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"Yes and no. And yes again," Malcolm said. "The policy was for half a mill. Which is greedy. But the kicker is, Glen is in over his head in gambling debt. Enough that he even got a loan from the local loan sharks. And guess who has a payment coming up soon? As in about a month from now. About how long it takes to get a payout from life insurance."
"How... how do you know that much detail?" I asked.
"The loan sharks," Malcolm said, giving me a small smile. "The Mallick family. They're local. They're friends of ours. When my ma found the shit about the gambling, she reached out to the Mallicks on a whim. They were happy to offer some clarity."
"I paid the loans for that fucker to take his classes," Shep grumbled to himself.
I knew I was supposed to understand that gambling addiction was a sickness. But I couldn't seem to muster any sympathy for his struggles. Not when he was so willing to hurt others because of it.
"So, I don't know what happens now," I admitted. "Do we take this to the police?"
"I'm gonna go ahead and... ask Billie about that acupuncture shit," Shep declared, rolling toward the door, then disappearing so quickly that it was clear he wanted to excuse himself from a tense situation.
"What's going on?" I asked, looking at Malcolm who looked more uncomfortable than I'd ever seen him.
"Come here," he demanded, moving toward the bed, sitting down, and patting the space beside him. Curious about what could make a man as seemingly unflappable seem, well, flapped. "I need to make something really clear to you, honey," he said. "I'm probably a shit for not doing this before things got physical between us, but I can't fix that now, so I'm just going to explain this to you."
"O...kay," I said, scooting outward a bit so I could watch his face as he spoke.
"You get what we do here. In the most basic of ways."
"The guns?" I asked.
"Yeah, the guns. You get that."
"Yeah, I get that."
"And you're okay with that?"
"I know I shouldn't be. Like society would tell me it's not okay. But everyone I know, for some reason, sees nothing wrong with it. And the girls don't. And, well, you're all some of the best men I've ever known. So... yeah. Yeah, I'm okay with it."
"Alright. Well," he said, reaching out for my hand. "This is the part where I need you to understand that arms dealing is more than selling guns, Holly. It has moments where shit gets dicey. Where violence is a part of life."
"I, I kinda saw that. You know... with the guy and the truck?"
"Right. But this isn't to protect your virtue or something like that. This is part of business for us. This life isn't all brotherhood and family barbecues. There's dark shit. There's blood on everyone's hands here. There are lives on most of the people here. Do you know what I'm saying?" he asked.
"That sometimes people who cross a criminal enterprise might end up losing their lives? TV and movies have kind of told me that," I told him, trying to smile despite the heavy topic.
"So, you knew that from the beginning?"
"I think it was very clear what you guys were capable of the night you ripped that guy through the window. And it wasn't just you, even. It was Dezi and how he so effortlessly got what he wanted out of the kids. And threatened the guy into not pressing charges. And the way even Don was afraid of messing with you guys. It kind of all fell together."
"Does it bother you?"
"It should. And maybe it would. You know if you were all terrible people. But you're not."
To that, he gave my hand a squeeze, nodding his head, but his gaze slid away.
"So, this shit with Glen," he said. And it clicked right then why we'd taken that seemingly unnecessary segue. "Look, sometimes we let the law handle shit. They're... halfway capable around here. Depends whose pocket they are in. But there are some situations where we have to handle shit ourselves. It's a matter of honor and our... code, if you will."
"Okay. I think I'm following," I said.
"See, club members, wives, children, and even girlfriends... they're off-limits. You don't get to fuck with us or them and walk away from it. That's not how this works."
In a really dark and twisted way, I liked that. I don't know what it was. It almost felt primal. Like some cavewoman part of me thrilled at the idea of my caveman knocking someone else over the head with a club for me.
Of course my modern brain short-circuited for a moment, a little overwhelmed with this whole new world I'd gotten myself pulled into.
What were my options here?
Accept it, and continue to be a part of Malcolm's life.
