guy on the construction site. Those who could last up to four minutes were extremely rare, and this was exactly the confidence that made him dare to agree to Shane's proposal for this competition.
It would have been better if he hadn't looked. This glance made his heart sink to the bottom, followed by a rush of anger from being fooled straight to his head.
Shane, standing opposite him, still had a steady arm. Only his knuckles were slightly white from exertion, but overall, Shane's glass didn't tremble unnecessarily.
Shane also noticed Jack's gaze and looked directly back at him.
But this time, his face no longer held the deliberate pretense of strain and difficulty from the previous round. Compared to Jack's sweaty face, Shane was much calmer.
And Jack read mockery in Shane's eyes—"Is that all?"
"Fck!" Jack's brain buzzed, and he suddenly understood everything.
Gritting his teeth to persist, lucky comeback—it was all bullshit!
This guy was acting from the very beginning. He knew he was going to win. That look of struggle during the arm wrestling was just playing him!
Just so the second round of betting could continue, just to earn more from the stakes, or even just to see him make a fool of himself.
Shane was treating him like a clown!
Realizing this, a strong sense of humiliation surged in his chest. He didn't want to lose, didn't want to lose in this way of being played!
He held his breath, the veins on his neck bulging. He used all his willpower, trying to control his trembling arm.
Unfortunately, physiological limits sometimes cannot be controlled by willpower.
The more he tried to stabilize, the more obvious the trembling of his arm became.
Before long, his hand shook violently, causing the beer in the glass to spill over the rim onto the back of his hand and the table.
"Damn, Jack seems to have lost again."
"I saw it just now, some spilled out."
"My money!!"
Sharp-eyed patrons nearby had already seen Jack's action. The temporary referee leaned forward, cleared his throat, and prepared to announce the result.
The expressions of the surrounding patrons began to change, and Jack was now completely panicked.
He didn't want to be publicly executed!
Fck the competition!
Fck me losing!
A wave of irrational anger overwhelmed his reason.
Clang—!
He stopped trying to maintain his hold and slammed the beer glass heavily onto the table. "I'm not fcking playing anymore!"
Panting heavily, Jack pointed at Shane and said, "This kid cheated. He held back just now. You set me up."
The bar instantly quieted down, everyone looking at the two of them.
Shane also put down his beer glass unhurriedly. Without saying much, he just crossed his arms, listening to the wailing of the defeated dog.
Jack knew, of course, that his words didn't hold water—he lost the arm wrestling fair and square, and he put the beer glass down first too.
He wanted to slam the door and leave, but under the watchful eyes of everyone, if he did that, he wouldn't be able to survive in this neighborhood or on the construction site anymore. Their spit would drown him.
His expression changed rapidly. Finally, extremely reluctantly, he fished out a handful of crumpled bills from his work pocket. Without counting, estimating it was enough for the round of drinks he promised, he slammed them onto the wet table.
"The money is here! I admit you're good. I, Jack, can afford to play!"
He roared this sentence, then didn't dare look anyone in the eye, especially Shane. He turned directly, pushed through the crowd, and walked out of the bar door.
"Pah, coward!"
"Pussy!"
"Hurry up and leave. Don't come to the Alibi to brag anymore!"
Boos and curses rang out behind him, but Jack pretended not to hear, quickly opening the wooden door and disappearing from the Alibi Room.
A buzz of noise erupted in the bar. A few workers who came with him looked at each other, then one of them shouted loudly:
"Fck, don't tell anyone I'm close with Jack in the future. This is too embarrassing!"
"Exactly. Usually acts like a tough guy, but when he meets a real hardass, he acts like this."
"Doesn't even know how to accept defeat gracefully. Wasted all that size."
Shane didn't chase after him, nor did he pin him down to fulfill the promise of calling himself a sissy.
For this kind of petty-smart hothead, the more you engage him, the more riled up he gets. Push him too hard, and he might do anything.
The South Side never lacked this kind of stupid lunatic. He didn't want to add more trouble to himself. Anyway, he had earned the money and the fame.
Shane reached out and picked up the money Jack left behind, holding it high. "Alright, fellas."
His voice drowned out the patrons' discussions. "The next round of beer is on Jack!"
"Whoa—"
"Shane, way to go!" Another cheer erupted, filling the Alibi Room.
Those who bet on Shane beamed with joy, and those who lost felt their gloom diluted a little by the free beer.
Shane enjoyed this South Side acclaim.
When they quieted down a bit, he smiled again, opened his arms, and threw out another piece of good news:
"I'm happy today. So, tomorrow, any buddy who comes to buy lunch from me will get a free cup of hot cocoa with every 'Fill-Up Combo'. I mean what I say!"
"Wow—!" Even louder cheers almost lifted the roof off the Alibi Room.
Especially those workers from the construction site were even more excited.
Hot cocoa was more practical than this round of beer today. That was warmth and value they could consume tomorrow. Even some who weren't from the construction site planned to try Shane's lunch tomorrow.
Seeing them smile so happily, Shane also laughed along with his mouth open wide.
How much did a cup of hot cocoa cost? The cost was less than a few cents RMB, but it could exchange for the profit of a lunch, plus winning back those customers poached by low prices, and even more customers tomorrow and later. Simply awesome.
In the end, he would even get a "Shane is indeed a solid guy."
You old Mexican man selling cheap burritos, can you afford to give these workers a cup of sweet hot cocoa while keeping the price so low?
You can't, but I, Shane, can.
You fight a price war, I'll fight a value war with you.
Now it was a win-win-win situation:
The workers felt they got a sweet deal, he, Shane, won back lost customers, and the name Shane Gallagher could start gaining some fame in this neighborhood.