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“Nope. I think that would be a perfect scenario.”
Both men looked to me as if I had all the answers. “What?”
“What do you think, big man?” Jack kept a grin on his face.
“I think there isn’t a woman out there who could handle the three of us at the same time. I have a feeling she’d put a bullet in our brains after a month tops.” I threw back the beer bottle, guzzling down the rest. That’s when I noticed my father leaning over the railing on the small deck leading to his office. He was watching the three of us intently.
Hudson followed my gaze, shuddering visibly on purpose. Pops was a hard man, also a former Marine who hadn’t softened a single bit as he’d aged. He was tougher than most men, rarely offering any compliments or allowing a single excuse from any of the men who worked for him. He’d run off the few female riggers because of his bad attitude. Or maybe that had been our overtly sexual cast of characters. Either way, my father didn’t take any shit.
I was certain the cigars he’d taken up smoking were going to kill him one day, but as everyone always said, the man was too mean to die. When he beckoned me with a nod of his head, Jack whistled under his breath.
“Somebody is in trouble,” he said as I started to walk away, which prompted me to give him my favorite one-finger salute.
The guys knew Pops was hardest on me and always had been, the hard-drinking, hard-working man instilling a true work ethic deep inside. He’d once told me it was because his brother, my uncle, was what Pops called a disgrace to the family. Uncle Rex had run off with the New York Irish mob, becoming one of their enforcers.
Which was nothing more than a fancy way of saying he enjoyed slaughtering people. Hell, maybe it ran in the family’s blood, both Pops and I killing our share of insurgents with flair and ease.
However, I’d hated my dad for his lack of emotions until well into my late twenties. Then I realized why he pushed me like he’d never done to anyone else. He was terrified I’d become him. That had been the single time he’d admitted what he considered his failure, the argument we’d had leading to the most and only real heartfelt moment we’d shared.
Other than the few minutes of suffering around my mama’s funeral. He’d never been the same since her death. Between that and the shit with Dierdre years before, I was determined never to fall head over heels in love with anyone ever again.
After tossing the empty bottle into the trash, I jogged up the steel stairs, pitching open the creaking metal door and walking into what my father called the command center. The rig might be older than the man himself, but he’d updated the communications and navigation equipment given his military background. He knew just how important it was to keep clear lines of communication, especially since he and nine of his squad mates had almost lost their lives in an ambush decades before. He continued to bear the scars from shrapnel like badges of honor. Especially since the bastards in the military had refused to give him a Purple Heart for saving four of the men under his command.
He’d become bitter from that as well as the other shit life had thrown at him.
“What’s up, Pops?” I asked.
He sat back in the same chair he’d had for maybe twenty years, rocking back and forth as he stared at me. “You up for an adventure?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” The gleam in his eyes usually meant trouble.
He shifted the toothpick he was chewing from one side of his mouth to the other, keeping his intense glare. “Do you remember hearing me talk about my buddy, Sean O’Rourke?”
About a bazillion times. He’d met the Irishman during basic training, the two of them sparring at first then becoming fast friends over the years. The man had moved back to his home country, raising his family there since meeting a lovely Irish girl from Dublin. They hadn’t seen each other in at least a decade. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time they’d talked either.
“Sure, Pops. What about him?”
“He called asking for my help.”
“Really? Isn’t he running a rig of his own off the Ireland coast?”
“Aye.” He always fell into an Irish brogue anytime he talked about Sean. “He’s not doing so good. He’s having some issues with keeping men and certain acts of sabotage on his aging rig, which ain’t performing like it used to. He can’t run it full time any longer. From what my buddy said, the riggers have no sense of discipline. Plus, he’s got some favor he needs doing for a buddy of his, which means he needs a full staff of roughnecks.”
Uh-oh. I knew where this was going. “You want me to go over there and straighten the assholes out, to help get them back on their feet?”
“Something like that.”
“Why can’t he do it?”
He leaned up in his chair, rising to his full height. That usually meant I wasn’t going to be able to turn him down. “He had a massive heart attack a few months ago. He can’t work the rig any longer. Plus, he’s got other underlying health problems too. Poor dumb fuck. Luck ain’t in his corner. Never has been.”
“O-kay. Who is running the rig now?”
“One of his kids who has no clue how to handle the riggers.”
“Oh. So what are you asking?”
My father’s eyes sparkled, something that never happened. “I’m saying that Sean needs more than one man to get the rig back in order. Evidently, few are skilled like you and your buddies are. Jack and Hudson can work their magic as well. From what I understand, there’s a lot of mechanical issues. Plus, there ain’t no one with your nose for oil.”
