Sweeney gasps, a sharp and somehow sarcastic intake of breath, then looks down at himself and pats his chest as if to confirm that, yes, it is him.

"Shit, you're right," he says, then the false expression of surprise drops off his face and he looks down at the boy as he takes another swig from his glass. Martin. Sweeney knows his name, knows John's, too, only because the two of them had been so much fun when they'd first met that he'd had to do a little digging. They'd really brightened his shitty fucking day, even if he's pretty damn sure he'd ruined theirs.

That's the trade off, though. His good luck is someone else's bad.

"Relax, darlin'," he advises. "You're gonna die young you keep bristling up like that."