The Gun Runner (Mafia Made) (11 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Michael

Following my promise to Agrioli, I spent a considerable amount of time struggling with what I perceived as right and wrong regarding the anticipated recovery of his son.

I lived in a world of black and white. Good was clearly on one side, and evil the other. Everything I did, I did with the belief that I was standing on the side of what was inherently good. Evil was wrong, and I did nothing if I believed in my heart that it was wrong.

Cap looked at me as if I had asked him to commit murder. In some respects, I suppose I had.

“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?” he asked.

I shook my head. “We’re extracting a fucking hostage. Were you thinking we’d be met with open goddamned arms? ‘Hey fellas, he’s right over here.’ I don’t think so. They’ll be armed, or at least have access to weapons. Christ, we just sold them a fucking truckload of AK-47s.”

“So, we’re going to kill the same guys we did the deal with the other night? Then, instead of havin’ Italians on us, we’ll have those crazy fuckin’ Bulgarians on us. I’m thinkin’ you need to rethink this, Tripp.”

“Listen.” I stood and began to pace the floor of my office. “I should have never let them take him. You were here when Agrioli came. I made a mistake. I was thinking it served Agrioli right for having his guys try and hijack us. But he’s right. That kid surrendered. Agree or disagree?”

Cap nodded. “He surrendered, no doubt about it.”

“So, we let the Bulgarians execute him if Agrioli doesn’t pay? And remember, he’s not going to pay. If we don’t get his ass out of there, that’s what they’ll do. They won’t think twice.”

“Well, fuck,” he said. “You got a point.”

“This isn’t about money, Cap. It’s about righting a wrong. I made a mistake.”

“I see that now,” he said. “
We
made a mistake.”

Cap stood, sauntered to the corner of my desk, and removed the bottle of scotch from the drawer. He cocked an eyebrow slightly and raised the bottle. I nodded. My stomach was in knots thinking about the possible options, none of which included the Bulgarians living through the mission. A glass of scotch wouldn’t hurt things.

“How ’bout this,” he said as he poured two glasses of scotch. “We create a diversion. Blow half their shop to fuck with some C-4, and then when they’re all tryin’ to figure out what the fuck happened, we go in and snatch the kid?”

He handed me a glass. I took a sip of the whiskey and considered his suggestion. “They’ll realize it’s a diversion, so they’ll leave at least one man with the hostage. If we time it just right, we can have Trace do a thermal image with a drone at the same time. We’d know if there was one man or ten men with the hostage.”

“Doesn’t matter if there’s one or fifteen. Once we blow the wall on that place, we’re going in no matter what. Agreed?”

“Agreed. If there’s one, we’re in and out. If there’s fifteen...”

“If there’s fifteen,” he said. “We’re fucked.”

I took another sip of the scotch. “We’ll need to add Trace to the team. Have him as our driver and operating the drone. You, me, Trace and Lucky. We get the kid, Lucky guards the exit.”

“There’s about a hundred ways this thing can go to shit. You know that, right?”

I raised my glass. “And only one way it’ll go well.”

He took a sip of whiskey and cleared his throat. “Odds are against us, brother.”

“They were against us in the Anbar Province, but that didn’t get us down.”

He raised his glass. “Here’s to bein’ outnumbered two hundred to one and livin’ through it.”

“Makes ten to one sound like a walk in the park,” I said.

“You know we’re gonna have to kill any of those sons-of-bitches who recognize us,” he said. “Even with our faces covered, they’ll recognize our voices.”

I finished my scotch and walked to the end of my desk. He was right. Anyone who would be able to identify us would have to be eliminated. The remaining occupants of the building would be left to assume Agrioli’s men extracted the hostage.

And Agrioli could deal with that when the time came.

I poured another double shot and downed it in one drink. “We’ll get the rest of the surveillance done tonight. Tomorrow night’s the night. You sure you’re in?”

“I’d follow you to the fiery depths of hell, you know that, Tripp.”

It was comforting to hear it.

Because I felt that was exactly where we were headed.

Chapter Nineteen

Terra

Michelle forced a dramatic sigh. “He does sound perfect. I need someone like that.”

I laughed. “You need
someone
, that’s for sure.”

“Does he have any friends?”

“I’ve met one. He’s really funny. And huge. Like bigger than big. And he’s really nice-looking, too.”

“Huge? Like fat?”

“No. He’s not fat at all. His muscles have muscles. And he’s so nice. You’d probably really like him.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my wallet. “But, your dad would kill you.”

