“Who are you?”
“Someone ordered a pizza.” Literally, the most ridiculous thing to have someone say as the code to make contact with an arms dealer. Sam might need a Plan C and D if this was their highest level of professionalism.
The man opened the door wider so Sam could see his acne-scarred face, and unlike when Sam had them, he didn’t believe it was makeup. Acne-Face’s smirk was annoying. No matter. Sam wanted a gun.
“Follow me. Mickey’s in the back. Wish you had really brought pizza. I’m starved,” he laughed. “I’m Petey, by the way.” Was it a job requirement that names need to end in ‘y?’
They walked by four vehicles in various states of dismantling. Grease, rags, and tools littered the floor. If they were attempting to make this appear like a legitimate car repair shop, they were failing miserably.
They passed through something resembling an office/employee kitchen— but dirtier— a long hallway with doors here and there— bedrooms maybe, surely not a janitor’s closet, as no one here cleaned— finally coming to a newer looking door, heavy-duty metal with a fancy looking keypad. The first thing in this shithole with promise.
Petey covered the pad while he entered the code, presumably so Sam wouldn’t learn the code. Spoiler alert: Sam would never lower himself to come here again.
The door opened with a pressurized shhzz. Petey waved Sam forward. This room was— a surprise. A good surprise. Modern, cold, and full of weapons, big, small, and everything in between. A big man sat at a metal table in the center of the room, a laptop and three monitors arranged at precise angles, each casting a flickering light show across his scruffy, square jaw. Sam knew computer equipment. Consider him impressed.
“Mickey, I’m Samuel. T is the man who gave me your contact information. I appreciate you meeting with me.” It never hurt to kowtow to people who dealt in death.
“I have something important in fifteen minutes. What do you want from me?”
This man’s voice held zero inflection. He was neither aggressive nor bored. Nothingness. Sam believed himself relatively impervious to those who resided in society’s underbelly— he was a dark web affiliate, after all— but this Mickey... he sent chills up Sam’s spine. “I need a high-powered, long-range rifle with a scope and suppressor.”
“Fifty-thousand US.”
What the fuck? Sam might not be extremely knowledgeable about the cost of weapons— but come on! His thoughts must have shown on his face.
“Problem?”
What was fifty grand to finish the O’Faolains and return to the life he loved most? @SammySoGood had taken a long enough hiatus.
“No problem. I’ll transfer the money now.”
Without another word, Mickey went to one of the gun walls and started pulling things off the shelves like it was Black Friday at Wal-Mart. He gestured once at Sam’s duffel, which he immediately pulled from his shoulder and handed to Mickey, who, shocker, held absolutely zero resemblance to the Disney character. Mickey placed the rifle and its accouterments inside.
Before handing Sam the bag, Mickey went to his computer, flipping through several pages before finding, presumably, his payment of $50,000.
Nodding his big, shaved head in what Sam presumed signaled satisfaction, he shoved the now heavy duffel into Sam’s chest, knocking him back a step. “Leave.”
Sam might have been incensed at the man’s rudeness, considering he’d just paid a premium for the weapon, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t even a tiny bit put out because things were starting to finally go his way.
The O’Faolains were back on Sam’s revenge menu.
27
River and Rowan sat at their desks in Triskelion’s office, sorting mail and answering emails. They’d given their assistants the day off and purposely didn’t schedule any meetings so that she and Rowan would have time to get ready for their night out with Josh and Sadhbh. Before going home, they wanted to get their nails done. Dom was even out. He had a doctor’s appointment this morning. River suggested he take the afternoon off as well and get the rest of the décor purchased to finish his flat upstairs.
Dom jumped at the chance, taking several vendor payments with him. Triskelion bought locally for their clients, especially for the O Building, unless they required a specific design found in other areas of the world. Dom liked to personally deliver the checks from Triskelion whenever possible. He said he enjoyed ensuring the vendors, especially the artisans, that their services were appreciated. Yeah, Dom was irreplaceable.
“Nan and Matilda did an amazing job with Raven’s second shower.”
“It was beautiful. To be fair, Dom did most of the work,” Rowan laughed. “That man knows The Fitzwilliam Hotel better than the owners, I imagine.”
“Did you see when Hugh and Bran left before the shower started, the big hugs and kisses they gave Matilda? I could tell she melted at their show of affection.” As soon as the question left River’s mouth, she mentally kicked herself.
Rowan’s shoulders stiffened briefly, but she still managed a small smile. “It was sweet of them.”
“Row.” Her sister only shook her head no. She didn’t want to discuss Hugh today. So, they wouldn’t. This was not a day to push.
“Speaking of sweet gestures, are Devlen and Nan, not the cutest couple? He is very attentive, and Nan blushes literally every time he so much as touches her hand.”
