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He takes a gulp of his drink, rolling it in his mouth like Dad used to do, and casts a glance at the closed door before speaking. “Arms smuggling.”
I must’ve heard wrong. A single word slips off my tongue and bursts like a bubble in the air. “What?”
“Part of the business is bringing illegal arms into the country.”
My legs wobble under my weight. I plonk down in the nearest chair.
“The import and export business became a good front,” Ryan continues. “We make most of our money by facilitating shipments of arms. That’s where the bribes come in. We pay high-ranking officials and government employees to turn a blind eye.”
My mouth is so dry it’s difficult to speak. “How high-ranking are we talking?”
His tone is even. “All the way at the top.”
I can’t breathe. “As in…”
“Presidents and ministers,” he finishes for me.
“Weapons destined for where?” I ask.
“Zimbabwe. Angola. Central and North Africa.”
God.
Pressing the heels of my hands on my eyes, I rub away the dryness. The sting. No wonder Ryan said the truth couldn’t come out. The reality is much worse than I expected.
“Angelo?” I ask, dropping my hands on my thighs.
“Do not say that name in this house,” Mom says in a shrill voice.
“Sorry, Mom.” I look at Ryan again. “I have to know.”
“That’s part of their business, yes,” he says. “However, they’re more involved in clearing the way for us, so to speak.”
Clearing the way. I can only imagine what that means. Getting rid of people in the most literal sense, no doubt.
A shiver crawls over my skin. Now it makes sense why Dad was involved with them. That’s why he warned me, why he told me they’re bad people. He tried to make me understand, but he couldn’t tell me everything.
Shit. That makes us bad people too.
I’m going to be sick again.
“This house,” I say. “Everything.”
“Don’t think like that.” Ryan’s demeanor is gentle. “There’s also the legal side of the business.”
Is that supposed to make us feel better? A laugh catches in my throat. The only thing preventing me from letting it out is consideration for my mom. My dad lied to us. He did something terrible, something unimaginable, by putting weapons in people’s hands for sinister purposes I don’t even want to think about. If I want to puke, how must Mom feel?
“Do you understand why this can never come out?” Ryan asks. “If it does, we’ll be hunted by governments and powerful arms dealers.”
My family’s expressions are mostly resigned. Mom’s mouth is turned down, her bottom lip quivering. They’ve all had time to come to a decision on how to handle the awful situation. They’re only waiting for my compliance.
“Why don’t we stop?” I ask, looking around the room. “You can cut out the illegal part and carry on with the legitimate business.”
Ryan’s smile holds sympathy, the kind that an adult reserves for a child who doesn’t have a concept of the harshness of reality. “Do you think for one minute the arms dealers will simply accept that? Do you believe they’ll shake my hand and say,Thank you very much for doing business with us for the past ten years. We’re going to miss you. But don’t worry, we’ll easily find someone else to smuggle our weapons into your country.”
I go cold. Of course not.
“No,” Ryan continues. “They’ll make us do it. Do you know how? Jesus, I don’t even want to go there. Perhaps they’ll torture me. Or maybe they’ll kidnap my son. Hey, why not kill one of us?” Swirling the liquor in his glass, he walks to the window and says more to himself than to us, “At least they’re paying us now. If they force our hand, they may realize payment isn’t even necessary.”
