Bet Barrington allowed you to meddle in this exchange so he has time alone to feck her.”
Mrs. Ogenhayer’s face turns white, then red. “I hear you’re unmarried. They say your dick is the size of a peanut and not even a porn star with lips the size of a watermelon can get it up.”
Two . . . no, three points to Mrs. Ogdenhayer. Because O’Brien is fuming. He can dish it out but can’t take it, can he? I want to roll my eyes. It’s high school, all over. I need facts, information. Not this bullshit battle for the title of “Worst Lover.”
O’Brien erupts, as predicted. “Take that ticket I gave you and get yer sorry self back to Cape Town. I’ll be telling Barrington that any future uranium orders are to be directly handled by him.” Two of O’Brien’s men grab her by the arms and literally drag her back to her car. Her men follow, wise enough to realize they can escape while still breathing.
“Enjoy it now, you asshole,” she screeches, losing her temper and her mind. “People from around the world are lined up to buy from us. Our mine will be fully operable soon.”
Yes. Keep talking.
I gasp then cover my mouth as O’Brien raises his gun. “I shoot you in the head and no one would be buying from you.”
“Do it, and you’ll find out how much my husband really does love me.”
This is crazy. Like I’m in the middle of shooting a horror flick, the main characters petty, spiteful weapons dealers. It’s going to translate well on television.
A struggling Mrs. Ogdenhayer is forced inside her car. “This isn’t the
last—” the door slams shut, cutting off her threat.
O’Brien gestures to his men.
Guns are fired but I film through it. Capturing the cold-blooded execution, and the South Africans’ as they fall to the ground.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
It feels like Señora del Leon’s hacienda blowing up all over again. It feels like the moment that first bomb exploded nearby in Aleppo.
Steady now.
Steady.
The shooting stops and O’Brien gestures to two of his men. “Drive her to the airport and make sure she boards a plane.”
The men climb inside and the cars speed away.
An awkward silence slips into the space. The smell of gun powder mixed with death overwhelms the senses. Everyone seems shell-shocked, except O’Brien.
Aw, feck.
He’s looking right at me. Did I give myself away? Can he see the camera?
I swallow hard as he charges toward me.
My mind goes blank, a surge of adrenaline freezing me in place.
There’s a noise, movement, and then someone steps in front of the crate, blocking my view.
“I’ve got to say,” Finn’s voice cuts through the silence, “You might have a huge, hard dick, Boss. But it’s that tongue of yers that could use a wee bit of softening.”
The warehouse fills with laughter.
“You don’t know how close you come, boyo . . .” O’Brien chuckles from somewhere nearby, likely standing on the other side of Finn, “to me skinning you alive for running away like that. Fancy a fighter like you are, scared of a woman like that.”
Finn grunts.
“It wasn’t her that had you hurrying away?”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir. Will you get a load of him now?” Pause. “What was it then?”
“I had urgent business in the jacks.”
The warehouse erupts into more laughter. Even O’Brien’s cackle fills the space.
I relax. Danger avoided. No one’s aware I’m here.
The men go back to the business of moving illegal merchandise. Yet I don’t dare shift positions, not yet, because Finn is still standing there, his back to me.
“Tomorrow, I’ll be on the lookout for packets of those little blue pills. That limp dicked feck must have a crate of them hidden somewhere.”
I blink. Little blue pills . . .Viagra?
Is Finn addressing me? Did he learn of the rumor I spread about him?
He stalks off just as the panic sets in.
And I’m left with a choice that’s really no choice at all. Do I stay or do I run?
40
Finn
In the wee hours of the morning Armageddon strikes. I’m half-asleep on a bottom bunk bed in a large, sparse room set up for workers. Resting rather than like the other fellas, who are asleep like babies. I’ve more at risk, don’t you know?
Shouts and gunfire startle everyone awake. But I’m already on me feet and sprinting for the main warehouse floor. I’m nearing what’s left of the uranium crates when the South Africans bust open the warehouse door. Diving, I land on me stomach then