Her hair was down, her curls flowing, and Charlie knew Deirdre well enough to know she’d shaken her long locks out of the bondage of a hair tie the second his FaceTime call came through, and she’d done it just for him.
He smiled even wider.
If anything, Deirdre’s voice was even more accented than Charlie’s. “How ya keepin’, love?”
“Hullo, a stór.” It was a Gaelic term of endearment that translated tomy treasure. He added, “It’s late. Surprised to see our boy awake.”
“Long nap this afternoon. Put him down at eight, but we’re just up for a wee feedin’.”
“Applesauce, by the looks of his onesie.”
“Pears. Managed to get some into his belly, but he spits it out when he’s ’ad enough. Just about to put him back down, but I’m glad he was up to see his da.
“Got your tie on, I see. Workin’, still, are ya?”
Charlie’s smile remained locked in place. It was real. And it was fake. “Aye,” he said. “Just ’ad a few minutes free, thought I’d check in.”
“Well, we’re glad ya did. How’s the new job?”
Charlie’s bright smile wavered now.
The woman picked up on his unease. “That bad?”
“It’s fine.” When she did not immediately respond, he said, “It’s early days, still.”
But Deirdre wasn’t having it. “What’s going on?”
He gave a shrug and said, “Whatcha think? I got sold a bleedin’ bill of goods by Marcus.”
The woman shifted the baby on her knee. “The job’s not what he said? Again?”
A defeated sigh. “It’s bloody gangster shite, love. Same as Macedonia.”
The young woman lowered the baby completely out of frame now. “Dammit.”
“Aye.”
“Drugs, girls, guns? What’s Marcus gotten you into this time?”
A pause. Then, “Dunno, to be honest.”
“Ferfucksakes, Charlie, I don’t believe ya.”
“I’ve been here a day and a half, haven’t I? I seen fuck-all so far. The back of a car, a hotel, a couple of nightclubs, a restaurant. And everyone’s speakin’ Bulgarian other than the one that tells me what to do, so I don’t know what the rest are on about half the time.”
“Then how do ya know—”
“Iknow, Deirdre. These blokes have the same hard eyes that thoseblokes I worked for in Macedonia had. Down there it was drugs. Might be the same here, but nobody’s tellin’ the new lad, are they?”
“Who are ye guarding?”
He waved a hand in the air. “Some wanker. Sasho Minchev. Young fella, for a capo, I mean. Looks like a nepo baby crook. He didn’t make his own bleedin’ money, that’s fer certain.”
Just then, Videv’s voice came through Charlie’s earpiece again. “Coyle?”
Charlie held a finger up to his wife, then tapped the radio on his hip, opening his microphone for a transmission. “Go for Coyle.”
The Bulgarian said, “Minchev is talking to an American. Be ready to come down if it is trouble.”