“If he treats me like Michael treats you, I don’t give a fuck. I need a real man.”

“I’ll talk to Michael and see what he thinks,” I said with a light laugh. “That’d be awesome if you two hit it off. We could do stuff together.”

My relationship with Michael was basically a secret. Being able to talk to Michelle about how much I cared for him and what we did together made me feel better about everything, but it didn’t make my concerns about my relationship dissolve completely. I had come to realize Michael was a permanent fixture in my life, and there was nothing that would change it.

Finding a way to tell my father would be next. And, in one more hour, I’d have an opportunity. I just needed to figure out a way to do it without having him react inappropriately.

I pulled my credit card from my wallet. “Here, let me pay for this, and then I need to go.”

“I’ll pay for it.” She raised her drink, which was still half-full. “Get things set up for me to meet the big guy.”

The thought of her being with Cap excited me. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

“What’s his name?”

“Cap.”

“Cap? What’s it short for?”

It was short for nothing, which made it, and him, a little cuter. “Nothing. He said it’s his name. Cap.”

“Ooh, I like it.”

“Me too.”

“So, you’re going to see your dad?”

I wasn’t excited about it, and my response did little to hide my lack of enthusiasm. “Yeah.”

“What’s Michael doing?”

“Working late.”

“What about your brother? Is he back yet?”

I shook my head. “Still in Argentina.”

“I swear,” she said. “Your dad’s probably got him making a drug deal. Anything for fuckin’ money.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” I snapped back.

“I know, right? Seriously, I’ll get this. Go ahead and go.”

“You sure?” I asked. “I’d stay, but I have to change clothes before I go over there.”

“Positive,” she said. “Yeah. Your dad sees you wearing that, and he’d freak out.”

“I know.” I stood up and put my wallet in my purse. “Okay. I’ll find out about Cap, and I’ll get with you.”

“Okay.”

Michelle and I had met for a drink on a whim. The bar she chose was in Shawnee Mission, the suburb I lived in, but spent very little time eating, drinking, or socializing in. The location was a nice choice considering I had to drive home, change clothes, unpack a day’s worth of shopping and drive back to greater Kansas City to meet my mother and father.

Racing against the clock, I ran from the bar to the parking lot, hopped in my car and tried to quickly decide what the quickest way home was. After a sixty-second-long argument with myself, I chose a path and took off.

A few wrong turns and several one-way streets later, and I was unsure of where I was. Frustrated, I searched for a place to pull over and program my navigation system. Halfway down an unfamiliar block in an industrial neighborhood, and I spotted several businesses that had well-lit parking spots and decided to choose one that was unoccupied to pull into. As I passed one of the buildings, I noticed a car that looked like Michael’s.

I glanced at the rear of the vehicle as I drove past.

TRIPP.

I hit the brakes.

It seemed like an odd location for investors to be working. Michael said he was working late, and I had no doubt that the car was his, so I turned around and pulled into the parking lot. Parked beside Michael’s car was Cap’s truck, an SUV, a Mercedes-Benz, and a black Suburban.

I parked beside the Suburban and turned off my car.

My mind raced. I tried to think of whatever possibilities I could be exposing myself to, and decided no matter what it was, it wouldn’t be bad. Obviously Michael’s work brought him to the facility, and for whatever reason, Cap was there with him.

I sent Michael a text.

After waiting several minutes for a response, I called.

He didn’t answer.

I walked in the front door. The thick layer of dust that covered the empty receptionist’s desk just inside the entrance led me to believe no one had sat down at it in years. The hallway turned to the right, so I followed it in hopes of finding Michael and Cap drinking a beer with two of Michael’s investors. The sound of muffled voices got quiet halfway to the only door I could see, which made me slightly anxious and a little apprehensive. I continued nonetheless.

A few feet from the doorway, and I could see that it was open, so I stuck my head inside.

I gasped. Michael, Cap and two gentlemen I didn’t recognize were in the room. They looked like they just got back from playing war games. Dressed in all black with their faces painted with green, gray and black makeup, they stood in apparent shock. Each of them either held a gun or had one strapped to their shoulder.

“You said you had to work late. What’s going on, Michael?”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said openly. “Give me a few minutes with her.”

He handed one of the men the rifle he held and walked toward me. Each of the men, Cap included, sat down. I felt like I was going to vomit.

“Look,” he said as he walked up to me. “I know you’re probably wondering what’s going on, and it’s not an easy thing for me to answer. But I’ll do my best.”

“Why are you dressed like that? What...I don’t...”

“I’ll explain. Just follow me,” he said.

