It would be unfortunate if the Irish ever tried to make that mistake. First, I ask Callum to catch me up on the business events out East. At first, they were fairly unwilling to get involved in our direct action, especially since running guns to anti-DHS militia might attract negative attention from the federal government faster than running coke or guns for civil wars in Central America or other bullshit that didn’t interfere with their schemes.
Callum understands the risk we’re taking. There’s plenty money to be made from conducting shady trade deals with fucked up veterans. The militias may or may not have a righteous grudge against the government originally, but certainlyappear to have a righteous cause now. The number of felonies we’re racking up could fuck us all, but helping them out doesn’t feel as wrong as it should.
The mob – Callum Murray’s people – has lawyers and financial backing for that. The Barbarians don’t. We’re more country boys and handshake deal types of people than lawyer types – but I’m still willing to risk it. Not just for the money.
I can’t say I know what I would do if anyone tried picking Gabby up off the streets or worse to ship her off to some detention center somewhere. I can’t say how I would react if someone tried to take my kids from me.
“It’s my personal problems delaying our business,” I confess to Callum. “I married my best friend’s sister and she’s been hell to deal with since.”
“Sorry it didn’t work out for you.”
“I think she’s sleeping with an ex-DHS agent, member of one of the gangs that does all the illegal shit the government doesn’t want to be held accountable for in case this all goes tits up.”
“In case?” Callum snickers. “Do you really think we can go on like this for much longer? We need those people they’re rounding up.”
“I stay away from politics as much as I can.”
“Except to run guns from Texas to Boston.”
“That’s about money.”
“You could sell guns to the government. To mercenaries. To whoever the fuck you wanted. So don’t bullshit me.”
“Fine. I’m coming to you because I can’t go to my people and… they can’t know that I spoke to you about more than the guns.”
“Did we talk about more than guns?” Callum asks with the calm, steady voice of someone well accustomed to conducting mob business.
“I need my ex-wife…”
“Deported?”
I was thinking moredeparted…I maintain firm, steady eye contact with Callum Murray as we both enter a very dangerous
“I need her out of the way and I know the Shaw boys couldn’t order something like that done.”
“We know they couldn’t,” Callum says, staring straight ahead with a gaze that I can’t read. His hand goes to his beard and he narrows his eyes.
“If you give her incentives to leave,” he suggests. “Might that work on her?”
“It would work if I knew what she wanted aside from making me suffer.”
“Perhaps you give her that – your suffering.”
The Murray boys can be difficult to get along with. East Coast folks are colder with a dry sense of humor that makes it difficult to tell when they’re being serious. I want to hope that this time he isn’t terribly serious about how much he wants me to suffer. But there’s nothing that cracks on his face. He has a big scar across his cheek, which makes the stitched-together face even more difficult to read.
“How would she have that?”
“I don’t know her,” Callum says. “But… I understand what you mean about personal problems. I’ve been there and if there’s any way to help… I wouldn’t mind keeping it discreet.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah,” Callum says. “Aiden has been talking for a while about employing our Irish cousins – they’re landing from Belfast this summer.”
“Can they work?”
Callum smirks and nods. “Yeah.”
We talk business for fifteen more minutes before a funny expression crosses Callum’s face. I wonder if he’s thinking about Onika and Gabby. I assumed they would wait downstairs or outside, so I didn’t think much of this pastry errand extending far past what was necessary.