I followed him down the hallway and through the door of another office. The room was filled with boxes, but had no furniture. I followed him inside.

He didn’t look the same. His face was covered in horrid makeup, and he was wearing a black outfit with black boots. He inhaled a deep breath, exhaled and looked at me. “I can’t tell you what I’m in the middle of, but I can tell you it isn’t bad.”

“Well, it sure doesn’t look
good
. Why do you have guns? And why are you wearing that stuff? You look like you’re going to rob a bank. I feel sick that I came here.”

“Terra, it’s...I...” he stammered.

I tossed my hands in the air. “Is this where you work? This building?”

He nodded.

The carpet was dark blue and I stared at it for some time. I felt like I was going to vomit. “You’re an investor in
what
?”

“Let me...I can...I’ll explain. But I’m going to have to do it later. I really...”

I had no interest in
later
. I wanted the answers right now, and nothing less. “No. I want an answer. There’s not a telephone at the receptionist’s desk. And it’s covered in dust. If you work here, something isn’t right. What do you invest in?”

He inhaled a deep breath.

I pressed my hands into my hips and stared. “Don’t lie to me, Michael.”

“Firearms.”

“What about them?” I asked.

“I invest in firearms.”

I wrinkled my nose and stared. “You collect firearms?”

“I don’t collect. I buy, sell, manufacture...”

“You’re a fucking gun dealer?” I snapped.

He slumped his shoulders and shrugged. “Kind of. It’s complicated.”

I hated guns and almost everything they stood for. I couldn’t believe my ears. “Tell me. I swear,” I fumed. “I am so mad at you right now.”

“I’m sure you are, but I haven’t got a lot of time. We can talk later. And I’ll explain everything.”

One of the things he said came to the front of my thoughts. “Wait a minute,” I hissed. “You said you buy, sell, and
manufacture
guns? This is your
job
? This is what you do?”

He nodded.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Terra, it’s not...”

“Not what?” I fumed. “Not what? I’ll tell you what it
is
. It’s you fucking lying to me.”

“Terra, I’m an investor. I invest in firearms. Huge shipments of them. And I sell them for profit. It’s my job. But it’s not something a person goes out and advertises. Let’s talk about this later,” he pleaded.

“Who do you sell them to?”

His lips parted slightly. He shrugged.

Everything that he had said slowly sank in.
I
can’t tell you everything.
I
can’t explain.
My face felt hot. I had been deceived. Lied to. And, most of all, I found out that the man I loved was a gun dealer, and that his
huge shipments
of them was
complicated.
I hated guns. I hated the violence and death they left in their wake. I hated the shady criminals that relied on them for income, and I felt terribly sorry for the people they crippled, killed and maimed.

“What kind of guns?”

I reserved a glimmer of hope that it was civil war relics or old war memorabilia. I had reached a point that I was afraid that it didn’t matter. There wasn’t much I felt that he could say or do to change the fact that my heart was on fire and a knot was building inside my stomach.

A knot I was sure would be there for a lifetime.

He shrugged again. “It’s really something...we should...we just need to talk later.”

“No. Now!” I demanded. “Guns like the ones you had in that room? Do you sell those? Don’t lie to me.”

He nodded.

Tears rolled down my cheeks.

He reached for my face.

“Don’t touch me,” I barked. “I know what those guns are. You sell machine guns? Assault weapons? Don’t fucking lie.”

It seemed I was prying information from him that he didn’t want to reveal. After a moment of what was obviously an inner struggle, he responded. “Yes, I sell assault weapons.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” I cried.

“Terra...”

“Don’t
Terra
me.” I raised my hand between us. “I can’t believe this. I should have known.”

I could forgive him for not telling me exactly what he did for income—hell, I hadn’t been close to truthful with him, either. His chosen profession of dealing in machine guns, however, was simply too much for me to accept.

And I couldn’t help but feel that he knew what he was doing was unacceptable, or he would have told me the truth.

I stomped out of the office and into the hallway.

“Terra, it’s...”

I spun around. “Save it. And, I suggest you tell the next girl the truth from the beginning. Then she can decide if she wants to be with someone who sells death.”

“Terra...”

“I hate you.” My stomach convulsed. I fought to breathe. My. Heart. Hurt. I stumbled toward the exit, blubbering and crying as I walked away. As I reached the door I wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand and turned to face him.

Covered in black, he stood at the end the hallway and stared back at me.

“Don’t ever come near me again!” I shouted.

And, as hard as it was to believe, I meant every word I said.